#I do not like this content if it is made for someone's enjoyment

[chaos-potat]

I still find it funny how a pr*shipper called me an anti as if it was a negative thing to dislike ships that are problematic, y'all know the "pro" in "proship" stands for problematic, right? <-(probably a false statement but that's how I've heard it)

I'm not usually a hater but like, they came to my post (one where I said "I take shipping rise April with the turtles as inc*st since she's depicted as their sister and is even referred to as family by Karai") and told me that I'm crazy for saying that shipping people who call each other family makes me sick???

My brother in Christ, it wasn't a debate, it was a boundary, and you're added to my blocklist

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

[snfbabydrop]

i'm rereading my wip one last time :')

[gothgoblinbabe]

The Art Of Make-believe Matrimony

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Summary: You can’t stand each other, so it’s a mystery to you and Logan why you’re sent out together on an assignment. To make it worse, you’d have to act much closer than you really were.

Warnings:  mutant!reader (no specific power mentioned, though), fem!reader, enemies to lovers, swearing,  fake dating (technically fake marriage), mentions of violence, a little bit of suggestive stuff, a little bit of fluff i guess, and mild alcohol consumption. I think that's all but if i missed any, please let me know! also this is def loosely inspired by the movies 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' and '10 Things I Hate About You'

Word Count: 5K

part 2

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ .

You hate the way he dresses.

You hate his stupid hair.

You hate the pet names he calls you.

You hate his voice.

You hate his hazel eyes.

You hate his smile.

You hate Logan Howlett.

It was no secret and neither was the fact that he couldn’t stand you either. You bickered like a married couple, constantly fought till you bled when you were training and couldn’t go a day without one of you insulting the other. Truthfully, it was probably because you were too alike - fire versus fire - and knew exactly how to press each other's buttons.

That’s why you were both confused when you stood in Charles’ office - dumbfounded expression on your faces - as he told you that he assigned you to a mission together.

“Oh, no way,” you nearly laughed, thinking it was a joke.

“Yeah, not happening,” Logan agreed. It may have been the only thing you’ve ever agreed on.

“That’s unfortunate for both of you, as I am sending you anyway. You are the only capable people that aren’t already out on an assignment or teaching a class full time.”

“How do you expect us to do it without killing each other?” you raised your eyebrows.

“You are adults. I trust you will navigate that on your own.”

Logan scoffed beside you, his arms crossed over his chest.

You sighed, closing your eyes in frustration and biting the bullet, “what do we have to do?”

“There is a safe hidden in the home of a very wealthy socialite who’s been involved in orchestrating attacks on mutants - injecting them with a serum that replaces their mutation gene with that of a normal human,” Charles began to explain.

Your chest felt heavy. It always made you anxious and a little ill when you’d hear the stories of people who hated you so much that they’d go as far as to harm or violate you in some way, all in the name of trying to rid the earth of you completely or turn you into one of them.

“The only known sample of the serum is locked in that safe,” he continued, “and I will need you to retrieve it. You are to infiltrate a gathering being held in her home, obtain the contents of the safe and return promptly.”

“So, we’re…going to a party?” Logan asked with one eyebrow raised.

“A dinner party,” Charles replied, “and another thing - you must not attend as yourselves. You’ve been invited on the good word of another guest - someone we trust - but you’ve been invited as a married couple to avoid arousing suspicion.”

He must’ve been getting some sick enjoyment from this.

“Married couple,” you repeated, your eyes narrowed, “Us. You want us to pretend to be a couple.”

“What, do I have to like - touch her? I’m not doing that,” Logan piped up.

“Oh, i’m so disappointed,” you rolled your eyes, sarcasm clear in your voice, “Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“No, you fuck off.”

“No, you.”

“I said it first!”

“Enough,” Charles interrupted, “you will be attending as Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

“Huh,” Logan hummed, “that’s creative.”

“Its inconspicuous,” he replied.

“What are our first names, then?”

“You have creative liberty. I trust you will come up with something just as unremarkable.”

“How about Sid and Nancy?” you scoffed, chuckling a little in disbelief. 

“Does that mean I get to stab you?”

“You’d miss.”

Charles had his head in his hands.

“How about Jack and Jill?”

You both turned your heads to him when he spoke, pausing the back and forth between you that you were sure to continue later. You glanced at Logan and shrugged, indifferent to the names.

“That’ll work,” Logan mirrored your actions.

“Lovely. Tomorrow evening at five. I will have the address ready. In the meantime, here,” he opened his palm and placed two rings on the table, “these are your wedding bands.”

You huffed and took the smaller of the two, Logan picking up the plain silver band. Yours was simple - a false diamond in the middle and two smaller ones on each side.

“What, you couldn’t get me anything bigger?” you joked to Logan, holding up the ring. 

“Oh, you want somethin’ big?”

Your eyes went wide and you elbowed him in the arm, groaning in disgust, “Gross.”

—----------------

Five o’clock came fast, your nerves seemingly increasing the speed of time. You’d made a mess of your wardrobe looking for something to wear that was comfortable, but not too ‘you’. What would a rich person wear to a dinner party? How the hell were you supposed to know?

Some nice pants, a blouse and complimenting shoes would have to do - it was the only thing you had that looked relatively formal. Adding some jewelry made it just a little more convincing. 

You went down the stairs to meet Logan at the front door, dreading the coming hours. You turned the corner and finally saw him, leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He wore a white t-shirt tucked into his jeans, his boots, and he’d traded his usual leather jacket for a suit jacket. He actually cleaned up pretty nice, but you weren’t gonna tell him that.

He heard your footsteps and turned towards the sound. He could feel the sweat starting to form at the back of his neck. 

He’d never seen you in anything nice like that - you never really had any occasions to dress up for - and he hated how much he liked it. Your pants hugged you perfectly, your blouse was buttoned low and you even had on a little bit of makeup. 

“You don’t look too bad,” he managed to comment, opening the door for you.

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you realized aloud, the both of you heading towards Logan’s truck, “You look alright.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Smith.”

He opened the car door for you, uncharacteristically gentlemen-like.

You shot him an odd look and got in anyway.

“I’m practicing,” He explained, shutting your door and walking around to slide into his seat, “can’t have anyone thinkin’ I’m a shit husband.”

“Good luck.”

“Uh-oh,” Logan had an amused expression, his eyes glued to the road as you began moving, “that’s not wife behavior, sunshine.”

“Bite Me.”

He clicked his tongue, “Feisty. Oh - I can use that when people ask about us! I’ll say it's one of your absolute worst qualities that any man would be repulsed by, but that our love is blind.”

You scoffed, “Great, and I’ll get to tell them you spend sixteen hours brushing your hair into cat ears and shed all over the bathroom like an animal.”

“See - now, that one seems a little personal.”

“It is.”

“Just pretend for a night that I’m the man of your dreams, okay?” he asked, “pretend I’m, uh - I don’t know, some celebrity guy you have a crush on.”

You were silent for a second, engrossed in thought, “you look nothing like Hugh Jackman.”

“Who? You know what - sure, pretend I'm him, alright? Just squint.”

Truthfully - and you’d rather be stabbed than admit it - Logan wasn’t far off from who you could picture yourself with. Strong, kind of handsome, good with kids. He was humble, most of the time. He was just terribly annoying and way too cocky.

It wasn’t long before he was shifting the truck into park and yanking the keys from the ignition. You let him open your door and walked beside him up the front steps.

“You ready, Jack?” you teased.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Jill.”

He rang the doorbell and you stood awkwardly, eyes scanning your surroundings. The house was huge - probably only a bit smaller than the mansion - and modern, something probably built in the last ten years. The front lawn was impeccable, as were the marble statues strategically placed between foliage and flora. 

The door opened and you inhaled sharply, trying to prepare yourself to lie your ass off.

“Hello! You must be Mr. and Mrs. Smith! So lovely to meet you, please - come in,” a woman ushered you in, her neck and ears decorated in pearls. You recognized her immediately, Charles having shown you both a picture of the hostess beforehand. You politely greeted her and introduced yourselves, already scanning the room for an emergency exit in case things went sour.

“So,” she continued talking, leading you to sit in the living room with the other mingling guests,”tell me a little about yourselves! John wasn’t very descriptive when he mentioned you. What do you do for work?”

Whoever John was, you silently thanked him.

“Uh, well,” you began, nervously glancing at Logan, “I’m a bank teller.”

Plain, boring, inconspicuous, 

She then looked to Logan expectantly, awaiting his answer. 

“Cage fighter.”

Jesus Christ. You were glaring daggers into the side of his smiling face and he pretended not to notice.

“Really?” the woman in front of you inquired, a hand on her chest. You watched her eyes scan him up and down, landing on the pecs prominent through his shirt. You scoffed out of instinct, faking a cough to cover it up.

‘Oh, yeah. Undefeated MMA champ.”

You looked away to hide the scowl on your face when your eyes locked on the vodka bottle sitting on the table a few feet away with a collection of other booze. Bingo.

“Will you excuse me for just a moment?” you smiled politely and walked away before Logan could protest, leaving him to his own devices.

You twisted the top off the bottle and picked up a glass, filling it with Vodka and some soda that was left on the table.You almost walked away with it, planning to keep it in your hands until you felt your nerves subside, until you remembered you were supposed to be a wife. Wives brought their husbands drinks, right? Not doing so would look rude and rude might blow your cover. So, you reluctantly picked up another glass and filled it partially with whiskey, knowing it was something he’d drink. You happened to glance across to the kitchen and notice a neat little rack of spices and condiments on the counter. A bottle of soy sauce was front and center, like a message from the universe, and you giggled to yourself as you snatched the bottle and hid it up your sleeve - this could be a good night if you made it entertaining.

You returned to Logan with both glasses, handing him the one filled with significantly darker liquid. He looked a little surprised but accepted it anyway.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said with narrowed eyes, a look that asked ‘what are you up to now?’

You simply nodded in acknowledgement, smiling at the hostess still standing in front of you.

“She’s a keeper,” he continued, holding the glass up to his mouth, “ always knows exactly what I like.”

You bit back a snicker as you watched him tilt the glass and finally take a sip.

His eyes went to yours immediately.  He pulled the glass from his lips, mouth still obviously full of whiskey and soy sauce. If looks could kill, you’d be long dead.

“Good, honey?” you smiled wide then, taking a sip of your own drink. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, clearly fighting a grimace. He swallowed and nearly gagged, coughing into his fist, “mhm, just a little strong.”

“Oh,” the hostess began, “Jack was just about to tell us how you met!”

A couple of guests had gathered in the same spot, all lingering in a semicircle. Logan was quite the charmer and it wasn’t a surprise that he already had a couple of women gawking at him, hanging on his every word as if any of it was true. 

“Was he?” your tone was shrill but you attempted to appear playful, lightly smacking him on the arm, ���Oh, honey, you should really let me tell it.”

Whatever he was about to come up with, you hoped it was not in the same outlandish category as cage fighting. Before you could begin, though, he dismissively waved his hand in your direction.

“No, no - you’re a little forgetful, sweetheart,” his grin was mischievous as he turned to speak to the surrounding guests, “so, it all started with a tshirt competition at a bar where the girls had to - “

“Nope! Nope,” you interjected, doing your best to keep your tone light and shaking your head, “haha - that must have been another girl, honey!”

That earned a few chuckles from the guests around you and you took the opportunity while everyone's attention was on you to try and spin a tale of your own.

“So, we actually met a couple years ago,” you started, mulling over what true details to sprinkle in or if you should make it up entirely, “uh - in a library.”

It wasn’t entirely untrue. You’d been at the mansion for a couple days before you bumped into him in the library while gathering books to try and put together your first lesson plan. You had a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of books in the other - admittedly stupid - but you’d always been careful. Except for that once. 

You had a book open in your arms, resting atop the stack you already gathered. You were walking and reading - again, admittedly not very smart - when you bumped into someone, spilling coffee on both of you and sending the stack of books to the floor with an audible thump. 

“Fuck, sorry -” you began to apologize, finally looking up to the strangers face. It was Logan, of course, though you didn’t know that at the time. You remember thinking he was handsome with his scruffy mutton chops and well groomed hair - until he opened his mouth.

“What the hell is wrong with you, kid?”

You knew it was partially your fault but were irked by his attitude.

“Dude, you weren’t paying attention either, obviously!” you snapped back, looking down at the beige stain now adorning your white button up.

“I’m not the one who carries coffee and a shit ton of books at the same time.”

“Whatever.”

That was your grand introduction, neither of you even exchanging names.

Logan remembered it about the same way you did, though the version he tells is a little different. He loved to tell people that when you bumped into him, it was because you were so lovestruck that you just walked right into him. The part he always left out, though, was the first thing he thought when he saw you. He’d scolded you before even looking up to see who you were and when he had, he wished he’d reacted a little differently. 

You were beautiful, even with coffee spilt all over yourself. You looked like a girl he’d only ever dreamed of, all the way down to the color of your hair and eyes. Unfortunately, he’d already been an asshole. So, from then on, that was basically your shtick - bickering over little things, calling each other names - all to the amusement of everyone around you. It wasn’t meant to be funny, but it was obvious to everyone else that the kind of teasing you did was only because you had feelings for one another - like two elementary school kids - and neither one of you seemed to know how to approach it. The mask would slip sometimes for either one of you - when he’d place a hand on your lower back, the times he’d managed to pin you to the mat during training - and you’d always find yourself staring at the ceiling that night, overthinking every interaction you’d had until the sun came up. He was never any better off, pacing in his room to try and decipher what the hell it was he actually felt for you.

Anyway, you decided to stick to the real story, minus the part where you insulted each other.

“We bumped into each other, literally, and I had coffee and a bunch of books in my arms. So, I drop the books, coffee spills everywhere - of course. Then I looked up at him, and..” you paused, the truth caught in a lump in your throat.

“And it was love at first sight,” Logan added, grinning down at you, “for both of us.”

His eyes were trained on yours and he continued to contribute to the story.

“The second I saw her, I fell in love.”

He was still looking at you. Why was he still looking at you like that? You were supposed to be husband and wife, right, but he was leaning into it far heavier than you expected. It felt like you were the only ones in the room.

A couple ‘aw’s were shared between guests and you smiled politely at the reminder that you were in fact not the only people in the room. As the conversation switched to another topic and someone else began to speak, you felt Logan’s hand at the back of your head, gently playing with your hair. Your face was pink - he was being too nice.

A short while later, you were sitting on the couch beside him, listening to someone’s drawn out story that you stopped paying attention to after six minutes.

“I’m gonna go take a piss,” Logan uttered unceremoniously and stood from the couch. He disappeared into the house and not even a minute later, another guy came to sit in his spot.

“Hey,” he put his arm around the back of the couch, his fingertips brushing your shoulder, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

You looked at the fingers grazing your shoulder and sat forward to shrug them off, “nope.”

He told you his name and you couldn’t have cared any less, deciding to actually tune back into the story being told rather than converse with him. He was alright looking, but his approach was far too off putting. 

“So, did you come alone?”

You rolled your eyes at his question, opening your mouth to answer before he cut you off.

“Cause It looks like it, and I can’t stand to see a pretty girl alone.”

You groaned in disgust, hoping if you were dry enough in your answers, he’d leave you be.

“mhm.”

It wasn’t really an answer to anything, just a noise of affirmation. You hoped he’d get the hint then, but of course, he didn’t. In what would probably be the stupidest thing he’d done that night, the guy moved his arm from the back of the couch so he could squeeze your thigh. Right as you were about to tell him to fuck off, you saw a hand grip his shoulder from behind. Logan was leaning over the sofa, bringing his face a little lower so he wouldn’t cause a scene, his dog tags hanging when he leaned forward. He had a death grip on the guy's shoulder while he used his other hand to steady himself against the sofa. 

“Hey, bub.”

The guy looked a little terrified, to say the least, but Logan didn’t let up there.

“Do you always go around hittin’ on people’s wives? Or is it just mine?”

His eyes were wide and he looked like he wanted to run but that wasn’t going to happen as long as he was in his grip. 

“I-I didn’t, uh, I didn’t know she - “ the guy sputtered, trying to nervously laugh it off.

“Mhm. Hey, tell you what - why don’t you leave my girl alone and maybe I’ll give you a five minute head start to get the fuck out of here.”

He let go of his shoulder and that was enough to drive him away, the guy scurrying to his feet and finding somewhere else to mingle.

You didn’t know why you found yourself smiling the moment he’d said ‘my girl’. You rid yourself of it with a shake of your head, reminding yourself you were there to do a job.

“Hey,” Logan leaned himself down even further so he could whisper, “I gotta show you something, c’mere.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him but got up to follow. He stopped in the hallway in front of the bathroom, looked around to see if anyone would notice you, and promptly dragged you in with him before closing and locking the door. He hit the light switch and you looked around.

“Do you always take girls to the bathroom on first dates?” you teased, crossing your arms.

“You’d have to go out with me to find out,” he remarked, “besides, it’s not like that. Look.”

You watched him get low to the ground to open the cupboard under the sink and you crouched with him, following his pointing finger to the wood paneling in the back. It looked like a fake back - a board that appeared to be the back of the cabinet but definitely had something behind it. There was a sliver of metal visible behind it when you shined your phone’s flashlight.

“I figured we should look everywhere, so while I was in here I was checking it out - saw that. You think that’s it?”

“Could be,” you answered honestly, “that, or it’s some sort of electrical box we’re about to rip out of the wall. It’s an odd hiding spot for a safe.”

“Not really. Think about it - where's the first place you’d look for a safe?”

“Bedroom or office, maybe.”

“Right, and where's one of the last places you’d check?” he gestured to the open cabinet.

“Under…the sink,” you realized aloud, looking between him and the wooden board. 

“Exactly,” he nodded, swiping the contents of the cabinet onto the floor to gain access, “here’s the thing, though - I’m too big to get in there.”

He could maybe stick his head in, but in order to duck under the pipes from the sink, he’d need to have shoulders that were much less broad.

You sighed, knowing what that meant.

“Alright, alright - move. This better be it.”

You reluctantly crawled under the sink and into the cabinet on your hands and knees. You yanked the wooden board with all your strength and it came free, revealing a metal safe.

“Got it! You were right, it’s the safe.”

Logan simply hummed in response, clearing his throat. You figured he’d be a little more enthusiastic. 

Truthfully, he was too busy staring at your ass in the nice pants you were wearing to pay attention. When he heard your voice, he shook his head, as if to rid himself of the thoughts he was having about you so he could think of a response. He’d always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you all dressed up drove him a little crazy.

“Yeah? Is it locked?”

You inspected the metal box, holding the absurdly large padlock hooked around the latch that opened the door.

“Uh-huh. Padlock - we’re gonna need the numbers.”

“No, we don’t. Bring it out.”

You did as you were told, crawling back out with the safe under your arm and placing it on the bathroom rug. It was a pretty small one - probably a little bigger than a basketball.

Logan picked it up and set it on the counter beside the sink. He unsheathed a claw and sliced through the metal latch that held the door closed in one swift motion.

“Well, yeah - that's one way to do it,” you shrugged.

“Easiest way to do it.”

He reached in and took out the small glass vial. He put it inside the pocket of his suit jacket.

“What if it falls out?” you asked.

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Alright, kid,” he sighed, “what do you want me to do with it? ‘Cause i’m sure as hell not lettin’ you carry it.”

You rolled your eyes and looked him over.

“How about you wrap it in your jacket, like cushioning?”

“Fine.”

He reluctantly shrugged off his jacket, keeping the vial in the pocket but folding the jacket into a ball. You hastily replaced everything in the cabinet, safe included, and you followed Logan as he opened the door to step out - only to be met with another guest, her fist raised to knock.

“Oh! Dear,” she chuckled, clearly a little startled. She looked to the both of you, a grin appearing on her face, “Young love, what a gift. Don’t worry, I didn't see a thing!”

You shot her a confused look, chuckling nervously before you happened to catch a glance of your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Your hair was mussed and your blouse was untucked on one side from having to bend up and down. Logan had taken off his suit jacket and you realized what it was she was implying.

“Oh, oh - we weren’t -”

“It’s alright, honey,” she responded as you stepped out, “like I said - my lips are sealed.”

She shot you both a wink, went into the bathroom and shut the door.

“She thought we were fucking in there,” you mumbled, eyes wide in embarrassment.

“Is that so bad?”

You snapped your head towards him, a confused look on your face, “what?”

Logan shrugged, “we're supposed to be husband and wife, aren't we?”

You shook your head in disbelief and decided to ignore him, both of you joining the other guests back in the living room. Dinner was finally ready and everyone took their seats in the dining room. There were a couple of things on the table you couldn’t even pronounce.

“Is that…meat? A vegetable?” you leaned over to logan, whispering behind your hand and nodding towards one of the dishes.

“Hell if I know,” he muttered, “I don’t think I wanna find out.”

You both piled on the few things onto your plates, poking at it with your forks.

“Do you wanna get a pizza after this?” you whispered.

“Definitely,” he replied, pushing around an unrecognizable sludge with his utensil.

“So, how long did you two say you’ve been together?” You both looked up, only to be met with the hostess’ stare. You had never mentioned how long you’d been ‘together’. Her smile was polite but her stare was piercing, as if she knew something she was not supposed to.

“About three years,” you replied, looking to him for back up.

“We got married a couple months in,” he added, grinning at you. Again, he had that look - like he wasn’t just pretending to be in love with you. 

“We were in this restaurant - this little place we go to all the time,” he kept talking, “and I just told her I thought she was beautiful, that I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life.”

“Really? I have to say,” she began, sipping from her glass,” for a young couple who got together so quickly, you two don’t seem very affectionate towards each other.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You shot Logan a panicked look, but he appeared unbothered.

“Ah,” he clicked his tongue,” it’s this rule she’s got about PDA. I’d be all over her if I could.”

You hated the way your face became hot. You couldn’t tell if he was leaning into it to be convincing or flirting just to make you flustered. You heard a muffled snicker from somewhere across the table and your eyes shifted to the source - it was the woman from earlier, the one who’d thought you and Logan were getting busy in the bathroom. 

“Can I at least get a kiss, babe?” Logan cooed, a smug look on his face.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“Being a husband,” he replied in a hush voice. 

It all happened within seconds. His hands cupped your face, warm and soft, and he leaned in to plant a kiss right on your lips. It was gentle and you melted into his touch, kissing him back. When he pulled away, you were still stunned, your lips parted in surprise. 

Logan kissed you.

His lips tasted like the remnants of cigar smoke. His touch was nearly intoxicating, like you were drunk off just the way he held you. You inhaled sharply and finally turned your face out of his grip, eyes glued to the table cloth. You had almost forgotten where you were - feeling like the room was spinning - and you let out a nervous laugh.

The topic of discussion moved on quickly and it seemed like any suspicion the hostess had about either of you had dissipated. You and Logan decided to say your goodbyes immediately after dinner, making some excuse about having to wake up early the next morning. When you stepped out and he shut the door behind him, you couldn’t hold your tongue any longer.

“What the hell was that?” you spat, eyebrows knitted. 

“What was what?”

He was completely nonchalant as he continued to walk next to you towards his truck. 

“You kissed me.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He stopped with you at the passenger side of the truck, standing in front of the door so you couldn’t get in.

“What if I wanted to?”

You swallowed hard. It was dead silent outside, save for the chirping of crickets.

“What?”

“I wanted to,” he admitted, chewing his bottom lip, “I wanted to kiss you.”

You didn't know what to say. He hated you, didn’t he?

“Logan, I - “

“You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything in there, pretending to be together.”

His voice almost sounded strained, like he was pleading.

“You don’t even like me, you hate me,” you deflected, but he shook his head.

“That’s not true. I never hated you. I figured you’d hate me after I acted like an asshole when we met, so I went with it. I don’t hate you. I think you’re funny, I think you’re pretty - I just never really knew how to tell you that.”

When you only stared in response, he moved aside and opened your door with a defeated sigh. You were still speechless but you hesitantly slid into the seat anyway, letting him close the door. When he got into the driver's side and started the ignition, you couldn’t stop looking over at him.

“So, you like me,” you finally said aloud.

He kept his eyes glued to the road when he responded in a low voice, “why do you think I bother you so much?”

“You pick on me because you like me? Like a little kid?” you couldn’t help the amusement in your voice as your confused expression turned to a smile.

You saw him bite back a smile that mirrored yours, shaking his head.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, you’re not too bad, you know, and I guess you’re kind of handsome.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Mhm, but don’t make me take it back.”

The rest of the short ride home was spent in comfortable silence, both of you seemingly trying to figure out where you’d go from there. When Logan parked his truck and got out, he came around your side to open your door. You hopped out and he shut the door for you, but grabbed your hand before you started to walk away.

“Hey, c’mere for a second.”

You let him pull you a little closer, intertwining both your hands. The evening air was chilly and you could see his breath in the air when he spoke.

“Can I kiss you, for real this time?”

You could feel your heart beating fast and you nodded eagerly. The second you did, his lips were already on yours. His hands let go of yours to settle in your hair, threading the strands between his fingers. His touch felt warm in comparison to the cold air and you leaned further into him with your hands gripping his jacket to pull him close. When he pulled away, he rested his hands on your waist and planted another kiss on your forehead. 

“Maybe we could, uh, try again,” he cleared his throat, running his hands up and down your sides, “be nice to each other this time.”

Truthfully, you couldn’t hate Logan, even though you tried. 

You couldn’t hate his perfect hair.

You couldn’t hate his sweet voice.

You couldn’t hate his kind smile.

You couldn’t hate the way he dressed.

You just couldn’t hate Logan Howlett. 

So, you kissed him again, smiling against his lips and letting him hold you as close as possible, almost lifting you off the ground with his arms around you.

“We should probably go inside, huh?” you mumbled when you leaned back, lightly scratching the mutton chops on the side of his face in an affectionate manner. Those were another thing you’d pretended to hate - probably because you were embarrassed to admit you thought he pulled them off well.

“As you wish, Mrs. Smith.”

He held his hand out for you to take and you did, eyeing the ring on your finger.

“You know,” you held up your hand to show him the jewelry, “I think i’ll keep this.”

He grinned, bringing your knuckles to his lips and leaving a chaste kiss, “I think i'll keep mine, too.”

You were both still holding hands when you went inside, blushing like two little kids. You were so engrossed in one another that you didn’t notice Jean and Ororo in the hallway ahead of you as he leaned down to kiss you again. Now that he knew he could actually do it, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ll take it your night went well,” Ororo giggled, Jean doing the same. You jumped a little in surprise, covering your pink face in mild embarrassment. 

“What changed? I thought you hated each other,” the latter of the two asked.

“Eh, he’s not so bad,” you teased, shrugging your shoulders.

‘’Turns out, we make a pretty good fake husband and wife,” he explained, “I guess we got a little too carried away with it.”

As the two of you walked hand in hand further down the hall, Ororo elbowed Jean lightly, leaning over to whisper behind her hand.

“You owe me twenty bucks.”

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

A/N: If you've made it this far, thank you sm for reading!! I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep this as is or add smut so I'll leave it how it is and if enough people ask for it, I can make a part two <3 pls reblog and like if you enjoyed/want more and my inbox is always open :)

Edit: here is the link to part 2!

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

More Doki Doki Battle Academy OP AU

even MOOROEEE of themmmmmahhhhhhh babyeyyy i even added some dialogues fir some extra flavourrrrr (kuma and bonney's gif there would be a sprite he would have in his dialogue scenes. i dont think it would be a gif like this, more like everytime you look back at him, bonney would be in a different spot)

original DDBA designs post (has more lore there, go look at it plese :3

ASL dialogue video

imagining the vinsmoke/strawhat beef going like this video

design stuffs and more lore:

preface: sorry this is so much writing and im not going to grammar check it cuz aint no body got time for that.

The world of this au is like pokemon with different gyms you can fight through and beat, there's a big league of pro fighters, and there are schools for teaching you to be a better fighter.

One of the schools is called the Germa 66 Private Battle Academy, it goes from grades 1-12 and its where the Vinsmoke siblings all went too (at least until sanji broke off from the family at some point) and its run by Judge Vinsmoke, their father.

i am thinking that the Vinsmoke kids would still be genetically modified and Kuma would be a cyborg in this too.

design stuffs:

Ichiji: i tried to make him as punk as he would feasably get away with living under his father's rule. Big "combat" boots, fingerless gloves, black undershirt. He likes his style and would probably go all out if he didnt have to conform to his school uniform, thus i put a little heart on his boots.

Niji: i also made him like his style. The rings on his fingers, his nikes shoes, his big headphones. Like a gamer who thinks this is what fashion is. I think he would love listening to music too so i put his heart on his headphones.

Yonji: big stakly guy. Hes a lot more hands-on than his brothers so i put lots of emphasis on that area. i put his heart on his hand wraps because i think he would really love fighting. I think that Yonji is most like his father in that enjoyment, but i think Judge wouldnt like how casual Yonji's style is.

Reiju: y2k queen. I love this design on her so much im so bummed that she would have already graduated from the academy and i cant put her in a Hit Me Baby One More Time-esque uniform outfit, shed fucking KILL THAT SHITTT. Anyway though, reiju's heart is subtle yet in plain view, the locket around her neck. i dont think she would let anyone look at the contents but i do think that absolutly it would be her mother on one side and her brothers on the other. She wouldnt like people looking at it because that would mean someone could see that her dad isnt in there and she would get it a lot of trouble with her father about it.

Power ranger fits: i made them full on power rangers. its what they deserve. Since reiju has a butterfly motif in canon, i thought it would be fun to also give her brothers a bug motif of their own. ichiji is a wasp, niji is a dragonfly, yonji is a stag beetle. If sanji stuck around, hed probably be a lady bug lol. Also the masks they wear, the eye window part, it’s like tear tracks coming out but in a way that doesnt look like thats what they are. But it’s meant to show how judge forcing his children to be these people is causing them pain.

thank you @zethsdumpster for being my Vinsmoke specialist and helping me come up with a lot of their design stuff!

Doflamingo: i tried to make him a Nasty Nasty man. Like if a used car salesman made it big. Like if Macklemore was MackleMORE. i love the idea that he likes to tan himself, but he doesnt take any of his clothes off to do so, so he just has the absolute craziest tan lines ever. i put his hearts on the gold chain around his neck, he loves his wealth but not much else. i love the idea of him having two very expensive watches on each wrist. there may be more watches up his sleeve too. i also gave him fluffy dice around his neck, like he's one of the cars that he's selling.

Rosinante: i couldnt get away much longer without putting the heart man into the heart 'game'. i couldve went off more with the hearts of his design but i didnt want him to become nearly as flashy as his brother. i wanted him to be understated and fade into the background when doflamingo is around. he is dead in this au btw sorry :/ this is his design when he passed, but doffy's design is present day him. anyway, Rosi's hearts are everywhere, its in the outline of his big huggable fluffy coat, its on his hat thats pulling him down, it would be on his shirt too if it wasnt covered by his coat in this image.

Bonney: SHEEES SO CUUTEEEE AAAAAAAA i love her. I based her design off of Avril Lavigne with her iconic necktie/tanktop/baggy pants looks. i tried to make her outfit look like she could feasibly fit in it when she ages herself up, especially her big ol shoes. the heart in her design is in her neck tie. The stereotypical visage of a dad is a man in a tie who goes to work, and she loves her dad, so her heart is in her dad tie.

Kuma: I didn't change much of him from his design in canon, but since bonney would be more in his life in this version, i wanted to give him more visual indicators of her being there. like the height chart on his leg, or the fuzzy hat she crocheted for him (she also made her own hat for herself). Also, the pattern on his shirt is one that looks like a paw, but if you took off that outer layer, if the pattern continued, the design would be a sun, and i just think that was really clever ehe ehe.

Hancock: Basically i tried to make her the baddest bitch in the universe. My program crashed like 3 times making her which is so funny. Procreate couldnt handle her. I based her design off of Medusa. at first i had her snake be made out of marble, but it eventually wound up at Obsidian. She has no visible hearts on her design and thats because it would be the scar on her back, which she tries to hide. i like the idea that this very visibly revealing outfit would be perfectly tailored and reinforced to never move a single inch to let anyone see what theyre not supposed to. I dont know how i would justify her being able to turn people into stone in this AU, so im just not going to make a decision on whether or not she can do that.

ive been working on these designs off and on ever since i made the first post on this au and im real happy i can finally put more out.

if you got to the end of this, thank you so much for reading~ i hope you enjoyed :)

[baepsays]

A FINE LINE BETWEEN LUST AND LOATHE ★ ⸻ Gojo Satoru.

cw⸻★ NSFW, MDNI, dark content, HATE SEX!!! they actually hate e/o, but it's also just that it's the tension, they cannot come to terms with the fact they want to fuck someone so wildly not their type, fem reader, no pronouns, fem anatomy, drunk sex, so ig dub-con/non-con, name calling, oral sex (f! and m! receiving), head pusher Gojo, hair pulling, more spit stuff cause I said so, raw dogging, no missionary cause that'd make it too real and they'd explode, bro cums inside her without warning, he is lowkey an asshole, but reader is also provoking him any chance they get, hashtag on my period so like every month you get your freaky stuff.

a/n: enjoyyyyy ( or don't I will eat this up myself). based on this mind dump.

If only staring at Gojo Satoru hard enough made him disappear from your sight. And if only side eyeing you from across the room made you disappear from his sight. Either of you wanted nothing more than each other's existence coming to an end.

But unfortunately the universe was against your respective enjoyment of sanity and pleasure.

It has been almost sixteen years since you've known each other. Yet not a day goes by where you don't think of resigning just to not see him everyday. And Satoru makes sure to go out of his way to stay flooded in work just to avoid being in the same space as you.

But every time he happens to open his mouth, or flash those shiny teeth; or when you intentionally stop talking when he slips into the room, or when you roll your eyes at him, it ticks you guys off.

And what's worse is sitting here right now, basically pushed together, by Shoko to your left and Suguru to his right. Why were you guys sitting beside each other anyway? Couldn't he have been early for once in his life and just taken a seat anywhere! Anywhere, but here.

So how to deal with his overwhelmingly stuffy cologne infiltrating your nostrils, like the thought of him infiltrating your mind and making your blood boil?—The answer is given in all the alcohol on the table in front of you. If you have to tolerate a work dinner with Gojo, you might as well just get drunk. And it seems like maybe he had the same plans. Or maybe it was just you trying to annoy the wannabe cool guy out of him.

"Hah. That's all you can drink? And you call yourself the strongest?" The third glass was getting to your head. Clearly.

“You're clearly drunk out of your mind.” His eyes narrowed at you upon being suddenly addressed by you. It's never often that you directly speak to him, from your own accordance with that.

“And you're clearly a pussy.” You grinned at him in victory. A sly provoking grin that made his eyes twitch under that blindfold.

“Just say you want me to give you something to fawn over.” congratulations you've yet again successfully pissed off Gojo Satoru.

Everyone knew that despite being a big brooding man, Gojo Satoru was a lightweight. No shame in that! But there's no meaning in saying that to Gojo, when he has never felt shame in his life. Then why were your words getting to him? One moment he is sipping on half a glass of beer for hours, and the next he is chugging down some concoction of sake and beer mixed together.

You blame him. But you also blame your colleagues/friends, and you also blame the alcohol. Because everyone knew not to go close to Gojo Satoru after he had over half a glass of alcohol. So as usual everyone very tactfully handed his responsibility to you—a lesser drunk individual. Who would probably leave him on the side of the street with a note that says, ‘rob him, he's rich.’ But since you have to constantly prove something to Gojo, for some reason, you couldn't help but take up the responsibility of getting him home in one piece. And it's not like this is the first time you're doing this, just the first time you're both pretty drunk. 

Some people might wonder why would you do that for someone you hate? Because if you do not, the next day he'll just float around you scoffing and annoying you with petty words. So this is just a preemptive measure, yeah! Anything to keep your sanity from further depleting just because Gojo Satoru decided to exist.

The task was simple. Get a taxi, drag Gojo up to his home, enter his very weak passcode, get tempted to dump him in the bathtub, instead just leave him on the cold marble floor. You've done this before. Six times excluding this to be exact. This is nothing new or crazy.

But what's crazy is that how did you end up like this?

Instead of being on your own merry way back home, why are you under Gojo Satoru on his entrance hall floor, kissing him? He is actually kissing you. And you're kissing him back. His lips are quite feverish compared to the rest of him, or maybe it's your own body and face gradually becoming hotter and hotter.

This is suffocating, he is suffocating. The kiss is suffocating. This might just be a dream. No, a nightmare. You have dreamed about this before, you've wished for this for a certain period of time in your life when you were just freshly sixteen maybe, and you had just met Gojo Satoru, after hearing so much about him. It felt like you already knew a part of him, you wanted to know more about him, you wanted to be friends. And maybe something more if fate allowed it. Alas, you didn't know then how disappointing expectations are.

Just thinking about how you used to feel things other than deep, unsettling, and aggravating disdain for Gojo Satoru; it makes your skin crawl. It makes you want to walk into quicksand willingly rather than addressing those thoughts and feelings. Because why would you? They don't exist anymore. Those were fleeting teenage hormones. 

Because if we are being objective here, Gojo is attractive, he has always been so. Everyone agrees upon that. He knows it, the world knows it, unfortunately even you know it. So without knowing anything about him other than his gallant stories and pretty face, it was inevitable to develop a petty crush in him. 

Which he crushed with his own bare hands in mere seconds of being introduced to you. You remember that day very clearly, he called you weak, and some other things along that string. You did tune it all out after that first scoff that came out of his mouth that day, when all you did was extend an enthusiastic hand of friendship and compliments. “pfft. You think a weakling like you knows anything about me?” is what he exactly said that day.

Ever since that day, he has remained the bane of your existence and the perpetual source of agony in your life.

And yet here you are, making out with drunk Gojo Satoru, while being under the influence of alcohol yourself, on his cold marble floors. Dragging your hands through his hair, pulling on it, for support or just maybe to inflict some pain onto him—both very unsure but reasonable possibilities. 

A flicker of conscience flashed through you the moment his other hand—which was not preoccupied with holding his weight off the floor—pressed itself down your waist, when one of your hands, still stuck in the strands of his white hair; dug itself under his blindfold. When your nails scratched his undercut, under his blindfold, his own fingers dug themselves into your flesh.

And it just hit you, what was happening. So you broke off the kiss, pushed him back, and he backed off, as he was caught off guard. He was confused, because if he was not, he would not have given you the chance to break free from his lips or would have let you crawl away from under his body, like you were. 

“Tryin’ to run from what you started sweets?” He dragged you backwards by getting a hold on one of your ankles. It was petrifying. How you were pulled towards him with no resistance, your hands flapped around and just made screeching noises as you tried to latch onto the sleek marble floor. But you were not in control of the situation anymore. There was nothing you could do to stop yourself from being dragged into the lion's den. Because the lion has already dug his teeth in your flesh, and the sweet taste of your flesh and blood is too tempting to set you free now. 

“I thought you were the responsible one between us. Hmm?” He was above you. No, he was caging you. The cold marble floor on the side of your face was not cool enough to calm you down. You felt a shiver running down every hair on your body, when he spoke into the shell of your ear. “Y-you're d-drunk.” 

“Stutterin’ for me now?” His nose nuzzled itself into the back of your neck, and you tried to further dig your face into the floor. Which was futile to say the least. 

“I would fuck ya’ right here. Right now.”

You could only gasp at him. You don't know how to respond to anything he says. It's hard enough to converse with a sober Gojo, for sake of work, so drunk Satoru is very much out of your area of expertise.

“Tell me no.” His breathing started to get heavier, along with his pants. One of his hands pressed you still under him, while the other one pulled the blindfold off his face. The outline of his now hard cock poked your ass, and dare I say it was tempting to not grind back into him. 

“Tell me to fuck off. And I will.” 

You could do that. When the strongest spares you, you take that offer gladly and run for your life. But maybe you lack that will to live, or just simply wanted to be crushed by him. Which one is more fucked up, is a decision for later. Because right now you are nodding yes to this guy, whom you apparently hate with all the fibers in your body. Essentially giving him approval to fuck you.

As drunk as Gojo may be, he at least had the sensibility to pick you up and take you to his bed. Which was massive, I mean he lives quite the comfortable life, he always has. Part of the reason why you made yourself believe where the influx of arrogance came from. But there is no time to ponder about those things, when Gojo Satoru is haphazardly stripping you bare, to then strip down to nothing himself.

“God. Look at ya.” This is not making love with the love of your life. But setting aside your pride to fuck this anomaly you do not understand. So the kissies he peppered along with occasional bites, from your neck down to your cunt—was unwarranted. But then also neither of you are in your right mind.

Gojo Satoru is truly good at everything. Which has always been annoying. It's so annoying how he has you biting down on your lips to contain your moans from slipping out of your throat, as he eats you out like a starved man. He is two knuckles deep in your hole, sucking, biting, and even slapping your clit. Moving his mouth off your cunt to hover over your hole with his tongue out, to let his spit drool out of his mouth, and straight onto your hole being penetrated by his fingers. And all you could do was helplessly pull on his hair to maybe pry him off you, to catch a breather. But it seems like it's easier to get leeches off your body than taking Gojo Satoru off your pussy.

“J-just, get, get on with it.” A slurry of words came out of your mouth along with grunts to conceal the moans, because if you dare moan for this man, there is no way you'll live that down. Does not matter if he doesn't remember it, you'll remember. And that'd be just enough to eat you alive. But it is advisable that you worry more about the man eating you out currently. 

“Ok. Cum for me then.” He says with a flat voice before diving back in, this time shoving his tongue along with his fingers. “I CAN’T JUST DO THAT ON COMMAND!?” 

“Maybe we should train you.” He mumbles while working your pussy, trying to find your spongy spot, to get you exactly where he needed you to be. And when he did get a hold of it, it was over. 

You squirted all over his face. And at the sign of your unearned release, he opened his mouth wide to welcome the taste of your juices on his tongue. And he got more than that, his entire face got drenched. You really never thought you were capable of squirting, neither were you suspecting the man to make you do such obscene things would be Gojo. 

“How sweet.” He lapped his tongue around his lips, as if to gather any leftovers around his mouth. “She speaks to me so nicely. Unlike you.” With one last parting slap on your cunt, he got off you. 

But rest was not what he was trying to give you. He pulled you off the bed, to sit on the edge of the bed himself, and sitting you on his lap. The feeling of his cock under your wet folds and quivering thighs, was not helpful by any means. If you felt the outline of his cock in his pants earlier and got scared, then the real thing under you, skin to skin, throbbing against your heat—was enough to give you a cardiac arrest.

“You'll return the favour right? Don't like owing me, do ya’?” You wish you could slap that smirk off his face. But then again, it was just wishful thinking that got you involved in this situation. But he was not wrong. You did not like to owe anyone anything, especially not Gojo Satoru. You've gone out of your way to get a pack of sticky notes at two am just to not owe him for the single sticky note he gave you during a meeting.

“And how do I do that?” If you found that smirk annoying, then you'd find the obnoxious grin on him aggravating. 

An eye for an eye. And mouth for mouth, I guess?

Trying to give Gojo a blowjob was wildly more difficult than fighting a special grade curse. How do you even wrap your lips around such a massive thing? Sure it's pretty pink, with a blushy tip, and veins running down his girth; but it was mouthful. And Gojo was really no help, it was as if he was getting more drunk by the minute. His eyes were getting glossier, his pupils were more glowy than usual, if his face was flushed then, now it was properly and fully red. And it was as if his hands had a mind of their own, with how they were cradling your head, tangling those fingers in your strands and pushing you down on his length beyond your capacity—he is an asshole. 

“Ya’ can take more right? Hmm? Come onnn, you have taken more hits on the field. Can't just lose against m' cock.” His voice dripped with malice and lack of self control. The guttural grunts coming from him were becoming worse and worse with the vibration of your own groans around him.

But the heavy leaking cock felt so good on your tongue. Sure the choking was inevitable, he is disgustingly huge. Blessed in every area but humility. Because why would he? A huge cock must sustain a huge ego, in his opinion. And that pretty mouth of yours looks so much better stuffed shut with his cock. Why would he trade that for being humble?

“Maybe from now on, I'll just have to stuff your mouth full when you get mouthy at me.” The chuckle after that was meaner than those words itself, if you think about it, but your mind was too fucked to think. Because otherwise maybe Gojo would have to work around a bleeding cock.

But for now he's much content in the tight fit of your throat. Face fucking your teary eyes and heavy tongue, with his hips fully off the bed, and his cock nestled cozy in your throat—this is better than pissing you off to make himself feel things, better than having you shout profanities at him. 

He might be an addict, or maybe you should be deemed illegal. Because how dare you simply exist and mess up his brain? Ever since the day you extended your hand at him, he has not known sanity. This is his full circle moment. Fucking your mouth so well he forgets how much your tongue makes his blood boil.

It was easy to cum down your throat. To feed you his seed, seep a little disgusting part of him in your veins, even if it is biologically not possible, but Gojo would like to think it is. That you are just as much him, as he is now you, and he hopes the thought of it makes you lose sleep. But maybe he'd be the one losing sleep, because the sight of you was lethal. His cum dripping down the side of your mouth, and your throat moving in a rapid up and down motion to swallow him whole. 

He's going to be dreaming about this for the rest of his life.

But there are bigger and better things to tackle, like finally stuffing your cunt with his cock. Because who needs downtime when you are Gojo Satoru about to fuck the cause of half of his migraines. And if it was in his power he would've done it right there at the entrance like he threatened, but he believes in a good build up.

“Wait.” He stopped in his tracks of putting the condom on. You pulled your back off the bed and sat up to look him directly in the eyes. They were still hazy with something unrecognizable.

“Not missionary.”

“Pfft. Right. That's the line you refuse to cross huh?” Despite the deceiving smile on his lips, he looked pissed. After everything that you two have done, that's the line you don't want to cross, what a joke. He knows the feeling inside your pussy, where your weak spots are, the texture of your tongue, the mole above your tailbone and on your waist; but god forbid he looks into your eyes as he thrusts his cock inside you. 

Well, he'll be nice. He'll be nice to you, for once, and grant you this measly wish. 

So with an achy throat and teary eyes, you buried your face in his pillows, as he flipled you over on the mattress without further protest. He did not waste time with easing himself into your hole. He slid himself inside in one go, and ploughed you from behind like it meant business. Every smack of skin slapping, the ripples in your ass after each thrust, and the squelches of your cunt swallowing his cock whole—it was all getting to his head. If he was still drunk then he would've probably passed out at this point. But then again if he was not drunk anymore how else was he going to explain this feeling?

The feeling of wanting to hold you for an eternity, wanting to see you bite down on his skin instead of his pillow, wanting to see more of his hand print all over your body other than just your waist. The urge to flip you over and just fuck you as slow as he could while staring into your eyes like they held secret to immortality, it was tempting.

What was the fear that was holding him back? That if he did just give in he'd never see you like this again, and if that happened he would probably take himself down with the entire city. So, he can just settle for taking off the condom as fast as he could, while you whine from the lack of stretch inside you. 

“Aw, whining like a cock hungry slut now, are we?” He can settle with coming inside you for now. Yes, he can settle. 

You did not think twice when he slid back in, you chalked it out as him being a tease as usual. And the new warmth that fit right inside you like a perfect piece of puzzle, was much welcomed. So much so, that you could not help but cum again without any warning, I mean you'd warn him if you were cognizant of these things yourself. At this point your body was betraying your mind, and your mind was too drunk to even feel how backstabbed it was, it was too busy feeling every single ridge and curve of Gojo’s cock. Trying to memorize the shape of him into all of your muscles. 

“Coming without me? How mean, sweets.” 

As he started throbbing inside you, and strings of cum started to leak, then it hit. He was coming inside you, like, inside you. “WAIT. SATORU. W-” 

Your protests were too late; his body flopped over on your back, and his cock curved inside you so far it started hitting your cervix. At that point you were paralyzed, eyes were rolled far too back inside your sockets, the sting from his teeth digging into your neck, and the sound of his groans and grunts were deafening. You were shaking, he was shaking, his hips could not stop themselves from thrusting even while his cock shot ropes and ropes of cum inside your walls. 

“Yes. Ye- scream Satoru. Scream my name. Let my neighbours know who's sluttin’ ya’ out.” 

“Sa-satoru.”

“Louder.” 

“S-ATORU.”

“LOUDER.” 

“SATORU!”

With that last scream you came again, gushed and tightened your walls around him one more time. Before passing out with tears rolling down your cheeks and your lower body essentially numb, and all you could utter was mumbles of ‘Satoru’, over and over again until you fully fell asleep.

If you were awake just a little longer to feel or see Satoru lick your tears clean off of your face, and shoving his dripping cum back in your cunt with his shaky fingers, you might have passed out again.

Whether or not you make it out of Gojo Satoru’s bed, or his head—those are questions for his sober self tomorrow. For now, all he knows is that he wants you in his arms, under his blankets, on his bed, maybe on some cleaner sheets;  just dreaming about nothing else but him.

After all, when all the lines are crossed and blurred, why pretend for the sake of civility?

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: dividers by @/enchanthings-a

on my period so this is extra filthy. also sorry if the tension and bits of backstory was not good enough ＞︿＜and i did leave their relation after this ambiguous you are totally welcome in my inbox to discuss about this couple from hell.

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojao @cuntphoric @nanamiskentos @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @soupicidesquad @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi - (perm list) @chachawheeee11 @magnificientscarlett @samoankpoper21 @yenayaps @shhhhhhxoxo125 @saoirses-things @saylorslove @rain-soaked-sun

[bloodbluepearl]

i feel like people don't talk about the impactfulness of swansea immediately ditching his sobriety when he found out that the mouthwash had an alcohol content.

from the very beginning, he was accepting the idea of not getting out of the situation alive.

it takes a strong man to commit to sobriety, especially after 13 years of (presumably) heavy alcoholism, and an even stronger one to remain sober for 15 years, though he hadn't done it for his own enjoyment- that thought of him dead in some ditch somewhere because of some accident or another made while he was drunk out of his mind scared him into it, and pushed him to his decision. he enjoyed his time while drunk, but he knew that he wouldn't make it anywhere in his life and he knew that his time was running out (in many ways: he was getting older, so he would have less of his life left to steer himself in the right direction, and also the amount of alcohol he was drinking could kill him any day at that point, especially as he got older), so he put in the effort to try and 'better' himself- clean himself up, get everything he thinks 'successful' and 'happy' people have, and get sober.

of course, this doesn't make him a happier person, as much as he felt like it should. that was the entire point of his speech before his death- everything he worked for was a lot less exciting when he finally achieved it. but he stayed sober, because he knew that, in a more objective sense, outside of any of his own personal feelings about himself and his life and what he actually enjoyed, he was better off that way. he had more opportunities in life, he could keep a job, and he could maintain his relationships with his wife and kids much better than he could if he was still an alcoholic.

but when the ship crashed, he accepted that it was likely his final resting place, probably from the very beginning. he'd already had his shot at life, he already tried his best to be a model 'functioning member of society', and it was every bit as unfulfilling as it possibly could be. and now he was reaching his mid-life, or even late life. there wasn't much time left for him to be able to try and work toward an invisible goal of 'true happiness', whatever the hell that means. the way he saw it, he'd already lived his whole life. nothing more for him to do.

so when he found out that there was alcohol in the mouthwash, he barely hesitated a second. he drank it because THOSE were the best days of his life. he no longer worried about what kinds of consequences that such a relapse could cause, because at that point it didn't matter. he didn't care about continuing to live his 'model' life because that ship was his grave. he didn't have to worry about how it'd affect the relationship he had with his family, he didn't have to worry about being unable to get a job because he couldn't go half a day without drinking, he didn't have to worry about turning up dead in a ditch because of some mistake caused by his inebriation- it didn't matter in the end. the six months of food supply would run out far before the alcohol could kill him.

he did not for a second consider the possibility of him escaping the ship, even though he was the only person (for the majority of the game) that knew about the working cryo pod. it was never for him- he saw it as being a waste if he got in himself.

he'd already run his course. he would rather save it for someone with more potential to get somewhere in life, someone like daisuke or anya.

[vampzwon]

양정원✸ — much ado about nothing !

ⓘ; lord yang jungwon is the most bothersome lord you’d yet to encounter. he is equal parts charm and arrogance, wit and infuriation—wrapped in finely tailored coats and a mouth far too quick with replies. and worst of all, he knows exactly how much he gets under your skin. so when rumours of impossible love spark between you both, it is with great annoyance—and even greater denial—that you attempt to extinguish them. but as pride begins to diminish under the weight of something foreign and tender, the truth becomes much harder to ignore: perhaps the rumours weren’t so impossible after all.

ii. ⊹”mlist.

﹏ ⌗ 𝓹airing: 𝓎!jungwon x 𝒻!reader ❨12820❩

⏖’ 𝑔enres, e2l. historical. romance. slow burn. fluff. angst !

𝓦arnings: formal english, mentions of infidelity and parent death, smut 18+ MDNI, consent, slight body worship (?) jungwon boobie enjoyer, unprotected sex (don’t do it), creampie (?) conversations of marriage and children.

𓏵-, 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒. omg my first fic and smut here!! be kind. keep in mind this isn’t proofread!! man i love shakespeare.. happy reading! feedback, likes n reblogs much appreciated! ^^

⌗𖹭.ᐟ “i will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes” — much ado about nothing, william shakespeare.

"𝓦e are expecting guests, my dearest." When you hear your uncle's soft, smooth voice ring out from the garden below, you sigh to yourself. Of course.

You were quite content as you were. Sat in a creaking wicker chair (though, built more like a swing) you sipped lightly on some fresh wine, basking in the beauty of the sunlight. It was quite the day already. What need it more?

Earlier that morning, your cousin- though, you called her sister- Jiyoung had all but begged to braid your hair. She’d claimed it was a crime to let it go wild on such a lovely day. You’d resisted, of course. Insisted that no one was coming, that there was no one to impress, that you liked it better unruly. But Jiyoung, with her puppy eyes and relentless fingers, had already begun weaving before you finished your protest.

Afterwards, she roped you into wearing one of her sun dresses—the pale ivory one with the low back and embroidered yellow flowers along the hem. The one she always claimed made you look “like you stepped out of a poem.” You scoffed at the time, but secretly, you didn’t mind it.

Then, you'd danced around in the kitchens with her—Jiyoung, with her hair tied back in ribbons, her laughter bright and sticky like honey, and you pretending not to enjoy yourself as much as you did. The two of you spun and stirred and reached past one another in a flurry of hands dusted with flour and sugar, a pie crust half-formed on the counter, spices scattered like confetti.

You should’ve anticipated it then.

You were cooking quite a lot for someone who only helps out “when needs be.” And when did you ever volunteer yourself to whisk cream or knead dough unless there was an ulterior motive—or, more dangerously, an atmosphere that required distraction?

With him being such a prominent, well-known, and relentlessly charming figure, it really wasn’t much of a surprise. People liked Jungwon. The uncles thought him respectable. The aunts adored his manners. The younger cousins followed him like ducklings. He was good with names, always knew who liked lemon in their tea, who preferred cream in their soup, who secretly couldn’t stand parsnips.

He was beloved. And there lay the most unfortunate truth of all.

Because no matter how many times you rolled your eyes at his words, or outwitted his smug little remarks in front of the family, or claimed he was no more interesting than wet parchment—Yang Jungwon remained a constant guest.

Always invited. Always welcome. And somehow, always arriving just when you thought you could breathe. Brushing your flour-dusted hands over your apron, you froze at the familiar sound. Low, rumbling. Arrogant, careless and all the more carefree. A laugh.

Yang Jungwon.

Your mood instantaneously had soured. With a huff, you brushed your hands against your apron with such fevour it made Jiyoung blink in pure confusion, before you leaned over the wide windows of the kitchen. And there he stood.

Jungwon, with that familiar lazy posture, hands tucked into his pockets like he owned the very concept of leisure. His shirt was too crisp. His smile too rehearsed. And yet, laughter bubbled out of him, smooth and effortless, as he chatted with Sunghoon and the others.

You scowled.

The last time you spoke, he said your debating skills could be bested by a fruit fly with a head cold.

The time before that, you may or may not have implied that he’d never pleased a woman in his life.

And yet somehow, despite all odds, your uncle still insisted on inviting him to everything.

You'd hoped—perhaps foolishly, perhaps vainly—that war would have changed him. That the months away would have dulled that smug glint in his eye, grounded his floating confidence, taught him some humility.

But there he was. Untouched. Unbothered. Still too clean. Still too Jungwon.

You winced as your uncle clapped Heeseung on the back and pulled Jaeyun into a firm, fatherly hug. But when he moved to Jungwon, you had to glance away entirely.

You didn’t want to see it.

Didn’t want to see your uncle’s face soften with affection, didn’t want to see Jungwon’s return of it—warm, even sincere. That part always confused you. Because for all the wit and biting remarks, Jungwon was... well, good. At least where it counted. He remembered names. He held the door for elders. He kissed your aunt’s hand and helped the kitchen boy carry crates in the rain.

And that was what made it so unbearable.

Because it would’ve been easier to hate him if he were only arrogant.

An old habit by now, hands furiously roped through the unbraided ends of your hair, a silly effort to ground yourself. It was impossible grounding yourself around him. He was infuriating beyond measure. You had to remember that.

"You seem... perturbed." Jiyoung managed as her eyes peered over at Jaeyun with all the interest in the world.

"Even melign isn't too crude a word enough to detail him." You huffed, tone borderline petulant as you crossed your arms. Jiyoung, more then used to your antics by now merely laughed, her warm hand grabbing yours. "Come, come. We have guests to greet."

You didn’t bother hurrying.

Jiyoung, as always, moved like joy incarnate—bounding down the stairs with the kind of energy that made even sunlight seem slow. The white of her dress flared behind her like a wave caught mid-crash, her laughter trailing behind her like perfume.

You followed sulkingly, each step deliberate, measured, weighed down by the knowledge of who was waiting below.

She smiled—radiated, really—as your aunt pressed a kiss to her forehead, murmuring some soft motherly praise only daughters ever heard. You watched from the landing as Jiyoung slipped behind her father with all the grace of someone who’d never once known doubt.

Then your aunt turned to you.

She laughed the second she saw your face.

“Gracious,” she tutted, brushing her hand against your cheek with practiced affection. “That’s what happens when you spend too much time with the gardeners.”

You grunted. “And yet, the plants don’t talk back.”

Jungwon groaned when Heeseung told him where they were going.

“The L/N residence?” he muttered, voice thick with reluctance. “What sin did I commit to deserve this?”

Jaeyun raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You’re acting as if the place is some sort of dungeon. It’s a grand estate. With food, music, and a beautiful garden.”

Jungwon shot him a dry look. “And a niece who is as cruel with her words as the sharpest dagger. What joy.”

Heeseung snorted, adjusting his coat with a proud smirk. “You’ve not met many women, have you? That sharp tongue is why they all adore her. The L/Ns have a way with conversation. A little bite, a little wit.”

Jungwon groaned again, rubbing his temples. “More like a venomous bite. The last time I spoke with her, she had me rethinking every syllable I uttered as if I were a fool.”

“Of a lady!?” Heeseung exclaimed, his voice a mix of mock horror and genuine amusement. But he couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Jungwon, scared? My, that’s a new one.”

Jaeyun burst into laughter, shaking his head in that playful way that made Jungwon almost want to shove him into the nearest bush. “Oh, I wouldn’t say scared. But, tell me, Jungwon, can you imagine someone who talks more than you?”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed, a wry smile curving his lips. “You’re right. I do think it would be a challenge. But you, Jaeyun, only speak when you’re certain there’s something ridiculous to say.”

Jaeyun pouted at the effortless insult, as Heeseung laughed, patting the two on the back. "Come on, you two. Behave yourself."

"I wonder that you will still be talking, Lord Yang. You see, no one marks you." You almost yawn, passing the comment as if it were general knowledge. He scoffs at the audacity.

He reels back slightly, mouth parted in disbelief. “No one—marks me?”

You don’t even turn your head, eyes set ahead as you reach for a plum from the polished wooden bowl on the veranda table. You cradle it in your palm like a precious jewel, admiring its skin before taking the smallest bite. You speak with your mouth full, deliberately uncaring.

“Not unless you’re trying to be tiresome,” you hum. “In which case, then yes—your talent is quite unmatched.”

“Ah,” he says, voice light, “but perhaps I speak only in the hopes that you’ll have, by some miracle, learned the art of silence.”

You blink. Then you laugh—short, sharp, delighted.

“Silence? From me? And here I was thinking you enjoyed the sound of my voice.”

He smirks, taking a step closer until you can smell the faint trace of lavender on his collar, no doubt from some overzealous maid. “Enjoy is a strong word. I’d say I endure it—like one endures a summer storm. Loud, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning ever so slightly forward, the plum still cradled in your hand like a weapon. “And yet,” you murmur, “you always stand in the rain.”

That draws a pause. The smirk falters—just barely. His mouth opens, but he shuts it again with a faint click of his teeth, as if weighing his next move with care.

Then— “And you always think yourself clever when really, you’re just loud.”

You gasp in mock offense. “You wound me!”

“No,” he says smoothly, eyes glinting. “You wound yourself with all that talking.”

An enraged flicker of fire sparks in your eyes—hot, brief, and unmistakably real. The kind of flare that would’ve scorched him, had it not been so quickly extinguished by the sound of your name being called.

"Y/N!"

Jungwon’s gaze flicks over your shoulder, instinctively alert. There, at the edge of the garden path, stands a young man—tall, sun-kissed, with a jaw sculpted like he’d been carved straight from the marble steps of your family estate. The gardener. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, forearms dusted with dirt and sweat, and he waves at you with all the casual confidence of someone who knows he's admired.

Jungwon watches—expression unreadable—as your entire posture softens. Your lips curl into something gentle, radiant even. You wave back, that same warmth lighting your features.

And then—just as quickly—it fades. You turn back to him, the moment gone, but not forgotten.

“Well,” you sigh, feigning boredom as you tilt your chin upward, “I’m off.”

Jungwon’s jaw tenses ever so slightly, eyes narrowing as you step away.

You pause, turning just enough to throw over your shoulder with a syrup-sweet smile, “Try not to finish off my family’s harvest with that stomach of yours.”

He scoffs, lifting his chin with the smallest hint of a grin. “Worried I’ll eat you out of house and home?”

You flash him a wicked smile. “Only that you’ll forget what manners are, again, and start grazing straight from the vine. Akin to a pig.”

He laughs—sharp, short, but it’s real. “You think yourself clever,” he calls out as you walk away.

“I know I am!” you call back, not even bothering with a glance over your shoulder.

Men are boring.

You've been saying that your whole life. No one ever believed you.

Jiyoung, for starters, was an example. She danced with Jaeyun with such a bright smile it could've been blinding. Whatever it was that seemed to blossom between them within a couple of days, it was real. She was glowing, flushed from dancing and happiness alike, as Jaeyun stood close beside her, fingers brushing hers whenever they thought no one was looking.

You sighed—loud enough that your current partner took mild offense.

“My lady?” he asked, clearly hoping you’d flatter him into thinking he was fascinating.

“Oh, forgive me,” you said, smiling sweetly. “For a moment, I thought I was asleep.”

You left him mid-turn. Let him spin alone. He’d recover.

You were halfway to the terrace for a breath of fresh, unperfumed air when a figure in deep navy stepped into your path. A black mask covered half his face, but it did nothing to hide the sharpness of his jaw or the faint curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You didn’t need to see more to know it was him.

That perfect, infuriating hair, those eyes too clever for their own good, that smug set of his shoulders like he already knew you were going to say something insufferable.

Jungwon.

You took one long, slow look at him—and then blinked with all the innocence you could muster.

“Oh,” you breathed. “A stranger. How thrilling.”

You had to try your very best to bite back a laugh at the stupidity of the man before you. But then again, you'd known him long enough to expect it.

He tilted his head, lips twitching beneath the mask. “A stranger indeed,” he said, his voice barely disguised, rich with restrained laughter. “Might I ask for this dance?”

You pressed a hand to your chest, mock-gasping. “You sound familiar. But I suppose it’s only that I’ve recently suffered a headache.”

He offered his hand wordlessly.

You took it.

The music rose again. You joined the flow of dancers, letting him lead as your gown swept across the floor like water, effortless, elegant. And then you struck. Ruthlessly, a small grin dancing on your moonlit face. “I must say,” you began airily, “you remind me terribly of someone.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head to the side as he spun you by the waist.

You nodded. “Yes. A Lord Yang. Dreadful sort. Always under the illusion that people enjoy his company.”

Jungwon’s lips parted slightly beneath the mask—you couldn't see it, but you surely heard the pause of this heavy breath. You pressed on.

“He has this habit of always saying the last word,” you sighed. “Very irritating. Talks like he’s composing a letter to... well, himself.”

“I’ve heard,” he said dryly, “that some find his conversation rather… engaging.”

You scoffed. “Then ‘some’ clearly have more tolerance than I. Or less sense.”

His hand tightened at your waist, just briefly. “Strange. I’ve heard you mentioned in equal measure. Something about a woman who treats a man’s opinion as if it were a crumb to be swept underfoot.”

You beamed. “That’s generous. I usually just ignore it.”

You spun, your fingers brushing his shoulder as you came close—close enough to see his eyes flash with something that looked dangerously like fondness. But you weren’t done yet.

“I can’t imagine anyone loving such a man,” you murmured, mock-conspiratorial. “Too self-important. Likely never pleased a woman in his life.”

Jungwon let out a quiet, incredulous laugh—half scandalized, half impressed.

“And you?” he asked, voice low, teasing. “What would it take to please you, my lady?”

You looked up at him slowly, lips parted just enough for him to wonder whether you’d speak at all.

Then you smiled.

"None that a man can."

Jungwon was fuming.

He stormed through the corridors just beyond the ballroom, one hand tugging at the knot of his cravat like it had personally offended him. His mask dangled from two fingers, forgotten.

“She thinks herself so clever,” he muttered to the air, pacing the stone floor. “Mocking me in front of half the nobility—again. And for what? Because I had the misfortune of asking her to dance?”

He scoffed. Loudly. Bitterly. “Her words are knives with ribbons on them. Decorative, but still meant to wound.”

He turned back again, boots echoing against the stone.

“She treats my name like a stain she can’t scrub off her glove. And yet—yet!—she always has something to say to me, doesn’t she? Never a moment of peace when she’s near.”

His voice rose with each pass, frustration spilling out of him like wine from an overfull goblet. “She could just walk away, but no. No, she lingers. She provokes. She—”

"Loves him." He stills as he hears a voice in the distance.

And there they were: your uncle, Jaeyun, and Heeseung, gathered on the garden terrace as if they just so happened to be talking at full volume right where anyone might eavesdrop.

“Oh, it’s tragic, really,” your uncle said dramatically, clasping his hands behind his back like a man retelling an ancient war story. “She’s completely besotted with the boy.”

Jungwon’s brows furrowed. His lips parted ever so slightly.

Heeseung gave a very poorly concealed snort. “Y/N? In love with Jungwon? I thought she’d rather choke on a grape.”

Jaeyun gasped with theatrical flair. “Ah, but it’s always the ones who fight the most. Her wit is just her armor! Why, I heard she keeps a lock of his hair tucked into her prayer book!”

Jungwon’s mouth opened fully now. What?!

Your uncle didn’t even flinch. “She mocks him because it is all she knows. Her feelings run deeper than the Danube.”

“Isn’t that a river? Isn't the metaphor supposed to be linked with the ocean?” Jaeyun asked, clearly going off-script.

Heeseung elbowed him. “Shut up, she’s in love.”

“Oh, right, right. She'd said,” Jaeyun added with the tone of someone barely holding in laughter, though his voice also seemed to waver with extraordinary emotion “that she dreams of him. That she wakes with her pillow damp with tears because she cannot say what’s in her heart.”

“Because if she does,” Heeseung said solemnly, “she fears he’ll laugh.”

“She’s so vulnerable, poor thing,” your uncle sighed.

Jungwon, now blinking like a stunned animal, slowly sank down into a crouch.

His thoughts were spiraling.

She loved him? All this time? She—she thought of him? Dreamed of him?

A hand to his chest.

Had she really once written “Lady Yang” in the corners of her notebooks?

His heart was thudding.

“She’s proud,” Jaeyun added, tone syrupy. “But if he were to say even one kind word, I think she’d melt like snow.”

Your uncle nodded. “A single look from him would shatter her composure.”

Heeseung sighed wistfully. “I do hope he sees this. Poor lad has no idea.”

Oh, not only did he see it. He heard it. All of it.

The words echoed in his head like a drumbeat, but when they finally settled into his chest—when he truly heard them—Jungwon collapsed. His knees buckled, and he sank down into a crouch, hands gripping his hair like a man trying to keep himself from shattering entirely.

She loves me?

It felt too impossible to comprehend, like a riddle with no answer. The world spun around him, the heat of the ballroom, the low hum of laughter and chatter, all of it faded into a dull, ringing buzz as the revelation hit him harder than anything he had ever experienced before.

His breath came shallow, ragged.

“She… LOVES me?” he whispered aloud, staring blankly ahead, as though hoping some divine force might correct this absurdity.

His fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands like he could pull the confusion straight from his skull. His chest felt tight, the weight of it all almost unbearable. There was no denying it now. They—they—had all heard her words, seen the signs he had so badly missed.

And now he was left reeling, struck by the idea that every word she had ever hurled at him—every barbed quip, every sharp retort—hadn't been out of spite. She hadn’t hated him. She had been dancing around it, pretending she didn’t care, fighting the feelings that had been bubbling beneath her teasing surface. For a moment, he just sat there, lost. Then, in a small, quiet voice that held the weight of a thousand unspoken things, he muttered:

“Why didn’t she just say it?”

A beat of silence passed.

“Wait—does she think I’m a fool?” he muttered again, raking his fingers through his hair, pacing in tight circles. “Why didn't she just—damn it!” He kicked at a stone, though foolishly tripped over it instead. He hissed in pain, before he swore at the stones and lords above.

Whatever could he do now?

You huffed as you bounded down the halls. Your ears ringed with the faint click-clack of your heeled sandals, arms holding onto your much-too flowy dress in efforts to ensure nothing would get in the way.

You had a mission. One you most certainly would have to partake, against your very will.

You’re not sure why your aunt told you and only you to fetch Jungwon for dinner. Perhaps she just likes to see you in your element. Hating.

Your steps heaved with exasperation, your pace sharp—until you caught sight of him.

Jungwon stood leisurely in the sun-dappled corridor, back resting against a stone pillar, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. And, curiously, for a man who used to bristle at the mere sight of you, he was smiling.

Worse—he was smiling at you.

Your steps slowed. “What,” you asked flatly, “is wrong with your face?”

His grin widened.

You narrowed your eyes. “You look like someone who’s just been gifted a country estate.”

He pushed off the pillar and stepped forward, all slow confidence and unbearable amusement. “My lady,” he said softly, with the kind of faux reverence that made your skin crawl. “You’ve come to fetch me?”

You raised your chin. “I’ve come under duress.”

“Oh, I’m certain,” he said, bowing just slightly, the gesture playful. “And yet, here you are. Glistening like a summers’ sunset.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Are you well?”

“Perfectly,” he said with a shrug, walking beside you now, far too casually. “It’s just… there’s a certain glow about you this evening.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned to him, deadpan. “Have you been drinking?”

He only smiled, eyes glinting with something far too pleased. “Not yet.”

You gave him a once-over, suspicious. His shirt was just slightly unbuttoned, the locks of his hair soft and perfectly unruly, his whole demeanor far too warm. Soft. Like he’d woken up in love with the world.

It was absolutely disgusting.

You stared at him, suspicious. “You’re smiling like someone who knows something I don’t.”

He tilted his head, feigning thought. “Perhaps I do.”

“Then it mustn’t be very important,” you said coolly, brushing past him.

But he followed, steps leisurely, shoulders rolled back as if he had all the time in the world. As if he belonged here, hands behind his back. “You wound me. Is it such a crime to be in good spirits?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The silence between you was thick, brittle, and full of suspicion—on your part, at least. After a few more paces, you glanced sideways at him. “I’m only here because your presence has been requested at the table.”

“Ah,” he said with faux solemnity. “Then I suppose I must oblige.”

You stopped at the stairway. “Then why aren’t you moving?”

He looked at you, then at the staircase. And with all the grace of a man enjoying a daydream, he said: “…No.”

You blinked. “No?”

He smiled again—that smile, insufferably charming and entirely unwarranted. “I don’t believe I will.”

You stared at him, mouth parted in disbelief. “You’ve gone quite mad.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, tilting his head, curls falling over his brow. “But I find I rather enjoy your company more when it’s just the two of us.”

Your eyes narrowed. “There won’t be two of us, because I’m leaving. And I will tell them you refused.”

“Tell them anything,” he said, now leaning against the banister with criminal ease. “Tell them I’ve taken ill. Tell them I’ve been struck by lightning. Tell them I was too enchanted by a certain sunset-lit lady to join the meal.”

You stared at him. Then made a noise halfway between a laugh and a growl. “You’re sure you were born without difficulty?.”

He winked. Winked. “And yet, you came looking for me.”

You spun on your heel before you could strangle him with your own shawl.

Down the stairs, you went, muttering furiously.

When your aunt asked where he was, you didn’t even pause.

“Dead in a ditch, hopefully.”

Love.

A conundrum in itself.

You didn’t think you knew what it felt to love. Perhaps as a baby you loved your late mother and father. Perhaps you didn’t. You didn’t have any memories of the two. You’d been an orphan your entire life.

And still, you were told, “You are loved.”

You were loved by your uncle. By your aunt.

But it wasn’t the same. Not that kind of love.

The kind that made people foolish. Made them write poetry and lose sleep and act like they’d misplaced their own hearts.

The kind that Jiyoung had found.

You smiled despite yourself, plucking a stray leaf from a bloom.

Jiyoung had practically floated through breakfast that morning. Ever since Jaeyun returned from the war and thus proposed for marriage, it was as though her life had been cast in gold. The way he looked at her—like she was a secret he was trying not to blurt out too soon—and the way she blushed around him, her usual grace replaced with nervous smiles and hopeful glances… it was all nauseating. And oddly moving.

You didn’t think you’d ever have that.

Or want it, if you were being honest.

Love, to you, felt like an overgrown grape vine—sweet, yes, but far too soft. It bruised too easily. It turned sour the moment you looked away. And so, you gardened.

Your hands, gloved and soil-streaked, moved carefully through the rose bed. You liked gardening. It was predictable. Gentle. The roses, at least, had the decency to bleed when they hurt you.

You pressed your fingers into the soil, easing a stubborn root free. The morning sun painted the garden in a soft warmth, the breeze tugged at the hem of your sleeves, and for a moment—just a moment—you had peace. You felt—

“Heartbroken.” Jiyoung’s soft voice rang out before you, slow and syrupy, just stood adjacent to the grape vine. “Poor Lord Yang. He must simply be heartbroken that my dear cousin does not love him back.”

You heard a muffled tut of agreement. That one was surely your aunt.

“I don’t understand, mother,” Jiyoung sighed, the sound largely heavy and contemplative. “Jaeyun and I have but found ourselves together. Why must Lord Yang and Y/n dance around their feelings rather then be wed?”

You choke on nothing. It is growing quite hot. Perhaps the weather is playing mind tricks with you.

“He is obsessed, Mother!” Jiyoung continues, and you just barely see the flourish she walks with. “He follows her with his eyes like a deer to light! Yesterday he walked into a door—a door!—just trying to watch her argue with the stable boy.”

You slowly, silently sat back on your heels, covered in dirt, utterly still. Your hat slipped sideways. You did argue with the stable boy yesterday. He was treating the horses with such brute force you felt it unethical not too. Whatever could be so attractive about that?

“Y/n has no idea,” your aunt replied mournfully. “Too clever and proud for her own good. But he’s mad for her.”

“Do you think she suspects?” Jiyoung asked with a mock gasp.

“Oh, heavens no,” your aunt declared. “She’s far too busy pretending not to notice the way he stares at her like she’s some goddess carved from starlight.”

You were going to throw a rose bush. Your hand gripped your trowel with white-knuckled fury. Perhaps it wasn’t just the sun messing with you. Maybe it was the whole universe, above and beyond.

“Did you hear about the poem?” Jiyoung whispered—loudly. “He tried to write her one! Burned it the moment he finished. Said it was unworthy of her.”

“Oh, how romantic,” your aunt sighed. “Our poor Jungwon, pining for a girl who’d sooner bury him under a tree than kiss him.”

That must’ve been the only thing they’d let slip from their mouths that was remotely true. You would sooner bury him under a tree. Happily. With flourish.

And yet, your heart still swirled. Uncomfortable. Foreign.

You thought about it. You thought about it a lot.

You stood slowly, the ache in your knees forgotten as you stared blankly into the thick, reaching thorns of the rosebush before you. The petals curled gently in the sunlight, soft against the brutal barbs. Much like him, in some twisted, infuriating way.

Because deep down—beneath the smug grins and verbal duels, beneath the way he looked at you like a challenge, like a chess match he was winning—Yang Jungwon was attractive.

He was infuriatingly attractive.

He was sharp. Witty. A strong man, yes, but never cruel. Even when he teased you past the point of reason, even when he said things that made your blood boil, he never once looked down on you for it. He matched you. Word for word. Flame for flame.

And worse still—when you caught glimpses of him alone, unguarded, smiling at someone with real warmth, or speaking softly to the servants, or offering his arm to your aunt without a second thought— He looked like someone who could be good. Not just to others. To you. And you hated the thought.

You hated it so much that your hands clenched again, fingernails biting through your gloves.

“Stupid,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was meant for him, or for yourself.

Probably both.

You needed a walk.

Or a cold bath.

Or perhaps a lobotomy.

“There is something quite odd about her,” Jungwon thought aloud, staring at your distant figure.

You stood tall, tray in hand, lips pursed as you arranged fruit and bread on the table, utterly unaware—or pretending not to be—that you were being observed. Your hair was down, long and wild, bellowing softly in the spring wind, catching the sun like threads of true gold.

It was unwise, truly. To look for too long. But Jungwon found himself unable to do anything else.

“Good God,” Heeseung laughed softly under his breath.

“What is so funny to you, brother?” Jungwon scowled, straightening his back whilst pulling at his suit buttons.

“Perhaps your ability to profess your unweilding love for Y/n only when she cannot hear.” Heeseung chimed with a soft, knowing grin on his wise features.

Jungwon scoffed. “I do not—”

“You do,” Jaeyun piped up from behind a bowl of grapes, far too delighted, lighting up with puppy like excitement. “Every time she’s in earshot, you become a walking storm cloud. But the moment she leaves—suddenly you’re quoting poetry with merely your eyeballs.”

“I am not—”

“You are,” Heeseung said simply, pointing with the pear. “Just now. I watched it happen. If your eyes had hands, I figure they’d have written her a ballad and braided her hair.”

Jungwon’s face darkened. Embarrassment or bewilderment, he did not know. “You two are insufferable.”

“Ah,” Jaeyun nodded solemnly. “A classic deflection. Must be love.”

“You will both be silent,” Jungwon gritted through his teeth, adjusting his cuffs like that could restore his dignity. “You know nothing.”

Heeseung leaned back, smirking. “Oh, we know everything.”

Jungwon huffed. The movement was stupidly petulant, and incredibly embarrassing in hindsight, but then, in the distance, as he watched you tend to the maids’ children with such an attention-grabbing, charming smile, he wondered how it would feel to have you look at him that way.

Perhaps, with love.

You were moving in such a rush, you were so sure your body and soul were seperate. You figured your soul was floating somewhere above, watching in judgment as you darted between baskets and dishes, dress snagging at your ankles, hair already frizzing from the kitchen heat.

“Move!” someone barked.

“I’m trying!” you called back, hands gripping a covered tray far too wide for the doorway. You stumbled backward in the chaos, muttering a curse—and collided squarely with a body. A very solid, very familiar one.

You froze, tray still in hand, feeling the slow intake of breath behind you. Warm breath. Ticklish. Familiar.

“Careful,” came the low murmur, laced with far too much amusement. “You’ll bruise. We don’t want that, do we?”

You turned—awkwardly, unwillingly—and looked up.

Jungwon. Of course. You could only sigh.

He stood impossibly close, hair unruly from the breeze, eyes unreadable as they flicked down to your hands and back up again.

His gaze landed on your palm, where a small cut had opened, a tiny bead of blood trailing down the line of your skin.

Without a word, the playfulness in his expression immediately fell away. His brow furrowed, lips parting as if he were about to speak, but hesitated. The shift in his demeanor was so stark that you almost couldn’t believe it was the same man.

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly, his tone stripped of all the usual teasing. He reached for your hand, his fingers gentle as he examined the cut.

You pulled back instinctively, but not before noticing the seriousness in his eyes, the way his hand lingered, and the faint worry that twisted his usually confident features. It was almost… startling.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, wiping your hand on your apron as if to dismiss it. You didn’t want his concern. Not now, especially not with him so close.

“Don’t be daft,” Jungwon said, his voice low, now filled with something completely foreign—care. “You’re not fine.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asked, a small smirk playing on his lips again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hand was still poised near your palm, as if unwilling to let it go. “The next thing you’ll tell me is you’ve broken your leg too, and that I shouldn’t worry.”

You shifted uncomfortably, looking at the floor. “It’s a small cut. Really, it’s nothing.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened for a second before he let out a breath, clearly making an effort to calm himself. Slowly, he reached into the pocket of his coat, retrieving a small handkerchief. His fingers were deft, careful, as he pressed it against the cut with the precision of someone who had done this before.

You watched in stunned silence, your heart beating just a little too fast.

“Let me,” he said softly, as if apologizing for his insistence, but the warmth in his voice was undeniable. “It’s better this way.”

The kitchen felt suddenly too small, too warm. Your breath was shallow, a flurry of conflicting emotions washing over you. You wanted to pull away, but for some reason, you couldn’t. He was so close, his face just inches away as he finished tending to your hand.

When he finally pulled back, his expression had returned to its usual cocky calm, though there was still an edge of something softer. Something unfortunately unreadable.

“There. Better?”

You blinked, looking down at your hand, which now felt a little lighter. You couldn’t say why, but it did.

“Better,” you muttered, trying to hide the heat rising to your face.

“You shouldn’t just be in the kitchen. When are you all going to eat?” The furrow in his eyebrows only deepened, peering around at all the maids running around with bewilderment.

You shrugged, shifting your weight between each of your sore legs. You watched as his broad shoulders moved softly, up and down as he softly inhaled and exhaled the kitchen fumes, and for a soft, fleeting second, you found yourself weirdly entranced.

Perhaps he is a male-witch.

Perhaps you’ve been bewitched.

Perhaps, you don’t mind.

The wind was warm today. Which was a little weird if you thought about it, seeing as wind, scientifically, is supposed to be the latter. Maybe it was the way Jungwon was practically skipping that made it whip onto his face in a way that made his cheeks flush up.

Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t seem to get you out of his head.

He walked in the middle of Heeseung and Jaeyun, the chatter between the three of them flowing easily as they wandered through the grounds. It was a peaceful day—sunlight dappling through the trees, the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers filling the air.

And as if he were cursed by the Lord and Heavens above, allocating you as some sort of personal annoyance, there you were.

It wasn’t enough that you had somehow infiltrated his thoughts, wrecked his composure. No, now you had to appear at the most inopportune moment, right when he was least prepared for it.

There you were, laughing lightly as one of the children tugged at your sleeve. You held a small flower in your hand, showing it to the others with an easy grace, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for you to be surrounded by the warmth of others.

It wasn’t just the fact that you took care of children so well— children that weren’t part of the estate. Poor. Lower class. And yet, you entertained them as if they were equals.

You took the littlest one into your lap with the warmth of a mother’s touch, and handed it the daisy with such softness Jungwon had to do a double take.

The little girls’ eyes were round with awe as her tiny hands took the flower appreciatively, before she peered up at you. Eyes wide, filled with awe— like you were the most fascinating thing to grace planet Earth.

You smiled kindly, brushing the girls’ hair behind her ears. Despite that image you put up, you surely were soft at heart. With a pensive expression, you spelled out the word, “Daisy,” ushering the little girl to repeat after yourself. It took the little one but a few tries— for her confidence still hadn’t bloomed, but after she did it, you pulled her in the air triumphantly, watching her wriggle with soft giggles, before cascading her with prompt kisses on chubby cheeks.

The sight made his heart physically hurt. Like it had swelled with adoration just at the very sight. It was such a domestic scene, it made a feeling swirl in his stomach, coupled by his own fleeting thoughts. What if that were you both? He imagined. A girl, maybe. With your full lips and his sharp eyes.

The image was too vivid, too real in his mind’s eye. His chest tightened, and for a moment, it felt like everything was closing in on him.

It wasn’t just the sight of you with the children that had him so rattled. It was the possibility. The idea that, maybe, one day—just maybe—it could be you and him. And that thought alone was enough to send his mind spiraling.

And just like that, it hit him.

You were impossible.

You had always been this thing that he couldn’t quite reconcile. You infuriated him to no end—always sharp, always a little too smart for your own good. Yet, in this moment, as he stood there, transfixed by the soft, unguarded way you interacted with the children, he felt something unfamiliar stir inside him. Something entirely uninvited.

God, he thought, feeling the sudden rush of heat in his cheeks, how did she manage to do this to me His body tensed, his hands twitching at his sides.

Heeseung and Jaeyun continued walking, oblivious, their conversation light and carefree, rather detailing the intricacies of Jaeyun’s wedding with Jiyoung.

“Jungwon?” Heeseung called out, noticing his friend’s strange stillness. He gave him a curious look, but Jungwon couldn’t muster the strength to respond. He was too caught up in the image of you, glowing in the sunlight, completely unaware of his sudden conflict. It was maddening.

He sighed. He knew words would fail him. It wasn’t like he could explain the mess of emotions swirling inside his chest. Instead, he just swallowed his frustration and forced himself to move forward, pulling his gaze away from you.

It wasn’t enough, though. No matter how hard he tried, you remained there in his thoughts, sitting among the children, radiant in a way he couldn’t understand.

As if the universe had decreed he would be forever cursed by your presence, just as surely as the day he met you.

God help me, he thought. I’m losing my mind over someone who thinks I’m a nuisance.

“He’s a nuisance,” You mutter aloud, giving no thought to your careless words. Your fingers worked through her hair as you sat behind her on the marble patio-balcony, focused on the task at hand.

The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows against the so colourfully vibrant garden and the distant murmur of maids working on wedding preparations seemed to fade into the background.

Your cousin. Your sister. Your best friend since diapers. Married. Gone.

The thought really did not settle right with you— you were happy for her, of course you were, but it all seemed to be happening too fast. Jaeyun, though irrevocably kind, also had a knack for being quite daft, and for the two to be wed in such a short time? The words left for you to articulate surely weren’t pleasant.

But she’s happier than ever before. Even now, sat at the mercy of your nimble fingers, she buzzes with quiet excitement.

“An afterthought. Akin to a dead fly.” You continue as a gruff grumble. She replies with a short laugh.

“Can a dead fly attract the ladies as does he?”

You promptly smack her lightly on the shoulder, eliciting a short laugh. “What? Do I lie, cousin?”

You merely scowl, nudging her shoulder with your own as you plop beside her comfortably.

“You’d have to be a woman gone insane to find him attractive.”

Jiyoung raises an incredulous eyebrow at your words, and just as you open your mouth, perhaps to tarnish the certain lord’s name a little more, you’re promptly cut off by a series of giggles from the garden below.

Jungwon.

He was walking across the sun-dappled grounds, carrying five boxes of apple crates with effortless ease, his posture straight, shoulders relaxed. It was almost annoying how easily he carried them—each box stacked neatly, no visible strain. His white shirt clung to his skin, slick with sweat, but he wore it with that casual, confident smile that somehow made him even more unbearable. The maids nearby noticed him, their gazes following him as he moved, their whispers filled with admiration and a touch of longing. You could hear the soft tittering, the giggles. “So strong, so handsome,” they murmured.

You felt your chest tighten—familiar irritation and something else you weren’t ready to acknowledge. Your eyes followed him across the garden, watching how effortlessly he moved, like he was the star of some play and everyone else was simply a supporting role. The worst part? You knew they were all right. He was the type of man who could walk into a room, and the world would stop for him.

The worst part was, you hated how much it bothered you.

You tried to ignore it, turning your attention back to Jiyoung, but your mind kept drifting.

You had always been able to dismiss him as an arrogant nuisance—until now. Every time you thought you had him figured out, he went and did something like this. He was impossible to pin down, impossible to ignore. And you hated the feeling that was beginning to bloom in the pit of your stomach, a mixture of frustration and something else.

You looked back out at the garden again, just in time to see Jungwon flash that smile, that self-assured grin that was way too charming for his own good. The maids sighed as he passed by, practically swooning.

It’s sickening how attractive he is.

Perhaps he is more to you than a dead fly.

Feeling both happy and sad at once is an emotion you’d yet to discover. And now, stood behind your dear cousin, graced in the most beautiful wedding dress money could offer, your heart swelled with it.

Emotion is one weird thing.

Jiyoung was radiant. Her smile could split the sky. And despite the ache in your chest that had lingered all morning—some mix of nerves, and melancholy, and maybe a bit of dread—you found yourself smiling.

And then your gaze found his.

Jungwon.

He stood on the groom’s side, tidy in his formal attire, hair brushed neatly, face calm. His eyes met yours across the crowd, and something shifted. The air between you changed. It softened.

You smiled.

And he smiled back.

His eyes, usually so sharp, now filled with quiet warmth, crinkled at the sides, and his thin pink lips curled up at the corners. He brushed a hand through his thick, dark hair.

It wasn’t mocking, nor smug. It was small. Private. Real.

Immediately, you mentally reprimanded yourself and straightened your back as strong footsteps echoed against the marble floors of the church hall.

You didn’t need to turn. You knew those steps.

Jaeyun. The groom. The man Jiyoung was supposed to marry in the next hour.

She smiled widely, and you squealed beside her, before adjusting her veil hurriedly, but just then— a hush fell.

His expression was unreadable—stone-set jaw, eyes dark with something more than just anger. Beside him, Heeseung moved with equal purpose, lips pressed into a tight, grim line. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing off the outside world like something would happen— something the world would dare watch.

Jaeyun’s gaze swept the room before falling squarely on her. No smile. No warmth.

Jiyoung’s smile slowly dropped as she took just a step closer to him, as if testing the waters. “Jaeyun?”

“I was told,” he said, voice clear and cutting through the silence, “that my bride-to-be has been less than loyal.”

You could feel the words stab into her. Into the room. You could hear your aunt’s hand fly to her mouth in a gasp. Jiyoung flinched, her fingers digging into yours as she looked up at him, wide-eyed and shaking her head. “No—I don’t know what you mean, I haven’t—Jaeyun, I swear—”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. His voice didn’t raise. If anything, it got quieter. “I’ve heard enough. I didn’t want to believe it. But when Heeseung heard it from multiple mouths…”

Heeseung remained silent behind him, eyes darting toward you for only the briefest second.

You opened your mouth to speak—to fight—but Jiyoung moved first.

She took a step forward, tears streaming now, and clutched at the lace of her sleeves as if trying to hold herself together. “Please, you must know me better than this—Jaeyun, I haven’t— I would never—”

“Then why,” he asked, voice tight, “would so many say the same thing?”

Your heart cracked.

And then, like glass shatter—Jiyoung broke.

Her knees buckled beneath her. You caught her before she hit the ground, lowering with her slowly as she collapsed into sobs once more. Her veil slipped off her head, pooling around you like silk water. You held her fiercely, lips pressed to her temple, trying not to let your own despair show.

Tears brimmed hot at your lashes, but you forced your voice steady. “She’s telling the truth,” you said, sharp and certain, voice raising with the injustice of it all.

But Jaeyun had already turned his back.

At the sight, Jiyoung scream sobbed into your chest. The sound tore through the hall, raw and unrestrained, a sound so heartbreakingly human it made your heart stutter in its place.

You held her tighter, arms wrapped around her shaking frame as if your touch alone could anchor her. But even as you whispered her name, again and again, she only trembled harder.

Your eyes brimmed with ushered tears. One slipped free, carving a hot, silent line down your cheek. And then—she fell limp in your arms.

“No, no—Jiyoung—!” you gasped, shifting to cradle her, brushing the damp strands of hair from her forehead. Her lips moved, mouthing something soundless, her body slack, utterly spent.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sorry sight, and your tears flew much more freely now, blurring the edges of the world around you. Jiyoung’s body remained still in your arms—so soft, so heartbreakingly still. Her sobs had quieted, but her breathing came in small, desperate gulps, like she was trying to hold herself together by will alone.

You looked up.

And through the blur of salty tears and sorrow, your gaze found him.

Jungwon.

Beside him, Heeseung had already turned his back too, and expectantly, the two men looked toward him to make some decision—some movement, some word that might break the tension. But Jungwon didn’t move. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his eyes still locked with yours, but they flickered now—torn between duty and something else, something much harder to define.

You looked up at him from the floor, Jiyoung in your arms. Your eyes pleaded. Please. Don’t follow them. Please.

You slowly nodded no, words failing to leave your trembling lips, a silent begging, pleading for him to stay. For him to believe. Your chest heaved with heavy emotion as your eyebrows furrowed pleading, yet alas—

Jungwon turned his back.

A choked little sob left your lips, and you swore you saw him hesitate in his step as his hands bunched into fists. You whimpered into Jiyoung’s hair as panic began to settle in, but your eyes couldn’t move from his figure, disappearing into the distance.

And the church fell silent but for the broken rasps of breath of a bride that would not be wed.

Men are, in fact, disappointing.

You know it. Everyone knows it.

And yet, as your eyes helplessly searched for Jungwon within the cathedral, he just about proved your point.

It only sucked so much because you truly believed he was different.

You truly believed he was kind. A man with integrity, with a heart full of warmth and made of steel. And yet, when you watched him turn just as the others did—without a word, without even meeting your gaze—your heart cracked in a way you hadn’t known it could.

You sat curled on the cold stone bench in the garden, surrounded by the rosebushes that you’d always loved. Nothing seemed to make you feel better.

Your face was buried in your hands, your shoulders trembling with every stifled sob. The air was warm, fragrant with crushed petals and damp earth, but your chest felt hollow. Stretched. Bruised.

You hadn’t even heard his footsteps.

Only felt the shift of weight beside you, the quiet creak of the bench as Jungwon lowered himself to sit next to you.

Silence.

He didn’t speak. Not at first. He just sighed. Long and low and full of everything he couldn’t yet say.

You whimpered as you wiped your tears away with trembling fingers, trying desperately to smooth your features. To look strong. Even now. Especially now.

Then, wordlessly, you turned your back to him—just slightly. Just enough to make the distance between you feel bigger.

It worked.

Because when he spoke, his voice cracked like it hurt to use. Because when he spoke, it was no longer with pride or poise or wit.

It was just a boy. Breaking.

“Say something,” he begged, his voice cracking, thin with desperation as he turned to face you. “Curse me. Hate me. Just—say something.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. You only turned and pressed your face into his shoulder, finally, finally letting yourself fall into him as the sobs overtook you once more. They came from somewhere deep, and guttural, your whole body shaking with them.

Jungwon sat there, barely breathing, his hands flexing uselessly in his lap as he stared at your back. At the fine tremble in your frame. At the way your fingers gripped at his crisp suit as if him himself were the only thing keeping you anchored to the world.

Jungwon flinched like your pain, especially that in your voice had physically struck him. His arms moved slowly—like he wasn’t sure he had the right—but eventually wound tightly around you, holding you close. As if trying to protect you from a storm he helped create. “I’ll fix it,” he proposed weakly, pleadingly, his big hands rubbing against your back in a pathetic attempt to make you feel better.

“No,” You began, sitting up straight. Your fingers faltered against his suit, as you sniffled weakly, looking at the ground. “I’ll fix it myself.” You grunted, gruff and calculated. Your jaw clenched.

“I’ll kill him,” you spat suddenly, your voice trembling with rage as your eyes burned into the earth. “I swear to God, Jungwon—I’ll kill Jaeyun. I’ll use my own hands, I’ll—” You stopped, gasping through the ache in your chest. “I’ll bury him myself, right here in this garden.”

You spoke so passionately, hot with pure fury, and yet, you still didn’t have the courage to look him in the eye.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t scold you, or tell you to breathe, or insist on logic and honor and sensibility like you thought he might.

He just went still.

And then, softly—so softly—you heard his voice. “…Please. Look at me.” He began, voice weak with emotion and wavering with tears. “I can’t stand it. Please.”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want to let yourself fall back into that softness you swore to abandon.

But you looked.

And when you did—he shattered all over again.

Your eyes were red and glassy, your cheeks stained, your lip bitten raw. You looked like someone who had given too much. Trusted too hard. And still carried love in your chest like a burden.

And so he did the only thing he could.

He kissed you.

Not out of victory or pride or triumph—but like a man begging for forgiveness with his whole body. His lips trembled against yours, one hand buried in your hair, the other pressed to the small of your back as if holding you was the only thing keeping him upright.

It was a kiss that hurt. A kiss that healed. A kiss that said everything his words could not.

And for all you could,

you kissed him back.

You sat at your vanity, brushing through your hair slowly, the bristles snagging on tangles you were too tired to care about. The lace at the back of your nightgown had come half-undone, trailing like wilted ribbon. Candlelight flickered in the mirror, softening your features, making the furrow in your brow look less like grief and more like longing.

But the ache was real. Deep. Gnawing.

You sighed.

The brush stilled in your hand.

You missed him, and it was disgusting.

When you’d last seen him, he’d left with his eyes dark; jaw set, and whispered lowly of fixing everything. How he could fix a broken heart, you didn’t know.

Even more disgustingly, you were worried. Undeniably worried, about a man you certainly cared for far too much for your liking.

You frowned at your reflection. The skin beneath your eyes was puffy, your lips swollen from too many bitten-back sobs. You looked every bit the tragic heroine you’d once sworn you’d never become.

How pathetic.

You set the brush down. Somewhere in the still of the night, an owl called. A branch scraped against the windowpanes. The wind rustled the curtains gently, And then— thud.

Your head snapped toward the window. Another thud. More insistent. You rushed to the latch, heart already leaping in your chest—because you knew. And when you pulled open the frame, your breath hitched.

There he was. Jungwon.

Bloodied, battered, sweat-matted locks of dark hair falling over his brow. His shirt was torn, and a shallow cut marred the line of his cheekbone, but his eyes—his eyes were still warm. Still full of you.

“A hand?” he said hoarsely, gripping the ledge with one arm and eventually lifting himself the rest of the way.

You stumbled back to give him space, and he collapsed with a grunt into your room, knees buckling slightly before he righted himself.

His eyes were clouded with haze. And yet, still, full of love they remained. He paced towards you slowly but surely, a slight wobble in his step— and instinctively you reached out, arms stabilising him by his broad shoulders. You frowned, hands dusting over his face with such care he could only melt into your touch.

And through it all, he looked only at you, his eyes piercing into your own. The top of his eyebrow marked with a sharp cut of a blade, the plain of his cheek dirtied ever so slightly with blood, you frowned at his state.

And then you smacked him.

Hard. On the arm.

“You idiot!” you hissed. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“I missed you too,” he muttered, eyes crinkling despite the gash above one of them.

“You’re bleeding!”

“You should see the other guy,” he winced.

You didn’t laugh. Instead, your fingers found his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the mess of his cheek. You wiped at a bit of dried blood with the edge of your sleeve. He let you. Silently. Still as statue, eyes never leaving yours.

You should’ve expected it. Him to duel Jaeyun.

Jungwon was many things—proud, infuriating, endlessly stubborn—but coward was not one of them. And if there was one thing he couldn’t let sit, it was injustice. Especially when it came for those you loved. Especially when it came for you.

You should’ve seen it in the way his jaw clenched when you sobbed into his shoulder. The way his arms tightened around you like he was already vowing retribution in your very name.

But there’s a difference between knowing someone would go to war for you and watching them actually do it. And worse, he didn’t tell you. Not a single word before vanishing into the night like some knight of old.

Now here he was—half-wrecked and full of some odd, boyish resolve—at your window, lips on your palm like you were something holy.

“You didn’t have too,” Your voice wavered with emotion as he kissed the palm of your hand which was cupping his cheek again. “But I did,” He whispered with such softness the contrast between his tone and his appearance was stark. “And I don’t regret it.”

“Is he..?” You begin contemplatively, your other hand brushing up his broad chest to his shoulder. He looks away. You push his face back towards yours.

Those lips.

You have kissed them now, once before. And yet, it still doesn’t feel enough. Your fingers trace over them as he sighs warmly, pressing his lips against the tips of your fingers. His eyes bore into yours with such attentive demeanour it makes you dizzy.

“It was a tie,” He grunts, as if the fact that he, Lord Sim Jaeyun’s best friend and fellow soldier, didn’t just duel him for your sake. For Jiyoung’s sake. “I worked things out with them both. Someone orchestrated quite the lie against your dear cousin, and Lord Sim seemed to take the bait.”

You roll your eyes. Typical. “I saw that one coming.” You weakly laugh, and he chuckles too, as if an unexplainable weight has been lifted off his shoulders as it has yours.

“Turn around,” Weakly, suddenly, he commands, and you? Willingly, you oblige.

You give him a little twirl, a soft flourish in your step. You smile as he sits on the edge of your bed and admires you as if he’d never seen a woman in his life before. “I must ask though, my lord, why must I twirl for you?”

He laughs. Deep. Husky. Warm. Dangerous. “You needn’t if you’d prefer not too,” He begins, rolling his shoulders as the cuffs on his sleeves are adjusted. “But you seemed perfectly willing to oblige, my lady.” He grins, one hand supporting himself on the bed, the other motioning you to come closer.

Closer you go, until you’re stood right before him. Your breathing grows heavier as you notice all the smaller things about him you really ought to notice before— like the way his Adam’s Apple bobs with every movement, or how his legs are spread widely enough to welcome you on his lap.

“Turn around,” He commands yet again, and this time, you laugh. “Perhaps I want not to. What’d you do then, my lord?” You poke at his shoulders with a teasing smile.

“I’d do this,” He begins, spinning you in one fluid movement. You yelp. “And then this.” He pulls you into his lap.

You stop breathing. Because suddenly, you can feel him in ways you’d never felt him before.

You fuss in his arms, wriggling around through laughter to conceal the fluttering in your stomach, as he laughs, pressing ticklish little kisses onto the crevices of the smooth skin on your neck. You squeal, shimmying his large hands off you. “You’re cold!”

“And you’re warm,” He hums lowly into your neck, coupled with a sultry chuckle. That makes you close your legs tightly, an unexplainable fluttering arousing.

His hands dance over the intricacies of your back before they crawl up towards your hair. Large, warm hands toy with it appreciatively, fingers wringing around the burgundy of the ribbon you wore.

“You wear the ribbon I gave you?” He looked at you from over your shoulder with such sincerity it made your heart stutter. Suddenly, the ceiling appeared very interesting.

A large hand. It cups your chin, and faces your head towards him. He opens his mouth to speak, and yet, the words die on his tongue; as if struck by your very beauty as the moonlight shines through your wide windows. Instead, he closes his eyes, and pushes his lips onto yours.

You let out a little hum of both content and surprise, as he lifts you off his lap and you raise your hips, he turns you to face him. His hands, mottled in bruises and scratches, roam around your body with such quiet reverence for a moment truly, you feel special. Irrevocably special. That you are his, and that he is yours.

He lets out a low sound in pleasure as one hand pulls your ribbon off your hair gracefully, before stroking through your hair softly, as if one wrong move could make you break.

And as you just about manage to break away, still his eyes only find yours.

He chuckles weakly, lips kissing your now held hand before moving upwards, resting at your shoulder. He closes his eyes for a pause, as if nothing is as comfortable as being in your arms is. In turn, now it is your hands that brush through his hair. “Fatigued?”

“No. Just content.”

“Well, I am glad you are as happy as I am, my lord.” You breathe, a soft smile blessing your face. He cups it in return.

“This nightgown,” Jungwon whispers, hands toying at your back where the lace lies. “It’s ever the flattering on you.”

“So you say,” You tease. “Or perhaps you say this seeing as it is easy to remove?”

He laughs, the corner of his eyes wrinkling with amusement. “I fear you know me far too well, my lady.” He hummed appreciatively as he dug his nose into your hair, closing his eyes. “You smell quite so pleasant.”

“You think so?” You asked, fidgeting with the coarse material of his suit.

“Very much so.” He replied simply, a hand fitting onto your waist. The way his hand had sat on your waist was as if it belonged. You sighed, resting your chin on his shoulder tiredly, as he kissed your head warmly. “I figure perhaps you’re the one fatigued, Y/n.” His voice raised lightly, as if reprimanding you— though his tone remained soft, showing he was really just jest.

“Maybe I am, Lord Yang.” You clap back teasingly, and to that, he laughs heartily, before flipping you onto the plush silk of your bed. You squeal, hands flying to his shoulders to stabilise yourself, and in return, he kisses your cheek.

You didn’t ever think you’d find yourself underneath him. You, yourself, personally always thought you were always above him. Now it was clearly proved wrong. Your breath caught in your chest, your teasing smile melting into something more sincere.

His hair hung before his dark eyes, hazy with a cryptic look that made you squirm. He grunted softly as he rested on one side, propping himself up on one arm— just to watch you.

“My, you are odd.” You giggle, looking up at him with a gummy smile.

“Oh, really?” He challenges softly, his free hand tracing from your waist to your neck. Slowly. Teasingly. Like you could feel every atom of his being dancing on your goosebump-ed skin. “You think im odd, do you, Y/n?”

You, unintentionally and unconsciously, swallow on nothing. He picks up on it, a soft kiss followed after he buries his face atop your throat. It’s ticklish, and you want to laugh, but the sincerity in his eyes and the soft certainty in his touch made you feel only want. Raw, aching want.

He went silent just as quickly, rather staring at you with a longing look of love, his hand ghosting near your breasts. His lips were slightly, ever so slightly parted, and the tiniest trickle of sweat traced his jawline.

“You can touch me, you know.” You chortle lightly to hide just how flustered you are. You grin lightly, but when you look into his eyes, when you feel the severity of whatever it is he is feeling, it fades.

“Can I?” His voice breaks, his hands still ghosting above your breasts, though now daring to move closer just the slightest. “Can I, Y/n? Because once you say yes, I’m telling you, you’re stuck with me.”

Your lips part.

Suddenly, it’s very hot in your chambers.

You look over at your window, and then back at him. You swallow again, though this time you know it— in efforts of mitigating your now-dry throat, but it’s all to no avail.

Hot, aching need. You nod before you let out a tiny sound, a mix of a whimper and a wanting whine, and he sighs in a way both impatient and very much patient all at once.

“Words, my beautiful,” He chimes, his hand tracing your jawline. In one, croaky, breathy movement, you grace him with the words he clearly were waiting for. “Yes, Jungwon. A million times yes.”

And with that, his lips found yours again. It was much less softer this time, but all the more passionate. He moaned into your mouth as his free hand grabbed at your jaw tighter, as if you’d disappear the moment he let go. Still, he rested up on his other arm, and as you broke the kiss to actually breathe, you rested your forehead against his. “Are you sure?” He whispered, his free hand brushing your unruly hair, matted with sweat, behind your ears.

You could only nod, so clouded with lust and fatigue that even words couldn’t portray what you felt. You fell rag doll-limp in his arms, your own arms slowly snaking around his neck, as both of his arms effortlessly propped your back off the bed.

One hand held you up, the other pulled the strings bonding your nightgown together at the back. You merely threw your head back, and at that invitation, his lips made its way to your neck. Then they danced down to your collarbones, teeth grazing ever so slightly as he looked up at you for any sign of discomfort.

Instead, your eyes were peacefully closed, lips parted to allow your soft, breathy moans to escape. He sighed, pulling the dress down your shoulders, kisses tracing around your breasts. You whined, back arching ever so slightly into his touch, and in response he merely chuckled, lying you down as he propped himself up above you.

“So gorgeous, aren’t you?” He cooed softly, his lips finding your left nipple, and his hand finding the right. At the sudden movement your chest jerked ever so slightly, a long whimper falling from your lips. “Jungwon,” You barely managed as he hummed, looking up at you from where he contentedly rested at your chest. “Yes, my love?” He hummed, letting go with the lightest little “pop!”

You closed your legs and squirmed. It was getting too much now. Stickily hot and insatiable— all you needed, truly, was.. well, him.

“I need you,” You sighed, melting into the pillows. He raised an eyebrow teasingly, unbuttoning his shirt as you fiddled with the stupidly-annoying metal buckle of his pants.

“Oh, you need me?” His voice raised with amusement as you scowled playfully, slapping at his now bare shoulder lightly. He took your hand and kissed it instead. “You do demand me so, my lady?”

“Yes. I do so.” You huff in mock-petulance, before you both laugh, his larger figure leaning before you yet again.

“And you can do so from beneath me, I figure?” He hums, as his hand grips the base of his length lightly. It’s dizzying. You pretend to not notice, not even as he softly spreads your legs or pushes them against your stomach, and instead, you smile lightly.

But as soon as you open your mouth to say something, probably just as smart back, the warmth of his leaking tip brushes against your clit, and you moan almost immediately, head throwing back onto the soft fabric of your pillows.

You hiss as he rubs himself against you softly, up and down, slower, slower. You whine, nails digging into his back.

And instead of giving it to you, he peers down at you with a triumphant grin. “Hmm? What was that, my lady?” He teases softly. You breath heavily, watching as a prompt kiss is pressed to your wrist as he slowly pushes himself in.

The words you had prepared suddenly died on your tongue, replaced with a loud, sudden moan of his name. “Jungwon!”

He groans in response, throwing his head back as he pushes himself in just as fair as he can manage. Tears prick at your eyes as his tip pushes the boundaries of your cervix, a pain you’d never felt— but one you were seemingly prepared too.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, beautiful, I promise,” He whispers, kisses dusting over your face, even over your tightly weilded-shut eyelids. “We have all the time in the world, my love,” he hummed through kisses. “There’s no rush, hmm? If it hurts too much, just tell me.”

You cry out a strangled moan as your eyes roll closed at the unfamilar, yet incredible feeling. He sighs comfortably, one strong hand lacing into yours against the duvet.

“My lady,” he sighs, nuzzling his nose against yours. “So perfect. So beautiful. So smart.” He begins as he pushes himself in just a little, little more. You sob out, hands flying all around his back, as he lovingly shushes you, kisses pressed to the tip of your nose or the plain of your forehead.

“Would you marry me, my lady? Hmm?” He whispered, kissing around your ear, as if to distract you from the pain. “Would you like that?”

You could only nod, though now, your eyes could slowly flutter open; and could take him in for all of his glory.

His dark hair was matted with sweat against his forehead, as his broad, bare chest heaved with the energy of keeping himself above. “You’d stay a L/n, or you’d take my name? Hmm?” He hummed, pressing kisses to your lips between his words.

“Can I have both?” You weakly whisper, though you laugh, and he laughs too, slowly moving himself out. Then, he rams himself back in, and you almost scream, rolling your eyes closed as you practically see stars. You moan into your hand as he throws his head back in pleasure. “God, you feel so good.” He manages, voice wavering as his thrusts grow in pace.

You cry out in pleasure, the pain now subdued. “You suit ivory,” He manages with heavy breath. “You’d look quite exquisite in your wedding dress, wouldn’t you?”

You let out a strangled cry, burying your head into the pillows. He groans, rolling his lips forward smoothly, and you moan into the pillows uncontrollably.

“Oh, Jungwon!” You sigh shakily, your voice stuttering with the fevor of his sharp thrusts.

He moans in response, pushing your legs against your stomach just a little, little more. You both moan together as he hits your cervix again, before you find him again in a messy kiss.

Lips, tongue, teeth, all of it. At this point, it doesn’t really count as a kiss in the first place. But that’s the last thing on your mind. All you can think about is an unfamiliar, pressing coil building at the pits of your stomach, biting your lips in efforts to conceal your noises just a little more.

“God, I love you,” He moans, his pace fastening enough to make that very coil snap. Your body jerks with the movement and you can’t help it— you whine, the sound long and low, and he throws his head back as he feels you release around his length.

“Just a little more, my love,” He spoke between moans, and you sobbed from the overloading stimulation all of this was giving you. “You’re doing so well. I love you, my beautiful.” You took his lips onto yours again, and with one final, harsh thrust— one that had you screaming into the kiss, his warm seed filled you up, a feeling so fulfilling you arched your back at the very sensation.

He crashed beside you on the bed with a groan, as if the weight of his day had finally caught up with him. But then he turned toward you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you flush to his side. You sighed softly, burying your head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“Are you hurt?” you eventually asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper as your fingers grazed over his cheek. His eyelids fluttered under your touch.

“Nothing that won’t heal,” he murmured.

A beat of serene silence passed.

Then, with the kind of gentle, hopeful courage only he could muster, he asked, “What kind of ring would you want?”

You blinked. Pulled back just slightly to look him in the eye. And then you laughed. “Whatever it is you can afford.”

“My, do you mark me as poor?” He raises a weak hand to his chest jokingly and you laugh, voice laced with growing fatigue. You curled into his chest even more, though you weren’t sure that was quite possible, and sighed contently.

Silence.

The rise and fall of his broad chest, cricket-song, and silence.

You simply lay there in the hush of the night, bodies pressed close, breaths synchronising, hearts slowly catching up to the quiet. You stared at the curve of his collarbone, at the cuts and dried blood near his shoulder, remembering all the pain and rage that had passed through the two of you to get to this very moment.

And weirdly enough, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Then he sighed, fingers drawing soft circles on your bare back. “And what would you want?” he asked, voice barely audible now. “As a child.”

You paused. Thought about it. The image came so vividly, it almost surprised you.

“A girl,” you answered without a pause.

He blinked slowly. “Hmm?”

“So I can raise her,” you murmured, pressing your forehead against his chin. “To be the strongest a woman can be.”

He let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-laugh, and fully overwhelmed. “She’d be impossible.”

“She’d be loved,” you replied, eyes fluttering shut. “She’d never think twice about her voice. She’d know how to wield it.”

“Sounds like someone I know.” He smiled, the words brushing against your temple like a kiss.

You felt it more than heard it—the pride in his voice, the adoration in his tone. The way he said it, like it was the highest compliment he could ever give. Like he meant it with the very bones of him.

You sighed softly, your body loosening completely in his hold, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his voice low, soothing, meant only for you. “She’d have your fire. Your kindness. Your wit. God help me if she ever learns your temper.”

You laughed, soft and muffled against his skin.

“She’d be so loved,” you murmured, voice laced with quiet fatigue.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering as if trying to seal the moment in place forever.

“As are you, my beautiful.”

man i wish shakespeare was alive i xouldve rawdogged him from the back as a personal thank you for much ado about nothing

©VAMPZWON

[hoshigray]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐄 [& 𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲 𝑴𝑬] 𝐔𝐏!! | tōji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: It's bad enough you got a crush on your gym instructor, Toji; however, it gets worse when things become too close and personal for this relationship...But who says you shouldn't get a little praise for your hard work?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: personal trainer! Toji x fem! reader - explicit contents; minors DNI - unrequited/crushing » mutual pining - sex in a public space (gym locker room + showers) - shower sex - thigh riding - oral (m! + f! receiving) - ball massaging - face + throat-fucking - breast fondling + nipple play - against a wall + upstanding citizen + standing 69 positions - praise - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - cervix fucking - pet names (angel, baby, doll, dollface, good girl, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - unprotected sex (doesn't shoot inside tho) - overstimulation - cameos: Haibara and Ino (gym manager and employee) - the reader accidentally walks into the men's locker room (they're a bit dumb, forgive them, lol) - mention of sweat spit and tears.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.4k (i'm about to lose my mind, bro.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: mannnnnn, the way this draft has been collecting dust, it was supposed to be released on Dec!! ofc my first fic back would be for toji lmao. anyways, i hope you enjoy, and tysm for 4.7k y'all are so sweet ;;w;; and thank yeww @ramonathinks for beta-reading, mwah mwah

“That one was weak; do another three.”

“Gahh– …You’re such an asshole, Fushiguro.”

“Heh, like that’s anythin’ new. C’mon, let’s go!”

We’re counting down to the last weeks of the year, and so many people have already promised affirmations for themselves in the upcoming year. In terms of this year, you can’t say much. You’ve done your work, hung out with the same people since last year, and probably learned to spoil yourself more. Maybe another thing you can be proud of is that you crossed some TV series off your “get-to-watch” list, so go you!

Although, besides those minimal things, there is one change in your life that you’ve committed yourself to. One thing that you didn’t expect to be so in tune with throughout the past half of the year. It started as a forced challenge because your friend Miwa needed someone to motivate her to maintain her gym membership. What was once something you’d thought a one-time thing gradually became something you enjoy — something you felt proud doing!

Not only has your knowledge of your body and how to keep it in good shape improved over half a year, but your love for the community has grown more and more. The gym you go to feels like a second home, with many people you’ve gotten to know and befriend along your journey. Even the manager, Haibara Yu, practically treats you like a sibling after seeing you every other day. The same goes for the front desk associate, Ino, who is the goofiest goofball you’ve ever met (not to mention the best drinking buddy). 

But – if you really had to pick – there is one person who has made this experience more enjoyable and worthwhile. “Hahhh!! There, I did them! Aren’t you supposed to be my spotter, not a shit-talker?”

“I’m doin’ my job, aren’t I?” Toji Fushiguro, your gym instructor for the past few months, has been a driving force in your physical journey. With his help, you’ve been disciplining yourself in and outside of the facility, maintaining a good diet, and keeping your body active in a balanced fashion. The gratitude you have for him supersedes all. But above all else, throughout the years, the two of you have gotten pretty close and know a good chunk about each other to call yourselves friends – at least, that’s what you’ve been doing. “Alright, that’s enough lifting for today; time for stretches.”

Aside from a friend, there is something else you refer to him as – something you’d rather die than admit out loud. Toji, your trainer, is your gym crush. Well, your crush in general. 

Can you really blame yourself, though? Look at the man! When you first look at him, his physique alone is enough to keep you staring at him for hours and hours on end. Strong, bulky arms that look like they could pick up five treadmills in one sitting and with veins that decorate up to his forearm can effortlessly grab the attention of the normal eye. He’s wearing his black fitted tee, so tight that it was as if it was vacuum sealed to perfectly showcase the outline of his abdomen, ribs, and pectorals. And it doesn’t help from the back view either; you can’t count how many times you fell into a short trance from admiring his gorgeous back, from his trapezius to his waist. Every time the man flexes his biceps and triceps, all you can do is internally thank the gods for sculpting such a man to be in front of you. And those beautiful thighs and calves shaped from his black leggings and shorts? Damn.

But the thing about him that has you squeak more than a mouse are his eyes. Forest green orbs that can shift into a stern concentration whenever he’s working on a machine or when he’s observing your form and finds whatever needs correcting. Then there are times when they are mellow and soft when you’re speaking with him or when he’s deep in thought about something until you catch his attention. Then he’d throw a small smile at you — your biggest weakness. The scar on his lip being lifted to a curl never fails to put your stomach into knots.

He’s such an attractive man from the first moment you ever laid your eyes on him. You were bound to fall in love with him one way or another. It just sucks that it’s under such a professional relationship that you have to keep this little unrequited love to yourself.

Which is getting harder and harder every day, especially now when the guy is so close to your face when he’s helping you stretch. Oh, dear lord. 

Every time you are done lifting weights, Toji will have you do stretches. He has you do them before and after a workout as they give your muscles time to warm up and straighten from the stress you put on them. So now, as you’re laying on your mat, Toji puts one hand on your right leg to keep it grounded on the floor and his other hand on the back of your left to push it up to your chest. The position has the two of you so close, him being situated between your legs and observing your breathing; it’s so wrong of you to dwell your mind into other things – other raunchier things.

And when he brings both your legs up to your chest, how the fuck are you supposed to calm your heart from exploding!?? You have to close your eyes during all this to not be pulled in by the examination of his gaze under his raven bangs. This is, without a doubt, the best worst part of the workouts. Thankfully, this is the last workout of the week, and the gym is about to close within an hour and a half. 

Toji breaks the suffering silence between you two. “Y’re still stiff; take deeper breaths f’r me.”

Oh, if only he knew how your dirty mind took that sentence. You chew on your lip with a gulp, “Maybe I still have a little energy in me that still wants to exercise.”

That made him chortle. “Is that so? Well, maybe after your stretches, you can get on the stairmaster for a few minutes.”

You gawk at him, only furthering the smirk on his face. “Are you serious!?? You promised we wouldn’t do any cardio until next week.”

“Well, next week is around the corner,” Toji moves your knees a bit to the left, bending them further down to your chest so his face could be a little closer to yours. Your brain almost short circuits at the movement, trying to distract yourself from the fact that his groin is mere inches away from your shorts. “So, since ya got the spirit, be a doll and do a few minutes on the machine, okay? Five minutes.”

Your breathing is so slow that you’re too scared to move. Your lips pressed to a thin line to conceal the quiver, and your eyes don’t dare venture down. You already know your body is going through its own internal turmoil, a throbbing sense occurring in your lower regions the more you keep looking at Toji, who lifts a brow from awaiting your response. Oh, this man is going to kill me.

“…Five minutes.” 

“Atta girl.” With a scoff, he finally straightens himself and places your legs on the mat. Toji then stands on his feet and grabs his bag. “Gonna head for the showers; finish up those stretches and head for the stepmaster. See ya later, Y/n.” And you watch him leave for the men’s locker room, finally having room to breathe. Before you can conclude your stretches with a cobra and child’s pose, you grumble to yourself in a whisper.

Why the hell did I have to fall in love with such a snarky, gruff, older guy like him…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You enter the locker room after completing the instructed exercise. Your mind is dizzy from walking on the step machine for about fifteen minutes, and your legs are mere minutes from turning into jelly. You curse Toji internally for the insufferable torture you’ve stressed on your poor limbs. 

No matter, though; you’re finally done for the evening and can head home to your soft bed. The gym will close soon, so perhaps you could use the locker room showers to freshen up. But then again, after the strain you’ve put on your body for almost two hours, all you want to do is be home and listen to your favorite music. I don’t feel like cooking today…  

Further into the room, you can hear the sound of someone using the showers, indicating you had picked the right idea to head home. You head for the locker side to grab your items to put in your bag before leaving, and it’s then that you hear the water stop running from where the showers are. Oh, shit,  make this quick, Y/n!

In front of you is the locker with the number you’re familiar with — where you always leave your things, like your own spot. You open it only to find….nothing is in the locker? Huh? Where are my leggings? And my phone??

Come to think of it, where’s your duffel bag that you usually leave on the bench against the lockers? You’ve never had a problem with people stealing from you in this place, so how does a bag full of your stuff magically disappear? There is a bag in here, but it’s definitely not yours. And now that you get a good look, you start to notice that the color of the lockers is of a different, darker shade than what you’re usually accustomed to. Wait a minute, am I in the wrong—

“Y/n?”

You go still at the familiar voice. Oh no, please, God, no. There’s no way. Your eyes teeter to the corner as you ever-so-slowly turn to the direction where that voice was coming from. And, of course, it was your personal trainer, who is—OH MY GOD!!!

Toji stands afar on the opposite side of you from the showers, without clothing, his body and hair completely drenched from water. The only thing that covers him is a white towel wrapped around his lower body. His body, which you’re used to seeing being snug tight by his gym clothes, is out for you to see as water trickled down from his clavicle, pecs, ribcage, and abs. For a split second, you take in as much of the image as you can, storing this as it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in your mind (maybe to fuel more of your erotic fantasies when you go home). But you avert your gaze when your eyes travel down his abs, counting each one until you reach below his belly button, where strays of dark hair become more prominent with a trail down his pelvis and—Okay, stop looking, stop looking!!

“M–Mr. Fushiguro!?” You croak, eyes wide with realization at what you’ve just done. Your dumbass just walked into the men’s locker room without checking first. And to add salt to the wound, your crush is the first person to catch you in the act, “O-Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to walk in here! I’ll get going—“

“No, no, Y/n, calm down,” Toji walks to where you’re standing; a mini-heart attack was about to be deployed until the older man turned to the side to grab for something in his bag. He pulls out a smaller towel. “Ya walked in here on accident, right?”

You gulp, seeing the steam from the shower still leave from Toji’s nude body. “Uhm, yeahhh, I don’t know where my head was at. Sorry…”

The gym instructor scoffs at your apology. “It happens; must’ve been a bit light-headed from the exercise and forgot where y’re at. Heh, guess those five minutes did more damage than I thought.”

“Ahaha, yeah, it was…pretty….dreadful……” Were you distracted? Yup. Because Toji used the towel he pulled from his bag to wipe off the water from his arms and face. You couldn’t help but survey the man’s movements, watching the small white towel brush on his triceps and glide down to his torso. You continue watching the small towel until your eyes drift to the happy trail on his pelvis. Your breathing goes uneven, thinking of more indecent things that connect with the trail of hair and the limb that’s shielded by the towel around Toji’s waist.

“…–ou there…Y/n?” Your name said to you snaps you back, realizing where you are and what you were doing. Your eyes crawl back to Toji’s face, who throws a small smile at you. “Eyes up here, sweetie.” Sweetie?!? If the floor could give way and swallow you, that would be appreciated. “Is there anythin’ else you need to tell me while y’re here?”

No, I’m in the men’s locker room, so I need to hurry and get the fuck out! “Uhmm, n-nope, nothing at all! So…I better get going now. See you later, Mr. Fushiguro!” You turn on the heel of your foot to head for the door, only able to take about five giant steps before Toji stops you again.

“How was it today?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, what now!? You look over your shoulder. “Excuse me?”

“The workout. How was it?”

“It…It was, umm, alright, I guess. I feel like I could’ve done better on the weights.” 

“And why is that?”

Your body turns to have your front fully face him again. “Well, I mean, I was struggling at the last few reps…I’m sure you noticed, too, since you scolded me about it.”

He hums. “Ya know I correct you because, I know, you can do better, right, Y/n?” It was rhetoric, but you humor him with a slow nod. He brings the small towel to his head and dries his damp hair. “I’ve had many clients who come at me with everything they got or burned out before the first two months. But don’t worry, Y/n, I can tell you take pride in what we’re doing, and it’s good to know…” 

His words drown out from your ears. You didn’t mean for it to – you really didn’t. But while Toji was fixing his hair, you snuck more peeks at his body, enjoying his side profile. Admiring the way his arms move and flex, following the rocky silhouette of his abs that lead down to the towel again, you gasp at the dent of something that appears to be between Toji’s legs. Good lord, even with the cotton material covering him, you can still see it and—

“….Y/n.” Oh no, I did it again. You gulp with eyes venturing back to Toji’s face; the grin grew broader than before. “That's twice, sweet thing.” 

“S–Sorry, Mr. Fushiguro. It’s just that you have a...uhhh…” The heat in your ears makes it hard to concentrate on looking at the ground, anything to avoid your instructor’s gaze. “…..areallynicebody—“

“Hmm? I didn’t hear that, sweetie,” Sweetie? Sweetie!? Why'd he call me that? What you should be questioning is why that nickname made your stomach flip. But who are you kidding — if anyone had a crush on their instructor and were called a cute name like that, of course, they’d be as hot as a volcano. “Didn’t catch that, say it fr’ me again.”

“I–I said that,” Oh for fuck’s sake, this is so embarrassing! “You have a nice body…An attractive body, really…” The heat on your cheeks and ears is reaching heights that would have you combust at any moment. It’s what you’d hope for, honestly. It’s bad enough you’re stuck in the men’s locker room for not paying attention; now you’re here admitting to your instructor that you got the hots for him. God, please strike me here and now!

Toji says nothing after you say that, and it has your nerves at an all-time high, wondering if you should wait for his reply or just dash for the door and hope no one sees you leaving the men’s locker room. However, his voice breaks the silence, “I can say the same fr’ you.”

Oh, stop it. “Oh, please, no need to butter me up, Mr. Fushigu—“

“I’m serious.” He shuts down your argument down your argument before you can even finish. “C’mere.”

Why did you do what you were about to do? You could’ve just declined, exited the facility, and headed straight home to wallow away about this entire interaction, maybe find a different gym to form a membership with. But you didn’t. Instead, with downcast eyes, you slowly approached your instructor, who stood behind the locker bench. “Closer,” he says, noting how you’re about two arms length away from him, which you meekly decrease to one. “You don’t think ya got a nice body?” 

The adjacency between you two was too much for you, your face minutes from imploding. Too shy for words, you settle for a nod to give.

“How come?”

For God’s sake, this is not a conversation you want to have now with your crush instructor in the middle of the men’s locker room. “I…Well, Mr. Fushiguro—“

“Toji,” he cuts you off, discarding the small towel to the top of his bag. “Y’re over here tellin’ me I look good when you’re the one lookin’ like you could strike any guy that walks up in this place. Doncha think so?” 

Again, your eyes avoided his toweled figure, focusing on the tiled floor beneath your sneakers. “I guess, but…Toji, when compared to you, I—“

“Then that’s what ya shouldn’t be doin’, who told you to compare y'rself to others?” Toji brings a hand to your chin to make your avoidant peer placed on him, a move you were not mentally strapped in for. “I’m me, and y’re you, right?” 

“Right…”

“And that’s a good thing,” the hand on your chin slides down to the inside of your hoodie, his forefinger sneaking under the band of your sports bra. It makes your breathing stop. “But ya know what else I think?”

“What?” You sounded so low – so tiny – you didn’t know if he could hear you. He then brings his face close to your ear, and you could’ve sworn you almost felt your heart jump out of your throat. His free hand comes around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. The cotton of the towel now brushed your leg, and you could sink into a pool of embarrassment at the gasp you let out.

His voice was hoarse and low, the air from his nostrils grazing the skin of your ear. “…I think y’r body is the sexiest thing I’ve seen.” 

The sentence hit you like a truck, your heart almost giving in to a complete shutdown. “Huh–Ohhhh, wait,” Toji takes a nibble of your ear while his hand slithers your hoodie off of you, freeing your arms and covered chest where he creeps his hand inside next. You whimper at his fingers on your nipples that harden at his grinding touch. “Toji, wait, please wait…Do you really mean—“

“Mhmm, I do,” He coos, and a kiss to your neck nearly has you give way and lose balance; lucky for you, Toji was smart enough to have a leg between yours. “Now that I have you here, I’ll prove it.” 

“We’re—Ahhnnn…But we’re in the men’s locker room,” Toji brings his face up to look at you, your half-lidded eyes locked with his emerald orbs. “Someone could see us…”

Your worries are taken with a caress to your cheek. “Don’t worry about other people when y’re with me. I gotcha, baby.” 

“And I’m…Ohooo, really sweaty…”

“Nothin’ a shower can’t fix.”

And before you refute him again, Toji places his scarred lips onto yours, a shocked moan muffled as he kisses and sucks on your bottom lip. The hand in your bra now positions to the back of your neck, positioning you for him to deepen the kiss once you allow him access to your mouth. And once you kiss him back, all the reins of restraint have been discarded along with your hoodie to the floor.

The sounds of lips smacking get louder by the second, the passion in the kiss unraveling when you bring your hands to cup his cheek and have his face practically glued to yours. And Toji complies, shoving his tongue to tease and play with yours. The hand that was on your waist comes down to your ass for him to grope with the flesh, urging more of your sobs to be taken from him. Is it possible for your brain to turn into mush from a kiss? You’re finding that out now, breaking the kiss to gather whatever air you can before Toji claims your lips again.

The leg you’re riding on is nestled between your thighs, rubbing against the groin of your shorts. With every kiss and hump comes a grind on his leg, and it alleviates the growing ache that’s flourishing in your panties. Shivers travel up your spine and heighten your horniness, this elated feeling so dangerous that you could turn into putty at any second.

Toji lets go of your lips with a heavy pant, breathlessly snickering at his work; turning his cute client into a mess flipped a switch he’s been dying to indulge with. “Mmmm, y’re too fuckin’ cute, baby,” he wipes your mouth before letting you go; you hold back a whine when he removes his warm figure from you and steps back. It’s then that your instructor finally removes the towel that’s been shielding a now-discernible tent. The white towel meets the floor, and you follow his happy trail to meet with his erection, a sight that makes your jaw drop. The older man takes a seat on the bench behind him, and his legs spread out for his dick and balls to be ever-so-present and seen.

“Ya see how crazy you and y’r body make me?” He bites his lip, getting more turned on with you marveling at him and his length. “C’mere, angel, lemme see what you can do.” It takes a good mental slap to snap out of your frozen state and look at the thing you’ve been imagining all these months. Now, when the chance has finally been brought to you, how could you pass this up?  Following Toji’s command, you come close and go to your knees between his legs. 

The sheer size and girth of his length nearly put you in a trance, your eyes taking every detail of his erection before your eyes. Every dent and curve, the prominent veins from the underside, and the oddly pretty pink tip where bits of precum dare protrude from the urethra. Your raised hand has hesitance, yet Toji is quick to assuage your unease, taking your hand with his and wrapping it on his cock. The rough skin on your palm hitches your breath, “Hmmm, oh fuck. Yeah, just like that, princess.”

And there he goes again, egging you on with more cute pet names. Your hand slides up and down along his shaft from the tip to the base, and the sensation of its veins is so raunchy for your overwhelmed fingertips. Toji’s gruff hums to your touches stick to your ears the most, a sound you never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be lucky enough to hear. You want to keep hearing them, want them to be stored in your memory for as long as you can. And when you meekly tease his glans with a tiny lick, the hiss he expresses turns you on even more, so much so that you take the tip with patience and start to suck.

Toji throws his head back to the lockers behind him; the feeling of your tongue rolling around his girth as you inhale his cock is crazy. Fuck, it felt so good – he has to fight the urge to rut into your hollow cheeks and puffy lips. “Hahhh…Mmmm, damn….Ahahaha, ya know how to use that mouth of y’rs, Y/n. Keep suckin’ me off like that, and I’ll—Ohhh! Shit, shit, shiiiit,” he wasn’t prepared for you to take in his entire erection to the hilt. The tightness of your throat around him sends shivers, having to use the bench to grip onto.

You bob your head along his length, a hand accompanying the motions to further the exhilaration. Spit and come wet your palm, yet you’re too focused on the task to care, the haze of your brain increasing every time your lips meet the pubes of his pelvis. The jerk of his hips entails that you’re doing a good job, Toji bringing a hand to the back of your head when you kiss and lick on the head of his cock. You take note, assuming that it’s his weak spot, and continue to suck and tease the tip some more, massaging his testicles which almost had him choke. 

“—Hnnmph! Fuckin’ shit, I can’t…” Toji then has enough of this ribbing pleasure, unable to hold it anymore. With a careful hold on your skull, he stands from the bench and plows your face with his member. The harsh hit of his hips propelling his dick down to the deep crevices of your throat was sudden; the assault on your uvula results in your gag reflex; however, Toji was here to calm you down, “It’s alright, angel, breathe fr’ me.” He caters to you with a mediocre rhythm to the hips, the movement relieving the abrupt stress to your throat as you hum on his cock. You find purchase on his thighs to stabilize yourself while he plays with you orally, dialing up the pumps to your mouth until it reaches an erratic mood. Fuck, it has your head ringing, but the growing twinges and throbs between your legs practically excite you for more. Goddamn, it feels so good. So fucking good. “Jesus Christ—Y/n, I’m ‘bout to cum. Keep swirlin’ that tongue…Nnmmm, fuuck, right there, right there—Ahhhck!!”

His release comes with a few rough hits to your lips, his balls hitting your chin until they’re pressed against it. He pups his load into you, and you take it like a champ, letting the fluid venture down as the girth pulsates around your walls. His choked breathing eventually simmers down, giving it a few long seconds before he steadily removes himself from your warm cavity. The last remnants of his white substance paint your tongue, your saliva coating him. And with a voluntary swallow, you open your mouth again to showcase your clean change.

“Heh, didn’t even have to tell you,” Toji chortles, bringing a thumb to wipe your chin. “Good girl.”

KA-CHA! CREEEEK!!

Wide green eyes shoot wide along with yours, and the both of you go frozen rigid. That was most definitely the sound of a door opening. The door to the men’s locker room, where you are on your knees, in front of your personal instructor, with his dick out for the whole world to see. The blood in your body runs cold, and your stomach drops to the chilly floor. Oh, it’s over. It’s done. Your life is officially coming to an end. Welp, it’s time for me to think of a good suicide note when I get home and—

Pause on that. Because one moment you were thinking of your demise from this discomfiting situation, next you’re being dragged by Toji to the other part of the locker room, the showers. He swiftly opens a curtain and throws you both inside with a close, and the wet tiles soaked to your socks have you cringe, so you take them off.  

“Hello?” It’s a guy’s voice, of course — Ino’s. The young man is probably inspecting the male locker rooms before they close for the night like usual. You don’t dare speak so much as a letter when the footsteps draw closer to the showers, your heart rate spiking to a nervous high, and your breathing shallow. This is worse; now you’re in a confined space, face-to-face with Toji, who is utterly nude, towel left back on the bench. Your eyes locked with his, and your ears to the sounds of shoes entering the plane. “Anyone here? Saw some stuff at the front.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” your expression turns to sheer terror, wide orbs looking at the raven-haired man who spoke. No! Why would you say something!? 

“Hmm? Toji, that you?” Ino’s voice comes closer, in front of the shower curtain that shields you from his field of vision. Your heart is on the verge of dropping to your intestines. “You’re still here? Figured you’d be home by now.”

“Nah, I’m still here. Just about to finish up and head out.” Toji then turns on the faucet, cold peeps of water hitting your sweaty skin, panties, and sports bra. And, of course, it catches you off guard. OH FUUUUUU—  You don’t scream. You can’t. Instead, you shield your mouth and turn your back to Toji after giving him the most outstanding death glare of your life, which the older finds amusement in. You wipe your face from the water, cursing internally at this entire predicament. 

“Oh, okay, cool. I was just worried someone left their stuff on that bench over there. Carry on, and have a good night!” Ino dismisses himself and leaves the showers, and you exhale a silent sigh of relief. Oh, thank goodness…

Toji, on the other hand, sees your relieved state, and he can’t help but grin to himself with what he’s about to do. Moving closer to you, he brings his wet hands to your sports bra and immediately goes to fondling your breasts. A moan sneaks past you at the contact, prompting him to grope you even more. “T–Toji,” the water gradually gets warmer, juxtaposing with his cold fingers. “Stop, we have to leave, this is—Ohooo…” He tweaks your nipples with his forefinger and thumbs, and a leg sneaks in between yours.

“Relax, dollface, it’s just you and me here,” Oh, sweet Lord, you almost fell to your knees when he whispered to your ear and a teasing lick to your helix. “Got ya all to myself, now…” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, his wet hair brushing your cheek while he snakes his hand down into your panties. The way his fingers graze your clit again has you arch your back to him, another hushed shriek when he bullies his way between your folds. 

“Hey, Toji?” Ino’s voice again. Back to anxious stakes now that Toji’s toying with you. Goddamn it, Ino! What are you still doing here!? “I noticed you left your towel on the bench over there. But I also saw Y/n’s hoodie there.” Oh, fuck me!! Shit, shit, shit—"Ohhmph!!"

With quickness, you covered your mouth before your moan caught the ears of the front desk employee. And the reason for that is that Toji pulled down your soaked underwear and gave your chasm a sudden lick. If Ino weren’t back here, you’d give your personal trainer the nastiest kick to the throat you could ever do. But when he inserts a finger inside you, your aggression withered away in seconds. 

“Huh? Ohh, yeah, ‘bout that,” Toji stands back up and continues to finger you, chuckling at the sight of your trembling figure using the wall as leverage. “I saw ‘em before headin’ to the locker room. We talked for a while, but then they said they needed to change and told me to hold their hoodie for ‘em.” He says it so casually, all the while scraping your inner walls with the tip of his forefinger, summoning hushed cries that turn to silent screams when his free hand comes down to playfully pinch and press on your clitoris. God, this is too much torture for one night. 

Ino keeps questioning. “Really? I had someone check the other locker rooms, and she said she didn’t see anyone or anything except for a few personal items and leggings in one of the lockers. I’m guessing those would be Y/n’s, but where could they be?” Little did he know that you were just a curtain pull away from being found, chewing hard on your lip to quash your screams from the erratic swiping on your clit and the curving hits of his digits in your wetness.

“Mmmm, they probably are at another part of the gym or waitin’ for me at the front.” He lies effortlessly, yet his attention is still on you as he removes his fingers from you, the pleasure subsiding from the removal. Instead, he brings his erection in between your folds and humps you, and the feeling of his dick on your lips worsens the throbs in your awaiting cunt. With the heat coming from the shower and your uneven breaths, you’re bound to faint at any moment. 

“Ahh, makes sense. Alright, I’ll try and find them then,” you don’t say anything, just hesitant breaths when you feel the tip of Toji’s cock align and lightly push to your slick-coated entrance. Holy fuck, this is actually happening! Your lips quiver when Toji comes down to your ear to tell you to relax your body from tension, quietly maneuvering you by pulling your lower half to him. You do big inhales and exhales while the man pushes his cockhead to enter your cunt, wincing at the few seconds of pain that accompany each push. “See you later, Toji, and I put your towel on the hood next to your shower for when you’re done. Good night!”

“See ya.” And with Toji’s dismissal, Ino’s footsteps draw farther and farther from where you two are. And the moment you hear the locker room door slam close, Toji pushes the entire cockhead inside of you. Finally, you can squeal out to your heart’s content, balling your fists on the shower wall while your personal trainer wedges his length inside of you and stretches your walls. The girth was definitely something you knew would be an obstacle to accommodate, and it’s worse when your slit keeps clamping around the foreign limb invading inside. Tears begin to swell from the stinging touch, not that they would be distinguished by the shower water hitting behind you and Toji.

“Haahh, ahahhnn, mmmm,” Your wails seep out from your system right as the base of his cock kisses your lower region lips. And after a few seconds, he starts with a slow pace. Knowing that you can feel every dent and vein within you is insane to comprehend; the heat across your cheeks cranks up due to the euphoric sensations. “Ohhhh, my God, Tojiii. I’m so full…”

Toji pecks on your shoulder, “Yeah, sweet thing? I bet so. Just be a good girl and keep grippin’ on me like that, alright? Gonna start movin’ now…” His hips rut into your vagina, pulling his shaft slowly outward and rushing it back inward. Holy shit, it felt so dreamlike — having him actually move inside of you. But it was very much real; having his pelvis meeting the flesh of your ass was proof of such.

A hand snakes down to your clitoris, and a gasp leaves your lips at the brush of his thumb rubbing against it. Your legs tremble at the flick of his finger on your bud, and the pace of his thrusts crank up in speed, making it hard to concentrate on one thing. So many senses are being activated all at once; the shower water raining down on your back, the exhilarating combination of Toji’s dick grinding down on your insides, and the swipes and pinches on your precious clitoris. God, it was all too much. 

“Arch some more fr’ me, princess,” Toji gets up to push your back further down, the walls of your chasm clinging onto him as the more exposed opening gives room for you to be plowed. “Hnnmm, shit, feels so good…Hey, let’s try somethin’ different.”

By the time the last bit of his sentence could be registered, he already had you turned to face him, folding your arms around his neck. You didn’t know what for until he hoisted you up, and then you instinctively grabbed hold for dear life before your back hit the wall, your legs wrapped around him while he held you by the thighs. Toji brings his member back to your labia to insert it back inside, and you two moan at the contact again. Oh, this was different – never have you been lifted like this. And to be elevated by your gym crush, in this connotation, is enough to have you appalled.

But what made your breath hitch the most was Toji’s face being up close and personal. The bangs stuck to his forehead thanks to the shower water; his jet-black hair was wet and slicked. Trails flow down his face, drops of water plummeting from his nose and chin. And – oh, sweet Jesus – those green eyes of his, so striking as if they could pierce right through you. They were piercing through you. He took in your expression just as you were his, eyes filled with wanton desire, and it was all directed towards you – for you. He flashes a small smile, teeth peeking from beneath his scarred lips.

Oh, my God. You turn to the side to hide your face from his gaze; it definitely wasn’t the water that was making your cheeks and ears hot at that moment. But that didn’t fly with Toji. He sneaks into a rut that has you jump on his cock, the new position giving his dick an angle to hit your cervix. Because of that, the jab erupts a shriek you had no preparation for withholding. 

“Heh, aht, aht, don’t do that,” Oh, he knows he’s in control of this entire situation; you can hear it in his patronizing chortle. “Don’t hide that pretty face from me, doll,” he kisses your cheek and trails down to the crook of your neck. “Let me hear you—Aiishhh! Oh, fuuck…” 

Once Toji begins to jerk his hips to you, you dwell into a pleasure that you never knew existed. Toji’s length scrapes your inner walls like crazy, like a euphoric itch. The fact that you’re bouncing on the cock of your personal trainer is scary to comprehend. Having him see you like this, hearing you moan and wail for him, you never felt more exposed in your entire life. And also, him holding you like you weigh nothing and fucking you in the men’s locker room showers?! What the actual fuck!? This is actually so embarrassing – I could die! 

But why would you? The commotion between your legs feels way too good to bring this to a stop – you two are already joined in a union, so why stop? Every stroke to your slit sends a shiver up your spine, clamping onto him every time he brushes up on your sweet spots that make your nerves tingle. And the occasional jabs to your tender cervix? Damn, the stimulation was enough to have you faint with the heat growing tenfold.

“Mmmff, hoohhh, ohhhhh,” your cries are drowned out by the shower, only heard by Toji. Speaking of, this position gives you proximity to observe his expression. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes shut as if he’s in the zone. The huffs of breath he takes with every roll of his pelvis are so hot to the ear that you wouldn’t mind listening to them all day. Anytime the walls of your wetness clamp onto him, he moans and hushed curses at the feeling of you wanting him. He’s an attractive man, but, holy fuck, this was a sight you thought you’d never see in a million years. 

“—Khhhh! Hnmph, ahhhh,” Through the gruff pants, Toji opens his eyes half-lidded, catching you in the moment of staring right at him. You clench onto him; why does this man have to look so fucking sexy!? He smirks, “How we feelin’ now, baby?”

“Hahhh, I–I’m—Ohhh!! Fucking shiiiitt,” you cry out when he slams deep into you, making your toes curl, and your words come out in slurs. “It’s too muuchh, Tojiii, ughhh!! T–Tooo muuuuch…” 

“Ya gettin’ close?” Oh, yes, you were. You could feel it through the trembles climbing up your fibers. Your brows trench at the high, and Toji was mean enough to sneak a pinch to the clitoris without you noticing. Your legs tighten around his waist, and you shake your head hurriedly. He chuckles, releasing your clit from his rough fingers and putting his forehead to yours. “C’mon, angel, I won’t know what you want if ya don’t say it.”

Fuck, he’s such a meanie. You love it so fucking much. You mewl to him, “Pleaseee, Tojiii, I want it so bad!”

He lifts a brow. “Want what?” 

“—To cum!! Pleasepleaseee, I wanna cum on you, I want it—Ahaahhnn!!” Fuck, it’s coming. Almost there. 

That’s all he needed to hear, the grin on his face broadening at your response. “Cum on me, then. I’m right here to catch ya, princess.” His hand returns to your clitoris, pressing down on the delicate button to the point where all he can hear is your sweet screams of lust. His thrusts now get erratically fast, having you rebound to the hilt of his length, the smacks of skin slapping against each other fill the confined space of the shower. And the climb of your aroused high increases until it comes crashing down; you let out one last howl as the electric shocks course through your body, and your release is freed. Your walls squeeze hard onto Toji as you indulge in your climax; him pistoning his cock to your sensitive labia adds to the chilling sensitivity. Your cunt flutters around his cock while you experience your crescendo, your eyes screwed shut to enhance the experience, not aware of Toji watching you ride out your orgasm on him. 

The trembles calm down, the shocks subside, and your breathing descends into a steady rhythm. Throwing your head back, you rest your back against the wall while still in Toji’s hold, using this time to indulge yourself in this moment of clarity. 

Toji lets out a tiny laugh, bringing his face to your neck to suck on it. “That felt good, sweet thing?” You sigh out of breath, nodding to his question. “Hmmm, good. But ya know I’m not done, right?” Your blood ran cold, your body rigid still. Wait, huh? “I let you have your fun, so be a good girl, and lemme have mine.” 

The involuntary twitch of your slit should give you a clue as to how the news hit you, and you can't tell if it'll be him or the shower that will have you melting like a puddle by the time this is over...

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Haibara walks out to the front desk, where Ino hurriedly stuffs his phone back into his pocket, away from his superior’s eyes. Fortunately for the younger man, the older one didn’t see his device. “Hey, Ino, I got a question.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” The associate fidgets with his brown hair under his rolled-up ski mask.

“Have you seen Mr. Fushiguro and Y/n today? Toji told me he couldn’t make it for Monday night, but I haven’t seen Y/n that day or Wednesday.” The older brunette looks around to find any resembling cues, but his eyes see nothing that sparks familiarity. 

Ino blinks before answering. “No. And now that you mention it, I haven’t seen or heard from them since last week…”

Haibara leans on the desk and sighs. “Hope Y/n’s doing all right. Usually, they’d call or shoot a text telling me they couldn’t make it for their appointments with Fushiguro. But this is twice where neither of them show up.” 

“Hmm, can’t say I have an idea.” The other shrugs at his superior’s concerns. “I didn’t get a call or text from Y/n either, so maybe I’ll give ‘em one after my shift. Heh. Let’s hope they didn’t replace us with another gym.” 

With trenched brows, Haibara took offense to the younger brunette’s words. “Cut that out, man! I’d be pretty upset if they just suddenly stopped showing up here. Half a year of coming in and out and getting to know each other, only for them to just vanish like that…At the very least, they could give a call!” He passionately bangs on the front desk, giving Ino a startle.

RING-RING-RING!! RING-RING-RING!! 

The two froze at the sudden ring of the desk phone as if Haibara’s fist magically granted them a call. And by the exchanged glances they shared before Ino picked up the phone, they better hope it wasn’t the call they were expecting. “Hello, this is Golden Gate Gym. My name is Takuma Ino; what can I do for you?” 

“Hey, is that you, Ino?”

“Hey, Y/n!” Ino turns to Haibara, whose eyes share the same perplexity as his. “It’s good to hear from you; where’ve you been? You’ve been MIA for almost a week.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had a little accident and sprained my ankle; I couldn’t come to the gym on Monday and Wednesday.”

“Oh, shit, for real?” Haibara watched the younger man’s tone change to concern, which didn’t help his nerves either. “Sorry to hear about that, but it’s a good call not coming here and taking care of yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks. Is Haibara there with you by any chance?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s right next to me, actually.” Ino takes the initiative to give the darker brunette the phone to speak with the one on the other side of the line. Haibara outstretches his arm to take the phone and put the receiving end to his ear. “Yo, Y/n!”

“Hey, Haihai. I meant to call you Wednesday, but I’m letting you know that Mr. Fushiguro and I are still doing our weekly appointments.”

Haibara sighs in relief internally, giving Ino a thumbs up. “Oh, thank God! You two had me worried there for a second. We didn’t see you guys here and thought you’d be a no-show again.”

“Yeah, sorry for the scare. Mr. Fushiguro found out about it and decided it would be….Haahhh….best for me to do my regimine at my apartment instead…”

“Well, that’s nice of him to look out for you with your ankle. I’m sure he’s doing what he can to—“

“Ahaahhnn!!”

A sudden yelp pops into the call out of nowhere and completely takes Haibara aback from the phone as if it was so out of place for the topic that was taking place. Ino notices it when the darker brunette gives him a brief perplexed look, which the younger shrugs at. “Uhh, Y/n? You busy right now?”

Oh, you were busy, all right. You’re at your apartment right now. Your ankle? Absolutely fine, nothing wrong about it in the slightest. The only change, however, is not being at the gym for this entire week and staying home instead. Why?

How about asking your personal trainer who has you propped upside down, standing up with his hands holding you by your ass, stuffing his face to your exposed cunt which he licks and sucks on. The feeling of his tongue digging through your labia has your hips jerking, but his strong arms exhibit unmoving effort in keeping your wetness in his mouth. His pants down to his knees, and his erect length in your hand and brushing your cheek. This is most definitely not the at-home exercise that Haibara is thinking of.

“…Hello?…Y/n, you there?”

Oh, shit! “Y–Yeah, I’m here! Sorry, my ankle is acting up on me—Ohhhh…Fushiguro’s looking at it for me…” Oh, please, he’s not checking shit; fucker indulging himself between your asscheecks, ravishing your folds like a sweet fruit to his tastebuds.

“Oh! So you two are exercising together right now?” Toji nibbles on your vagina and grazes with his teeth, having you gasp and twitch. His tongue surprising your clit prompts a choked whine. “That’s good to know then! Alright then, see you guys when you’re ready to return to the gym. And tell Toji not to put too much on you, ya hear?”

“—Khhhh, mhmm…I’ll give him an earful for you. See you later, Haibara…”

“Great, see ya. Happy Friday!” 

And with that farewell, you can finally toss the phone down and coo to your heart’s content, biting your lips at Toji stuffing his mouth on your bare chasm; his muffled groans vibrate your lower half like crazy. “Ohhooo!! Ohhhfuckkk, I’m gonna cumm,” your words slur with a suck to your clitoris, your hips bucking involuntarily. “Lemme cum, Tojiiii, I wanna—Ahaaaa!!”

He removes his face from your ass with an exhale as if he was dying for breath. But based on the grin plastered on his face, he wouldn’t mind being in this position for a little while. “Oh, I don’t think so, doll. I don’t think ya deserve to cum in my mouth.”

That was the last thing you wanted to hear right now. “Ahahnn!! You’re such an asshole, Toji…”

He chuckles crudely. “That’s where I’m gonna play with next if you don’t stuff my dick in that pretty mouth of y’rs already. Suck me good; then maybe I’ll let the princess cum all over me.”

Broad strokes from his pelvis rub his dick on your cheek, a reminder of your part of this endeavor that you must partake in. The smell of him overwhelms your nostrils into a pornographic trance, your head pounding just from looking at it. You gulp and take the tip into your mouth, sucking and licking the precum off while your hands glide up and down his shaft. “Good girl, good girl…” Toji goes back to smacking his lips on your folds, moving his tongue in whirlpool motions that have you moaning on his cock. God, it feels so good, so fucking good. You can see yourself becoming addicted to this, and that’s a bit scary seeing this professional relationship drift to something more touchy and personal…

…But then again, there’s nothing wrong with that, right?

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by achumuchi + dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[oc-ology]

How to OC post without being an artist (or spending money)!

As much as I yelled about OC-posting, some people said that they struggled to know what exactly they should be posting. Obviously the answer is whatever you feel like but if you’re already aimless, that answer isn’t very helpful. Additionally, not everyone knows how to draw (which I think is an obvious method of OC-posting) so I wanted to give some ideas for what people could post for their OC! This will be split up into different sections.

Creating visual representations of your OC

Disclaimer: I will not suggest nor support the usage of generative AI. OCs are about creating something yourself, not allowing a computer to do it for you.

Outside of commissioning someone else for art, it can be disappointing and frustrating to not have any visual representation for your character. An easy way to get a representation of your character is to use Picrew, Meiker and other similar sites. There’s a large number of art styles, types of fashion, species, that can all be used to make your OC and that amount only grows by the day. Many of these websites can be accessed on PC and mobile and take very little processing power.

However, this can be limiting at times since you might not find exactly what you’re looking for, especially if your OC has a unique combination of features. For something with more customisation, you can use video games with character creation to make a version of your character. I personally would recommend games like The Sims or Skyrim as both have very active modding communities. This way, if a certain type of clothing or facial feature isn’t present in the base game then you can often find someone who has created a mod that adds it in instead. This does require you to have access to a computer that can run not only the game but the mods as well.

Another option would be using a program like Vroid Studio to make your character from a base model. This has both a mobile and PC version, although I will primarily be speaking from a PC perspective. The mobile app, while able to create a character from scratch, is a lot more limited than the PC version. The great thing about Vroid is that there’s a lot of user-made content that you can often get for free through websites like Booth, as well as many tutorials for beginners to follow along with. Again, this requires a computer that is able to run it. I would recommend against using Vroid on a laptop as it will likely be too intensive for it.

My final suggestion for character visuals is to take a character from anime or cartoons and simply edit them. This was actually how I first got into making original characters! You can recolour their hair or outfits with an editing program (with some free examples being FireAlpaca, Krita or GIMP) and even edit different images together to create something more unique. Please only do this with characters from existing media and avoid using fanart for this.

Other OC visuals

Other than just what your OC looks like, there are other ways to visually put together your OC. Moodboards are the most obvious example of this, but you can also edit other things such as putting together outfits for them or finding pictures of items they would keep in their bag.

If you have multiple OCs, you can create fake text conversations between them using a number of websites. These can be as silly or as serious as you like!

Finally, you can always build them a pinterest board. I am a massive pinterest enjoyer and not only can you use pins that others have posted to pinterest, you can add your own from off the site. 

Writing

Beyond writing out your characters’ story, there are numerous other things you can write. Keeping in line with what you’ve already written, you can re-write scenes from alternative perspectives. These can add context to what is seen in the main story, as well as flesh out background or side characters and their relationship to your other OCs.

Another fun thing to write is non-canon scenes. Write a beach episode! Write about a character getting sick and someone else having to take care of them! There are countless ways to draw your OCs interacting with their world or other characters that wouldn’t necessarily ever fit into the “main” story.

Next is genre changes. If you had to categorise the genre of your OCs’ current story, what would it be? Now image what if the genre was something completely different? Romance to mystery… Slice of life to horror… Part of the challenge is figuring out what story beats remain the same and what gets changed, including character dynamics! And of course… Alternate Universes. There are too many types of AUs to list but some of my favourites are superpowers, mafia, zombies, time loops and time-travel-fix-its. These are similar to genre-changes but often include a number of AU specific tropes. If you’re struggling to figure out the staples of a certain AU or what kind of AUs exist, there’s a really good page about alternate universes on Fanlore.org!

Other ideas

These are ideas that didn’t quite fit into the other categories.

First is music playlists! There are two types of these. The first is a playlist of songs that describe a character and their story while the second is a playlist of songs that the character would listen to. Some people like to combine the two as well! There are no rules to this, simply have fun listening to music and picking out songs that remind you of your OCs.

Second is incorrect quotes. I remember these used to be beloved by fandom and now they can be beloved by you and your OCs! The concept of incorrect quotes is that well-known and funny quotes from pop culture (such as memes or movies) get written out and your characters are assigned a line of dialogue. While there’s a website that’ll generate these incorrect quotes for you, I personally find more fun in coming across quotes organically while scrolling social media and realising that they fit my OCs almost perfectly.

Finally, ask games. These typically take the form of lists of questions or prompts with emojis or numbers next to them. People can send in the relevant emoji or number and you then answer the corresponding prompt. There used to be a kind of “ask game etiquette” where if you reblogged an ask game from someone, you sent an ask from the list to them as well. This way, it allows the game to continue circulating and you can spread the joy of OC-posting with others! It can also lead you to making friends within the community.

And that’s it for my post! If you have other suggestions for kinds of OC-posting then I would love to see them!

[odoraful]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋, 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐈𝐓?

content: sylus x gn!reader; reader is a resident of the N109 zone; meeting each other for the first time; suave and lowkey yandere vibes from sylus; 1.5k words

a/n: i know that the moon in N109 is depicted as being red in-game, but i changed it so that that is only a myth :)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Here to watch the moon again?”

A voice called from behind you, somewhat cavalier.

Your posture stiffened, skin prickling with goosebumps. Inwardly you cursed at yourself. How had you not sensed someone approaching? Your instincts couldn’t be that dull. You regained your composure, trying your hardest to compress your surprise. Finding out that one had been caught off guard was a fast way to reveal a weakness in the N109 zone.

You sat on the ledge of a tall skyscraper, feet dangling below. The scenery before you was a complex matrix of buildings compacted together. Telephone poles and wires weaved between tight spaces, lights flickering below. Whether these lines actually functioned well enough to contact others you were doubtful about. Though, it hardly mattered. If you were in need of help in N109, there was usually only one option—fend for yourself. Quickly assessing your situation, you concluded that this person was not here to harm you. If he wanted to, he could have easily pushed you off the side of the building, or struck you in the back before you could even detect his presence.

“Again?” you repeated, steadying your tone. “You imply that you’ve seen me here before, and yet you’ve never bothered to approach me until now.”

You leaned back on your hands, the concrete cold beneath your fingers. All you had to do was put on enough air of confidence, and it would grant you the escape you needed.

“Who are you?”

Turning your head over your shoulder, you looked at your supposed stalker.

You’ve encountered many different people here in the N109 zone, but none as deadly-looking as the man standing merely metres from you. His hair was a cool grey, combed over to reveal his forehead. He dressed in all black, save for the silver accessory pinned between the collars of his dress shirt that glinted in the moonlight. Hypnotising red eyes pierced through you, his gaze crawling under your skin. He seemed to be made of up sharp angles and intimidating arrogance. Unexpectedly, he wore a smile on his face. You immediately quashed down the thought of how attractive he was, his lips curled upwards in amusement.

“Just another enjoyer of the night sky, much like yourself,” he answered.

Your heart traitorously thundered in your ears at the smoothness of his words. Your eyes never left him as he walked closer to you, the heels of his dress shoes clacking against concrete, until he stood near your side.

“This is a spot I also like to frequent, you see.”

This time, you couldn’t hide your shock as he bent down to sit on the ledge as well. Your mouth parted and eyes widened slightly. How could he act so unguarded? He glanced at your expression and laughed, a warmer sound that clashed greatly with his forbidding appearance.

“What is it? Are you so unused to company?” he asked. You couldn’t tell if the innocence in his voice was real or mocking. Was he… teasing you?

“N-not at all,” you replied, more rushed than you intended. Your confidence began to slip away. Everything this man said felt like he was testing you. “You’re welcome to sit wherever you please.”

He bowed his head, exaggerating graciousness. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

The silence that followed was oppressive. You could hardly enjoy the night with a stranger (who hadn’t even given his name to you) sitting beside you. Perhaps this was some bizarre tactic to force information out of you. You would become so uncomfortable with the silence that you would spill every secret you had to him. However, as you snuck glances at him, you found his attention drawn only toward the sky. The light of the moon reflected off his irises, transforming them into a bright crimson. You tried to think of a conversation topic. Anything for you to know more about this strange man.

His question came before yours.

“Why do you come here?” he asked, eyes landing on you once more. “This is one of the tallest buildings in this zone, and the rooftop isn’t accessible from inside.” He lifted a hand to his chin, suddenly in thought. “You would need to climb up to the 40th floor, then scale across to the left hand side of the building towards the abandoned scaffolding. From there, you would be able to reach the broken ladder to get to the roof.”

You bristled uneasily. Surely it was coincidence that he recited your exact route to get here. He must have used the same path as well.

“It’s undoubtedly a dangerous climb, that only a skilled person could pull off. There are much more… safer viewing spots in this place.”

You paused, trying to discern anything in him about his true intentions. Besides for genuine interest in the slight tilt of his head, you could glean no other ulterior motives in this line of questioning. Maybe he really was just another person in the N109 zone trying to survive.

“Perhaps there are.” You replied, looking down at the streets below. After visiting this rooftop every night, you no longer felt any vertigo. “It’s funny. Those people in Linkon always craft such sordid tales about what the sky is like here.”

The words flowed out of you like a stream. You had thought about this a lot in your time here, relaying your musings to the moon.

“That it’s clouded with smog, unbreathable to even traverse outside. Or that it’s always raining, droplets acidic to the skin.”

If you had glanced next to you for even a moment, you would have seen just how captivated the man was by you and your words. As if he had found the most dazzling gemstone buried deep within the ground after hours of digging. But, you continued to study your feet swaying lazily back and forth as you continued,

“But, that’s all nonsense. They’ve never been here before, where the sky is absolutely spotless,” you said, wistfully.

And it was true. Your turned your head up, scanning the moon above. It was simply a regular moon, just like one you’d see in Linkon city. However, being so high up meant there was no obstruction from any other buildings. You could behold its fullness every night, savouring its white glow. It reminded you that there was so much more waiting in the universe for you. Maybe even unexplored places past the Deepspace Tunnel.

You expected some witty reply laced with mystery from your seatmate, but he remained silent. Curiously, you looked over, finding his eyes locked on you.

“Yes, those are simply stories to monger fear.” He sounded almost breathless as he replied.

You blinked at him. Evidently, you had said something that resonated with him. He cleared his throat, shaking off whatever spell had just gripped him.

“And I agree,” he continued, “I believe one can get the most clearest and loveliest views here at night time.”

You noted to yourself that he was certainly not looking at the sky as he said that. His gaze briefly trailed up and down your body. You drew in a breath, praying that your cheeks weren’t flushed as crimson as his eyes. Heat crawled up your face at the smirk on his lips. The man seemed content to reveal that ulterior motive to you quite freely.

Something fluttered towards the two of you, and a crow flew down to the man’s shoulder, cawing loudly. You jumped at the peculiar sight. The man clenched his jaw, seeming to be genuinely irritated by the interruption, but not at all bewildered by the large bird at his shoulder. It turned its head and cocked it to the side, seeming to analyse you.

“Unfortunately, my time here is up,” he sighed, pulling his feet off from the ledge and standing again.

To your surprise, your spirits deflated. There were so many things you wanted to know about this silver-haired man, and you didn’t know when you would meet him next.

“I will see you tomorrow night to continue this conversation,” he added, adjusting the coat around his shoulder.

You cursed internally again. Had it been so plain on your face that you wanted to meet him again? You pursed your lips.

“And what makes you so sure I’ll come back here tomorrow?”

Another laugh erupted from him. He had to restrain himself from commenting on how cute you looked right now.

“Because I’m quite good at reading people,” he instead said.

It was truly a shame he had to leave so soon. This interaction he had carefully crafted had begun so well. The crow cawed again, directly into his ear. Quiet down, I know I have business to attend to, he thought, scratching his finger against its feathered head to pacify the bird.

“Ah I almost forgot.”

You craned your head upwards at him standing beside you. Your expectant, doe eyes nearly convinced him to ignore all his duties and sit back down with you.

He tipped his head down. Greeting you once again, this time with an appropriate introduction.

“You can call me Sylus.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[dustpages]

PornMum 2

Six months went by and I found myself struggling with my daily life, my routine got too monotonous to be enjoyable and exciting, almost boring. I missed the thrill of my performing life, the rush of adrenaline knowing my fans would watch me in a new role. The way they would fantasise about me stroking themselves to ejaculate on their monitors. 

I longed to have my colleagues desperate to perform with me,  to feel their hands grabbing and kneading my body. I missed being the centre of attention, being wanted and admired by thousands of men and women. 

Nothing seemed to work no matter how hard I tried to get myself busy with different activities.  I ended up bored at home, questioning my current life and wondering if I had made the right choice by retiring.

The worst thing personally was not being able to vent my frustration and annoyance to my son. I loved him, but he was still too young and inexperienced to be considered my partner in the real sense. 

There were things I would have loved to try with him that I knew weren't appropriate for someone his age, and that made me feel guilty and annoyed at the same time. Not just related to our sex life but also in the most mundane activities like going out at a pub or shopping were complicated if not impossible with him. 

I've always loved him dearly and since we got to become bed partners, I got to love him even more if possible. But the crude reality was, that I craved more, not just physically but mentally as well. I needed stimulation and variety in all aspects of my life.

So, I ended up spending most of my days at home boring myself to death. Venting out my frustration and annoyance at him was out of the question, I was his mother first then his partner.  

Guilt and remorse were eating me alive, I required finding a relief valve before going crazy and ruining my bond with him.

Considering I had plenty of spare time I found myself browsing the Internet more often than not. A dear friend of mine, who had worked in the porn industry in Europe, named Cho Miyeon had made the news to be one of the first actresses to have opened an OnlyFans account.

I got intrigued and opened her page, scrolling through her posts and pictures. 

My jaw dropped when I saw how many subscribers she had gained in so short a time and the amount of money she made every month, not to mention how happy and free she seemed to be. She had found a way to balance her private and public life without the pressure of meeting deadlines imposed by producers or directors.

I pondered over the idea for the entire night and day. Could I do that? Would people subscribe to my content?

The answer was obvious, I had millions of fans following me online, and people would pay gladly to see me naked and masturbating, having sex with other men or women.

I didn't have to wait for scripts or schedules, I could create my own content. The idea thrilled me, it would allow me to have more freedom than I ever had before. I could shoot videos in my private studio and post them on the platform.

I imagined the thrill of being paid monthly for my work and having people masturbating on my videos. 

The thought alone of being desired and admired made my heart race and my panties wet. I made my decision that very day, I was going to open an Onlyfans account and let my fans have access to exclusive content, and maybe even let them pay extra for custom requests. 

The excitement I felt was overwhelming, I could record the video while my son was a school and post it by the time he got back. 

To burst into the scene of OnlyFans, I pondered contacting Miyeon to come over and have her as a guest star for my debut. I knew people would be ecstatic to see us two together. She was known for being bisexual, and we could shoot a threesome with a hot and handsome model.

I texted her on Instagram and waited for her reply anxiously, hoping she would accept my invitation.

The next morning my son woke me up with a kiss on the lips. I smiled and welcomed him between my thighs. We had a quickie before breakfast and he headed to school. I checked my messages and found hers waiting for me.

'Of course, let’s discuss the details.' 

I beamed in happiness and called her immediately. We talked on the phone for a bit and decided on the theme of the scene and that she would arrive in two weeks. I thanked her and hung up, feeling ecstatic at the prospect of going back to my roots, albeit not as I expected. 

For the next couple of days, I got busy setting up my profile and contacting a model to join us for the scene. I opted for a very good-looking boy in his early twenties with a promising future ahead of him. He accepted my offer willingly.

Once I had all the logistics sorted, I began preparing for the big day. I scheduled my son to be away from home for the day, telling him he had to visit his grandparents. He was reluctant at first but gave in once he heard I had a surprise for him if he went, I promised to call him later to inform him of my plan.

I contacted the model and told him to be at my place the day before the shoot. I wanted to test him before recording a scene with Miyeon, there were too many odds that could go wrong.  

At nine o'clock the doorbell rang, I opened it and was struck by how hot and gorgeous the model was. He had the je ne sais quoi that made him appealing. He bowed politely. " Nice to meet you, Mina."

I invited him to enter. " Come on, Manuel there's no need of being so polite."

I led him inside and showed him the room he could use to change and shower. Once he was comfortable, I proposed to grab a drink and have a chinwag before going down to business.

He was a true flatterer, praising me and telling me how much he enjoyed watching my movies and that he was honoured to work with me. I listened and laughed at his compliments, enjoying the company.

" I've asked you to come here a day before the actual shooting before I want to see how well we can perform together," I asserted. We've never done anything together, so I gotta make sure everything is perfect for my debut.

He smirked. " No problem here. It means I gotta have my way with you twice, just a fool would complain." 

I  chuckled and touched his arm. " Get naked, sweetie." 

He stood up from the sofa and peeled his clothes off. I watched his every move, admiring how toned and muscular he was. His cock was long but the most impressive thing was its thickness, it looked huge and juicy, I could imagine it stretching me wide. 

I licked my lips in anticipation, salivating at the mere thought of his cock filling my mouth and pussy.

Manuel was quick in disrobing me too, he took off my clothes expertly, leaving me nude on the sofa. 

He knelt between my legs spreading them wide and ran his fingers up and down my inner thigh teasing me.

"You are so soft." he murmured. " So smooth."

He lowered his head and traced circles on my mound, teasing my clit with light touches. I squirmed under his touch wanting him to dive into my folds and lick me properly.

" Please." I moaned.

He chuckled and stuck out his tongue, swiping it from my hole up to my clit in one swift motion. He repeated his actions a few times before settling on my nub and sucking it.

" Ahhh!" I cried out as he devoured me hungrily, his mouth and tongue working on me like a magic spell.

I reached down and fisted my hand in his hair, urging him to continue. He moaned in pleasure from the slight pain and increased the tempo of his ministrations. 

"Oh god!" I moaned. I was already so close to reaching an orgasm. I felt my body giving into the pleasure.

He sensed I was near and grabbed my hips pulling me closer to his face, sucking on me with more fervour.  

I whimpered and clutched his hair tighter, unable to control my moans. My legs began to shake and my toes curled.

He growled into my flesh as I started squirting. " Ohhhh!" I screamed out, coming violently into his mouth. My orgasm was so strong that I felt my vision blurring momentarily. He licked up all the liquid dripping from my slit.

My body trembled as he continued licking me softly, bringing me down from my high. I released his hair and collapsed backwards on the sofa.

Manuel stood up and positioned himself in front of me. " Are you ready to ride this beast?" he taunted, holding his dick and stroking it. 

I nodded eagerly, reaching out to grab his shaft. I leaned in and licked his head, tasting his precum. I opened my mouth wide and swallowed his length, sucking him hungrily. My hand reached down to rub his sack.

" Mmmmm, you taste divine." I hummed around his member, my throat relaxing and accepting more of his girth. He held my hair and controlled the tempo, pumping into my mouth.

I moaned from the feeling of his dick hitting the back of my throat, it was so thick that it stretched me wonderfully. He picked up speed, fucking my face roughly. 

My spit dripped down my chin as he penetrated my mouth mercilessly. His movements were fast and shallow, making me choke on his length.

" Fuck yes, suck me like a good whore." he groaned. I obeyed him and sucked him greedily, eager to please. My throat constricted around his head as he slammed into it.

He let out a strangled cry and released his load down my throat, shooting ropes of hot semen into me. I gulped it all down and licked his dick clean. He pulled out of me and patted my head. 

I smiled and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, removing the remaining spit from my chin. " How was that?" I asked him.

He grinned widely. " Amazing." he complimented. " You are a great cocksucker."

I laughed and kissed him passionately. " Thanks, now bend me over and fuck me." I requested.

He obliged, turning me around and pushing me on all fours. My body was still recovering from my previous climax and I knew the next one would be even stronger. I braced my palms on the armrest of the sofa and waited.

Manuel lined his cock to my entrance and pushed in. I screamed in delight from the feeling of being filled so deliciously.

 He began thrusting, pushing me further on the sofa with the force of his thrusts. 

" Ahhh!" I screamed as his length penetrated me deeply, my muscles squeezed around him trying to prevent him from exiting me. He didn't relent though, slamming into me brutally and hitting my G spot perfectly. 

"You're so fucking tight." he moaned, his breath coming out in pants. His hands held my waist, keeping me still. His hips slammed against my buttocks.

" Harder, baby." I urged him.

His thrusts became more aggressive and violent, making me scream at every penetration. 

" Fuck!" he growled, his cock pulsing inside of me. " You make me wanna cum."

" Do it." I demanded. He grabbed my hair, arching my back and making me go even deeper. He released my ponytail and grabbed my tits from behind, kneading them roughly.

I felt myself nearing my climax and I rubbed myself on his cock. " I'm gonna cum!" I screamed. 

His thrusts turned erratic. My body shuddered, my pussy squirted out all over his shaft and my inner walls contracted around him, my toes curled in pleasure. " As we agree, you are not allowed to cum inside of me" I made myself clear in the middle of a torrent of moans and screams.

He didn't answer me verbally but his hips stilled and he pulled out of me, releasing himself all over my back in thick white ropes of sperm.

I collapsed on the sofa panting. " That was great." I praised him. He panted above me, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

We rested for a while, recovering from our exertions before parting ways, he grabbed his things and left for his hotel. I went to my room and took a shower, calling my son afterwards.

"How are you, baby?" I asked. 

He sounded ill, he sneezed and coughed before uttering a single word. " Not so good mum, but I can manage myself."

Another cough interrupted him and my worry rose. I knew him well enough to understand he wouldn't tell me if something was bothering him. " Where are you?" I insisted. " If you aren't feeling well, I can pick you up."

" Mum, don't stress it." he replied. 

I  sighed, feeling frustrated at not being able to do anything for him. " Alright, I'll trust your judgment. Call me if you need something. And don't forget to take your medicine." 

He huffed but promised me to do as told and hung up. I stared at my screen with a mix of emotions, worried about him and sad he wasn't at home. I knew it couldn't be helped, but it still made me feel bad. I decided to focus on the upcoming day, hoping Miyeon would distract me from my thoughts.

I slept soundly and woke up early the next morning, eager to prepare everything for the day ahead. I made sure all the cameras were working properly and the lighting was good, I didn't want any mishaps on the first day. 

I had already sent Miyeon the script of the scenario, she had studied it thoroughly and was aware of what she had to do.

I dressed in the outfit I had chosen and styled my hair accordingly. I paced nervously waiting for them to arrive.

Manuel showed up first, greeting me warmly and wishing me luck for the scene. He changed into his costume and came back wearing only a thong. I salivated at the sight of his bulge, eager to have him inside of me once more.

Miyeon arrived ten minutes later, looking stunning in her outfit. She hugged me tightly. " Long time no see!"

I reciprocated the hug. " I know, I'm glad you could come." I replied. " I've been missing you." 

" Same here." she answered. " But we'll catch up after the shoot."

I nodded. " Let's get started then." I led them to the living room and explained the scene.

Scene is a big word to describe the three of us indulging in a threesome, exploring each other's bodies with hunger and passion. 

" Keep going, you are so deep." I urged. " Don't stop."

Manuel slammed into me from behind, his cock hitting my cervix every time he bottomed out into me. His hands gripped my waist tightly, keeping me still.

I whimpered at his ministrations, his thrusts were relentless and merciless. His sack slapped against my butt with every penetration, making me feel naughty and slutty. I squeezed his dick with my inner walls.

" Yes!" I shouted. " Like this! Faster!"

His hips snapped against my backside as he increased the speed of his thrusts, fucking me like a wild animal. He grunted in pleasure from my tightness.

Miyeon watched us avidly, her eyes shining brightly with desire. Her fingers played with her clit drenching her thighs adorned with black stockings. 

I had no idea when I started cumming, the only thing I was aware of was that it didn't seem to stop.  I came over and over again, squirting all over his length and my thighs.

" Remember not to cum inside." I reminded him. 

" Alright, I'm gonna use that pretty mouth of yours to cum." he responded. 

He pulled out my cunt and turning me around penetrated my mouth. I welcomed his length gladly, eager to swallow his load.

Miyeon came closer and reached between his legs, massaging his sack and stroking his perineum. His thrusts stilled suddenly. " Ahhh!" he shouted as he erupted into my mouth, flooding me with his salty seed. I swallowed it all greedily.

Manuel pulled out of my mouth and put Miyeon between his arms, lifting her and impaling her onto his dick. She moaned at the feeling of him entering her.

I watched them in awe, their bodies fitted perfectly together. She bounced on him with ease, using his shoulders to push herself up and down his length. 

His hands cupped her breasts and squeezed them roughly. She cried out in pleasure and threw her head back, letting her brown locks flow freely on her back. I licked my lips imagining how delicious her body must taste.

Her movements became frantic as she neared her climax. She scratched his shoulders and dug her nails into his flesh. 

" Yes, cum for me." he encouraged. " Squeeze my cock with your little pussy."

She came quivering in his arms,  screaming out his name. He kept thrusting into her, prolonging her pleasure. I came again from the sight of them, rubbing my clit and imagining being in her place.

Manuel lowered her to the floor in a variant of the missionary position. He drove into her forcefully, not stopping for even a second. He fucked her ruthlessly, chasing his climax. 

Her breasts jiggled from the force of his thrusts and she moaned loudly. Her fingernails clawed at his arms as he pounded her like a machine.

" You are going to make me cum!" she cried out, her legs trembling uncontrollably. 

He growled at her words and increased the speed of his hips. " Fucking do it." 

Miyeon came screaming, her muscles contracting around his dick. He let out a final grunt and shot his load all over her belly.

I applauded them and they laughed, still panting from their exertions. " Thank you." I expressed my gratitude. " You've been amazing."

They thanked me in return and we all got cleaned and Manuel bid his goodbye, leaving me and my friend alone.

I heard my phone ringing from the kitchen where I left it to charged. I had 14 missed calls from my father and a few from my mother.

"What the hell Mina." my father shouted through the phone. " I've tried to call you nonstop."

I  was confused and scared at the same time. " What happened?" I asked, dread creeping up my spine. 

"Your son." he stated. 

A chill ran through me at his words. I felt as if I had been punched in the gut, my lungs refused to expand and breathe. " What? Tell me!" 

" He has pneumonia." my dad said gravely. " Your mother took him to the hospital when he passed out in the garden."

I felt dizzy and disoriented, tears began to stream down my face. " Is he fine?" I asked. " I want to speak to him."

" He is sleeping right now." he told me. " He'll wake up tomorrow probably."

I sniffed loudly. " Tell me what to do." I implored him. " I'll drive over to the hospital right now."

"No, Mina." he refused firmly. " The fewer people are in the hospital the better it is for your son. I'll keep you updated on his condition."

I thanked him and hung up, sobbing openly. I felt a pair of arms encircling me and collapsed against them, letting them comfort me.

" Don't worry Mina." Miyeon soothed me. " He will recover. You'll be with him in no time."

I clung to her desperately, seeking solace and reassurance. Miyeon was a pure angel with me during the night, she cuddled me to sleep in her arms.

As the sun beamed Miyeon drove me to the hospital, I couldn't bear to be apart from my son anymore. We entered the room and found him sleeping, looking pale and frail.

My father stood up from his chair. " Go ahead." he told me, offering me the seat. 

I sat next to the bed and took my baby's hand in mine. " I love you." I whispered in his ear. " Always remember that."

My mother joined us in the room shortly after. She brought breakfast for everyone and we ate in silence. 

After a while, my son opened his eyes slightly, smiling at seeing me next to him. I kissed his forehead and caressed his cheeks.

" Hi, mum." he croaked weakly. I shushed him, telling him to save his energy.

" Hopefully your last 24 hours have been more fun than mine." he commented with a dark huff, noticing Miyeon.

I chuckled. " Well, it depends on how you define fun." I answered mysteriously. " Do you want to meet my friend?"

" You are making him speak too much, leave the room." my mother reprimanded me. 

Shamefaced, I left the room along with Miyeon, who was amused by the situation. We chatted for a bit and eventually, she said goodbye to me, promising to keep in touch.

I returned to my son's room, sitting next to him and talking softly with him, careful not to exhaust him. He was discharged from the hospital two days later. We returned home and he was confined to his bed for a week.

I spoiled him rotten, doing whatever it took to make him feel better. 

One afternoon he woke up and found me scrolling through my phone, I had taken him in my bed to stay close to him. He looked at me curiously. " What are all these notifications about?"

I had uploaded the video of the threesome on my OnlyFans and since then my phone has been bombarded with notifications and messages.

" Just some fans." I dismissed him. 

He looked unconvinced at my answer. " Give me your phone." he demanded.

 I handed him my mobile and he unlocked it. " Why do you have this app?" he questioned me, referring to the Onlyfans icon.

He tapped on it, opening the app,  his eyes widening in surprise. " You made an Onlyfans account."

I was caught red-handed, I hadn't anticipated that he would be interested in my phone and check on my apps.

" That's correct." I affirmed. 

He browsed the app focusing on the comments sections.  I winced inwardly knowing they would be explicit. I could read the surprise in his eyes when he scrolled through the comments. 

" These guys want to fuck you." he concluded. 

I laughed at his statement. " That's the main purpose of the app."

" So why are you on it?"

I took a deep breath, preparing for a fight. " I got bored staying home and doing nothing all day." I explained. " This allows me to perform without the pressure of a director or producer."

He closed the app and looked at me gravely. " Have you shot scenes already?" he asked me, sounding hurt.

I nodded in affirmation, not daring to look at him. He sighed deeply and rolled out of the bed.

 " I'm delusional." he affirmed. 

"  Why?" I asked confused.

" Because I thought I could be enough for you." he answered.

" Baby, you are enough for me, this doesn't change anything between us." I assured him. 

He scoffed at my words. " You just said that you got bored." he argued. " So obviously you needed something else."

" It's different." I defended myself.

" Dicks, money, visibility on the internet." he listed. " All the same as before, you just do it on your own without the control of a production, of doctors, agents and managers." he concluded.

His words stabbed me in the heart, he had nailed it on the spot. I was seeking attention and adoration putting my body on display to anyone willing to pay for it.

" Maybe." I agreed. " I wanted to experience something different." 

He shook his head, disappointment evident in his expression. " You never listen to me. You do what you want regardless of my opinion." 

I sighed, feeling defeated. I realized that he was right, I had acted selfishly not caring about his feelings.

" What do you want me to do?" I asked. " Delete the account?"

He coughed deeply, wincing from the effort. "T-the account isn't the actual problem." he acknowledged. " You are more talented than selling videos and photos to strangers." 

I had never seen him so serious with me. It made me feel awful to know I was the cause of his sadness. 

"I'll do what you say." I promised, willing to fix my mistake.

" It's not about me making decisions for you, we are family and family comes first." he asserted. " You have an angelic voice when you moan, you could be a decent singer if only you would."

I blushed, he had a point on that. " Are you suggesting to use my fanbase to start a music career?" I asked.

He shrugged. " At least you wouldn't sell your body."

I chewed on my bottom lip, pondering his suggestion. " I could begin uploading cover videos of my favourite songs on YouTube."

" Indeed. You will have the acclamation and recognition of your fans, closing a chapter of your life and pursuing a new adventure." he resonated.

I looked at him fondly. " Baby, you should be proud of your intelligence."

He smiled at my words, his eyes shining in amusement. " I am your partner, remember?" he teased. "I must support you."

I chuckled. " Come here." I spread my arms and pressed him to my bosom.

"I love you." he whispered against my skin. 

" And I love you too." I confirmed, running my fingers through his hair. " More than anything." 

" I've been longing to take you for too many days now." he asserted with a voice full of lust. 

 I giggled at his confession, feeling the heat of his arousal pressing against my thigh. I slipped my hand under his boxers and caressed his growing cock, he groaned at my touch.

"You'll have to wait until you recover fully." I denied him.

 " Your honey will cure all my illness." he taunted me.  " Besides, I've been fantasizing about fucking your throat for far too long now." 

My pussy clenched at his words, I loved hearing him dirty talk. He reached between my legs and pushed my panties aside. " You are wet, aren't you?" he murmured. 

I nodded, my cheeks flushed from his ministration. He slid two fingers inside of me, making me shiver in pleasure. 

" Beg me." he ordered. His finger reached my G spot, making me squeal from the sensitivity.

" Please, baby." I moaned.

His hand withdrew from my body and he smirked at me, showing me my juices coating his fingers. " Say it properly." 

I whimpered at the loss of his touch. " Please, I want you to fuck me."

He pushed his fingers back and pumped in earnest. " That's what I wanted to hear." 

His digits curled and assaulted my G-spot, making my muscles contract around them. I cried out in delight, my body trembled from the pleasure.

" You are a naughty girl aren't you?" he taunted. His fingers stilled for a few seconds before resuming their assault. " Cum for me."

I sobbed, unable to control my climax, I felt myself falling over the edge of ecstasy. I came hard around his fingers, soaking his palm.

He removed his hand from my cunt and sucked on his fingers greedily. " Mmmm." he praised my flavour. " You taste divine."

I watched him lick my juices and I shivered at the thought of him eating my pussy. He noticed my gaze. " Do you wish me to eat your pussy?" he questioned.

I nodded vigorously. " Yes."

" Then spread your legs for me." he ordered me. 

I hastened to comply, pushing my thighs apart. He positioned himself between them and lowered his mouth to my slit, inhaling deeply and devouring me hungrily. His tongue swiped my entrance up to my clit and flicked it softly.

My thighs trembled at the intensity of his ministration, his tongue was gentle but firm at the same time, sending sparks of electricity down my spine and heating my blood.

"Ahhh!" I moaned, clutching the sheets tightly. My hips lifted on their own accord, eager for more of his tongue.

His fingers parted my folds wider and he attacked my clit furiously, sucking and licking it relentlessly. My toes curled from the pleasure and my nipples pebbled.

I was already close to my climax when he stopped torturing my bud and plunged his tongue inside of me. I keened loudly at the sensation of him penetrating me with his tongue. 

He fucked me with his mouth, laving my insides and lapping at my juices. My pussy clenched around his tongue, trying to prevent it from exiting me.

His finger replaced his tongue, plunging into me and finding my G spot once more. He assaulted it without mercy, making me scream in pleasure.

I came again, my vision blurred and my muscles tensed up. I lost count of how many times he made me climax, all I knew was that my pussy was sore and sensitive but eager for more of him.

When I opened my eyes, he was standing before me with his boxers on the floor and his erection proudly in front of my face. I reached out and licked his length tentatively, tasting the saltiness of his precum.

He caressed my cheeks. " Do you want it done nicely or brutally?" he questioned.  

I smiled widely, feeling mischievous. " Brutally." I opted for the second option.

He laughed at my choice. " Open your mouth wide." he instructed.

I did as told and he pushed into me until his length hit the back of my throat. " Swallow me." he commanded, pushing deeper.

I gagged slightly at the sudden intrusion but he didn't stop. He grabbed my hair and fucked my mouth roughly, his balls hitting my nose. Tears streamed down my face and saliva dribbled from my chin, I struggled to accommodate him.

" Good god, Mina.” he praised. " Take all of me." 

He rammed into me without care, his thrusts becoming more vicious every time he penetrated my throat. I gagged loudly, unable to breathe properly. 

He slapped my cheeks lightly. " Breathe through your nose." he advised.

I took a lungful of air and exhaled slowly, managing to calm myself. He held my head still and fucked my mouth mercilessly, his balls slapping my nose. I felt him pulsing inside of me and tasted his precum dripping into my mouth.

" I'm gonna cum." he announced.

I prepared myself for the torrent of sperm that would flood my mouth soon. He shoved me deeper into his groin and released his seed into me. I swallowed greedily, eager to taste him. His cum was salty and delicious, I drank him like a thirsty man in the desert. 

His thrusts stilled as he emptied himself inside of me completely. I licked his length clean and he pulled out of my mouth gently. 

I lay on the bed exhausted, he lay beside me and cuddled me tightly. " How was it?" I asked.

" Perfect." he purred satisfied. " You are such a good girl, swallowing me like that." he complimented. 

I smiled at his words. " You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." I confessed. 

He snuggled against me and whispered in my ear. " I love you."

I reciprocated his sentiment, holding him tighter. I had found my haven and safe space within his arms and was determined never to let him go.

" Brace yourself, baby, I'll ride you like in a rodeo." I straddled him and sunk onto his erection. 

He gripped my hips and pulled me down on his length, impaling me fully. I gasped from the feeling of being split open. He slapped my ass and ordered. " Move."

I lifted my body and sank back down slowly, adjusting to his size. My pussy adjusted slowly to his thickness and I began riding him faster. 

"You like that huh?" I panted, feeling exhilarating pleasure from having him fill me.

He grunted in response, too focused on fucking me to be able to answer verbally. He held me steady and pistoned into me furiously. My tits bounced wildly with every thrust.

" Yes! Like that." I cried. My body shuddered from the strength of my climax. My orgasm was powerful and intense, it made my limbs tremble and my mind went blank.

My muscles contracted around his length, squeezing him deliciously. He let out a strangled groan from my tightness and I felt his hot seed coating my insides. 

We came down from our highs slowly, holding each other and exchanging kisses and sweet whispers. 

This was the beginning of a new era for us. I knew we still had plenty of hurdles to overcome, but I was sure we would face them together and emerge victorious.

[mxchibomb]

content. mdni 18+

gamer head ! idia shroud

video game lover !! we should 👾👾💎 with each other !!

 the room was dark. the only things that were providing any light would be his trinkets and his large pc screen. his thumbs loudly jammed down aggressively on his custom controller, his back hunched in his chair. you came to visit him but clearly he had been.. busy. you've been sat on his bed for the last hour, waiting for the game to end but he passed level by level by level and it didn't look like he was planning to stop. standing up to walk behind his chair, you wrapped your hands around the back of it to play with idia's sweatshirt zipper. his cold skin turned hot as you slowly slid your hands underneath the fabric, zipping the material down just enough for you hands to make it to the naked chest he had underneath.

 "h-hey! go fool around somewhere else! i gotta finish this!" he grumbled, face turning a soft pink as he tried to wiggle out of your hold, eyes never tearing away from the screen. you frowned and took your hands off of him, crossing them over your chest in slight annoyance. eventually a light bulb sparked above your head. why wait when you could take matters into your own hands?

 underneath the large desk, there was just enough space for someone to fit through it. you crawled, knees sliding against the short carpet floor as you wiggled into the spot where his knees met your chest. with a playful waggle of your fingers on his knees, he shrieked loudly as you tore open his legs enough for you to fit in between them.

 "w-what are you doing?! you're gonna mess me up!" his eyes were wide and his eyebrows were raised, surprise evident on his usually tired face. with a mischievous smile, you didn't explain yourself. instead you nuzzled your face in between his thighs to press feather light kisses against the bulge in his thin, skull printed pajama pants. he wasn't wearing underwear, he usually didn't in the comfort of his own home. they were restricting, in his opinion. you could see him shiver in his chair, watching as it hit every nerve of his spine on the way up. his throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, spewing noisy complaints down at you. but your ears clogged at the enjoyment of his tempting already semi hard cock in front of your face. your tongue dipped out of your mouth, running along the side of his clothed cock until you met the tip.

 he figured he'd just ignore you, you weren't listening anyways but one of his thighs began to bounce up and down nervously and a series of pants left his mouth. wet spots began forming on the front of his pants as your tongue coaxed his cock to reveal its fully hardened form. it stood at attention, once cozy in his pajama pants and now poking upwards in an impressive curve. and he was *big*. long. the thought of it in your mouth alone made you salivate. jt made your panties begin to stick to your now soaking cunt, your slick dripping out of your hole and into the cotton. with eager hands, you began tugging at the waistband of his pajama pants.

 "wait! don't-" his ears burned hot red and he could barely focus, anxiety sitting in the pit of his stomach. but he wasn't even sure if it was because of the possibility of slipping up and ruining the level or the pretty girl between his legs.. or both. he felt like he couldn't breath, eyes squeezing shut momentarily. he whimpered quietly when cold air hit his midsection and his cock flung back against his stomach. he took a misstep in his game, almost dropping his controller.

 with a hum, your hands took his hard cock into your hands, your warm fingers wrapping around the base and squeezing gently. his hips bucked and one side of his controller slipped out of his hand as he placed it palm down onto the desk. with a giggle, you propelled forwards to drag the tip of your tongue around his bulbous, pale pink tip. slowly teasing him, you drew gentle circles around the head a couple times before taking it into your mouth. a moan vibrated against his skin as a singular drop of precum blessed your tastebuds. his face blew up red and he groaned, finally failing to focus and putting his controller down to place a hand on the top of your head. rolling your tongue around the head of his cock, you flicked at the slit as his thighs began to shake.

 "ahh!" he squeaked out embarrassingly, his cock twitching in your hold. staring up at his scrunched up, crimson face made your cunt leak and you whimpered against him as you slowly inched his dick between your lips. your tongue curled flat against his shaft, moving your head side to side to better slide his fat cock down your throat and gagging as his slobbering tip finally pushed against your uvula. with an accidental buck of his hips, he pushed further into your throat. with a loud gag, tears pooled in the corner of your eyes and you quickly stabilized yourself with a hand on his knee. you heard a minor apology, but it passed through your ears as a muffled whisper as you lifted off his cock to slam him back down your throat. spit slowly began to dribble to the base of his cock, seeping into the bright blue of his pubes as loud slurping noises mixed with your gags and his loud moans.

 his fingers dug into your hair, unconsciously tugging at it as you swallowed his cock. his chest heaved as he finally glanced down at you for the first time since you've been in his room only to find you already looking at him through wettened lashes. he gulped aggressively and his hair flickered between red and blue as it flared wildly at the sight. his balls squeezed as tears streamed down your face and you blinked prettily. he leaned his head back quickly and lifted an arm up to bite into his sweatshirt sleeve, fearing that if he looked at you at any longer he'd cum within seconds.

 "mmm..!! mhhff!" he whined into his arm as his hips bucked softly each time your tongue brushed against the sensitivity of a tender spot settling on the mid section of his cock. you could feel his cock shift in as his veins pulsed in pleasure and he twitched up against the roof of your mouth. "wait! i'm cumming!" his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his thighs flexed, his gut tightly wound and he gently tried pushing your head off before he burst. but you only smacked his hand off, interlocking your fingers before shoving him as far as he could go. with a groan that echoed in his room, his head leaned back against the back of his gaming chair and white shot out to paint your throat. your eyes, too, rolled back as you moaned in response along with him as his tangy cum overflowed your mouth to warm up your esophagus, greedily swallowing him in. his foot kicked and he attempted to scoot back as your throat closed around him tightly as you swallowed, whimpering in overstimulation.

 pulling away, spit and cum flowed down your chin. simply wiping it away with your sleeve, you slipped through the tiny opening between idia and his desk to happily hop into his lap where your slick drowned panties pressed up against his still sensitive cock. short skirt hiking up your thighs, you slid your panties to the side as you lined his cock up against your needy, weeping hole as fear flashed through his face, unprepared for what's to come.

[purple-plum-petals]

Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!

⊱ Those Three Words ⊰ || Mr. Silvair X Reader

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮   Character(s): Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (specifically Route End: Mr. Silver Hair 1), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and Horror-Elements), Cultural Barriers (Mr. Silvair Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions). Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Slight Angst, Pre-Established Romantic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~3,280 Request: “Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!” Author’s Note: Mr. Silvair!!! He’s genuinely so pretty, y’all – it’s not fair. 😔 I find his overall character to be quite fascinating, and a part of me is really hoping the game gets a DLC or something to further expand on each of the character’s lore (and more moments with the MC, of course). Like game, what do you mean that some of the monsters may have been humans while others probably never were?? I desperately need more food… I headcanon that Mr. Silvair was either 1. never human, or 2. has been in the other world for a very long time, resulting in the loss of his memory as a human which could be why he’s so interested in researching them/maintaining the MC’s humanity. 🤔 But that’s just a theory – a game theory! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

Even after everything that had happened between you and this world’s resident human-enjoyer, you surprisingly still felt at ease with Mr. Silvair. That comfortability, though, made you think hard about your sanity. After all, it probably wasn’t normal to be comfortable around someone who enjoyed taking you apart and watching your body put itself back together over and over again. Yet, you did, and you didn’t mind your current arrangement as much as you probably would have in the past. 

Mr. Silvair’s home was destroyed in a fiery explosion (courtesy of himself), so you had offered to help him find a new one. You managed to locate a large room, one that he deemed satisfactory enough to call his base, and you had been staying with him indefinitely since then. As long as you had a comfy bed to lay in and someone else to keep you company, you were happy. 

Your other friends(?) frequently stopped by as well to say hello, the most common ones being Mr. Crawling and Mr. Chopped. While you were occasionally hit with a feeling of loneliness, it was hard to feel that way with so many friendly faces around. Well… maybe their faces weren’t that friendly, but they were kind and gentle with you, and that’s what truly mattered. 

You hear the sound of Mr. Silvair moving around in the room adjacent to the one you typically stayed in, and you wonder to yourself what his plans for today are. The tall, long-haired man spent most of his time engaged in research. You didn’t see him as frequently as one would expect despite the fact you two were practically roommates. All you could do was hope he wasn’t messing around with and subsequently angering any more terrifying, violent ghosts. You enjoyed your current home, and going out to look for another one wasn’t very high on your list of things to do. 

The Rubik’s Cube in your hand was still as scattered as ever, and it seemed like, no matter how long you spent trying to solve it, you were only able to successfully complete one side. Mr. Masque was kind enough to give it to you (he apparently had a whole stash of the things somewhere), and his gift was something you were immensely grateful for. Attempting to figure out the puzzle helped you pass the time wherever you were alone (and it most likely helped you keep your head on straight). 

You’re currently lying flat on your back atop the plush bed in the relatively empty living space, looking up at the gray concrete ceiling with a blank stare. Once you decide you’ve loafed around for long enough, you stand up slowly from the bed, placing the cube gently on the covers of the cot. You stretch your arms above your head, a strangled noise coming from your throat at the movement of your stiff muscles, and you begin to make your way to the other room where your… 

What even was Mr. Silvair to you? While yes, you were fond of him – hell, you’d go as far as to say you loved him – you knew he didn’t feel the same. You remember the moment he told you “I not understand like”, and that he didn’t want to save you from your condition, no… he found you entertaining to keep around, and that’s why he did what he did. 

It was complicated, you thought, trying to have a relationship with a being who didn’t grasp what the concept of love was. Deep down, though, you knew you wouldn’t change it for the world. He enjoyed your presence, and that was all you could ask for. 

You walk over to the metal door and knock, waiting for a response. After a moment, you hear Mr. Silvair’s voice echo, “Enter.”

The door opens with a slight creak as you twist the knob, peeking your head inside the somewhat grimy space. The room, still fairly new, didn’t have as much blood or gore as his old one did. There were fresh stains on the floor and wall, you noted, and you couldn’t help but wonder who or what they were from exactly. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, though, so you didn’t bother asking. 

You grin up at the taller man and give him a small wave, saying softly, “Hello. I not bother?”

He returns your smile, placing the scalpel in his hand on the stainless steel tray that held a variety of medical tools. It looked like he was in the process of cleaning the many, typically blood-stained, pieces of equipment. Mr. Silvair turns to face you and replies gently, “Hello. You not bother. Enter.”

Tilting his head to one side, his long, silver locks move when he does, cascading down his head and slipping off his shoulder at the movement. His smile drops slightly before he asks, “Feeling unwell? Injured? Need cure?”

“No, no cure.” You quickly say, not quite in the mood to be dissected or taken apart right now (honestly, though, you never really were, even if you did understand why it needed to be done). You pause by the door before finally shutting it behind you, the both of you now alone in the private and secluded space. 

Ugh – why was it so hard to say what was on your mind??

After taking a moment to build up your confidence, you tell Mr. Silvair while fidgeting with the rubber of the clear raincoat you wore, “I want see you. Communicate.”

He hums and smiles at your admission, walking over to you before placing a calloused hand on your face. Your eyes close on instinct, and your breathing shutters when he rubs his thumb across your cheek. A part of you wanted to be annoyed with him since he had to be aware of the effect he had on you, yet you didn’t want to run the risk of him removing his cool palm from your skin, so you kept your mouth shut. 

It had taken quite some time for Mr. Silvair to get to this point of physical affection with you (something he began doing more often after he saw how much you enjoyed getting head-pats from Mr. Crawling), so you didn’t want to ruin any progress you two had made in your complicated and unconventional relationship. 

“Okay,” Mr. Silvar starts, removing his hand from your face as he gestures to one of the two chairs in the room. He smiles down at you before saying, “Sit. We communicate.”

You do as you’re told without speaking another word, your hands folded in your lap after you sit down, watching Mr. Silvair take a seat on the chair across from you. You talk with him for quite some time, doing your best to update him on your current progress with the puzzle since that was pretty much the only thing you had going on in your life. While it wasn’t satisfying to speak in the other world’s language because it tended to miss most of the nuances of speech, it was the only way the two of you could communicate. 

Mr. Silvair seemed to pick up on your frustration, seeing you were growing annoyed at the lack of words in your arsenal – the term you were looking for wasn't coming to mind. In response, he tilts his head to the side and asks you, “You upset. Why?”

“Not right words.” You reply, brows furrowed when you look up at him, your gaze landing on the bloody bandages wrapped around his eyes. You turn your head to look down at the floor, the somewhat fresh pool of blood perfectly matching the color of the Rubik’s Cube. You point to the puddle and turn to ask Mr. Silvair, “What’s this called in your language? Can you tell me how to say this color?”

“Blood.” Mr. Silvair responds, not understanding what you wanted him to explain. 

“No, no.” You quickly reply, shaking your head. You continue to glance between him and the blood, enunciating your words even though he didn’t understand your language the same way you were able to understand his. You didn’t back down or give up, though, saying again, “The color – I want to know what color blood is.”

He pauses, one hand under his chin as he seemingly takes a moment to figure out what you are asking him. After a few beats, Mr. Silvair replies with a word you haven’t heard anyone speak before, “???”

You visibly brighten at the new word, and the expression on your face causes Mr. Silvair to let out a light chuckle before he crosses one of his legs over the other. You take a breath before telling him, “Okay. Thank you.” 

After another pause, you continue to speak, “So… One part object done, red part. Other parts hard – not finish.”

Mr. Silvair had been leaning forward in his chair, his elbow digging into his knee while his hand rested under his chin, holding his head up as he stared at you with an unwavering gaze. He always listened to you with rapt interest, and you would be lying if you said the constant attention didn’t make your heart stutter in your chest. However, he suddenly speaks, pointing to the pool of blood you had been gesturing toward moments before, “What you call that?”

“Huh?” You ask, pausing your story to look at him. Mr. Silvair doesn’t say anything else, though, giving you a moment to comprehend what he has asked you. You perk up when your brain finally registers what Mr. Silvair had said, replying to him happily, “Oh, that’s the color red. So, blood is typically red – blood red.” 

“R-ehd?” He echos, and the sound of his voice speaking a word that you were able to understand without having to flip through your mental dictionary had your breath hitching. It sounded so strange but so nice coming from his lips. 

“Yeah, red! Blood is red!” You say, sounding excited and oh-so happy. Mr. Silvair would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find the look on your face and the tone of your voice endearing. Then, your expression shifts slightly as you lean forward in your chair, saying enthusiastically, “Oh my god – I just got an idea! Me teach you me language!”

“...You language?” Mr. Silvair asks after a moment, shifting in his seat slightly. 

“Yes! Me teach you!” You reply, gesturing to both him and you with your hands. Your mind remembers the way Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped helped you shortly after you first arrived, teaching you directions to walk, facial expressions, and more. They had helped you expand your knowledge of this world’s language, and they were probably responsible for your survival in so many of those early interactions. So, you smile at him as you say, “We same.”

He returns a smile, nodding his head and replying with a simple, “Okay.”

“Alright, so, let me think here…” You hum to yourself, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes while you consider what you should start with. Body parts seemed to be the first thing that popped into your head, so that’s eventually what you decided to start with. Sitting up in the chair, you point toward your hand with the other, tapping a finger to your palm as you speak, “Okay, so, this is my hand – hand. Can you say hand?”

It was kind of cute, strangely enough, seeing Mr. Slivair take the time to repeat the word you spoke over and over in his mind, trying to match the movement of your mouth with his own. Your languages were quite different in sounds, syllables, and the like, so he was practicing what to say before actually speaking. After a few moments of contemplation, he replies, “...H-ah-nd.”

“Hey, that was pretty good! Not bad for your first try, Mr. Silvair, even if the pronunciation is a bit off.” You say with a wide smile, clapping your hands together as you applaud him on his efforts. He chuckles again, finding your way of teaching to be… sweet. 

Then, you speak again, once again grabbing his attention. You tap the pad of your finger under the skin of your eye, asking him, “Do you remember what this is called? I think I’ve told you before.”

Mr. Silvair is quicker in his response this time, having heard you ask him about his own eyes before as he smoothly says, “Eye.” 

“Yes! Good job!” You praise once more, giving him a thumbs up in response. Then, he stands up from his seat, walking over to you while his once-white lab coat flows behind him. You crane your head back to look up at him from where you were still sitting, a simple and stupid, “...Huh?” leaving your mouth. 

Mr. Silvair reaches a hand to your face, cupping your chin gently in his hand. You feel his thumb resting on your bottom lip, and he begins to move his finger back and forth along the slightly chapped flesh, tugging at it slightly. He tilts his head to the side, asking you seriously, “What this called?”

“Oh, uh…” You know your face is probably flushed beyond belief at this point if the heat cascading through your head is anything to go by, and your mind and heart are completely caught off-guard by his sudden touch and question. You avert your gaze to the side, swallowing harshly before you finally reply, “They’re my lips – they’re, umm… similar to mouth. Lips, mouth, same.”

“...Lips?” Mr. Silvair asks again for clarification, his voice having an almost husky tone to it that has a shiver travel down your spine. 

You nod in response, muttering a barely audible, “Yes…” 

Mr. Silvair hums at your response, a small smile gracing his lips. He leans down, face so close to yours, before he inquires with an almost teasing tone to his voice, “You want touch?”

“Y-Yes.” You answer at an almost embarrassingly fast speed. 

The man who you had grown so fond of chuckles at your enthusiasm before leaning forward, pressing his lips softly to yours while he holds your face between his palms. Kisses weren’t a common thing between the two of you, and they were really only something Mr. Silvair initiated when he felt like it. You could feel the intensity at which your heart was beasting due to his sudden affections, and there was a part of you that was worried it would burst out of your chest right then and there. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you tilt your head to the side, your hands coming up to rest atop his – his hands that were holding your cheeks so, so gently. It was almost sickening the way he was holding you like you could break at any moment. 

Then, almost as quickly as it began, the kiss ended before you even realized it did. Mr. Silvair’s forehead was now pressed against yours, and he doesn’t make any move to remove his hands from your face. Your lips were no longer touching, and yet he still lingered.  

Mr. Silvair didn’t play fair, you thought, yet you couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to kiss you so suddenly, so randomly. You close your eyes and your brows furrow at the tightening in your throat, an aching sensation slowly spreading throughout your chest like a disease before you whisper, “...I love you.”

There’s a silence, a stretch of nothingness before Mr. Silvair suddenly asks you, his voice just as soft as yours had been, “Repeat?”

“...No,” Your response is nearly immediate, and you shake your head before repeating once more, “Nothing.”

“...I love you.” The sound of those three words leaving his lips nearly causes your mind to implode. It sounded so sweet, yet it also felt worse than any suffering you had experienced before. The searing and excruciating pain, the feeling of a blade digging itself into the flesh of your torso couldn’t compare to the deep-seated torment you felt right now.

Mr. Silvair hums, tilting his head to the side as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks, “What mean?”

You knew there was no point, no reason to try and explain your feelings again, but you do. You still do, even though you know it’s pointless to try. You can’t bring yourself to look at him as you speak, finding the concrete floor more interesting, “Mean… mean me like you. Lot like.”

There’s a pause, a moment of contemplation before Mr. Silvair says, “...Not understand.”

“I know.” You reply, nodding your head once in response. 

“You know?” He asks you, sounding somewhat confused, a tone you very rarely heard from the man. Had he forgotten that moment that you couldn’t seem to forget, the memory that you continuously found replaying in your mind like a broken record? It wasn’t fair, you thought, that only you were forced to hold onto such a painful memory. 

“You communicate before.” You clarify, finally willing yourself to look at his face. Mr. Silvair’s expression was tight, his lips drawn into a flat line. 

You needed to get away, to just run from this moment in the hopes he would forget the whole exchange just as he apparently did the last one. You take your hands and grab his wrists, removing his palms from your face before you stand up from the chair. You refuse to look at him as you turn, heading to the door as you utter, “...I’m going to go for a walk, so I’ll be back later. Goodbye.”

Then, you feel something tug at the sleeve of your raincoat. It wasn’t strong, nothing that would actually stop you from moving, but your legs proceeded to hault at the small action. Mr. Silvair says, his tone not demanding in the slightest – if anything, it sounded like a plea as he speaks, “No exit.”

You take a deep breath and turn around to face him, asking in such a small voice that it even caught yourself off-guard, “...Why?”

“I want you here.” Mr. Silvair responds quickly, so quickly it seems to have taken both of you by surprise. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he asks, finally releasing the material of your jacket from in between his fingers, “Stay… Will you stay?”

You once again find yourself wondering if Mr. Silvair was aware of the effect he had on you as a sigh leaves your mouth. You nod your head lightly and reply, “I will stay.”

“Good.” He says in response, a gentle smile on his face as he says for the second time, “I love you.”

You frown at him and shake your head, saying with a slight edge of frustration in your voice, “No speak. Not true.” 

“True… Believe true.” He says quickly, reaching out to once again place a hand against your cheek. You don’t move, don’t flinch away from his touch – you still relish the way he’s holding you like a fragile piece of glass. Mr. Silvair’s brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he mutters, “Confused.”

“You’re telling me… How do you think I feel?” You say with a huff, your hand holding into his as you find yourself nuzzling your nose into his palm. The painful feeling in your chest was still present, but it wasn’t nearly as excruciating as it had been now. You find it in yourself to smile, gazing up at him as you speak, “...but we’ll get through it together – we together. Right?”

“To-geh-ther…” He repeats, leaning down to press his forehead to yours once more as he says softly, “Yes.”

[penkura]

OP Men as Dads Part 3

Note: Part 3, Part 3!! I was asked by someone on AO3 to add Luffy, so I did that! I still view Luffy more as a brother or son, so I still don't expect to write anything romantic for him, but this I can do! I hope you all enjoy!

Franky probably didn’t even think he’d ever get the chance to have kids, not after the train accident you know, but he’s excited for it! You’d have two boys around three to four years apart that are just like Franky in every way, but the older would be a bit more shy than the younger. They’ll both spend a lot of time with Franky in his workshop when they get old enough, they’ve got a knack for shipwright work and it almost brings a tear to Franky’s eye to see them sketching their own ship designs on whatever scraps of paper they can find. Your boys love you too of course! The two will bring their drawings to show you and ask your opinion, you have to tell them everything on your mind or they won’t go back to drawing, mama’s thoughts matter! It becomes family time to go over the sketches your boys made during the day, they want to do you and Franky proud in everything, but nothing they do could ever make you love them less.

~~

Katakuri has planned to have kids for a while, even though he’s already 48, he still wants to have a few and be a father to them. He’ll raise them differently from how he was raised, but still love them dearly and want only the best for them! You’ll both be surprised when you only have one first, a little girl who has Katakuri wrapped around her finger as soon as she’s born and handed to him. She’s so tiny, he’d be content to have just her if she’s all you were blessed with. Fast forward five years and there’s a set of wailing triplets that you also didn’t expect to have, but the three boys are more than you ever could’ve asked for and their big sister loves them just as quickly. She begs to see them as soon as their born, Katakuri brings her by that day to see you and them, and she has to gold all three in a row immediately. After that, a set of twin girls comes along a few years later, your oldest isn’t the only girl anymore and she’s still just as happy to have new siblings at around ten-years-old, your five-year-old set of triplets also excited. Katakuri loves and thanks you so much for the family you’ve made with him, even if you tell him your twin girls are it, you’re done. He's happy with what you have, grateful for your love and children.

~~

Killer is absolutely a great dad, you couldn’t have asked for anyone better to be your partner and father to your children. You have a boy first off, with your eyes and blond hair, he wants to be just like his dad when he grows up! A couple years later comes a little girl, she’s a surprise but a pleasant one at that. You didn’t really expect her to have Killer wrapped around her finger in a heartbeat but the second he saw her it was over, he became wholly devoted to your little girl and making sure she was happy as could be. You’ve come back to your family multiple times seeing Killer either having a tea party with your daughter or playing some make believe game with both your children, he normally plays the damsel in distress for their enjoyment. Your kids can see people act oddly around Killer when they recognize him, but neither of them care to know why, they’re still quite young, and they only care that they’re dad loves and takes care of them alongside you. All that matters to them is that Killer is around to play with them and eventually start teaching them to protect themselves.

~~

Luffy would be the fun dad, no doubt in my mind! Like how Ace would have three daughters, I can see Luffy having three sons! Probably twins at first, then another son a couple years later, the three having the same dynamic that he had with Sabo and Ace when they were kids! They’d all look like Luffy, except your middle child would have your eyes, a small piece that shows yes, you’re the mother to these three rugrats. All three dream of being pirates, its their favorite game to plan, especially so since their dad is King of the Pirates. After all, who better to tell you how the pirate life works than him?? With all of the Straw Hats around, your sons would be protect from the moment they hear you’re pregnant, everyone being the best aunts and uncles around as soon as they’re born. Luffy would be the most protective of course, but he’d still give your sons the freedom to do what they want and to grow and learn how the world works. Being a pirate is about freedom, isn’t it? Your sons will never have to wonder if they’re loved or wanted, everything you and Luffy do is for them.

~~

I honestly see Mihawk with one child, a daughter. She’d be an unexpected blessing that has him around her tiny finger the moment she takes her first breath. He’d never let her, or you of course, out of his sight, unless he absolutely had to go to a Warlord meeting or something like that. When Zoro and Perona show up, they’re both flabbergasted that the Dracule Mihawk has a child, and that she’s a cute baby girl, only a few months old! Perona will try to dress her up in frilly dresses but your daughter will cry, which ends with Mihawk taking her back and demanding Perona stop using his daughter like a dress up doll. The funny thing is, your daughter will be absolutely enthralled with Zoro, she’ll fuss until he holds her, sometimes he’s the only one who can get her down for a nap or to sleep at night. The number of times Mihawk has caught Zoro training with your daughter strapped to his back or the two napping together warms his heart, maybe having the two freeloaders around isn’t so bad.

~~

Sabo never thought too much about having kids. It was a nice idea, but he didn’t have any strong opinions about it. Then of course, you showed up and he started to have dreamy ideas of his own family and children with you as the mother. Your first is a little girl, blonde as her dad and just as rambunctious. She’ll chase down everyone that she can’t to play with her and grab their attention for whatever story she’s made up, Sabo especially listens intently to her, giving her a smile, asking questions, and responding to everything she says positively. After your daughter comes two boys, one after the other just a couple years apart, and both times Sabo can’t believe he’s so lucky to have you and your children. Your sons look more like you, though your youngest has Sabo’s hair just like your daughter. He’s more shy than either of his siblings, but with Sabo he’s more open and talkative. Your first son may be the middle child, but he’s also the one who becomes more interested in the Revolutionary Army’s work. Although Sabo knows that all of them may become interested one day, wanting to join, he hopes that their work can be completed first and your children will be able to love safe, comfortable lives as they grow up.

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 3/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: You didn't think your new home could become any stranger. Shadows have started to follow you, the night no longer the safe haven it once was. It leads you to the one person who may be able to help.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Stalking, Isolation, Slight Infantilization of Reader

A/N: The penultimate chapter 👀. Had a lot of fun with this series and I hope y'all have too! Last Chapter should be coming out sometime later this week/early this week. It's gonna be quite a doozy 😈

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

You think someone is watching you.

You didn’t think the eeriness of your home could be more uncomfortable, but the unmistakable feeling of attention has made it so. Only worsened by the fact you have no understanding of whose attention it is. Your first thought was perhaps the staff, but you can’t imagine months of your droll day-to-day life would suddenly gain their attention. Not when they skirt around you, ignoring all attempts to make conversations or eye contact, just as they’ve always done.

You’d learned to enjoy the solitude of your home, to be content with your own company. Reading, wandering the grounds, pondering the sky was now your beloved routine, not a prison of listlessness. But now you whip your head around at the slightest shadow. Something prickles on the back of your neck at odd moments, uneasy shivers coming down your spine when you turn the corner, your fight-or-flight instincts expecting something there.

The only other two options would be your father-in-law and your husband. The prior is an obvious no, well aware he confines himself to his study during the day so he may work in peace. The latter is absent during the daytime, supposedly sticking to his habit of sleeping with the sun, so you’re left with no clues.

To make it all worse is the fact that your husband has been present for dinner lately; Every night for the past week, to be precise. It seems to be the one meal he deems worthy of being awake for. But you figured that this was another kink to get used too, surely a momentary lapse before he returned to the routine.

But then he started talking to you.

—

“Was your day enjoyable?”

Your husband opened with, as if this was a normal dinner and you were in a normal marriage.

You hesitate to respond, convincing yourself that you had misheard one of the servants. Caleb isn’t even looking you in the eye, focused instead on cutting his steak.

“Well?” He juts in, right before taking a large bite. It's only then you realize it was in fact him speaking and in fact you who he was speaking to.

“I suppose so.” You finally deign as a well enough response. A suitably polite answer. “It was nothing remarkable.”

“Hmm.” He says, chewing on his wad of meat as he takes a sip of that curious wine of his. You return to your food, figuring that is the end of that. One of your husband's many irregularities, that was all. “What did you partake in?”

That brings you pause, halting your fork, currently being used to awkwardly move around fingerling potatoes. Your appetite starts to leave you.

“...Some of the books from the library.” Your stab at a potato, wishing you could dissent from proprietary like he could and eat through this conversation. “The estate has quite a robust collection. Especially the astronomy section.”

The sound of cutlery scraping against porcelain makes you wince, draws your full attention to your husband. For a second, you swear his eyebrow twitches.

“I see.” He stabs his steak like it’s a vicious enemy, and rips away another piece. “Anything else?”

Why are you doing this?

You desperately want to ask. You swallow that urge down.

“I began a new cross stitch today.” You swallow. “My skills are unfortunately unrefined, but I found some beautiful thread I forgot my sister had packed away when-” I was shipped off “-when I first moved in. I’m planning to embroider a Mourning Dove.”

It had been more comforting than you expected, cross-stitching. Forever it had been a habit your mother forced upon you, imploring that good embroidery was only right for a proper lady to know. Now, all alone and homesick, it felt nice to create something that could fly away.

“Hmm.” Caleb says, and that is the end of it. What follows is uncomfortable minutes of silence. Too uncomfortable to eat, you gently push your plate away and stand up, another informal curtsy and a “good night”, hoping that would be the end.

It unfortunately was not.

Edric had let you know the night prior that he’d be busier these upcoming weeks, several meetings with important men or something of that matter keeping him away for the nights as well as the days. You told him it was no issue, even though your heart had tugged at the idea of spending those dark hours alone.

To your great shock, upon arriving at your favorite spot in the garden, your husband is there. Not lounging as he did before, but sitting on the bench. Your bench.

“I did not know you had finished dinner.” You remark, trying to act less flustered than you were. Months ago you would have rejoiced at this change of pace, so bored and listless. But now it left you feeling more than a little aggravated.

“I did shortly after you.” He says, actually acknowledging you with a look over his shoulder. Weirdly, a bottle does not accompany his side. “Thought I’d go for a walk. It is quite a big garden.”

I’m not here for you. He seemed to scream with every word, his very soul. You don’t why know he’s being so insistent, he’s made that opinion very clear in every other interaction so far.

“I see.” You parrot, a surge of obstinance making you bolder than normal, sitting down next to him. This was your favorite spot, you refuse to give it up to him on a whim.

It brings great satisfaction when he scoots away, his body jerking, clearly surprised by you being so close. You’re sure he thought you all figured out, some girl he could walk over whenever he pleased.

You don’t bother speaking first, figuring his stint during dinner was a temporary lapse in judgement. His sheer disinterest made it clear it was from a source of boredom, not genuine curiosity, which spurred this change. Surely, that was the end-

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb says, his long hand, usually adorned with a bottle, points at the night sky. When you don’t respond immediately, he goes to lengths of drawing the ‘W’ shape with his finger.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You say, surprised that he has continued talking to you and that he knows any constellation. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.” You chuckle at the joke, the mood quickly souring when Caleb doesn’t, looking at you like a strange sort of insect.

Edric would’ve laughed.

“And from her,” Caleb traces his hands away from Cassiopeia to another, “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” The words whip out immediately, before you can think better of it, although your tone is gentle. Caleb turns to look at you, wordlessly once more. For a second, you wonder if he’ll snap at your correction. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

Caleb pauses for a moment, retracting his hand.

“Hm.” He hums and turns away.

The awkward atmosphere lingers afterwards, and you almost feel bad for correcting him. You hadn't meant it as a criticism, just as a reminder.

But that just makes you more upset. Why should you care how Caleb feels about your words, unintentional or not? He has made no such consideration for your feelings during your time here, nor does he seem to intend to anytime in the future. He’s a cad, a rake, he could stand to be knocked down a peg or too.

Luckily, the rest of the night is blissfully quiet. You try your best to bat away any lingering feelings of anxiety or awkwardness, simply savoring what you could.

—

Caleb isn’t sure what he is doing.

It was bad enough foregoing his rest and haunting you like a phantom, chasing this incessant new urge of his. Like picking at a scab you know would be healed if left alone, he can’t seem to resist. His body follows you naturally now, using his more inhuman qualities to blend in the shadows, avoiding the poisonous daylight and lingering on your every move. You make it too easy with your rhythmic movements, keeping regular in your entertainment about the house. If not in the library, you were in the garden having tea. If not in the garden having tea, you were embroidering on the lounge. What should be so dreadfully boring is now enrapturing, although it is wounding it feels too good to stop.

Look at him now, bumbling around like a fool, words falling out his mouth like hail against your soft skin. Even when he does catch your attention and get a genuine response, he loses himself in the memories of said moments, reimagining it as vividly as he saw it from the shadows. He remembers the jump of excitement when you found a new book on Greek Mythology on the shelf, having thought you had already read them all. He remembers the look you made when you had made a mistake in your embroidery, your brow furrowed as you undid your stitches. When focused on your work, a tiny sliver of your tongue would sit out at your mouth, something he’s sure your mother scolded you for time and time again. By the time his mind got back to him you were leaving, the same curt response and rigid curtsy as before.

Desperate for a fix, he even ambushed you at your stargazing spot. He could barely look you in the eye, too nervous you would see through his ruse, point and laugh at his boyishness. It was made even worse when you sat near him, tantalizing him with your blood and the beating of your heart, which sang to his very ears.

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb attempts, wondering if this will have greater success. Given your silence, he wondered if perhaps his maker hadn’t pointed it out to you yet. Pride fills his chest as he traces out her shape, wondering what look you have in your eyes.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You reply, and Caleb’s monstrous heart skips a beat. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.”

Caleb freezes, caught off his rhythm, you giggle making him realize that he isn’t understanding something. The disappointed look on your face feels like a blade in his stomach.

He should be angry, furious even. It had been years since anyone had made him feel this way, this inferiority. He had outgrown that, had ripped it out with his own bleeding heart and tossed it outside.

“And from her,” Caleb pivots, hoping the skills of aloofness can work in favor “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” Caleb’s stomach turns. Frozen in his best laid plans, this windstorm of his wife has blown them away. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

It’s all he can do to not scream at that moment. But he fears that too will be as awkward and foolish as the rest of his words, choosing instead to say nothing. To his consternation and relief, you follow suit and do not speak as well, returning to your own stargazing.

When you eventually retire, Caleb should go out. He should find the nearest beast and rip their throat, soak in their blood and be reminded that he was the fearsome beast. He was not the stupid farm boy, he was an unholy abomination built to feast and terrorize.

Instead he paces around his room, wondering what he should say. He looks in the mirror at his facade self, the beautiful face that makes ladies of all classes swoon, and wonders what would catch your eye.

You were smart, clearly, smarter than he anticipated. He thinks you might be catching onto his voyeur-tendencies, once or twice hiding around a corner and popping out, as if to confront your own shadow. Once, when he had left your book an inch or two over from where you had left it, you returned to the room with a quirk in your eyebrow. You had searched the room up and down, even flagged down a servant to ask if anyone had cleaned the library recently.

He had assumed your quietness came from a dull demeanor, just as boring as one would expect from the “wife.” But you had good humor. He saw you joking around with his creator, possibly the stodgiest vampire to ever roam the world, and even make jests of your own. You had tried with him tonight, although it seemed to fly over his head. And you seemed to enjoy dancing, like most ladies, if the way you hummed and swayed down the halls when you thought you were alone was enough indication. These were all things he was used to; Wining and dining ladies with his good charm and superb dancing skills, yet he found himself at a standstill.

His head falls into his hands, a frustrated hunger stirring in his gut. He needs to feed. At least that was an aching he could satisfy.

—

A whole fortnight of this. No peace, no privacy, no respite from the dreadfulness of the estate. During the day you tremored, aware that someone followed in your footsteps but not who it was. During the night all sense of comfort was robbed by him, your husband who, after several months of blissful avoidance, could not leave your side.

The conversations had not gotten better since the first. Mostly one sided, your husband seemed to force himself through every word, barely listening when it was your turn to speak. You don’t know why he bothers with the painful effort, his head off in the clouds, clearly wishing he was somewhere else. It's worse than the silence by a landslide, and you find yourself begging for your husband to start ignoring you again.

But like every one before it, your wishes go unanswered. The pain of it all forces you to focus, to try and find the source of this newfound vigor for this falsehood of a marriage.

All your hypotheses lead you back to one person. One person whom, unlike your husband, could hopefully be reasoned with.

—

You make quick work to scurry out of the dining hall after another painful dinner, hoping the distraction of his meal will keep your husband from noticing your divergence from routine.

Striding deeper into the bowels of the estate reminds you of just how unsettling the rest of the house feels. Each hallway is cleaned too perfectly, each decoration too precisely placed. You never knew furniture could feel so cold, that the sterility of a cleanliness would be so unnerving. It felt as if no one had ever really walked these halls, not for a long, long time.

But you push on, too determined in your mission. You had finally been able to corner a maid during the day, making up a vague excuse for returning a book to have her point the way to the Earl’s office. You’re happy you had the forethought to write it down, sure the enticing darkness around each corner and the amount of turns would’ve befuddled you. But with your trusty papers, you're able to navigate yourself to a beautiful mahogany door, befit with a golden knob and intimidating presence.

Why must everything in this place feel so hostile?

You ponder, wondering if the architect of this place had a hatred of joy and fresh air. But you digress, rapping your knuckles onto the thick door frame. Through the wood you can faintly hear the scribbles of an ink pen and the focused voice of The Earl.

“You may enter.”

His tone lacks the familiarity you’ve grown used to. For a discomforting second it reminds you of Caleb, not of these past two weeks but the months before. You banish that thought away. They are father and son, it is only natural.

“Sir?” You default to polite terms, peaking your head past the grand entrance. Even now the study feels untouchable, makes you hesitant to walk inside so boldly.

The Earl quickly leans his head up, shoulders falling down and a smile gracing his lips. You smother your fluttering heart, reminding yourself of your mission.

“My dear, I was not expecting you.” Edric stands with a dramatic push of his chair, setting his ink pen into its pot. “I apologize, but I fear I cannot join you again tonight. There is still much work to be done.” Edric taps his fingers against his desk.

“Oh it is no issue, Si-Edric. I understand completely.” Finally comfortable enough, you enter the room completely and shut the door behind you. Though this does little to calm your nerves, both for the conversation you must have and the idea of being alone in a room with him. As silly as it is, the hesitance of being alone with a man who is not your husband lingers, even if it is someone proper like your father-in-law. “I actually wish-” You words catch, but you will the butterflies in your stomach away, “-I wish to talk to you about something else. If you are available to it.”

Edric’s brow quirks, a minor change in his usually flawless face. For the very first time, he looks caught off guard.

“Of course, my dear.” Edric pulls out a chair for you to sit, moving his own so the desk won’t block you from each other. You nod in thanks, knees knocking together. You were never great at confrontation, and after finally finding peace in your new home, you fear disturbing and ruining what you have.

But Caleb is doing a fine job of that all on his own.

Your hands fiddle with each other in your lap, forcefully distracting you from making eye contact with Edric. He sits now with his ankles crossed, his arms resting on the sides, looking all like a king receiving his subject. Given his authority and your desperation, he might as well be.

“Now, what would you like to speak about?”

“I-” You swallow the lump in your throat, “I would like to start with my appreciation for your kind intentions, as I know it is what most likely drove you to act in such a way.” Your finger bones ache with how tightly you clench them. “That I appreciate you taking the effort to…encourage Caleb to spend more time with me.” Encourage is probably the incorrect word. If you knew anything about your husband ‘bribed’ was most definitely more accurate. It is the only thing that would make sense given recent circumstances. “But while I understand why you would think such a move was for the best, I’d like to implore that it is not necessary.”

You can hear a pin drop, your father-in-law quiet as the dead. It urges you to keep speaking, to fill the uncomfortable silence with something. At the least to release the issues from your mind, to get them off your chest.

“I know you are a good and honorable man, and that from the outside I must look so pitiful to you. That my lonesome nature most likely urged you to aid in my companionship, but I have found much happiness in this place in these past months. I see it as my home, and I do not mind the quiet.” You’ve released the fabric of your dress, moving instead to the fascinating shapes of your palm lines. Still, you proceed. “As…uncouth as my husbands, they seem to make him happy. He does not seem to enjoy the quiet nights like you and I do.”

A heat decorates the apples of your cheeks, spreading all the way down your neck and up to the tips of your ears. It seems silly looking back on it, having more in common with a man no doubt twice your age than your own husband.

“So, if you could speak to him and let him know that he is free to live as he likes, that he should not feel responsible for me, I would most appreciate it. Please tell him that I am quite happy with the way things were before.”

With you.

Your twisting heart does not know if it wants Edric to understand that unspoken sentiment.

The tapping of Edric’s fingernails on the chair arm finally pulls you attention, sounding cacophonous in the void created. It draws your eyes to finally look Edric head on, to gauge his reaction. Unfortunately, his reserved face leaves it difficult for you to do so.

“I see.” Edric finally breaks it, his fingers speeding up in their rapping. Something squeezes in your chest, wondering if perhaps you’ve offended him with your presumptions.

“I did not-” You bluster, trying to explain before he assumes anything. But a wave of Edric hands stops you in your tracks.

“I am not offended, dear.” The Early gives a gentle smile, a nod to show the truth of his word. Relief washes over you. “I am simply…surprised.”

You swallow your response. As attentive and understanding as Edric is, he is still a man, still subject to misunderstandings of a woman’s true heart. While Caleb is quite handsome, it takes much more good looks and the bare minimum to curry your favor.

“I shall speak to him.” Edric finally commands, standing up from his seat and sending you scurrying to do so on your own. A bubbling feeling fills your chest, the relief of knowing things will finally return to normal. At least the nights.

“Thank you, Edric.”

“It is no problem.” Edric says with a wave of his hand. “I commend you for bringing it up with me promptly. I understand that can be a difficult feat, especially when I am such a recluse.”

That lightens your mood even more, giving you a gentle giggle.

“I think you presume too much of your intimidation, good sir.” You lie, as if you were not petrified of facing him not 10 minutes ago. That fear seems silly now. Of course Edric would listen, when hasn’t he?

You don’t notice the way Edric’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, the way his eyes for only a second dip down to your collarbone.

“Perhaps I do.” Edric pats the back of his seat. “Well, while I do enjoy your company, I'm afraid I must get back to work. Shall I escort you to your room?”

“Oh that won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to disturb and I am quite confident I can find my way.” You weren’t really, but you also were not ready to admit that to him.

“Then I bid you goodnight, my dear.” Edric nods his head, quickly moving his chair back behind his desk, no doubt to resume his business. You drop into a small curtsy yourself, a new energy in your steps as you leave. Even with the labyrinthine task of returning to your room ahead of you, you can’t be despondent.

You have a feeling things are taking a change for the better.

—

It takes everything in Edric’s immortal power to not burst into laughter the second the door closes behind you. Even with the thick wood as a barrier and your inferior human hearing, Edric is sure his cackling could be heard from miles away.

He had planned to court you slowly. Push the boundaries of his affection with every visit, subtly make you dependent on his touch and his closeness. Then, he would pull away, make you truly long for him. It would make his return all the more dramatic, hopefully swell your emotions to such a size that you would not turn away more uncouth behavior. A hug, a kiss to the cheek, maybe even a peck to your soft lips.

But now his son had revealed his hand, clumsily so. Scrambling to hold on to the toy now that it was being swept away, every bit the petulant child. He had made his own desperate move for your affections and was failing miserably.

It's cruel how much glee that gives him, Edric thinks, chuckling into his hands. He needs to remind his son that such obvious peacocking is hardly a foolproof strategy, teach him subtler ways of luring and ensnaring prey, nonetheless a partner. The boy had been riding on his good looks and inhuman charm for too long.

Ahh yes, and you. Who came to him, who chose him. Who ran into his arms and pleaded for safety. How could he not give it to you? His sweet dearest, his darling future. Edric’s nails dig into his palms and he’s sure if his heart still beated, it’d be racing a mile a minute. A palpable thirst burns in the back of his throat, one Edric knows won't be satisfied by any half-thought meal.

This has all but confirmed it: plans are changing. It seems the timeline for his machinations are moving up, given your clear displeasure. Who is he to deny you?