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elryuse · 2 days ago

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LOVE TO HATE ME pt.1

WINTER X MALE READER X GISELLE

Tags : Break Up, Seduction, Love Triangle, Deep Romance, SMUT, Kissing, Cheating?

Words : 3,999 Words

This Is A Commision Work For My Friend @Pizza_anon on Ko-fi. This will be a 5 Part Series. So yeah, Hope you liked it buddy.

The whiskey burned, a welcome fire against the icy ache in your chest. You needed to numb the pain, to drown out the echoes of her voice, the ghost of her smile. You needed to forget.

Winter. The name itself tasted like ashes in your mouth. A love story that had once painted your world in shades of rose, now reduced to a smudged watercolor, bleeding into a melancholic gray.

"My studies are my priority right now," she'd said, her voice a fragile whisper, "I can't afford distractions." Distractions. You, with your messy hair, your impulsive laughter, your tendency to get lost in daydreams instead of focusing on your future. You were a distraction, a delightful, messy, all-consuming distraction.

Now, the silence in your apartment screamed with her absence. Every corner whispered her name, every shadow cast her ghost. The worn-out movie tickets, the half-finished painting of her eyes, the scent of her favorite perfume still lingering in the air – all mocking reminders of a love that had slipped through your numb fingers.

You poured another generous measure of whiskey, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. The amber liquid swirled, mirroring the turmoil within you. You were drowning, gasping for air in a sea of grief, the waves crashing over you relentlessly.

Then, there was Giselle.

Giselle, with eyes the color of a stormy sea, her laughter like the chime of wind chimes, and a kindness that always made you feel seen, even when you were lost in your own despair. Giselle, Winter's best friend, who had always been there, a comforting presence in the periphery of your relationship.

Giselle, who had been your confidante, your shoulder to cry on during countless teenage dramas, your partner in crime in countless midnight adventures. Giselle, who had always held a special place in your heart, a place you never quite acknowledged until now.

You remembered the day you first met Winter. It was at a college party, a cacophony of noise and laughter. Winter, radiant in a burst of color, had been surrounded by a group of friends, her laughter infectious. You, captivated by her vibrant energy, had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Giselle, ever the observant one, had introduced you, her smile a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Winter," she'd said, "This is Y/n. He's been eyeing you all night."

Winter, blushing, had extended a hand, her touch surprisingly warm. "Hi, Y/n," she'd said, her voice a melodic chime. "It's nice to meet you."

And that was it. The beginning of a whirlwind romance, a love story that had consumed your every waking moment. But now, the whirlwind had subsided, leaving behind a trail of wreckage and a heart aching with a profound sense of loss.

Giselle had been there through it all. She'd listened patiently as you recounted every detail of your blossoming relationship, her eyes sparkling with genuine happiness for you. She'd offered advice, both solicited and unsolicited, always with a gentle hand and a reassuring smile.

She'd been your refuge during the inevitable arguments, the silent listener as you vented your frustrations, the one who always knew how to coax a smile back onto your face.

And now, she was your anchor, a lifeline in the stormy seas of your grief.

"Come on," she'd said, her voice soft, "Let's get some air. This place is suffocating you."

And so, you'd stumbled out into the night, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors through your alcohol-glazed vision. Giselle had listened patiently as you poured out your grief, her silence a comforting blanket against the storm raging inside you. She had offered you her shoulder to cry on, her apartment a refuge from the loneliness that was threatening to consume you whole.

You, drowning in your misery, had clung to her like a lifeline.

The days that followed were a haze of blurry memories. Days spent in a melancholic stupor, punctuated by stolen moments of solace in Giselle's company. You'd spend hours talking, dissecting your relationship with Winter, analyzing every nuance, every missed opportunity, every "what if."

Giselle, ever insightful, would offer her perspective, her words a balm to your wounded soul. "You loved her deeply, Y/n," she'd said, her voice laced with a sadness that mirrored your own, "But sometimes, love isn't enough."

Her words, though laced with a poignant truth, only served to deepen the ache in your chest.

One evening, while curled up on her couch, a worn-out movie playing silently in the background, you felt a shift in the dynamic between you. A subtle change in the air, a unspoken current running beneath the surface of your friendship.

Giselle, sitting beside you, her gaze fixed on the flickering screen, reached out and gently placed her hand over yours. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through you, a shiver down your spine. You turned to look at her, your breath catching in your throat.

Her eyes, usually bright and mischievous, were now pools of darkness, mirroring the storm brewing within you. A storm that had been brewing for a long time, you realized with a sudden jolt of awareness.

You'd always been drawn to Giselle, her vibrant personality a stark contrast to your own introspective nature. You'd admired her strength, her independence, her unwavering loyalty. You'd been captivated by her wit, her infectious laughter, her ability to find beauty in the most unexpected places.

But you'd always kept your feelings at bay, afraid to jeopardize their precious friendship. Afraid of the potential for heartbreak, afraid of losing her altogether.

Now, those carefully constructed walls were crumbling, crumbling under the weight of your shared grief, under the weight of unspoken desires.

"I've wanted this for so long," she whispered, her voice husky, her gaze finally meeting yours. "Ever since…"

You didn't need her to finish the sentence. You knew. You'd always known, on some subconscious level, that there was a simmering intensity beneath her gentle facade, a fire that had been waiting to ignite.

The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken yet deeply understood. The unspoken confession, the years of unspoken longing, finally finding voice.

And then, all pretense was gone.

The movie faded into the background, the flickering images replaced by a dizzying kaleidoscope of emotions.

Their lips met, a tentative brush at first, then a desperate hunger taking over. Giselle tasted of wine and regret, of unspoken desires and a shared grief.

The kiss was a whirlwind, a collision of broken hearts, a desperate search for solace in the arms of another. It was a whirlwind of passion and desperation, a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Winter's absence.

They explored each other with a fierce intensity, their bodies moving in a desperate dance of need and longing. Giselle's hands traced the contours of your face, her fingers tangling in your hair, her moans a low, primal sound.

You lost yourself in the moment, the world fading away, leaving only the raw, primal sensation of her body beneath yours.

But as you lay beside her afterwards, the silence that followed was deafening. The weight of your actions, the betrayal that gnawed at you, the lingering ghost of Winter, all threatened to suffocate you.

You had found comfort in Giselle's arms, but at what cost?

The answer, you realized with a chilling clarity, was a price you might never be able to pay.

The guilt weighed heavily on you, a constant, suffocating presence. You were consumed by a sense of betrayal, not only to Winter, but to Giselle as well. You had used her, exploited her vulnerability, sought solace in her arms while still carrying the weight of your lost love.

You tried to push the guilt aside, to focus on the fleeting moments of pleasure, the comfort of her presence, the warmth of her skin against yours. But the guilt remained, a persistent shadow that followed you everywhere.

The days that followed were a tortured existence. You avoided Giselle, your guilt making it impossible to look her in the eye. You were haunted by the memory of her touch, the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes had lit up when she looked at you.

You were trapped in a cycle of self-recrimination, unable to escape the weight of your own guilt. You had hurt Winter, you had betrayed Giselle, and you had betrayed yourself.

One evening, weeks after that fateful night, you found yourself standing outside Giselle's apartment, your hand hovering over the doorbell.

You had spent the entire day battling with yourself, wrestling with your demons. You needed to talk to her, to apologize, to explain.

But as you stood there, the weight of your guilt pressing down on you, you were unsure of what to say, unsure of how she would react.

You had hurt her, deeply, irrevocably. And you were terrified of losing her altogether.

You took a deep breath, the cold night air filling your lungs. What were you doing?

This was a disaster waiting to happen.

But the need to see her, to hear her voice, to apologize, was overwhelming.

Taking a shaky breath, you reached for the doorbell.

The doorbell echoed through the quiet apartment, its chime cutting through the thick silence that had settled over you like a heavy blanket. Your heart was pounding in your chest, each beat a deafening reminder of the storm raging inside you. The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions.

And then, the door swung open.

Giselle stood there, her figure silhouetted against the soft glow of the apartment lights. She was wearing something you hadn’t expected—sexy black lacy lingerie that hugged her curves in all the right places. The sight of her hit you like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her lips curved into a knowing smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Y/n,” she said, her voice low and sultry, like the purr of a cat. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

You froze, your mind scrambling to process the scene before you. What was happening? This wasn’t the Giselle you knew—or maybe it was, but a version of her you’d never allowed yourself to imagine. Her eyes, dark and full of mischief, locked onto yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away.

She giggled, a soft, melodic sound that danced in the air between you. Then, without a word, she reached out, her fingers curling around the front of your shirt, and pulled you inside. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in the warm, dimly lit space that smelled faintly of her perfume.

“Giselle,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I didn’t—”

“Shh,” she interrupted, placing a finger over your lips. Her touch was electric, sending a jolt of heat through your body. “No more talking. Not tonight.”

You could feel the tension between you, a palpable force that seemed to crackle in the air. Her hand moved from your lips to your chest, her fingers trailing down the front of your shirt, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You could feel your heartbeat quickening, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” she whispered, her voice dripping with desire. “Waiting for you.”

Her words sent a surge of heat through you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering just beneath the surface. You reached for her, your hands trembling as they found her waist, pulling her closer until her body was pressed against yours. She let out a soft moan, her hands tangling in your hair as she kissed you with a hunger that matched your own.

The kiss was intoxicating, a whirlwind of passion and need that left you dizzy and craving more. Her lips were soft and insistent, her tongue teasing yours in a way that made your head spin. You could feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her lingerie, the way her curves molded against you, driving you wild.

She pulled back slightly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Do you want this, Y/n?” she asked, her voice trembling with anticipation. “Do you want me?”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the storm of emotions raging inside you. Yes, you wanted her. You wanted her more than you’d ever wanted anyone. The guilt, the pain, the grief—it all faded into the background, replaced by the overwhelming need to be close to her, to lose yourself in her.

She smiled, a slow, seductive smile that made your heart race. “Then take me,” she whispered, her voice a sultry promise.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands moved of their own accord, trailing down her body, exploring every inch of her. She gasped as your fingers found the hem of her lingerie, her breath hitching as you slowly slid it down her legs, leaving her bare before you.

She was breathtaking, her body a perfect blend of soft curves and delicate lines. You could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her skin trembled under your touch. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, then lower, tracing a path down her chest, her stomach, until you reached the apex of her thighs.

She moaned, her hands clenching in your hair as you teased her, your tongue flicking over her sensitive flesh. She was slick with desire, her body trembling with need as you worked her, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

“Y/n,” she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. “Please…”

You didn’t need to hear the rest. You knew what she wanted, and you were more than willing to give it to her. You straightened, your hands gripping her hips as you positioned yourself at her entrance. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath coming in shallow gasps as you pushed into her, slowly, inch by inch, until you were completely sheathed inside her.

She moaned, a low, primal sound that sent a shiver down your spine as she wrapped her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. You began to move, your thrusts slow and deliberate, each one drawing a gasp or a moan from her lips. Her hands clung to you, her nails digging into your back as she urged you on, her hips meeting yours with each thrust.

The room was filled with the sounds of your passion, the soft slap of skin against skin, the ragged gasps and moans that spilled from both of your lips. You could feel the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

And then, just as you felt yourself on the brink of release, the doorbell rang.

You froze, your body stiffening as the sound echoed through the apartment. Giselle’s eyes flew open, her breath catching in her throat as she looked up at you, a mixture of surprise and anticipation in her gaze.

“Who—” she started, but before she could finish, the door swung open.

Winter stood in the doorway, her hair slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed. She looked… different. The usual prim and proper Winter was gone, replaced by a version of her you’d never seen before. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips curved into a seductive smile as she stepped inside, her gaze locking onto yours.

“Looks like I’m just in time,” she purred, her voice low and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine.

The door clicked shut, cutting off the sight of Winter's retreating figure. Giselle leaned against it for a moment, her chest rising and falling as though she’d just run a marathon. She glanced back at you, her stormy eyes wide with a mix of panic and something else—something darker, more primal.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, running a hand through her tousled hair. “That was… close.”

You were still frozen in place, your heart hammering so loudly you were sure Giselle could hear it. The air in the room felt electric, charged with the near-miss and the lingering heat of what had almost happened between the two of you. Your mind raced, flashes of Winter’s flushed face and sultry smile mingling with the memory of Giselle’s lips on yours, her hands gripping your shoulders like she never wanted to let go.

Giselle pushed herself off the door and crossed the room toward you, her movements slow but deliberate. The black lace of her lingerie clung to her curves, the delicate fabric doing little to hide the way her body trembled slightly. She stopped just inches away, her gaze locked on yours.

“Y/n,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite her attempt to steady it. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t speak. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing. All you could think about was how close you’d been to crossing a line you hadn’t even realized was there until tonight. And now, standing here with Giselle, her scent filling your lungs, her presence overwhelming every rational thought, you wondered if you’d already crossed it.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing against her arm. Her skin was warm, alive, and the contact sent a jolt through you that made your knees weak.

Giselle inhaled sharply, her eyes darting down to where your hand rested on her. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, with a soft exhale, she stepped closer, closing the distance between you until her body was pressed against yours.

“We shouldn’t…” she murmured, but the way her hands slid up your chest contradicted her words. Her touch was hesitant at first, but then she gripped the front of your shirt, pulling you closer still. “But I… I don’t care right now.”

Her lips found yours again, hungry and desperate, and whatever restraint you’d been clinging to shattered. You kissed her back with equal fervor, your hands sliding down her back to grip her hips, pulling her flush against you. The taste of her was intoxicating, a heady mix of wine and something uniquely her, and you couldn’t get enough.

Giselle moaned softly against your mouth, her fingers tangling in your hair as she deepened the kiss. Her body arched into yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart through the thin fabric of her lingerie. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every thought consumed by her—the feel of her, the sound of her, the way she moved with you like this was where she’d always belonged.

But then, reality came crashing back in.

The image of Winter standing in the doorway flashed in your mind, her dark eyes filled with a heat that mirrored the one burning inside you now. Guilt twisted in your gut, sharp and unrelenting, and you pulled away from Giselle with a ragged breath.

“Wait,” you said, your voice hoarse. “We can’t… Winter…”

Giselle froze, her expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place—hurt? Regret? Anger? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of calm that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Winter doesn’t have to know,” she said quietly, her hands still resting on your chest. “This… this is just us. Just you and me. We don’t owe her anything.”

You stared at her, trying to reconcile her words with the storm raging inside you. Did you owe Winter anything? She’d ended things with you, walked away without a second glance. But Giselle… Giselle had always been there, a constant presence in your life, a source of comfort and strength when everything else fell apart.

And yet…

“Giselle,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can do this. Not like this.”

She studied you for a long moment, her eyes searching yours as though looking for something—truth, maybe, or clarity. Finally, she sighed and took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself as if to shield her body from the cold air that suddenly seemed to fill the room.

“Okay,” she said softly. “If that’s what you want.”

But the way she looked at you, the way her voice trembled ever so slightly, told you it wasn’t what she wanted. And deep down, you weren’t sure it was what you wanted either.

Before either of you could say another word, there was a soft knock at the door. Both of you froze, your eyes darting to the entrance as though expecting Winter to burst in again. But when no one entered, Giselle exhaled shakily and turned toward the door.

“Who is it?” she called, her voice steadier than you expected.

There was a pause, and then a familiar voice replied, “It’s me. Can we talk?”

Your stomach dropped. It was Winter.

Giselle shot you a panicked look, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What the hell…?” she muttered under her breath. She hesitated for a moment, then squared her shoulders and opened the door just enough to peek out.

Winter stood on the other side, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable. She glanced past Giselle, her gaze landing on you for a brief moment before returning to her friend.

“What’s wrong?” Giselle asked, her tone carefully neutral.

Winter hesitated, her lips pressing together in a thin line. “I…I need to talk to someone. Can I come in?”

Giselle shook her head almost imperceptibly, her hand tightening on the edge of the door. “Now’s not a good time,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “I’m… busy.”

Winter’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned forward, trying to peer past Giselle. “Busy with what?” she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

Giselle shifted to block her view, her jaw tightening. “Just… something personal,” she said vaguely. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

For a moment, Winter just stared at her, her expression torn between frustration and hurt. Then, she sighed and nodded, stepping back from the door. “Fine,” she said, her voice tinged with resignation. “But we need to talk, Giselle. Soon.”

Giselle nodded, her fingers tightening on the doorknob. “I know,” she said softly. “I promise.”

Winter lingered for a moment longer, her gaze flickering to you again before she finally turned and walked away. Giselle closed the door slowly, leaning against it with a shaky breath. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, until Giselle finally broke it.

“Well,” she said, her voice trembling with nervous laughter, “that was… unexpected.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed too, the sound strained but genuine. “Understatement of the year,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair.

But as the laughter faded, the weight of what had just happened settled over you once more. Winter knew. Or at least, she suspected something. And now, you were left wondering what would happen next.

Giselle watched you carefully, her stormy eyes full of questions you weren’t sure how to answer. “Y/n,” she began hesitantly, “what do you want to do?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. What did you want to do? Part of you wanted to run, to leave this tangled mess behind and pretend none of it had ever happened. But another part—a deeper, hungrier part—wanted to pull Giselle back into your arms and lose yourself in her again, consequences be damned.

Before you could decide, Giselle took a step closer, her fingers brushing against your hand. “Whatever happens,” she said softly, “I’m here. Okay?”

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. But the question remained: what were you going to do?

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sun-kissy · 2 days ago

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sanctuary | bucky barnes

bucky barnes x reader — ★ — wc 1.1k

summary: bucky is worried about you when you’re overworking yourself

cw: fluff, reader is a newly recruited avenger, reader is exhausted, please don’t read too much into this — definitely not self indulgent!!

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you call back shakily, not slowing. Punch after punch after punch gets thrown at the poor bag hung from the ceiling.

Bucky observes quietly as he leans against the wall of the training room. You’re dripping in sweat, though it looks like some kind of elixir in the moonlight. “It’s late. You should be in bed.”

“So should you.”

He quirks a lip upward. You’re stubborn, just like him. “I don’t have to work a 9 to 5 tomorrow.”

You cast him a glaring glance. “Working a 9 to 5 has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh yeah?” he pushes himself off the wall, crossed arms falling to his sides as he steps towards you. “So staying up late and training, waking up in the wee hours of the morning to study — none of this has anything to do with the fact that you’re working eight hours tomorrow?”

You don’t reply.

Bucky was worried about you, though he hated to admit it.

He saw you even when you didn’t think he did. You’re gone all morning for school or work, and come back to training sessions with the Avengers. Then you spend whatever time you have left studying, exercising, or whatever else it is you’re doing with the lights in your room turned on all night. Not that he was checking.

Being a new recruit on the team did mean that you had to work hard, but Bucky was sure what you were doing had to have been way past the threshold of hard work; probably on the edge of burnout.

He keeps his gaze locked on you, watching the sweat flicking off with each fist you slam against the bag. It’s robotic, almost, except for how your punches get harsher with each passing second.

“You know you’re gonna burn yourself out if you keep at this?” Bucky tries again.

“I’m fine.” There’s a sharpness to your tone. It pinches his heart in all the wrong ways.

He comes closer until he’s right in front of you, until just a centimetre off would result in the punching bag slamming him in the guts. But he knows you wouldn’t do it.

“Y/n,” he starts again, softer.

Your punches start to slow. Less and less aggressive, till you’re glaring down at your gloves and the punching bag is left bobbing with the momentum.

“I said I’m fine.”

Bucky’s heart squeezes at how defeated you sound. Dead, almost.

He steps closer yet, and he can see it. The bags under your eyes, chapped lips and droopy eyelids. You’re exhausted. “You’re not fine, doll. You’re overworking yourself.”

Your eyebrows bunch up at his words. You continue to stare downwards, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He has to resist the urge to cup your cheek and gently pull it free. Instead, he settles on resting his hand on your arm.

“I…” you mutter, tensing up for a moment before relaxing into his touch. “I’m not overworking myself. I’m doing what I have to do.”

You hardly look like you believe it yourself. Bucky sighs.

“You’re doing much more than that, doll. You’re always working. Do you ever rest?”

You frown. “But I can handle it.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Look at yourself.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m ugly?”

Bucky snorts. “You’re far from ugly, you little minx. You know what I mean — you look dead tired, and I’m sure you feel it too.” He squeezes your elbow, not unkindly. “Do you even sleep?”

You shrug, and that’s all the response he needs.

Bucky exhales exasperatedly, moving his hand down to take your fingers in his. You make a noise of protest as he starts to drag you out the training room.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re taking me?”

He sighs when you claw your fingers into his arm, trying to gain friction and come to a stop.

“I —“ he wraps his metal arm around your waist, hoisting you up and ignoring your yelp, “— am taking you to bed; where you would’ve already been if you took proper care of yourself.”

You squawk, patting his back in a hopeless attempt to be released. “Put me down!”

“Nope.”

“Bucky!”

“Yes?”

“Put. Me. Down.”

“No. If you’re not going to rest, I’m going to make you.”

You groan.

His lips curve into a small smile when you finally stop protesting, your head coming down defeatedly to rest on his shoulder. He carries you up the stairs and into your room.

Bucky lays you down with all the gentility he can muster, which is surprisingly a lot. You mutter a begrudging thanks and instinctively crawl under the covers.

He immediately spots your phone on the nightstand. He takes it before you can, holding it up to your face to unlock it.

You grimace. “What are you doing?”

He squints at the tiny screen, fingers poking here and there. “Turning off all your alarms.”

“I have work tomorrow!”

“You also have off-days,” he mutters, waving you off and putting the device where you can’t reach.

You sigh for what must’ve been the hundredth time that day, rubbing your forehead frustratedly. Bucky softens.

He comes to sit on the edge of the bed, smiling at the petulant look you were giving him. Something in him stirred at the sight; you looked so childlike, so innocent. The need to protect you was strong.

“Listen,” he starts gently. “Like I said before, you need rest, okay? Just — try not to think about work, or school, or anything tonight. Relax.”

You exhale, some tension slowly leaving your features. You seem to be contemplating what to say, maybe whether to ask him if he could reschedule your shift for you, talk to your professors about your absence. Bucky was ready to say yes, yes I’ll do anything you want me to. Yes, I’ll do it because it’s you.

You look up at him nervously. “Am I gonna be okay?”

Bucky opens his mouth. He blinks and shuts it.

He rakes his fingers through his hair with a soft sigh and nods slowly. “Yeah, doll. Yeah, you’re gonna be okay.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You stay quiet for a moment before nodding, letting yourself sink fully into the mattress. He smiles at the sight.

“Goodnight.” Bucky stands up.

“Goodnight,” you mumble back. He watches as you tug the covers up to your chin, eyes fluttering shut.

He makes his way across the room.

“Bucky?”

He hums in response, turning back around.

“Thank you.”

He feels his heart do a little jump. He can’t stop the smile from spreading across his lips. “You’re welcome, doll. Now get some sleep, yeah?”

You nod, already starting to drift off.

Bucky closes the door as he steps outside. The lights in your room are turned off for the first time in a long, long time.

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ang3ltine · 12 hours ago

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𝐖𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 '𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬'?- College au

⤿ 𝖿𝗍 𝖬𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 student 𝖲𝖾 𝗆𝗂 𝗑 𝖥𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇 student 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: this is just a small headcanon that shows how it would be like to have a roommate like Se mi.

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: mentions of alcohol, drunk Se mi, smoking, suggestive themes, abusive relationship and violence (not too extreme).

𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: Don't worry this mostly contains fluff!! Also I hope you enjoy!

𖦹 It was the start of a new year in College and you had decided to swap roommates with another girl. The reason was that your old roommate was a pain in the ass and you'd had enough.

𖦹 By the time you had entered your new dorm room, another girl was unpacking her stuff. She was tall, had short dark hair and piercings on her nose and bottom lip. Honestly you had mixed feelings, she was super hot but also kind of intimidating?

𖦹 Nonetheless, despite you two being polar opposites of eachother. You both got along pretty well. Your roommate was a music major named Se mi, her aesthetic was more simple and darker than yours. Whereas you liked your pinks and whites and was a Fashion Major.

𖦹 You thought that Se mi would be the type to keep to herself and not talk much with you, but you were dead wrong. She's super kind and caring but was also a big tease.

𖦹 Furniture shopping!! You guys would go to the mall to buy cute furniture for your dorm room. Se mi picked out cute matching cups with Cherries for you guys to share ♡

𖦹 Se mi legit lives in your bed at this point. She loves how your mattress was much more plush and comfortable than hers. You'd always have to kick her out if you find her sneaking under your covers at night.

"Se mi? What the hell are you doing??" You hissed through your teeth as Se mi slips under your covers.

"What..? Oh don't mind me, just go back to sleep and pretend you never saw me," she'd state casually while snuggling further into the blanket. This had been going on since maybe the 3rd week of the 1st semester?

Groaning in annoyance while you face palmed, you had to calm your heartbeat down. At some point you had begun to grow a small crush on her but blamed it on your lack of success in your love life.

𖦹 Speaking of your love life. It was a legit mess. Every boy you had been with had either cheated on you or was just a fling. The most recent 'boyfriend' you had was super manipulative and controlling. Feeling like you didn't really have a choice , you stuck with him. Because he gave you what you thought was love.

𖦹 Se mi hates this man with her guts and believes you deserve better. Literally has an existential crisis because she doesn't know whether the feelings she has for you is platonic or much more.

𖦹 Finally she had enough when she heard you crying by your bedside, keening down and clutching your stomach. He had punched you, hard. Without a second thought, she stormed her way through the boy's dormitory and confronted the guy. Leaving him with a broken nose and a clear message.

"Don't mess with my girl."

𖦹 Se mi likes when you style her clothes or pick out outfits for her. Also she absolutely loves it when you actually make clothes for her! Literally adores every accessory or shirt/sweater you design for her.

𖦹 She's a smoker and gets drunk from time to time. This was so she could cope with her own problems, until you coerced her to drink less and smoke outside. As her birthday gift, you got her the vivienne westwood heart shaped lighter that had been on her wishlist. You may or may not have taken a look at it while she wasn't looking. She so wanted to marry you on the spot when you handed it to her.

"Please marry me!!" She'd scream, literally almost waking up the girls next door.

"Geez! Ok, fine! I'll marry you, just be quiet!" You whisper shouted as she hands you a makeshift ring that she totally didn't make right infront of you.

𖦹 Don't worry, she gets you a real one with a golden band and a pink gem in the middle. Which you love and Cherish ofcourse! You two would definitely have matching promise rings, with hers being a silver band and a black gem.

𖦹 Both of you collect figurines so you two definitely go to popmart together! She likes Hirono and Kubo whereas you liked Skullpanda and Molly figurines. You'd decorate your room with showcases and get matching labubu's together!! So cute

𖦹 Would drop you off at your class before going to hers cause both the music department and fashion/design department are close by.

𖦹 Gives you privacy whenever you need it and isn't the type of person to eavesdrop in a conversation that you're having with a friend. Unless you personally come to her for advice.

𖦹 When you two started dating, she was the one to ask you to be her girlfriend. She knew you had feelings for her too but you didn't know how to tell her. Which she completely understands, this was something new to you. She took her time with you and eventually you got more comfortable in the relationship.

𖦹 Ideal dating spots would be around or near campus, unfortunately. This is due to your busy schedules and you both take your majors seriously. If you guys are on break, she definitely take you outside the city to the beach. If you didn't want to travel far, she'd take you to cute cafés and arcades to have fun and chill at the same time.

𖦹 Very much into PDA! Holds your hand/waist when your walking to class or talking a walk around campus. Would teasingly whisper obscene things into your ear just to get a reaction out of you. Often resulting in you both making out in the girls washroom or a janitors closet.

{Nsfw}

𖦹 Oh Lord you're in for a long ride. Yall share the same washroom so expect shower sex from time to time. You'd have to shove her out the bathroom because she wouldn't leave, when you just wanted a peaceful shower.

𖦹 Is surprisngly super sweet and soft during intimacy. A soft dom most of the time but can be a switch too. However, if she's feeling frustrated then expect her to be a little rough. But she'd give you the best aftercare, making sure to rub your sides and stomach. Would give you painkillers and a warm bubbly bath. If you wanted, she would join you. If not then she'd wait until you've finished first.

𖦹 you guys share a bed at this point, so now you both have a small double bed with a super plush mattress and insanely fluffy pillows and massive duvet. Will never keep her hands to herself so expect lazy morning sex or insane makeout sessions.

"Why're you so embarrassed? I've literally seen you naked so there's no need to be shy~" she'd say teasingly while cuddling with you in bed.

"God you're insufferable..!"

Safe to say you two didn't make it to your first class.

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #player 380 x reader #se mi x reader #squid game smut #squid game headcanons #player 380 #ang3ltine

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slightly-knot-insane · 2 days ago

Note

Idea for fic: where the reader is on the bed teasing the monster that they tied to the wall with a rope or chain and is some how holding the chain (kinda like a pulley system) and accidentally lets go of the chain and the monster pounces on them ;)

a/n: Hehehe, I love this! :3 Thank you for the ask!

Hung-Over

[ m!monster x fem!reader ]

content: grinding

You wait for him to wake up, your arms crossed, a pout on your mouth. You tug the rope around his legs, trying to wake him up faster - you were becoming irritatingly impatient.

With a long yawn followed by a grunt, he opens one eye. "Oh shit... Everything hurts." He notices you and immediately wakes up, his eyes dilating in panic. "I'm... in trouble?"

"You got drunk again!" you snap. "You got drunk again, forgot your phone at a pub, and barged in through the door like a rhino!"

"I broke our door again?"

"No, luckily you were able to use the lock, but you slammed the door so hard, I think the wall next to it cracked."

"I'm so sorry, love, I—" He frowns and wriggles his arms and legs. Or better said - tries to. "Why are my wrists and ankles tied?"

"I told you I'll punish you if you scare me like that again. Now you're hungover, tied and will watch Pawn Stars all morning."

"NO!" He roars, anguish written all over his face. "You know how much I hate those cheapskates! Ow... my head..."

You turn on the TV sit in the armchair next to your bed and grab a huge bowl of popcorn you already prepared. You enjoy the grunts and annoyed comments your boyfriend throws at the TV.

After one episode finishes, you look at your prisoner and see him straining to grab the end of one of the ropes, probably intending to either pull it or just chew it off. "Hey!" You jump on the bed and smack his hand away. You stand above him, legs spread and arms akimbo. "You could just apologize and admit you fucked up."

He eyes you from your ankles to your lips. "Didn't I?"

"You can be a real prick sometimes, you know that?"

He sighs. "I know and I am sorry. But I always forget my stuff when I'm drunk." You take the rope and pull it, quartering your boyfriend a little bit more. "Ouch!"

"Ask some of your friends to watch it for you before you get completely pissed. Seriously. I was so worried."

He looks at you, puppy eyes mode on. "Really? You love me that much?"

You click your tongue and pull the rope again, the elaborate pulley system you prepared while your boyfriend was passed out on your bed doing what it's supposed to. He grunts and... laughs? You look down and roll your eyes. A big lump is formed under his boxers. "You really are a freak."

"You know it, babe," he smirks and his tail (that sneakily coiled around your ankle while you weren't paying attention) lifts your leg up. With a yelp you fall on the bed and let go of the rope. A perfect opportunity for him. He simply sits up and, with a yank, pulls one of the ropes out of the pulleys. While you wrestle with his strong tail pinning you into the mattress, he frees his legs and lays on top of you. His wrists remain tied together but that doesn't bother him - he pulls your arms above your head and places himself between your legs. "Aaah, finally. Where I'm supposed to be."

His bulge presses against your groin and you can't escape getting hot under his warm weight. "You asshole..."

He keeps moving his hips up and down, grinding his hardness against your soft folds. He kisses you, moaning even before you do. You push yourself up, to feel him more. He spreads your legs further with every futile push. You feel his cock prodding against your entrance but your clothes are holding it captured. The desperate rolls of your boyfriends pelvis indicate he just might be close... And you are as well. You pant, lick your dry lips wanting to taste his delicious cock and ride it to your orgasm. But all you can do is angrily rub against him, sliding up and down his bent shaft. It becomes almost unbearable and painful, but pleasure building up soothes every burning nerve. You climax grinding against his stomach. He laughs, triumphantly letting you go and getting his cock out. Through his tied hands he blows his load onto you, staining your PJs and hair. But all you can do is laugh with him.

He kisses your sweaty forehead. "I'm sorry for making you worried. I promise I won't let this happen again. If..."

You raise your eyebrow. "If?"

"If we don't dismantle this wonderful pulley system you came up with. I'm sure it will come in very useful in the future."

#monster #monster smut #monster imagine #monster lover #monster fucker #monster fuqqer #monster fudger #monster x reader #monster x you #monster x human #monster x fem!reader #exophelia #terat0philliac #teratophillia #terato #slightlyknotinsane #ski.doc

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luxerians · 1 day ago

Text

The Last Mask (10)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 10 - Round and Round

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 11

PREV : Chapter 09

You woke to the sound of that dreaded classical music. It had become a signal you hated. It was a reminder that another game awaited you this morning. And in this place, games weren’t for fun.

The bright lights flicked on suddenly. You squinted against the glare, trying to shake off the heaviness of sleep. Around you, players began to stir, and the familiar voice of the announcer filled the dormitory:

“The third game will begin momentarily. All players, please get out of bed and prepare.”

You stretched on the mattress, letting out a quiet groan, when someone bumped into your back. Turning your head, you saw Gi-hun emerging from his sleeping spot beneath the bed. His eyes, half-lidded with sleep, widened when he realized what he’d done. He quickly scooted back, muttering slurred apologies as he rubbed his face.

Sitting up, you glanced around. The dormitory was alive with the sounds of people rising and shifting. Dae-ho’s gruff murmurs mingled with the rustling of blankets as Jung-bae and Jun-hee began to stir from their spots behind you. Across from you, Young-il sat still, his gaze fixed on you. His face was unreadable at first, but then a small smile played on his lips.

“Sorry,” he said, his tone casual as his eyes lingered on your sleepy expression. “I didn’t wake you on purpose. Ladies should get enough rest.”

You blinked at him, realizing immediately what he was doing. He was covering for you, making sure no one questioned why you hadn’t kept your promised watch.

“Good call, Young-il,” drawled Jung-bae, his torso halfway out of his sleeping spot as he gave Jun-hee space to rise. He looked as though he might collapse back into sleep at any moment.

All of you got up and left your group’s sleeping area, trudging towards the clear center of the dormitory. You rubbed your face groggily, trying to shake off the heaviness of sleep, as you followed behind the others.

As you walked, you felt a gentle brush against your ear. Startled, you turned your head, your innocent, wide-eyed gaze landing on Young-il. He walked beside you as he tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear with his left hand. The gesture was unassuming, yet it sent a ripple through your chest.

You gave him a bashful, warm smile, your heart flipping at the casual intimacy of it. He smiled back. Neither of you spoke. Turning your attention forward, you continued walking. Despite your calm demeanor, on the inside, it felt like fireworks were going off. Your stomach fluttered, a ridiculous amount of butterflies threatening to burst free. You couldn’t help but feel an urge to express this overwhelming affection, even if it meant something silly like biting him out of pure love aggression.

Your thoughts were cut short when you glanced to the side. Lee Min-jae and his friends were making their way towards the center as well. Min-jae’s gaze was locked on you, his eyes darting briefly between you and Young-il. Then he nodded, a dark understanding flickering across his face, his expression tinged with something that felt unsettling – vengeful, too.

You quickly looked away, pretending you hadn’t seen him. Instead, you focused on the path ahead, instinctively moving closer to Young-il.

All of you were led out of the dormitory and into the labyrinthine halls of the massive staircase complex. With every step, your nerves grew sharper. Another game awaited that will decide you either live or die. The uncertainty was suffocating. What if it was a game you didn’t know? What if you weren’t good at it? Worse, what if it was a game that forced you against your own groupmates?

Gi-hun led your group at the front. Behind him was Jung-bae, then you, with Young-il just a step behind you. Jun-hee trailed close behind, while Dae-ho took up the rear. Just behind your group was the mother’s team, with her son, Hyun-ju, and player 095.

Eventually, you and the rest of the players were herded into a large room where a white curtain blocked your view of what lay beyond. Four triangle-masked guards stood at the forefront, their weapons at the ready. A tense silence fell over the crowd as everyone shuffled into place.

Once all players were gathered, the white curtains began to slide open. You rose on your tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of what awaited on the other side. The announcer’s calm, detached voice filled the space:

“Welcome to your third game.”

The sight before you was unlike anything you had imagined. The room was circular, resembling an arena, with a central platform that looked like a carousel. Ornate horse sculptures decorated the platform, and colorful doors lined the walls in evenly spaced intervals. The doors were adorned with lights, bows, and intricate patterns, creating a surreal carnival atmosphere that felt disturbingly out of place.

Your gaze darted around, taking in every detail, but your attention was so focused that you didn’t notice Young-il’s quiet gaze lingering on you. His expression was unreadable as he watched you survey the room.

“The game you will be playing is Mingle,” the announcer declared.

You and your group stopped near the edge of the platform, exchanging uncertain glances. The announcer continued:

“All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform wil begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds.”

The realization hit you hard as the game’s instructions sank in. You had played something similar in kindergarten and primary school, where the game involved forming groups by hugging. But now, this game wasn’t just about forming groups; it was about survival. This game could either strengthen bonds or shatter them entirely. In here, the stakes included life and death.

Jung-bae’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Oh, this game? We used to play something like this on school trips. We’d form groups by hugging.”

“Yeah,” Dae-ho added, glancing around. “Except now, instead of hugging, we’re going into those rooms.”

All around you, chatter rose as players began strategizing. You and your group instinctively huddled together in a loose half-circle to discuss your approach.

“But this will break our group, won’t it?” you asked, frowning in concern. “We’re six right now. What if we have to form a group of five or four?”

Young-il stepped closer to your side, his presence steadying. “We’ll prioritize the women first. If the number is five, we’ll split into two groups of three and each find two more players to fill the gap. If it’s four, you, Jun-hee, and two others from our group will form a team. The remaining two of us will find more players.”

You nodded slowly as the others listened intently. Gi-hun chimed in, “If the number is bigger than six, we’ll get the additional people we need.”

“No matter what happens, don’t panic,” Young-il added. “Let’s stay calm.”

Jung-bae leaned in slightly. “If we’re asked to form pairs, that’ll be easy. The six of us can split into three groups of two.”

Young-il spoke again, his voice carrying an edge of seriousness. “If it’s pairs, let’s make sure [Your name] and Jun-hee are in separate teams. Each of them should pair with one of us men. If the two ladies end up together, other players might see them as easy targets to push around.”

Dae-ho’s eyes widened in realization, and he nodded quickly. “You’re right. You're right.”

You glanced at Jun-hee, who stood quietly beside Dae-ho, one hand clutching the underside of her belly. She looked nervous as her eyes darted between the others while the discussion continued.

“We need to decide now,” Young-il said firmly, his calm voice cutting through the tension. He turned to you and stated, “If it’s two, you will pair with me. Jun-hee will go with Dae-ho.”

“Then I’ll go with Gi-hun,” pointed out Jung-bae.

Young-il nodded in agreement. “Yes. Is everyone okay with that?”

The rest of you nodded your head. Young-il scanned each of your faces. “We’ll all make it through this. Together.”

He extended his right hand into the center of the circle. One by one, the rest of you placed your hands on top of his.

“One, two, three…” Young-il began.

“Victory at all costs!”

All of you stepped onto the platform, your group instinctively huddling together amid the growing crowd of players. You noticed Hyun-ju and her group were positioned right beside you. Taking a glance around, you confirmed the lineup of your group: Young-il was standing right next to you, followed by Jun-hee, who was flanked protectively by Dae-ho and Jung-bae, with Gi-hun at the front. You were all near the edge of the platform.

“Let the game begin.”

The ground beneath your feet shifted, the platform beginning to rotate. Players gasped and muttered in surprise as the movement threw everyone slightly off balance. You quickly planted your feet to steady yourself, your breath catching in your throat.

Then, the music began – a melody that tugged at memories of childhood. Its playful notes filled the room as the platform’s rotation picked up a steady rhythm. Overhead, the lights created shifting patterns on the platform, casting a carnival-like glow across the arena.

When the voices of children joined in, it sent an eerie chill down your spine:

“Round and round.

Round and round.

Let’s go around circles and dance.

We will clap our hands and sing.

La-la-la-la, let’s have fun dancing.

Ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a-ring.

Ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a-ring.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs as the platform’s motion and the cheery song created a stark contrast to the ominous stakes of the game. Unable to suppress your anxiety, your eyes darted to Young-il, standing stoically on your right. He met your gaze immediately, his calm demeanor unshaken.

You wanted to offer him a smile. But you couldn’t. The weight of your fear was too heavy. Instead, your hand moved instinctively, reaching for the sleeve of his jacket. Your fingers curled around the fabric, clinging tightly as if it could anchor you to something solid amidst the uncertainty.

Young-il noticed the gesture and nodded at you. That single nod carried more meaning than words could have. I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.

The music continued:

“We will go hand in hand.

And have fun jumping around.

Round and round.”

The platform and music abruptly stopped, catching almost everyone off guard. You stumbled, your balance thrown by the sudden halt. Instinctively, you tightened your grip on Young-il’s sleeve. He glanced at you quickly, his other hand moving as if to catch you, but you managed to find your footing.

Before you could process the moment, the announcer’s voice echoed through the room: “Ten.”

A fast-paced, almost frantic tune filled the air. The overhead lights shifted into rapid flickers of red and purple, casting the arena in a dizzying blur of color. Your heartbeat quickened as the urgency in the atmosphere intensified. Around you, chaos erupted as players began shouting:

“We need two!”

“We need five! Come with us!”

You felt a firm grasp on your forearm. Turning quickly, you saw Young-il’s hand holding you securely. His expression was focused as he scanned everyone. Around you, the rest of your group sprang into action. Gi-hun turned, his gaze landing on Hyun-ju’s group nearby. Stepping toward her, he patted her shoulder and asked, “How many are you?”

“Four,” Hyun-ju responded without hesitation.

“We’re ten now!” Gi-hun called out, signaling to you and the others.

“Follow me!” Young-il said sharply, his voice cutting through the chaos. Without hesitation, he jogged off the platform, pulling you along by the arm. The rest of your group, including Hyun-ju’s team, hurried to keep up.

Young-il led you all to one of the many doors lining the arena. He yanked it open, gesturing for you to go inside first. You hurried through. One by one, the others rushed in after you. Young-il stayed by the door, holding it open until everyone was inside. Only then did he step in and firmly shut it.

The room was just large enough to hold all ten of you and more. It felt cramped but safe compared to the chaos outside. Your breath came in short bursts as you scanned the room. Overhead, a timer on the wall counted down. When it hit zero, a long, piercing beep echoed, and you heard the door lock automatically.

You turned to look at your group: Young-il, Gi-hun, Jun-hee, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, the mother, her son Yong-sik, Hyun-ju, and player 095. Relief coursed through you as you confirmed everyone was there. Ten people. Your group had made it.

But relief was fleeting. A chorus of cries and screams filtered through the door. You noticed a rectangular viewing slot on the door and, drawn by morbid curiosity, stepped closer. Peering through, you saw the arena outside.

Triangle guards moved with mechanical precision, their weapons raised and ready. Leftover players scrambled in panic, some pounding on doors, others pleading for mercy. The guards advanced steadily, and then gunshots. The sharp cracks of rifles echoed, silencing the cries one by one.

You flinched and jerked back from the door, unable to watch any longer. Spinning around, you cast your gaze to the floor, trying to block out the images. The reality of the situation crashed over you like a wave. Those players had been just like you. They had laughed and celebrated during Hyun-ju’s team’s victory in the Seven Legs Hexathlon. Now, they were gone.

Your chest tightened with pity and sorrow. Those players had families, and people waiting for them to come home. The weight of their loss pressed heavily on your shoulders.

Unbeknownst to you, Young-il stood silently by your side, his expression unreadable but his gaze unwavering, as if focused entirely on you.

You were lost in thought, staring blankly at the floor, when you felt a gentle hand rest on your shoulder. Turning, you found Gi-hun standing there, his face lined with concern. His voice broke through the silence, soft but steady. “You okay?”

Forcing a small smile, you nodded. “Yes. I guess I’m just not good at fast-paced games like this. I can’t think clearly when everything’s moving so quickly.”

“Same here,” Dae-ho admitted, still catching his breath. “I was completely blank until Gi-hun shouted we got ten.”

Jung-bae chimed in with a groan. “But do they really have to blast that fast music during the group selection? It’s impossible to think straight with all that noise.”

Player 095 nodded vigorously, her eyes wide. “Me too. The flashing lights made it even worse. I could barely see where I was going.”

Hyun-ju’s voice cut through the chatter. “We can manage this as long as we stay calm and stay together.”

Your gaze drifted to Jun-hee, who was quietly standing beside the mother. The older woman had leaned in, speaking softly to her, and Jun-hee responded with a small smile, murmuring that she was fine.

“That’s right,” Young-il agreed. Then, without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Gi-hun, noticing the gesture, slowly withdrew his hand from your shoulder. Young-il offered you a gentle smile as he added, “Don’t worry. We’ll prioritize the ladies first.”

You felt the tension in your chest ease slightly and managed a genuine smile in return. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the others in the room nodding in agreement.

Minutes ticked by as the muffled sounds of the guards cleaning the arena filtered through the door. Finally, the door clicked, unlocking with a low click. One by one, you all filed out of the room.

As you all headed back towards the platform, you looked around. The bodies were gone, but the bloodstains remained. It was a stark reminder of the carnage that had unfolded. Like in the Seven Legs Hexathlon game, the platform’s surface bore the uncleaned evidence of the lives lost.

Young-il had stepped onto the platform earlier, his eyes immediately locking onto you as if he’d been waiting. Once you approached, he extended a hand. You smiled gratefully and placed your hand in his. With a gentle pull, he helped you onto the platform with ease.

Just as you steadied yourself, you felt a brush against your shoulder. Turning, you saw Lee Min-jae walking past, uncomfortably close. His expression was cold, his eyes sharp as they met yours. Behind him, his two friends followed, casting glances in your direction.

A chill ran through you as you watched them pass. Dread crept in, a gnawing unease settling in your chest. Something about the way they looked at you made your stomach twist. It was as though they had already decided on some form of revenge and you were at the center of it.

Before the thought could take root, you felt an arm wrap gently around your waist. Startled, you turned to see Young-il beside you, his voice calm but firm as he said, “Ignore them.”

You nodded, though uncertainty still tugged at you. Unbeknownst to you, however, Young-il fixed the three boys with a dark glare, his jaw tightening ever so slightly as if daring them to try anything.

Together, he guided you toward your group, his arm lingering protectively at your side. Despite his reassurance, the worry clawed at you. You hoped Min-jae and his friends wouldn’t do anything. You all were already trapped in this live-or-die game. You could not afford another player sabotaging your gameplay.

As the second round began, the platform began its counter-clockwise rotation, just as it had before. Tension hung heavy in the air. Most players stood rigid, their eyes darting around nervously. In stark contrast, Thanos and his friend seemed entirely unfazed, dancing around to the children’s music that filled the arena once more:

“Round and round.

Round and round.

Let’s go around in circles and dance.

We will clap our hands and sing.

La-la-la-la, let’s have fun dancing.

Ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a-ring.

Ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a-ring.”

At that moment, your hand instinctively reached for Young-il’s sleeve again, seeking comfort from the incoming chaos.

The music continued:

“We will go hand in hand.

And have fun jumping around.

Round and round.”

The song and platform came to an abrupt stop, throwing you off balance. Young-il’s arm shot out instinctively, wrapping securely around your waist to steady you before you could stumble further.

The announcer’s voice rang out: “Four.”

Panic erupted among the players as the platform came alive once again beneath the rapid tempo of lights flickering red and purple. The fast-paced music urged everyone into a frenzied motion.

Young-il turned to you urgently. “You, Jun-hee, and two other men! Go!”

Gi-hun’s voice quickly followed, gesturing toward the others. “Dae-ho and Jung-bae, go with the girls!”

Without hesitation, Dae-ho and Jung-bae sprang into action, herding you and Jun-hee toward the nearest room across from you.

“Here! Quick! Quick!” Jung-bae shouted as he reached a room and yanked the door open.

One by one, you all rushed inside, Jun-hee first, followed by you and Dae-ho, with Jung-bae bringing up the rear and slamming the door shut behind him. The timer above the door caught your attention. Ten seconds remained.

Your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, but your focus was drawn to the rectangular hole in the door. You stepped closer, peering through to scan the chaos outside. Players were darting in every direction. Some yelled the number of players they still needed, others scrambled frantically for rooms, and a few brawled near the doors, desperate to secure safety before the clock hit zero.

But amidst the disorder, you couldn’t spot Young-il and Gi-hun. Your stomach churned with unease as you searched the sea of frantic faces, but the two you were looking for were nowhere to be seen.

As soon as the timer let out its long, ominous beep, the door locked with a loud click. You turned your gaze away from the small window, not wanting to see the inevitable carnage outside. The rapid and relentless gunfire began almost immediately.

You moved to stand beside Jun-hee, who was leaning against the wall with one hand resting protectively on her belly. Her breaths were short and labored, and her expression was tired. You reached out and touched her arm lightly.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

Jun-hee nodded, her fingers tightening slightly over her belly.

“Yes,” she murmured, though her voice carried the faint tremor of exhaustion. Then, looking up at you, she added, “Did you see Gi-hun and Young-il out there?”

You shook your head. “No, I didn’t. But I’m sure they found two more players and made it into a room. Those two are good at playing these games.”

A thought lingered at the back of your mind: Not only were they skilled, but they were also both previous winners.

The minutes stretched on as muffled noises from outside hinted at the grim cleanup underway. Finally, the door unlocked with a metallic click, and you all filed out cautiously. Your eyes immediately darted around, scanning the crowd of survivors milling about.

“Young-il! Gi-hun!” Dae-ho called out, his voice cutting through the tension as he addressed them with the respectful hyungnim honorifics.

Jung-bae joined in, raising his voice slightly. “Gi-hun? Young-il?”

Your brow furrowed deeply as you scanned the faces around you. The growing worry twisted in your stomach, tightening with every second that passed without a sign of them. There was no way they could have failed, you told yourself. No way.

And then, a familiar voice called your name.

All at once, your shoulders relaxed. Relief washed over you like a wave as you turned to see them. Young-il and Gi-hun were jogging toward your group, their expressions mirroring the same relief and joy you felt.

“You two!” Dae-ho exclaimed, his voice brimming with relief.

“Oh, thank God!” Jung-bae sighed before rushing forward to hug Gi-hun tightly. Gi-hun’s eyes widened in surprise at the sudden embrace, but he patted Jung-bae’s back awkwardly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Meanwhile, Young-il stepped closer to you, his gaze scanning you from head to toe. His eyes held a warmth that made your heart flutter.

“You alright?” he asked, a smile softening his features.

You nodded, returning his smile. “I am. I was worried about you.”

He held your gaze for a moment, his smile lingering as if your words meant more to him than you realized.

Dae-ho, still catching his breath, placed a hand on his chest and let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you two made it. I was really worried there for a moment.”

Without warning, Jung-bae turned and side-hugged Young-il. The unexpected gesture caught Young-il off guard, and he stiffened momentarily before chuckling softly.

“I knew you two were going to be okay!” Jung-bae declared, his voice filled with genuine cheer.

Young-il gave a low laugh as he patted Jung-bae’s back. Jung-bae stepped back and, with a grin, declared, “I knew it. You two weren’t just anybody!”

Gi-hun offered a small smile, clarifying, “We found two players we needed. We made it into a room just in time.”

Young-il’s gaze shifted to Jun-hee. His expression softened, and he glanced at her belly as he asked, “Are you feeling alright?”

Jun-hee returned his concern with a gentle smile. “Yes, I’m alright. I’m glad you two made it.”

Young-il’s face shifted as if he suddenly remembered something. He looked at the group and said, “Wait a minute. If the next number is seven, we won’t need anyone else, will we?”

You and the others stared at him, momentarily confused. His words hung in the air as everyone tried to piece together what he meant.

Dae-ho frowned slightly, glancing around at the rest of you before asking, “Why not?”

A mischievous smile spread across Young-il’s lips as his gaze landed briefly on Jun-hee’s belly. You raised your eyebrows as realization dawned. “Because Jun-hee’s baby is considered one too?”

Young-il laughed, confirming your guess.

“Oh!” Dae-ho clapped his hands as silent laughter shook his shoulders. “Yeah, that makes us seven already!”

The realization rippled through the group, and everyone burst into light laughter. Jun-hee’s hand rested protectively on her belly as she chuckled softly. Gi-hun stepped closer, gently patting her shoulder. The atmosphere felt lighter, a brief but much-needed reprieve from the tense reality of the games.

“What if it’s twins?” Jung-bae chimed in. “Does that make eight?”

Dae-ho guffawed loudly, the sound infectious as it pulled more laughter from you and the rest of the group.

You smiled warmly, heartened by how protective and supportive everyone was of Jun-hee. For just a little while, the harshness of the game seemed to fade away.

That was until the announcer stated, “All players, please step onto the center platform.”

You found yourself standing at the edge of the platform with Gi-hun on one side and Young-il on the other. Behind you, Jun-hee stood flanked by Dae-ho and Jung-bae.

The third round began. The carousel platform beneath your feet began to rotate. Overhead lights cast playful patterns across the arena, a stark contrast to the anxiety pooling in your chest. Then, the familiar children’s song echoed across the space:

“Round and round.

Round and round.

Let’s go around in circles and dance.

We will clap our hands and sing.

La-la-la-la-”

The platform and music came to an abrupt halt, throwing most of you off balance. Before you could regain your footing, Young-il’s hand shot out, steadying you by your arm. The announcer’s voice immediately filled the space: “Three.”

The fast-paced music started up again, accompanied by rapid flickers of purple and red lights. You exchanged glances with your group.

“Just like we planned!” Young-il reminded in a firm tone.

Gi-hun’s voice cut through the noise. “Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Jun-hee! Go!”

The three of them darted off the platform without hesitation. Without wasting another second, Young-il grabbed your arm and called out to Gi-hun, “Let’s go!”

The three of you bolted, weaving through the frenzied players as everyone scrambled to find the needed number of players. You followed Young-il’s lead, your heart pounding in your chest as the seconds ticked away. Finally, you spotted an empty room, and the three of you rushed inside.

Young-il pulled the door shut with a solid thud. You leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breathing as the timer counted down. A long, shrill beep signaled that time was up, followed by the familiar click of the door locking itself automatically.

Pressing your back against the wall, you exhaled deeply. The room’s silence was jarring while countless gunshots resounded outside. Despite your relief, your thoughts immediately went to the others. You hoped Jun-hee, Dae-ho, and Jung-bae had managed to find a room in time.

Once the gunshots ceased, a heavy silence filled the room. Young-il moved to stand beside you, his chest rising and falling with each measured breath. Across from you, Gi-hun crouched down, resting his back against the wall, his face shadowed with exhaustion.

The announcer’s voice echoed, mechanically listing the numbers of eliminated players as the guards busied themselves cleaning up the arena. You muttered under your breath, barely audible, “How many more rounds do we have to do this?”

Young-il glanced at you, his expression unreadable but his voice calm. “Perhaps the next round or the one after will be the final one.”

Gi-hun, still crouched, nodded slowly as he raised his head. “I think he’s right. The numbers needed to pass each round keep getting smaller. It’s like they’re funneling us toward the end.”

You absorbed their words in silence, staring down at the floor. The thought of the next one possibly being the last round brought an odd mix of relief and dread. Relief that this ordeal might soon end, and dread for what that final round might entail.

Finally, you nodded. The three of you stayed there in the quiet, bracing yourselves for whatever was to come next.

After a few minutes, the door finally unlocked with a faint click. Gi-hun stepped forward and pulled it open, holding it for you. You stepped out first, your eyes scanning the room. Young-il followed closely, and Gi-hun came out last.

You immediately began searching for the other players. Your focus sharpened as you searched for Jun-hee, Jung-bae, and Dae-ho. As you looked, a familiar figure emerged from another room. It was the mother, accompanied by two players you vaguely recognized, player 380 and another random player. Her son, Yong-sik, was nowhere in sight. A pang of unease struck you. You hadn’t expected them to be separated.

The mother appeared small and frail amidst the chaos, her wide eyes scanning the crowd anxiously. Concerned, you stepped toward her. Young-il and Gi-hun followed you from behind.

You called her gently using the respectful halmeoni title and asked, “Are you okay?”

She turned toward you, her expression softening as a relieved smile spread across her face. She patted your shoulder affectionately. “Oh, miss! I’m so glad you’re alright! Where is the little lady?”

“She’s with the other boys in our group,” you replied reassuringly before glancing around. “Where is your son?”

Her smile faltered slightly as she blinked at you, confusion clouding her features. “Sorry?”

Young-il approached as he asked, “Weren’t you with him?”

The mother’s gaze shifted away and you noticed it. Her wide smile returned, but it felt forced as if she was trying to dismiss the concern with false cheerfulness.

“Oh, well,” she began, her tone light and airy. “I lost hold of him. He told me to wait while he went to bring one more person, but I lost him in all the fuss.”

Young-il asked, “He didn’t come back?”

Her smile vanished entirely. She stared at Young-il, the agitation on her face unmistakable now. The three of you waited, your own unease growing with the silence.

That’s when someone called out, “Mrs. Jang!”

She turned quickly, her face lighting up with a wide grin. “Oh, goodness!”

Player 095 and Hyun-ju rushed toward her, pulling her into a warm group hug. The mother let out a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

When they stepped back, she immediately began patting them down, checking for injuries. “You’re not hurt at all, are you?”

Behind them, another player approached. You recognized him instantly. It was Player 246, who had teamed up with them during the Seven Legs Hexathlon. Hyun-ju gestured toward him and said, “He saved our lives.”

Player 095 chimed in with a bright smile, “Mr. 246 here showed up when we were running out of time, just like Prince Charming!”

“Boy, you do look like a prince,” the mother beamed at him, reaching out to shake his hands. “Thank you so much.”

Player 246 shook his head modestly. “Not at all. These two saved my life.”

Hyun-ju’s expression shifted as she looked around. “Where’s Yong-sik?”

“Mom.”

All of you turned toward the voice. Standing a few feet away, Yong-sik appeared frozen. He looked as though he could barely believe his mother was alive and standing there.

The mother’s face softened, and she walked toward him, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. “It’s okay. I made it. You’re not hurt, are you?”

Tears welled up in Yong-sik’s eyes, and his voice cracked as he replied, “Mom… I… I’m so sorry…”

He broke down, sobbing openly, as the mother quickly pulled him into an embrace. He repeated, “Mom, I’m sorry…”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she murmured, holding him tightly. “We both made it. That’s all that matters.”

You watched them silently, taking in the emotional reunion. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Gi-hun and Young-il observing the scene as well, their expressions unreadable. While their thoughts remained a mystery, your own mind churned with suspicion. Something about the interaction didn’t sit well with you.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Yong-sik and his mother had been separated because Yong-sik had left her behind. His apologies felt laced with guilt, and you suspected that the mother, who seemed to spoil him unconditionally, refused to acknowledge it. Perhaps, in her heart, she truly believed her own words – that she had simply lost hold of him in the chaos.

Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and Jun-hee appeared and gathered with your group. They exchanged puzzled glances with each other, clearly not understanding the emotional scene that had just unfolded between the mother and her son. Dae-ho turned to you, Young-il, and Gi-hun with a questioning look, silently asking for an explanation.

Without speaking, all of you shifted back to the platform. This time, your group and Hyun-ju’s group stood together, with player 246 joining you as well.

From the far left stood Yongsik and his mother, their hands tightly clasped as if anchoring each other. Beside them were Hyun-ju and Gi-hun, positioned at the front. Player 095 and Jun-hee stood behind you, with you and Young-il directly in front of them. At the back were Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and player 246, forming the tail of your formation.

The platform began to rotate again, the movement as unsettling as it was familiar. The whimsical music started up once more, echoing through the space:

“Round and round.

Round and round.

Let’s go around in circles and dance.”

To your surprise, the platform stopped rotating earlier than expected, causing most players to let out startled noises as they nearly stumbled. Young-il was quick to steady you, his firm grip on your arm keeping you balanced.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the room: “Six.”

The fast-paced music and rapid, flashing lights started once again. Your mixed group instinctively gathered into a tight circle. It was immediately clear that, with player 246 now part of your group, you were a total of eleven.

Gi-hun hastily said, “Five women and one man, go!”

Young-il interjected, “That’s dangerous. At least two men should be in a group to protect the women.”

He turned his gaze to you and added decisively, “[Your name] stays with us. Four women go with two men!”

Gi-hun accepted the adjustment without hesitation. “Okay, go!”

“Which two men?” Jung-bae asked urgently.

“I’m going with my mom!” Yong-sik declared.

Dae-ho raised a hand quickly. “I-I’ll go.”

“Go! Go!” Gi-hun urged.

With that, Dae-ho, Yong-sik, the mother, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, and player 095 rushed off. You stayed behind with Young-il, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and player 246, meaning your group still needed one more player.

Gi-hun shouted over the clamor, “We need one more player!”

That’s when you noticed player (380) rushing in your direction. You pointed at her and called out to the others, “There! Let’s go!”

The rest of you moved quickly toward her. As soon as she reached you, her hand clasped yours, and all six of you sprinted off the platform to find an empty room.

Player 246 got to the door first and pulled it open, ushering everyone inside. All of you filed in with haste. You let go of player 380’s hand as you stepped in and immediately leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Glancing up at the timer, you saw there were still five seconds remaining.

In no time, the timer reached zero and a long beeping noise emitted, followed by the door automatically locking itself again. The room was filled with the sounds of you all trying to catch your breath.

Then came the gunshots.

The deafening cracks seemed endless. No one dared to look outside. The chilling silence that followed only deepened the weight of the moment. Gi-hun, crouched down on the floor, finally broke the quiet.

“Sorry,” he said suddenly. His unexpected words drew everyone’s attention. “I was wrong. I thought this would be the final round because the numbers needed to pass kept getting smaller. I didn’t expect six.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. I’m sure the game maker did this on purpose.”

Young-il nodded. “At least our group has grown larger in number too.”

He glanced at player 246 who was standing beside him and patted his shoulder with a small smile. Player 246 bowed his head politely in acknowledgment.

Jung-bae, ever the optimist, chimed in, “Yeah, the more allies, the better. What’s your name?”

“I’m Gyeong-seok,” the man replied, his tone respectful. “Thanks for having me.”

“I'm Jung-bae. This is Gi-hun, Young-il, and [Your name],” he said with a quick nod toward each person.

You turned to the young woman beside you, who had a piercing on her bottom lip. You asked her gently, “What’s your name?”

She glanced at you, still catching her breath. “I’m Se-mi.”

You smiled at her, offering a bit of warmth in the tense moment. Jung-bae, not missing a beat, grinned. “Oh, you seem young, like Jun-hee. How old are you?”

Se-mi hesitated, her eyes darting around the group as if weighing whether to trust you all. For a moment, you thought she might not answer, but then she finally spoke.

“Twenty-six,” she said.

Jung-bae, clearly exhausted but trying to keep spirits up, wiped his forehead dramatically and chuckled. “Ah, so young. I’m starting to feel ancient around here.”

Se-mi’s lips curved into a small smile, her posture relaxing just slightly. She muttered in a jesting tone, “Really? I'm right, then. I assumed you are fifty.”

Jung-bae gave her an offended look. “Excuse you? I'm not that old. I might look old but it's because of the debts piling up.”

His exaggerated reaction drew soft laughter from the group, even from Se-mi, whose chuckle seemed to brighten the somber mood.

Minutes passed before the door finally unlocked. You and your group stepped out. As you approached the other six groupmates, you blinked in confusion. The first thing you noticed was the mother and Hyun-ju’s tear-streaked faces and the unmistakable weight of sadness in their expressions. Player 095 was nowhere to be seen. Instead, player 333 stood silently among them.

Alarmed, you asked, “What’s wrong?”

The group shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your gaze. Hyun-ju appeared to be the most affected, her sadness almost tangible. It was clear something terrible had happened in the last round. Finally, Dae-ho spoke, his eyes fixed on the ground. “We lost one of our members…”

The mother, dabbing at her tears with a trembling hand, clarified, “It’s Young-mi… she didn’t make it.”

The reality of her words hit you like a weight. You didn’t need any more details to understand what had transpired. The presence of player 333 answered the question of why they had survived despite losing Young-mi. Though curiosity gnawed at you on how it all transpired, you didn’t dare press for more information.

You took your place on the edge of the platform with the others. The allies from before regrouped together in one big team, now including player 333 and Se-mi. From the far left stood Hyun-ju, still visibly shaken, followed by the mother and Yong-sik holding hands tightly, with Jun-hee and player 333 behind them. Gi-hun stood at the front beside you and Young-il, while Dae-ho, Se-mi, Jung-bae, and Gyeong-seok filled in behind.

The platform began to rotate, and the familiar children’s music resumed, its cheerfulness now a cruel contrast to the heavy atmosphere. As it played, the announcer’s voice cut through:

“Now, the final round will begin.”

A wave of relief washed over you. This was it. The final round. One last push to survive.

“Round and round.

Round and round.

Let’s go around circles and dance.”

Jung-bae stepped closer to Gi-hun, you, and Young-il, and asked, “What do you think it’ll be this time?”

Gi-hun seemed deep in thought, but before he could respond, Young-il answered confidently, “Two.”

Most of your group heard him and immediately shifted their attention to him. Jung-bae’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

Young-il explained, “There are 129 people left, and there are 50 rooms. So there won’t be enough rooms for everyone, only for 100 people. The rest will be killed.”

A cold dread settled over you as realization struck. You looked up at him and muttered, “If it’s two, then…”

Your voice trailed off as your eyes darted toward the rest of your group. You urged, “Quick. Pair up. Pair up.”

The group moved without hesitation. Yong-sik and his mother’s hands tightened. Player 333 reached for Jun-hee’s hand almost instinctively, surprising her, though she didn’t pull away. Gyeong-seok crossed the distance to stand beside the somber Hyun-ju, silently pairing with her. Behind you, Jung-bae shifted closer to Gi-hun’s back. Nearby, Se-mi and Dae-ho exchanged a glance before nodding in mutual agreement.

Meanwhile, you turned to Young-il, grasping the left sleeve of his jacket. You faced forward, trying to keep your focus on the rooms ahead, but from the corner of your eye, you caught him glancing down at your hand. His right hand rose, gently untangling your grip from his sleeve. A wave of confusion stirred within you as you wondered what he was doing. But then, his right hand guided yours downward to meet his left. With a deliberate motion, he clasped your hands together, his fingers wrapping securely around yours in a snug, reassuring hold.

Warmth bloomed on your face as your cheeks flushed. Quickly, you turned your head away, your heart racing at the unexpected intimacy. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but the comforting pressure of his hand in yours grounded you amidst the chaos.

“Ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a-ring.”

Suddenly, the platform stopped rotating, and the music came to an abrupt halt. Almost immediately, the fast-paced music blared back on, accompanied by rapid flashes of red and purple lights. The announcer’s voice cut through the chaos: “Two.”

Without hesitation, you and Young-il rushed off the platform. Your hands were clasped tightly together as he led you toward a specific room. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the rest of your group sprinting away with their partners, each desperate to claim a room.

You had barely made it halfway when arms wrapped around your waist and yanked you back violently. Your hand slipped from Young-il’s grasp. He turned just in time to see two men shoulder-check him, sending him crashing to the floor.

“Young-il!” you screamed, panic gripping your voice as you struggled against the arms locking you in place. Your head whipped around to see who had grabbed you. It was Lee Min-jae. His cold, triumphant smirk sent a wave of anger through you.

“Hey! Let me go!” you yelled, thrashing against his hold. Min-jae kept his grip tight, struggling to drag you toward another room a few feet away.

Desperation surged through you, and with every ounce of strength, you slammed your elbow into his chest, forcing a grunt from him. Seizing the moment, you drove your elbow into his cheek. His grip loosened slightly, giving you just enough room to break free.

You stumbled forward, but before you could get far, Min-jae’s hand shot out and grabbed your arm, yanking you back against his chest. This time, one of his friends rushed over to grab your ankles.

“Let me go, Min-jae!” you screamed, your voice raw with fury. You kicked and thrashed, doing everything you could to break free, but their combined grip was too strong. Min-jae held your wrists tightly while his friend lifted your legs. Together, they dragged you toward a nearby room as you continued to fight, your heart pounding with fear and rage.

Min-jae let out a bitter scoff, his voice dripping with mockery. “Sorry, but I have no partner. So I chose you.”

Before you could respond, his third friend rushed to the door and yanked it open. As they dragged you inside, Min-jae’s grip tightened, locking your arms to your sides and pinning your back against his chest. He took you both into the far corner of the room.

“Now go!” he barked at his friends. “Find your room!”

Without hesitation, they darted back outside. Just as the second friend disappeared through the doorway, a blur of movement caught your eye. A sickening crack echoed through the room as one of Min-jae’s friends was yanked back by his hair and slammed headfirst into the wall just outside. The force of the impact left him crumpled and unconscious on the ground. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized who it was.

Young-il.

He stormed into view, his face a mask of fury. His disheveled hair clung to his forehead, and his sharp eyes radiated an icy resolve. Without missing a beat, he turned to the second man and delivered a punishing punch to his face. A sickening crunch followed as the man’s nose shattered. The second friend collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain and clutching his face.

“Shit!” Min-jae cursed under his breath, his grip around you tightening like a vice.

Young-il stepped into the room, his intense gaze locking onto you and Min-jae. His eyes darkened as they took in the scene. Your arms trapped, your body pressed against Min-jae’s, his hold unrelenting.

“Let her go,” Young-il commanded, his voice low and seething with menace.

“Fuck no!” Min-jae spat back, defiance dripping from his tone. “If you want her alive, then go and find another room!”

Young-il didn’t move, his sharp eyes analyzing the situation. The room’s oppressive tension bore down on you, the timer’s faint beep a grim reminder of the seconds ticking away. You could see him weighing his options, trying to calculate how to take down Min-jae without putting you in harm’s way.

Min-jae’s voice cracked with desperation as he shouted, “So what will it be?!”

Your arms were still pinned tightly to your sides, but your mind raced for a way out. Acting on impulse, you maneuvered your right hand downward, clenching his crotch through his pants with brutal force. Min-jae’s roar of agony filled the room. He released you instantly, doubling over in pain.

You scrambled to the side, gasping for breath. Before you could process what was happening, Young-il lunged forward. The air erupted with the sound of fists connecting and the guttural grunts of a fight. You turned to see Young-il punching Min-jae relentlessly, his expression cold and focused, a stark contrast to the chaos around him.

Your eyes darted to the timer on the wall. Seven seconds remained.

“Quick!” you shouted with urgency. “Shove him out!”

Young-il ignored your words. Instead of dragging Min-jae to the door, he locked his arms around the man’s neck from behind and maneuvered him into a chokehold. With precision, Young-il crouched low, forcing Min-jae’s body into submission. You froze, wide-eyed, watching the intensity of his movements.

The timer ticked down mercilessly. From behind Min-jae’s head, you caught Young-il’s gaze. His dark eyes burned with a quiet fury, focused and unrelenting. He looked like a man consumed by the moment, no hesitation, no mercy.

With one second left, Young-il’s arms shifted sharply. The room echoed with a sickening crack as Min-jae’s head twisted unnaturally to the side. You gasped audibly, your breath catching in your throat. The timer emitted its long, piercing beep, signaling the end of the round.

Min-jae’s lifeless body slumped to the floor, and Young-il finally released his neck. His hands fell limply on the dead body’s chest, his chest heaving with exertion. His hair clung to his damp forehead, and his dark eyes stayed locked on you, unblinking and unreadable.

The room felt heavy, suffocating. You tore your gaze away, unable to meet his intense stare any longer. Your eyes fell to the floor, and a cold chill ran down your spine. Everything about the scene felt surreal, and you struggled to piece together what had just unfolded. The quiet that followed was almost deafening.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, your arms trembling uncontrollably. You didn’t even know why. Or maybe you did, but you couldn’t pinpoint which fear was overwhelming you the most. Was it the terror of what just happened, the shock of seeing Young-il so close to dying because he had no partner? Or was it the dread of being stuck with Min-jae, the helplessness of experiencing a man’s strength overpowering yours? Or… was it Young-il? Was it the dark, ruthless side of him you had just seen, a side you didn’t even think he had?

You couldn’t tell. Maybe it was all of it, all at once. It churned inside you, making it impossible to steady yourself. You barely registered the countless gunshots echoing from the arena, as though they were muffled by the storm inside your mind.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed movement. Young-il shifted from his spot, standing slowly, his shadow stretching across the room as he turned toward you. His breathing was heavy but measured now. For a moment, he just stood there, watching you, as if gauging your state. Then, with deliberate steps, he walked closer.

He began by calling your name softly. His voice was calm, careful, like he knew anything too abrupt might break you completely.

Your trembling arms tensed further, but you still couldn’t lift your gaze. His footsteps stopped right in front of you. He crouched down, his presence filling your immediate space. You could feel the warmth of his proximity, but it didn’t comfort you. Not entirely. Not yet.

“Look at me,” he urged gently. When you didn’t respond, he reached out, his hand hovering over your trembling arm for a moment before he rested it there, grounding but not forceful.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I wasn’t going to let him…”

He trailed off, his jaw tightening before he looked away briefly as if the memory of what had happened to you was clawing at him too.

You finally lifted your head, meeting his gaze hesitantly. His eyes weren’t the cold, dark ones you had seen moments before. They were filled with something different now. Concern? Or care? It was hard to tell. But the intensity had softened.

You let out a shaky whimper, your voice trembling as you struggled to get the words out. “You didn’t have to kill him. You could have just shoved him out of the room.”

Young-il nodded slightly, his expression softening as though he accepted your words. But instead of replying immediately, he stepped closer. You felt your breath hitch as his arms encircled you, pulling you into a firm embrace. His touch was steady, anchoring you despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

He rested his chin gently atop your head, and your face pressed against the crook of his neck. His warmth surrounded you, a stark contrast to the cold dread that had gripped you moments before.

“If I shoved him out,” he began, “he would’ve died anyway. The guards would have shot him. At least this way… it was on my terms. Not theirs.”

You felt the vibration of his words against your cheek.

“Let me protect you in this hell,” he continued, his tone softening. “I’m doing this because I care about you.”

His words struck something deep within you, bringing back the memory of his confession during your shared watch. In this moment, he wasn’t just a shield. He was someone who had chosen you above all else.

You hesitated, your arms hanging limply at your sides, unable to bring yourself to reciprocate his embrace. Everything felt overwhelming – the fear, the relief, the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

Sensing your hesitation, Young-il slowly pulled back, his arms loosening their hold. His hand moved to your chin, gently lifting your face so your wide, startled eyes met his steady, intense gaze. Without a word, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was brief. It was a fleeting connection that lasted no more than two seconds. When he withdrew, you stared at him, stunned and speechless.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “I thought I was going to lose you. So now, I’m not going to waste any more time with you.”

Before you could find the words to respond, he drew you back, his arms wrapping tightly around you. This time, he locked lips with you again and again. He even grabbed the back of your head and tilted your head to the side to give him more access to your mouth.

Your heart fluttered wildly, a mix of emotions you couldn’t fully comprehend. Slowly, almost tentatively, you lifted your arms and wrapped them around his back, your fingers clutching the fabric of his jacket. In his arms, you felt a strange sense of safety, as though nothing in this cruel, twisted game could touch you as long as he held you like this.

And yet, while he was kissing you deeply, doubts gnawed at the edges of your mind. Was this the real Young-il? Had he truly taken off his last mask with you, as you had believed back when you two kept watch together? Or was there something deeper, something darker, that he was still hiding?

You couldn’t ignore the ruthless efficiency he had displayed moments ago. The way he had ended Min-jae’s life without hesitation. Was this how he had survived his 2015 game? Cold, calculating, and unsympathetic? You wanted to believe in the caring, protective side of him that he had shown you, but the memory of his darkened eyes and unflinching actions lingered in your mind.

NEXT : Chapter 11

PREV : Chapter 09

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! What do you think about the overall Mingle game? What do you think about the occasional sweet and caring gestures Young-il did to you? What about Gi-hun's group gradually increasing in team members with Gyeong-seok, Se-mi, and player 333? What do you think about Young-il brawling with Lee Min-jae and his two friends? What do you think about the kiss???

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho fanfic #in ho #the front man #player 001 #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #front man x reader #front man x you

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aliceinborderlandsquidgame · 2 days ago

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Because you are my partner | Jun-ho x Fem!Detective!Reader

Warnings: Takes place after the end of S1 - Some events from S2 - Does not follow canon events in order - Angst - Guns - Unspoked feelings -

The first thing Jun-ho never expected to listen when he woke up at the hospital after being shot by his brother no less were cries and insults.

Insults that were for him.

"You stubborn idiot! Why did you not tell me, why did you go alone, look at you now. Fucker if you dont wake up im killing you myself, you little-"

"I thought you would be more worried" Jun-ho said, voice hoarse since he havent drank any water in a long time. His vision was still a bit blurry, but he could locate your voice anywhere.

"You! YOU ARE ALIVE!!" You revealed your red face from crying and went to hug him, trying not to hurt him. "Never do something like that again"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Time passed, Jun-ho got demoted from detective, even when you, the second best in the division besides him, you had threated to leave as well, but In-ho insisted you not to. He knew how much you had worked for this position, he would not let you fall behind cause of him.

"Its not fair" You said one night at his aparment being a bit drunk "Yeah, what you said its kind of crazy and you have no proof but..."

"(Y/N) stop it, its pointless"

"But you would never make a lie like that. You dont like crime, you hate it. Since your brother went missing...no you would never play with something like that" You said convinced taking a big gulp of your beer.

"I think you had enough beer for tonight" Jun-ho went to take the beer can from you but you held his hand.

"I believe you, I dont care how crazy it sounds I believe you Jun-ho"

Like that, he felt less lonely.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"I think I told you this was not something you should keep doing" Jun-ho told you as you passed iced coffee to his fellow companion and him. "We are not allowed to drink when working..."

"Then take a dam breath, its summer. The streets feels like they are on fire" You told him on a stern tone taking a sip from your own drink

"Should you not be at the sitation?" He asked

"You wont believe how much criminals like to do nothing when its as hot as today. We mostly get calls at night. Nothing like, well nothing like what you are looking for" You added in a quiet voice

"I told you, I left that behind"

"Yeah sure you did, you dont give up that easily, always has been like that. Since we were at the police school. And, you cant lie to me. Im your partner, remember ?"

"Actually-"

"Shut up and drink the dam ice coffee your cheecks are red as a fruit"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

One year went on. You were assigned anothet partner but you were being a bit childish and did not like working with him.

It was not his fault, you were just so used to Jun-ho that any other person just felt....wrong.

"(Y/N) you need to stop it" Jun-ho said while you two ate some lunch

"I know, but can you blame me? I cant work well with him, he is too-"

He is not you. Thats what you wanted to say but you had to bite your tongue.

"Is he misstreating you?" Jun-ho asked getting protective, he knew you had pass for hard situations during your training just because you were a women.

He would be on your side during these moments, both when you faked feeling strong and when you needed to vent out and cry.

"No. He is...different. I just need to get used to him"

"It has been almost a year..."

"I know just- give me some more time. Also I want to meet that captain that saved you. Maybe we can go and fish together.

Jun-ho went silent after it. He was reclutant to do so, since he had been looking for the island he was in, but he had told you he had long stopped, he did not want to put you at risk.

"Maybe tomorrow..." He said in a low voice, knowing that you would kept insisting. And maybe he would be able to keep the lie.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Things have been good so far, In-ho managed to convince you to meet him and the captain at a near restaurant.

The three were drinking in just enjoying the time. Sharing stories, jokes, just having a good time.

"Thanks for saving his ass, he can be quiet a pain" You said to the older men who just smiled.

"Dont say it Lass, he still has me looking around for that dam island..."

And the good time shattered, your eyes turned cold as you looked at him.

"Is he? Please tell me more captain"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

"You told me you had stopped" You said angry at him. "Told me to stop looking into details at the deparment, do you know how much I did risk!"

"Yes! I know, thats why I told you to stop. I did not want you to put your career in danger"

"When will you understand ? You dont have to do this alone. Im your friend! Fuck we have know each other for years, if I want to help you and put my career at risk, then let me do it. Im an adult I know what im doing.

"No, I could never ask you for something like that. You know the story, these peopel are dangerous and well prepared if something would happen to you..."

"Do you think it was easy? For me? When you dissapear? There was no way on finding you, some told me to move on. But I never stopped beliving in you, knowing that you would not leave like that"

Of course not, I would never leave you.

"Listen, I understand. Really, but you cant stop me. I want to help you, and I will do so. Let me lend you a hand. Maybe this time you will catch them"

Jun-ho was conflicted, he knew having some backup would help him. But he did not want you at risk, why if you ended like him? Trapped there ? Or worse ?

But he also knew you were a hard one. Someone who once they had set their mind on something were not easy to give up. Maybe it would be better that way, making sure on having you at his side while he worked and looked for information.

"Alright, no more secrets. We will work on this together, but if something seems to be just a little bit dangerous you are out"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

And like that another year went by. Both looking to find that island and whatever information (Y/N) could get from the station.

"Most are peopel with big debts" Jun-ho said one afternoon, the cold of the winter hitting their noses leaving them red. "Maybe some have criminal record"

"Yeah but their families would have to denounce then as lost. If these peopel just vanish some would think they ran away because of their debts. I will still check on the records..."

Jun-ho nodded grateful to have her working with him.

"You dont remember any name? Or face?" (Y/N) asked him, making him stop. He did remember his brother shooting him but he could never say it out loud. "The players used numbers..." Still him mind was working like he was missing something...

And then it clicked

"Wait...I may know someone"

"Really? You can tell me their name and I will look into it"

"Seong Gi-hun, thats the name"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

"Are you sure he is here?" Jun-ho asked a faint blush on his cheecks as both of you looked up from inside the car.

"Yes, I asked a friend from another work to look up, he owns this place and has no direction of a current home. Maybe he manages the place or lives here..."

"Well, last time I saw him he did not look like someone who would manage a love hotel" Jun-ho said, voice trying to hide his nerves.

His mind wondering to things, like you. You two on a date, that would end with something more. He would be a gentlemen during all it. And he would take you to his home and do it on his bed, not a meaningless place like a love hotel.

And he would do that and more because he...

"Hey look!! That one, is not him?" You asked seeing a man getting from a car and going inside the hotel.

"It is. Stay here" Jun-ho ordered but before he could get out from the car you held his arm back.

"What? No!" You said not beliving his words "Im going in with you, we are a team, get it in that tick skull of yours"

"Listen (Y/N) I saw these games, if he is here then its because he won. He murdered peopel. He cant be trusted"

"These are just more reasons for me to go in with you" You declared, "You have my back and I have yours, thats how this relationship works"

Jun-ho looked to the side to hide his blush and recluntantly nodded "Alright..."

Unkown to them Gi-hun had been checking the cameras and had spotted their car. He held his gun not knowing who they were.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Reunions are never easy. Even less when its with peopel you dont trust.

"Who are you? Why are you following me?"

And less when guns are involved.

Maybe Jun-ho had lost his touch, his day giving out speed tickets have passed him consequences. Otherwise he would never have let himself be jumped and have a gun pressed against his head.

"Im a police officer, I just want to talk" Jun-ho said trying to ease the situation but only got Gi-hun to press the gun harder.

"How do I know you are not with them?"

"Cause we have been looking for them too" You said gun raised at Gi-hun who looked suprised for a moment but did not move. "Drop the gun Seong Gi-hun we are aiming for the same goal"

"Yeah? How can I trust any of you? Or what you said?"

"We want to stop the games too" Jun-ho said from beneath him "Thats why we have been following you, you are our only lead"

Slowly Gi-hun removed his gun and let Jun-ho get on his feet.

"I never said a thing about games..."

"Yeah...thats why we have been looking for you. Jun-ho here was in but doing kind of a double agent work. Without help"

Gi-hun had to supress a smile at your stern tone.

"Wait, you are the police who asked me about it. During that time.."

"Im, and this is (Y/N) a fellow police officer and the person I trust the most to end this"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"Train stations? A Man in a suit? Ddakji and getting slapped?" You asked while counting with your fingers the major things Gi-hun and told you and Jun-ho.

He had a big map of the stations with lots of marks and points. He was indeed looking for someone.

"Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but its like that. You get a card with a number, you call it and then you are part of the games" He said serving three coffees "It has been two years and i havent been able to find him"

"Well, now you have two more peopel to count with" You said smiling a bit "We can ignore the criminals that are working for you..."

"(Y/N)...." Jun-ho said but you cut him off.

"What? More peopel means more eyes and less space to cover. Besides its not like we have proof that they do something bad, and you know with. Without proof theres nothing you can do"

Gi-hun had departed both of you. Giving one of his many phone numbers and warning that these peopel were dangerous.

But deep down he was grateful, grateful that there was someone else out here who had seen the same.

"Dont worry, we will catch them" You shaked his hand noticing how he seemed to be sad and stressed, you could only imagine how bad things have been for him.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"What do you think?" Jun-ho asked as he drove back to your aparment.

"I think he is being honest and will accept our help. Besides no one does so much without a reason" You said having take note of his deep search for that man, the multiple guns he had and the cameras around. "He is scared too"

"Well...he does have a reason to be" Jun-ho softly said stopping outside your complex "I never asked you, why help me so much? I know we are friends but this is a big league, worse than any case you had ever seen"

Because I love you. I have been in love with you for so long. I cant seem to live knowing you put your life at risk without any help. I dont want to repeat the time when you vanish and I see my life with you in it-

"Cause you are my partner, and...I care for you" You said and left the car before he could respond to hide your blushing face

"Wait!! (Y/N)" Jun-ho screamed pulling the window down. You stopped looking over your shoulder "I- I care for you too"

He started the car leaving the window down, too nervous, he could track down dangerous criminals and be undercover for the worse criminal gangs, but confessing his feelings to you...

He was not ready, at least not yet.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

You went into your aparment, heart beating fast as you went in. The darkness welcomed you, just as you turned for the lights you hear a click.

A gun click.

"Well, you must be (Y/N)...I must admit you are more beautiful than what the photos show"

You turned around one hand ready to go for your own gun. Before you stood a man, tall dark hair, and black eyes, wearing a expensive suit.

"I recommend you to not try anything stupid. I just want to talk. And maybe we can play game"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Final note: *evil laught*

#squid game imagines #squid game x y/n #squid game imagine #squid game x reader #junh ho x reader #junh ho x yn

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depravitycentral · 18 hours ago

Text

Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa NSFW Profile

Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem! reader

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, mentions of non-con and dub-con, public masturbation, voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism, exhibitionism, spitting (m and f receiving), dick slapping, cumplay, possessiveness, mild gore, mentions of death, Stockholm Syndrome/reader is implied to start liking him, Sanemi is kind of a hot mess approaching sex so hopefully that has been conveyed, I hc hard that Sanemi is a virgin so don't bother fighting me on it, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 15K

HABITS:

Intimacy is very much not something that Sanemi is familiar with. He’s never even considered taking a partner, staunchly ignoring his fellow Hashira’s taunts (almost exclusively from Tengen and the odd, poorly-timed comment from Giyuu) about how he’d just ‘calm down’ a bit if he had a pretty woman to relieve his stress onto.

And while he’s mature enough to admit there’s probably some truth to that, he’s still rejecting the very few advances that come his way. He’s not only entirely uninterested in dealing with the intricacies and expectations of a relationship, but he’s also convinced that due to his traumatic past and the way he deals he interacts with those he loves, he’s unfit to be a partner.

He doesn’t think he has the capability to properly commit himself to someone, to become emotionally dependent on them – and frankly he doesn’t want them to become emotionally attached to him, either. It’s just too risky considering his job and his habits in battle – every night is a question of survival, missions leaving him so bloody and battered that it’s a miracle he pulls through, a miracle that Shinobu doesn’t just kill him herself with how often he winds up in her infirmary.

It’s just wildly unpractical – and it’s not like he chooses to become so horribly, deeply obsessed with you. He’s angry in the beginning, genuinely trying to hate you and distance himself from you in every possible way, but you’re like some irritating, persistent bug that manages to crawl back to him every time he thinks he’s shaken you off.

(A mindset that makes him feel incredibly guilty later on, ashamed of himself for having thought of you in such a derogatory, rude way. This is particularly true because now he’d be absolutely devastated if you were to leave his life, panic and terror engulfing him because no no no you’re not allowed to leave him.)

But once the feelings have been cemented and Sanemi finally, finally accepts that he can do nothing to change him, that outlook on intimacy being unavailable begins to change. Of course, he’s not immediately grabbing and groping at you, nor is he fantasizing about the way you’d look underneath him whimpering and writhing as he fucks into you.

(Wet dreams aside, of course. He doesn’t often wake up to messy, sticky sheets, but the shame that swallows him when he does is so palpable that even his fellow Hashira notice. Rengoku will ask in a much-too-loud voice if he’d slept well, if he’s okay, why there’s still a slight flush on his face, leaving Sanemi to only snap at him and storm out of whatever area they’re in.)

No, his fantasies are genuinely more innocent in the beginning – virginal, really, with the way he blushes a light pink at the thought of wrapping you in his arms, the simple idea of hugging you being enough to get him covering his mouth with his palm, too flustered to function. The mere concept of you pressing a kiss to his cheek – not even his fucking lips – gets him feeling hot under the collar, body too warm for him to sit still, needing to blow off the steam and refocus himself before he embarrasses himself in front of you.

It makes him feel weak, really, how these simplistic, easy forms of intimacy and affection are able to affect him in such a profound way, and as time passes it’s really only natural for his imagination to start turning lewder. It’s not something that he thinks of on his own necessarily, if only because there’s a large mental block there where he tries to separate the thought of you from anything he deems disrespectful or dirty.

He tells himself that you’re pretty, not sexy. (But oh god does he think you’re sexy, everything from your voice to your hair to your skin making him drool like some sort of perverted old man, blood rushing between his legs when he sees you bite your lip or flick your hair, having to quickly excuse himself for fear that you’ll see the way his pants are growing sinfully tight.)

You’re sweet, not naughty. (But oh, Sanemi wouldn’t mind if you were a bit bratty in bed, if you had a rebellious streak to you and made him work for it, made him put in every ounce of effort just to get you creaming on his fingers or tugging on his hair or letting him spill every last drop of cum he has to give you inside that tight little cunt of yours.)

It’s a strict boundary for him, but all it takes is a single seed to be planted that ultimately breaks his moral high ground. Perhaps it’s Rengoku noticing off-hand that Sanemi seems to be a bit quieter these days, the former laughing loudly and congratulating Sanemi on finding that beautiful woman Tengen was talking about – tell me, does she satisfy you in all the ways you require? It makes Sanemi sputter and cough slightly, shocked at both Rengoku’s observational accuracy and the insinuation of you pleasuring him.

(And also seething in jealousy because how the fuck does Rengoku know about you? Has he met you? Has he fucked you? Is that why he’s thinking about you in a sexual manner?)

He tries to stop it, but it’s too late – there’s a quick, shockingly explicit image of you on your back, knees folded up to your chin and Sanemi’s cock stretching you so widely that you’re crying, nails scraping down his back and moans of yes yes please more ‘Nemi please falling past your lips.

He’s ashamed of himself, training until he nearly blacks out from the exhaustion, Iguro shocked and mildly concerned at just how hard and raggedly he’s pushing himself.

(And, out of respect for the unspoken friendship between them, he ignores the way Sanemi’s been sporting a raging hard-on for the duration of their some three-hour sparring session, cock swollen and not settling down for even an instant. Frankly, he’s amazed Sanemi could fight as well as he did considering his situation.)

It’s shameful, Sanemi thinks, and it leaves him utterly mortified that he's letting his more primal thoughts win, but once the door opens he can’t quite shut it. He still tries – pushing idle thoughts of you on your knees for him out of his mind, cursing under his breath as he follows a few feet behind you, acting as your shadow and trying so, so very desperately to not notice the way your kimono is spread tightly across your ass. It’s commendable, really, just how long he manages to keep himself accountable, but it becomes more difficult the more time he spends watching you, seeing aspects of you that are really much more personal than he has a right to know.

And the final straw comes one sunny afternoon, when you’re walking with him down the rather crowded street of your town. He’s accompanying you because ‘it’s too crowded for you to be out alone’, as he’d told you, and he’s staying close to your side, careful not to touch you but always in your peripheral.

And really, maybe he’d had a point – because all it takes is a single shove from a woman next to you, and suddenly you’re falling forward, arms automatically reaching out to steady yourself but instead slamming into Sanemi’s chest, his noise of shock and the feeling of your thumbs touching his bare skin distracting him enough to leave the two of you tumbling the to the ground.

And of course you land on top of him – directly on top of him, with your kimono slightly askew and your clothed breasts pressed up against the expanse of his exposed chest, able to feel the fullness and softness of them. Your breath’s fanning against his neck as you blink and mutter a quick apology, your ascent ungraceful as you accidentally grind your thigh against his crotch, a small, nearly mute groan falling from his lips at the action.

He’s dazed, cheeks flushing a warm pink color and his eyes wide as they stare at you, even as you stand up and try to help him up. But he just can’t move – the feeling of your skin and body against his is too fresh in his mind, imprinted and replaying over and over as he closes his eyes.

And even the feeling of your hands grasping onto his as you try to lift him to his feet is sending him dangerously close to the edge, already feeling himself growing hard and his breathing getting labored.

He doesn’t say a word of it to you, only grunting at your frenzied apologies, not trusting his voice because he’s sure if he tried all he’d manage to push out would be a weak moan of your name. He takes you back to your home immediately, dropping you off in an uncharacteristically abrupt manner, only stopping to make sure you make it past your front door before he’s practically sprinting off, only able to heave in the deep breaths once he’s a good mile or so away from your home.

It’s only then that he finally lets go of the desperate, difficult breathing techniques he had to employ to keep a check on his cock, stopping himself from getting fully hard and only making the smallest of tents in his pants so as to not catch your attention. But as he heaves, wild eyes staring up at the sky, he’s clutching onto the fabric of his haori, knees slightly weak as he stumbles into the surrounding forest.

He’s in an empty area, and as he ventures deeper into the trees and shrubbery, he finds himself leaning against a nearby trunk. Fuck fuck fuck, all he can think about is the way your body was so warm and how you fit perfectly against him, as if your body was molded to fit his. It’s driving him crazy – everything feels too hot, sweat beading at his temple and his palms clammy. He tries to regain his breathing but it’s still coming out ragged, winded and sloppy, his cock so hard that it hurts, mind swirling with thoughts of you and only you.

And even after ten minutes of trying to calm down, Sanemi eventually curses, eyes squeezed shut and palm slapping the trunk of the tree as he realizes that the only way to get his body under his control again is to deal with the problem. It’s embarrassing, more than anything, and he quickly glances around the thickly forested alcove he’s found himself in, the daylight trickling in through the gaps in the trees and illuminating his chest.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Sanemi undoes his belt, the metal sounding loud in the quiet of the forest but slightly muffled by his breathing. It makes him bite his lip, flushing an ever deeper red color, but he shimmies his uniform pants down slightly, just enough to rest under the curve of his balls, staring with pinched brows at the way his cock is absolutely red – it’s swollen, almost visibly pulsing, so heavy that it only stands at a measly ninety degrees.

After a moment of contemplation Sanemi almost, almost tucks himself back into his pants, the guilt at masturbating to you nearly overwhelming, but then he’s hearing your voice in his head, ringing through and saying Sanemi thank you for catching my fall, Sanemi Sanemi Sanemi…

He’s spitting into his palm before he can stop himself, fingers wrapping deftly around his base and immediately flicking up and down, a mixture of a groan and a sigh of relief slipping from him as he finally, finally gets stimulation. His eyes close and he rests his arm against the tree over his head, leaning his forehead against his forearm.

He’s immediately imagining you – the feeling of your chest pressing against his, and images of times he’s accidentally seen you nude while peeking in through your windows crossing his mind. (And truly, they had been accidental – he’d looked away as soon as he regained his senses, blushing bright and running a hand through his hair, waiting for a good twenty minutes to ensure you were properly clothed before he chanced another glance.)

They’re so fucking perfect – he’s never felt a pair of breasts in his life but he’s sure yours are unbearably soft, that they’d be dense and squishy and perfect to squeeze and paw at. He’s biting his lip as he remembers the way your nipples look, licking his lips and even puckering them slightly as he imagines sucking at them, wondering with a particularly harsh tug of his cock whether you’d keen and sigh and moan.

His fist gets tighter as he thinks of the way your knee had brushed against him, balls clenching a bit at the idea that you’ve touched his cock, even accidentally and through multiple layers of clothing. He can’t help but imagine your hands wrapped around himself, fingers daintier and prettier than his own calloused, scarred ones, and his eyes peel open to watch them run up and down his length, looking crude and barbaric as he fucks into his fist harder, his hips starting to move in tandem with his wrist.

You’d look cute, he decides, when you jerk him off – you’d be such a juxtaposition, with feminine hands and soft skin against his masculine, thick cock, and the thought alone makes him grit his teeth, embarrassment and pleasure creeping up his spine because fuuuck he’s never felt this close so quickly before.

His mind snaps back to right before the fall, and suddenly he’s gasping your name and opening his eyes wide as the phantom touch of your fingers against his bare chest hits him, hips stuttering and sounds that are much too high-pitched for his liking filling the small forest area.

He’s turning around, back slamming against the trunk as he continues his brutal pace, keeping his fist stationary as his hips thrust and pound away, imagining it’s your pretty cunt instead. His free hand comes up to his face, the feeling of you grabbing at it and clutching your fingers against his driving him to press his palm tightly against his nose, deeply inhaling and sliding down the trunk a bit as he catches what he thinks is a very, very faint whiff of you on his skin.

His head tilts back, his thrusts getting sharper and more carnal, unconsciously angling them to brush against the top of his hand, where he knows you like best. He’s inhaling over and over again, smelling his hand like some dog, only pulling away to briefly lap at his palm, tongue lolling out and licking long, fat stripes across the skin, desperate to taste you, too.

He’s breathing hard, panting and chanting your name like some sort of prayer, the pleasure in his navel starting to build and grow. You’re just so fucking perfect, and he just knows you feel soft and warm and god he can’t fucking wait to touch you and feel you and pleasure you and make you moan his name and come for him and oh god oh fuck it’s coming it’s coming –

He nearly yells your name as cum oozes from his swollen tip, biting back the gaspy, airy groans that threaten to spill from his lips as his hips wildly jerk, uneven thrusts complimented by his abs clenching so tightly that his knees go weak, crouching against the base of the tree trunk.

He’s panting still, chest heaving as if he’d just run for hours, his face still flushed as he looks up, trying desperately to regain his senses. He’s still clouded by the smell and taste of you, and he only moves his hand to come clutch at his uniform, grabbing the same spot you’d grabbed earlier, squeezing at the fabric so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

There’s a trail of cum on the forest floor in front of him, white slowly cooling and smearing against the leaves, but Sanemi can’t find it in himself to care. There’s guilt settling deep in his chest as he comes down from his high, cock going pathetically limp against the waistband of his pants. He curses, closing his eyes and covering them with his hand, shame weighing heavily on him.

He’d just masturbated to you and reached the fastest orgasm of his life because of it.

It feels like some sort of selfish defeat, and he’s filled with self-loathing as he makes his way back to the Wind Estate for a change of clothes, berating himself for his weakness and promising to never give into his hormones like that again.

And yet, a mere five days later, he’s got his fist wrapped around himself again, fantasies of you bouncing in his lap like he’s just some toy for you to use racing through his mind, his composure slipping because he’d give absolutely anything to be of use to you, even just as something to get you off and discard afterwards.

It makes him feel pathetic, like a perverted, sorry excuse of an admirer of yours, but he just can’t help himself – how can he, when his every waking thought revolves solely around you?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Ass

In general, Sanemi loves the parts of you most that are the softest and the squishiest. He’s all hard lines – plains of muscle that’s rock hard to the touch, scars that are ragged and bumpy against the smoother texture of his skin. He’s all hard edges, but you’re the complete opposite – you’re sweet and soft, and Sanemi naturally gravitates towards areas that really showcase this.

Consequently, he finds his hands edging close to your ass from pretty much the beginning of your sexual relationship. He likes how plump the area is – he adores when you wear shorter skirts around him, or, ideally, just the pretty, lacy panties he buys for you with heat on his cheeks and embarrassment creeping up his spine.

(Of course, he’d bought many of them long before he’d stolen you away, long before he’d ever touched you in any serious capacity. He’d seen them when he was passing through an adult shop on a mission, and while he’d felt like a massive pervert for it, he’d purchased a pair that’s a particularly eye-catching emerald green, white lace trim at the edges and a matching garter belt and bra to go with it. He’d been mortified when he’d returned home and stared at the fabric, the fatigue and adrenaline having finally worn off, but the mere idea of you wearing the pretty fabric was enough to get him breathing heavy. It was enough to get him covering his mouth with his hand, cock painfully hard because even his imagination of how your pretty ass cupped by the cheeky underwear would look is enough to get precum staining his pants.)

When he’s kissing you, his hands are resting on your ass, groping and idly squeezing, playing with the fat and very, very gently slapping at it, kissing you even harder when he feels the way you squirm and yelp.

He prefers positions where you can make eye contact, but the somewhat rare times he has you bent over, Sanemi is absolutely feral – he’s smacking your ass and pounding into you as hard as he can, his grip on your hips tight enough to bruise as he loses himself in the way your ass ricochets against his pelvis, the wet slap slap noise forcing him to get on one knee, mounting you even more, fucking you like an animal.

(And while he’s not the absolute loudest during sex, you’ll hear some of the filthiest, foulest things fall past his lips when he’s fucking you from behind – he'll have you in prone bone, breath hot against your ear as he tells you that ‘s fucking tight, you’re so damn tight, fuck fuck fuuuuck, his voice groaned and strained as his hips punctuate each curse. And his grip on you is tight – fingertips digging into the plush of your hips and lovehandles, gripping hard enough to leave small imprints behind, feeling like he’s clutching onto you, like he’s scared you’ll disappear.)

He’s not picky about your shape, either – you could have perfectly round, full cheeks or very little definition and he’d still be in love, his fingers still twitching and flexing at his side with the urge to reach out and squeeze, to knead at the skin and hear the way you’d yelp and cling onto him.

(Perhaps you’d even smack his hand away, embarrassment creeping up your spine and your flustered expression making him lick his lips, hellbent on making you come so many times the only thing you can think of is him him him. He always has grand plans to tease you, wanting to have you looking at him with glossy eyes and be completely under his thumb, but every time he gets you naked in front of him it’s him who’s at your beck and call, pathetically eager to do whatever you wish.)

He won’t try to touch you until you have a more established sexual relationship in place, which will take several months of being trapped with him to achieve. But once the floodgates are opened he becomes extremely touchy – he’s always got his hands on you, squeezing and groping and touching, and you’ll often even find that when you’re laying on your front, he’ll come lay behind you, shyly at first as he places his cheek against the soft skin, a hand gripping onto your thigh as he relaxes, too embarrassed to make eye contact but basking in the softness of you, in the peace of the moment, in the way you’re really here, with him.

He loves the rest of your body too, of course, but his natural resting place for both his hands and eyes is your ass, and he’s not nearly as subtle as he hopes he is.

(Not at all, but there’s almost something endearing about it – the quick-tempered, serious Hashira so blatantly ogling you, his lips parting and his nostrils flaring as he stares, almost unblinking. It makes you feel good, truly, flattered despite the perverted nature of his staring. And so as time passes you’ll find that you can excuse it, his bashfulness and obvious attraction to you almost flattering the longer you go without other human contact.)

His Abs

By and large, Sanemi desperately wants to impress you.

He lives for your praise, finding that the sweet words slipping from your lips are enough to leave him feeling like he’s floating, a sort of genuine joy he hasn’t felt in years settling into his chest, making him fight off a smile. As such, he’s very, very attentive to your reactions to his body.

Years of pushing himself to become stronger and battling so often have left his body riddled with muscles and scars, leaving him in peak physical health. And you’ll know this from nearly the first moment you meet him – after all, it’s difficult to not notice the little peek-a-boo at his abs in his uniform, the skin defined and often glistening with sweat.

He’s proud of his chest, and he has to swallow very, very hard the first time he catches you glancing at the exposed skin. It makes his ego inflate, something pleasant licking at his chest because oh, were you just checking him out? It doesn’t matter if you were or not – because to Sanemi you were, and that fact doesn’t leave his mind for weeks.

He’s proud of his abs, and quickly grows to love showing them off to you. He elects to keep a shirt on for most of your early time trapped with him, not wanting to scare you or frighten you by being half-undressed. (He doesn’t want you be to feeling pressured into anything, because while he would never force you into anything even remotely sexual, he doesn’t want there to be any sort of dubious fear or doubt motivating you to finally seek out intimacy with him. Aside from your kidnapping and the stalking, of course. And the way his desperation for you is so thick it leaves you squirming in discomfort.)

But once your sexual relationship starts?

Oh – he’s constantly shirtless, purposefully flexing when you’re nearby so that his abs stand out more defined, pectorals looking firmer, the muscles of his back standing out and practically begging for you to run your finger over them. He loves when you trace the lines of his six-pack, your soft finger dipping between the muscles and sending shivers along his skin because fuck, even just your finger is getting him hot under the collar.

Press kisses against the area, murmuring to him that he’s so strong and that you feel so safe with you ‘Nemi, I know you could protect me from anything. He’ll grumble under his breath but the blush sporting his cheeks and neck give him away, as does the way his hips involuntarily and imperceptibly buck.

Kiss further down to the happy trail of silvery hair leading below the waistband of his pants, the skin ticklish and sensitive enough to leave him sucking in a breath, his fists tightening until his knuckles are white because oh, you’re such a damn tease. When you’re perched on top of him, rolling your hips and letting him cup at your ass to help guide you, rest a hand against his abs and he’ll groan, the muscles clenching underneath your palm.

(Often, when he’s getting too close to his orgasm and he doesn’t want the moment to end quite yet, he’ll pull you forward so that you’re straddling his stomach, looking up at you with dazed lilac eyes, telling you in a hoarse, heady voice to grind on me, use me, ‘m all yours. He wants you to touch his abs, to feel your cunt scooping and rubbing against the planes of muscle. He wants to watch the way your face contorts as you catch your clit on a particularly raised section, maybe even on a scar, his orgasm slowly – very slowly – fading off but his cock still remaining starkly at attention. You’re just so damn pretty when you’re smearing slick against his skin, the sight wanton and lewd but feeling so very right. And later that night, when he’s helping you to the bath and diligently washing your body, he’ll scowl before he washes off his own abs, slightly pissed that he has to wash away the trace of you.)

He just likes you to touch what he’s so proud of, and each and every time you have a remotely positive reaction towards them, Sanemi is in heaven. After all, you’re looking at him, and that’s something that makes both his cock and his heart swell.

DRIVE:

Moderate drive, but gets progressively more needy as his obsession progresses/gets tired if denying himself to the point where he’ll eventually cave and beg, even though it humiliates him to no end (likely happens after a really difficult mission when he’s emotional and wants to be connected with you). is a super emotional first fuck, super gentle and he’s near crying, though he doesn’t want you to ever mention it again

Go with the begging thing, but maybe it’s like the middle of the night and he’s not emotionally okay because he’d been just a hair too late to save a family, killing the demon but having to see the children’s corpses, and he just needs to have you close by. So it’s less sexually driven and more emotionally driven, and he’s just so pitiful that you give in. doesn’t really talk about it the next day but gives you this look, like he can’t stave off the lewd thoughts of you anymore because now he has a reference

When Sanemi becomes stressed or irritated, he takes out his pent-up frustration through

Sanemi is, for a lack of a better term, sexually frustrated. He’s never touched anyone before and never been touched himself, and even touching himself is something he rarely partakes in. Every ounce of irritation, anger, anxiety, and stress is taken out via rigorous training and often yelling. When he feels pent-up he finds that a good, quick spar is often a more effective way to quell it rather than jerking off.

Not to mention, there’s something about masturbating that makes Sanemi feel even more lonely and frustrated than before – it hurts slightly to know that he doesn’t have anyone to be thinking of, that while he saves men and women with partners and lovers, he’s not quite like them. Hell, even a few of his fellow Hashira have partners, someone to touch them and hold them, reassuring them and comforting them when the nightmares of screaming family members and demons become too much. It makes him feel pathetic when he feels sorry for himself for being so painfully alone, and this results in Sanemi avoiding pleasuring himself as often as possible.

But of course, biology has other plans for him – he’s in the sexual prime of his life, and when he can’t quite seem to work off the steam with a thorough work-out or eventful patrol, he’ll begrudgingly resort to his hand. It’s typically impersonal, wrapping his fingers around himself and steadily jerking up and down while he closes his eyes and bites back his groans.

He’s not thinking of anything in particular – maybe imagining it’s the hand of some mystery woman replacing his own, but nothing more than that. It’s fast, too, the pleasure slowly mounting and then crashing through him, gritting his teeth as he finishes and promptly cleaning up, wanting to waste no more time with it. It’s all just so very clinical, almost – even when he’s horny, even when the frustration mounts so high that it’s unbearable.

And while he’s slow to warm up to fantasizing about you in a sexual capacity, Sanemi’s irregular indulgences in lust remain. Of course, it’s much, much better now – now that he has someone to actively close his eyes and think about, imagining your voice and your body and your touch. It’s infinitely better because while you’re still not by his side or touching him with your own hands and lips and cunt, he can still fantasize that one day you will, that one day you’ll want him like he wants you.

And it’s enough – his sex drive is still fairly low, and even once he begins actively having sex with you it remains on the lower side. He’d just truly rather hold you or listen to you speak than pin you down and fuck you.

(Or have you pin him down and ride him until he’s shooting blanks and tearing up with red cheeks and fisting the sheets so hard his knuckles are white.)

But of course, he’s only a man and those urges do hit him – enough so that he has a sort of system in place for signaling that he’s feeling hot, that he’s restless, that he’s mentally undressing you and planning out all the positions and ways he can get you creaming on his cock. His signals aren’t particularly graceful, either – it starts with him sitting closer to you, his body completely tense and every muscle clenched.

(He does this unconsciously, both as a way to control himself from just reaching out and snatching you, and also to subconsciously make himself seem bigger, to look stronger and more masculine, to appeal to your more feminine side. He’s not even aware he does it, and if you point it out he’ll vehemently deny it, calling you deluded and making some comment about how you’re projecting your own lewdness onto him, but he knows you’re right, and he also knows he can’t stop it.)

Then he’ll start looking at you with more focus. He’s always staring at you, those wide eyes never leaving your form, but now he’s doing things – again, unconsciously – without realizing that give it all away; licking his lips, adjusting his pants, swallowing audibly.

It’s all things that you’ll notice, and depending on how far along you are in your captivity with him, your response to these signals dictates whether or not you end up with cum smearing the inside of your thighs – if you grimace and shy away from him, Sanemi will clench his jaw, nod slightly and look away. He’ll immediately get up and leave the room both from embarrassment and hurt at your rejection, and to avoid making you feel any sort of pressure or guilt to give him physical intimacy.

But if you scoot in closer, clench your thighs a bit, give him that sultry fucking look you know he loves, then he’s immediately kissing you, big hand cupping your cheek as the other latches onto your breast, kneading and squeezing as he groans against your lips.

And it’s messy – the kiss is all tongue and spit, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he presses his body into you as far as he can, desperation and relief flowing through him because the feeling of your skin against his is satisfying parts of him he didn’t even know existed. If you accept his advances, he’ll maneuver you onto your back, nudging between your thighs and immediately licking and sucking away, the loud suction noises making your cheeks feel hot and making it difficult to not squirm around.

(Something that strokes Sanemi’s ego but also frustrates him because he wants you to lie still so he can properly touch you. He can’t go at the pace and angle you like when you’re wiggling around, so he’ll just take a thigh in each hand and keep you steady, using his strength to pin you down so that you can’t move away from his eager, sloppy mouth. Because he wants absolutely everything to be perfect – he wants you to feel so good that you’re begging for him, associating him with pleasure, knowing that he can and will give you exactly what your body needs.)

He’ll make you finish on his tongue and only then will he start working his pants down, cock already so red and wet with precum that it’s a miracle a single brush against your cunt doesn’t make him immediately release. The sex is eager – that’s really the only word for it, because Sanemi’s grabbing every part of your body he can reach, hands unable to stay still because he wants to feel everything, mapping every inch of your body with his fingers so that if somehow you disappear, he’ll remember everything. He’s handsy, and yet his hips are absolutely brutal – he’s fucking into you like a wild animal, hipbones smacking against your ass in a bruising rhythm that leaves your whole body bouncing, every soft, jiggly bit of you drawing his attention and only making him go harder because he wants to see more more more.

But he’s loud, too – all kinds of curses and rough, uneven praises of the way you feel and how you look are falling past his lips, voice sounding nearly pained with the overwhelming amount of stimulation you’re giving him.

He’s truly pussydrunk in every sense of the word – so when he very unnaturally and awkwardly tries to put his hand on your thigh when he’s signaling he’s feeling hot and needy for you, just know that you’ll have a lot of difficulty walking the next morning.

That said, Sanemi will absolutely never force you into anything sexual without your explicit (and frequent) verbal consent.

Despite his rough-around-the-edges appearance, he’s staunch on his moral beliefs that sex is something intimate that should be reserved for partners who truly care about each other. He believes that it should be something enjoyed, something meaningful, something wanted – and so, to have you actively fighting him or not engaging in what he’s doing to you would leave his skin crawling, disgust and a new, different kind of shame seeping through him.

(Different if only because up until that point, everything he’s done he’s been able to spin as somehow being for your safety – stalking you to make sure no one bothers you, learning all your habits and favorite foods, clothes, and hobbies letting him notice any deviations signifying something is wrong. Hell, even kidnapping you has some benefits for your safety – no demon is stupid enough to enter the Wind Estate, and he’ll be damned before he lets any strangers in with the possibility of coming into contact with you.)

But intimacy is different – he’s not good at being vulnerable, and to be naked with you, to hold you in his arms and feel your hands caress the parts of his body that are deeply scarred and unused to touch is a new level of unguarded that makes him anxious. He’s so used to keeping up a pseudo-façade of being reckless and wild and in these moments all he wants is to let you see him raw, the real Sanemi Shinazugawa that wants you so badly that it physically hurts.

And so, if you don’t want him he’ll respect that – it hurts, of course, and he’ll have trouble facing you for the next few days, but he's man enough to know that your consent is key. But it’s also this crippling fear of rejection and putting himself in a position of possible weakness with you that bars him from trying to progress your sexual relationship for a long, long time.

He’s desiring you in risqué and lewd ways long before he’s stolen you away, but it’s difficult to act on those, to put himself out there and risk your harsh, painful rejection of him.

(And he’s convinced you will reject him, if only because despite his persona, Sanemi harbors insecurities about his ability to be loved. He thinks there’s something deeply wrong with him, something that makes others fearful of him and something that will deter anyone from getting too close. Besides Genya, of course, but the matter is complicated.)

And so, he holds himself back from making any sort of move in your sexual relationship – he wants to either have you bring it up, or to keep everything between you as strictly protector-protectee as possible, even if he craves to touch you and lay with you.

But, like most things in your relationship, Sanemi’s restraint snaps one day. To be fair, it’s not entirely Sanemi’s fault – months of repressing his sex drive and ignoring the tantalizing way you look in the kimonos he hand-picked for you leaves him on the brink of exploding, so pent-up and sexually frustrated that it nearly drives him mad.

The final straw is a particularly brutal, gut-wrenching mission – he’d been tasked to stop a demon in a few towns over, a simple mission that he really, really should’ve been able to fix much quicker. But the demon was smart and seemed to sense his approach, and the carnage was far, far greater than Sanemi was expecting. Small children stained red with parents dismembered a few feet away, visible bite chunks leaving the smell of rot and death heavy in the air. It left his stomach churning, but what truly sent him off the end was hearing a small sob after he’d sliced the demon’s neck, the little boy crying next to what Sanemi could only assume was his dead mother.

That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, but the boy’s striking, uncanny resemblance to his own brother Koto makes him stop in his tracks, lips falling open like a gaping fish. He’s frozen, simply staring like some fool, but then everything happens much, much too fast.

The demon’s suddenly swooping in, the boy’s head severed in the blink of an eye, a deranged cackle falling from the creature as a resounding crunchnoise fills the air. Sanemi’s thrown into a state of rage, immediately killing the demon and stabbing at it repeatedly. He’s cutting up each and every part of the monster (careful to avoid touching the boy’s head, though), yelling and cursing at it for what feels like hours.

By the time he’s done there’s tears pricking his eyes, and the walk back to his Estate is blurry and heavy with his own grief. He hasn’t cried in years, but something about the little boy’s face and the weight pressing on his back leave him with wet cheeks, the shoji door quietly sliding open to your room before he can catch himself.

You’re still awake, and he doesn’t even have the right mental state to be angry at you for cutting your sleep. He’s quiet, simply staring at you from the doorway as you wearily approach him, concerned and slightly scared because there’s blood smeared across his uniform and his eyes are bloodshot.

Sanemi? Your voice is weak, and you gently, hesitantly press a hand against his trembling fingers grasping onto the scabbard of his sword.

He swallows harshly, eyes locked onto yours. He whispers your name, voice low and hoarse, but before you can say anything he’s wrapping his arms around you, clutching onto your so tightly that your breathing is restricted. It leaves you yelping, unsure how to respond to the uncharacteristic affection, but the shallow shaking of his shoulders makes you soothingly run a hand through his hair.

Sanemi… You trail off again, but he only hugs you tighter in response. It’s some ten minutes before he finally sniffles, mumbling something against your clothed shoulder that you can’t quite hear.

When you don’t respond, he grips you tighter, pulling his face back just a hair to say again please, I need you to touch me.

It makes you stiffen in his grasp, and that makes him panic. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, I just – he stops, swallowing again and letting his weight sag against you even more. I just can’t be alone right now.

And maybe it’s the vulnerability in his tone, the strange, gentle side of him you so rarely see, or maybe it’s your own longing for human contact and touch that drives you to press a kiss against the crown of his head.

He gasps sharply, his grip loosening ever so slightly. You take the opportunity to gently pull back, grabbing his wrist and leading him over to your bed in the center of the room. He’s staring at you with wide, puffy eyes, shellshocked and unable to say anything as you grasp at the edge of his uniform.

Your voice is still soft as you tell him take this off, no blood on my bed, and he’s only staring for a single, long moment before the fabric is flying over his head, his pants quickly falling suite and leaving him bare aside from a pair of thin undergarments sitting dangerously low on the sharp v-line of his navel. He’s still looking at you, eyes wild and wide, his chest rising and falling so quickly that it almost worries you.

You’re much slower when you peel away your own sleeping clothes, leaving your body in only a thin, light-weight slip that makes Sanemi lick his lips. You’re so fucking pretty – it’s making something in his chest ache, his palms flexing by his sides, brain warring between the extreme emotional distress and arousal at seeing your partially exposed body and your desire for him.

You step forward, palm pressing against his cheek, and slowly pull him to you. Letting your lips ghost against his for a moment, you press a soft, barely-there kiss against the corner of his mouth. Murmuring his name, you feel the way his whole body shivers.

Finally, finally, you press your lips against his, moving slow and trying to let him relax into it. He’s still so tense – he wants this badly, but now that it’s actually happening he’s freezing up a bit. He’s dreamed and fantasized about this moment for months, lying awake and feeling pathetic for imagining that you could want him like this.

But the moment passes and he’s suddenly kissing you back, his movements sloppy and uncooridinated, evidence that he’s never done this before. But you take it in stride and pull back, the sound making his nostrils flare. He moves forward, chasing your lips, but you stop him with a lay down with me, please Sanemi.

And it’s as if he’s some well-trained pet – he’s immediately laying down, body tense and taut over your blankets, and he watches with baited breath as you straddle him, your thighs warm against his skin and oh god oh god –

He can feel it – can feel you.

You’re incredibly warm, the heat permeating through his underclothes as you press against his cock, the sensation forcing something that sounds much too similar to a moan to slip from his lips. It feels surreal – and when you start slowly moving your hips, grinding on him in teasingly slow, agonizingly pleasurable little circles, Sanemi’s gripping at your thighs, his self-restraint nearly buckling.

The evening passes full of slow, tender touches, exploring fingers and tongues covering every inch of your skin and his. The sex is soft, thrusts gentle and deep, rolling and pressing against every spot that makes your toes curl. He’s kissing you the whole time, grasping onto your skin like you’re his life line, a near-growl coming from somewhere deep in his throat when you take even a hand away from holding him. He wants your fingers tunneling through his hair, your leg wrapped around his waist, your nipples brushing against his own.

It's heaven, he thinks, and though he tries to hide his face as he ruts into you, the tears return to his eyes and before he knows it he’s chanting a slurred, choked mantra of your name, timing with his thrusts and begging you in a near-incomprehensible plea of never leave me, you can’t leave me, I won’t let you leave me.

It’s only after his hips stutter, a gasp of your name and his hot breath going ragged in your ear that he finally goes limp. He’s still inside you, the last throbs and bits of his orgasm rocking through him, but he’s carefully maneuvering your bodies so that he’s laying behind you. You’re caged in his arms – a heavy, muscular limb wrapped around your waist, body molded to yours and pulling you flush against him. He falls asleep like that – flaccidly inside you, his breath in your ear, his grip on you remaining deadly tight even as dreams overtake him. And eventually, you fall asleep too – exhausted, confused, and embracing this small, intimate moment even if you’ll regret it.

He’s gone the next morning, the covers wrapped up to your chin, the blankets and sheets on his side perfectly pristine.

He doesn’t mention that night for the foreseeable future, embarrassed and angry at himself for giving into temptation and allowing himself to be so weak in front of you. He’s worried that you might regret it, that you’ll find him disgusting for being so wanton and blatant in his begging for you, and he bars himself from engaging with you sexually again. (Out of embarrassment, out of shame, out of fear because god, he’s never been as desperate and depraved as he was the moment he slipped inside of you, and how would he react the second time? The third? The tenth?)

He won’t acknowledge that it happened, but you’ll notice the glances he starts throwing your way, the way his gaze lingers on your body, how he stiffens up the moment you get even remotely close to him. It’s a stark contrast to the man who’d been groaning out your name like salvation the night before, but just know that if you were to approach him, Sanemi will be putty in your hands.

If you were to kiss him or touch him or tell him how badly you need him, he’ll fold. He’ll get onto his knees, mouthing at your cunt and struggling to mutter out how he’d thought you’d never ask, fuck.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Cumplay

While Sanemi will bend to your whims almost always in bed, there are a few very, very specific things that he won’t compromise on.

That is, he absolutely must finish either inside you, down your throat, or on your body. It’s a possessiveness thing for him – he’s in ecstasy and still slightly shocked that you’re touching him (and letting him touch you), but it’s still not quite enough. He’s licking and sucking at your neck, leaving marks and hickies and the imprint of his fingertips lightly against your skin, trying to mark you up as his his his. He wants to leave a physical imprint of his possession over you, because while it feels dehumanizing to think of you as his, he can’t help the way it makes something in his chest twist in just the right way, nor can he help the way his cock stands up at attention, growing hard just at the mere idea of physically making you his.

And Sanemi quickly finds the quickest, easiest way to claim you as his is to leave you absolutely dripping with his cum. He’s territorial, completely believing that you’re his woman and he is your man. It’s this possessiveness mixed with his obsession over being your protector that drive his compulsive need to fill you with every last drop he can give you – it feels better this way, more natural. It’s like he’s giving you what you desire – he’s giving you everything he can, the most intimate, sacred part of him, something he made for you and you alone.

And so, every time he’s got hic cock out and your kissing, sucking, touching, or fucking it, Sanemi’s throwing his head back and groaning, all sorts of filthy, dirty promises about how he’s going to finish for you falling past his lips.

He’ll have you on your knees, his thighs tense and his abs clenching, his hand in your hair and fighting very, very hard to not pull you down until his cock’s in the back of your throat, choking and gagging you. (He wants to – god does he want to, but he doesn’t want to hurt you, so he’ll stop himself. A mind-numbing orgasm with your hot little tongue pressed against his underside isn’t worth you being angry or hurt.) He's groaning your name and telling you that that you’re gonna – fuck, gonna take it all, yeah? Gonna swallow every last fucking drop, o-oh fucky baby, god wanna see you swallow ngh –

Your hand is wrapped around his girth, wrist flicking up and down so quickly that it makes him pant, your free hand delicately groping and squeezing at his balls. He’s bucking up against your tugs, a red flush on the bridge of his nose as he grunts, rushing forward to kiss you with way too much tongue, pulling back only when he starts shuddering, breath ragged as he tells you that he wants to finish on your chest, voice getting slurred and strained as he tells you he’s gonna come on your tits, god so fucking pretty fuck fuck fuck –

(He’ll stare with this sort of boyish look in his eye and something feral, predatory at his handiwork once he does, white smeared across your skin and leaving a film that he rubs at with his thumb, pinching your nipple and licking his lips when you squirm.)

He’s got you pressed into a tight, suffocating mating press, his forehead pressed against yours and his hands holding your knees up, the angle and feeling of you making teeter on the edge. ‘M gonna, ‘m gonna come soon, where do you want it? He’ll ask, eyes fluttering shut as you clench down on him, only to open wide when you whine out to finish inside ‘Nemi, please please please want your cum!

And it’s lewd and dirty and it gets him fucking into you deeper, hips snapping into yours so hard that you’re physically moving up the length of the bed, his voice a growl as he grins, groaning yeah? Want me to come in this tight – fuck, tight little pussy? So damn greedy, fuuuuck, you better take it, don’t let any drip out or I’ll have to fill you again. He’ll press kisses against your lips, jaw, and neck, his voice growing louder as he growl again between each kiss.

And when he’s right on the edge, his thrusts growing uneven and choppy, his eyes are meeting yours again as he gasps take it take it take it, cum spurting from his tip and leaving you feeling warm and so very, very full. He produces a lot with each orgasm, seeming to never stop as it oozes from his hyper-sensitive tip, and Sanemi uses it to his advantage.

He’s obsessed with looking at the product of his orgasm – he’ll kneel between your legs so that your cunt’s eyelevel and simply stare as his cum slowly leaks out, down the grooves of your folds and over your pert hole, dripping onto the floor below you and making him scoff. He’ll scoop it up with a single finger, pushing it back inside of you and kissing you to muffle the sound of your surprise, slightly embarrassed because he absolutely can’t let even the smallest amount not end up inside you.

When you’ve convinced him to be a tad bit rougher as you bob your head between his legs, Sanemi will grant your wish and finish on your face, groaning and biting his lip at the way you look, his cum dribbling down from your lips to your chin, dripping down to land on your nipples, thighs, other parts of your body.

(And as disrespectful as it felt to finish there, Sanemi secretly loves it – he won’t request it because he doesn’t think you’d enjoy it, but he’s nursing a fantasy that you’ll let him smear his cum all over your lips and cheeks, and then simply not clean it for the rest of the day. He wants the physical evidence of his intimacy with you to be constantly visible, so that every glance reminders him that you wanted him, that you were practically begging him for his cock like some common whore. You aren’t, or course, but the possessive, animalistic part of him that desires rough, carnal sex with you is satisfied by the idea, something primal about the idea of leaving a mark of him him him against your pretty face. He’ll never bring it up, simply stewing on it in silence, but if you were to mention the idea, or tell him that you want to keep his cum really anywhere against your skin, you’ll witness something that absolutely mortifies him – a dry orgasm paired with a sad, shocked little whimper, the embarrassment and unexpected pleasure making him too ashamed to even look at you for a few hours afterwards.)

He just really likes the concept of leaving you stuffed full of him. (And there’s a small part of him that hopes desperately with every load he gives you that it’ll finally take. He’s always fantasized about having a family with you, but with each time he stuffs you full, he can only get closer and closer to the dream, the mere idea of you pregnant enough to get him hot under the collar and desperate to get his hands on you.)

And to his credit, this kink goes both ways – he’ll gladly let you cover every inch of his skin in your spit and slick, rubbing yourself against his body and licking at him until you’ve had your fill.

(And fuck, if you squirt? He’s wearing it like a badge of honor, pride and arousal coursing through him in such potent amounts that he’s nearly dizzy, nearly unable to function because god he needs to fuck you and make you do that over and over again until you can’t anymore.)

He’s just possessive, and while you might initially be rather disgusted simply by his eagerness and fixation on it, eventually you might even find it hot, too. Because really, he may be deranged, a stalker, horribly and uncomfortably dependent on you for his emotional stability and health, but isn’t there something so very sexy about a grown man moaning in your ear and begging you to please let him finish inside you?

Voyeurism

Perhaps it’s a remnant of having stalked you for so long, but there’s something that gets Sanemi so fucking hard about watching you pleasure yourself.

There’s layers to it – of course he loves the physical sight of you with your fingers stuffed into your cunt, tits spilling out of your lounging shirt, thighs quivering and your lips parting into that pretty ‘o’ shape that Sanemi wants to fill with his fingers. He loves the way you look all fucked out, pretty and writhing and gasping, letting all your natural sounds out because there’s not a soul around to hear you and you can be truly free. So yes, from a purely carnal, sexual standpoint, Sanemi very much enjoys the sight of you touching yourself.

But even beyond that, there’s something morbidly fascinating and addicting about it – there’s something indescribably intimate about watching you at your most vulnerable, those lilac eyes widening and staying transfixed on every aspect of you that he can. He’s watching like a hawk as you squeeze at your breast, watching to see if you pinch at your nipple or roll it, if you squeeze hard and hold it there or opt for weaker but more frequent squeezes.

He’s carefully watching your fingers, analyzing the patterns and shapes you’re drawing against your clit, how fast you’re going and whether you vary anything or keep it all consistent.

(He’ll even press his fingers against the expanse of his forearm as he watches, mimicking your motions against his own skin in an effort to practice, to learn by muscle memory exactly how you like to be touched so that once he gets you naked and spread out for him, he can be exactly what you want and give you exactly what you need. He’ll do this with the way you finger yourself, too, guessing at the particular angles you’re reaching for based on the way your wrist flexes, how your knuckles move. He’ll go home and practice this, too, using his pillow as a poor stand-in for your body and practicing thrusting in the pattern you seem to like, angling his hips to brush against the spot that always gets you gasping, buffing up his stamina because he’ll be damned if the first time he gets you naked underneath him is thwarted by his own physical inabilities.)

It helps him feel connected to you like this – easier to pretend that he’s the one making you moan and curl your toes rather than your own hand or the toy you’d purchased for yourself.

(A toy that he absolutely fucking hates, always glaring at it and scoffing because he’s sure that he could fuck you so much better – he’d get the angle right, he’d get the depth perfect, and he’d do all the damn work – you just need to lay there and look pretty, grasp onto him and moan his name and he’ll take care of the rest. He'll always take care of you, after all, and he wants the sex to be absolutely perfect, for you to crave him even a fraction as much as he craves you.)

And even once he’s forced to steal you away, these habits of peeping in on you while you’re lost in your own little world don’t magically disappear. It’s more difficult now, sure, because standing and peering through your window was always easier, always less risky, but Sanemi becomes too desperate and in withdrawal to stop himself.

His lucidity leaves him feeling guilty every time, but he’ll crack the door into your room open ever so slightly, having returned home from a mission or an errand earlier than he’d told you. He’ll peek in, doing his best to move slowly and silently to avoid grabbing your attention, and he’s immediately got his hand in his pants, gripping himself so tightly and harshly that it nearly brings tears to his eyes.

His orgasms are always stronger when he’s got you in his sight, and as he times his strokes with your thrusts inside yourself, he’s clenching his abs and shaking, hips coming up to thrust and rut against his fist. He’s staying deathly quiet, intent on hearing the sound of your moans and the wet squelching of your cunt sucking your fingers in again and again. And when he comes, he’s praying that you’ll finish at the same time, forcing himself to stop and endlessly edging himself just so that you can come together, to have something romantic and sweet like a simultaneous release.

(Of course, the aftermath of cum staining the front of his trousers and his upper thighs is less sweet, but Sanemi can’t quite care – even as it dries and grows cold, feeling slimy and sticky against his skin. He’s too transfixed watching the way your chest slowly stops heaving, how you relax and bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, how you idly play with your nipples and smile up at the ceiling, and if he tries harder enough - pretends hard enough, really - he can even hear you murmur his name.)

The intention is relatively sweet, no matter how deranged and creepy he may feel for actively spying on you as you undress, but he’s just a man, and how can a man be expected to deny himself the viewing pleasure of the woman he’s so madly, pathetically obsessed with?

But unfortunately for Sanemi, you’re not as oblivious as he hopes – you’ll notice the way he lingers at your door, his occasional soft, shuddering gasps not going unheard even over the sound of your own moans. You’ll see his shadow against the door panels, even seeing the shadow of his cock when he pulls it out of his pants, the mere sight making your orgasm hurtle closer and closer, even despite your shame at finding your kidnapper’s cock arousing.

You’re not blind, and it’s almost therapeutic to watch how easily he falls apart for you, the shadow of his back hunching over slightly as you both near your ends, the wet squelching sounds of his fist going up and down just barely audible if you strain yourself hard enough. It’s endearing, in a fucked-up sort of way, but if you were to ever mention something about it, Sanemi will immediately bristle, embarrassment crawling up his spine and his cheeks glowing a soft, subtle pink, entirely caught off guard and unsure of what to say.

(He’s mortified that you know, that he’d been caught, if only because now he’s absolutely convinced you must think of him as a pervert, as a monster, and it kills him to know that it’s true. And yet, there’s some small, masochistic part of him that’s almost glad, finding the whole situation so, so very hot because now he can’t help but wonder if you’d started touching yourself on purpose, perhaps wanting to draw him out, perhaps wanting to listen to him losing his fucking mind over your naked body. You naughty, naughty thing.)

And so, once your consensual sexual relationship begins, Sanemi is using every piece of knowledge he’d gathered from watching you to his advantage – he’s not wasting any time putting all that practice into use, curling his fingers and rubbing and kneading just how you like it, watching with wide, almost nervous eyes to see how you react, hoping that he’s doing good and making you enjoy it, enjoy him.

He wants you to tell him how it feels, to hear you say that it’s good, that you love it when you touch me ‘Nemi, and that alone gets him doubling in his efforts, frantic to get you to orgasm for him and only him, filled with a sort of crazed need to be the one to finally, finally bring you your high.

And as time passes, you’ll notice that Sanemi tends to bring this kink into the bedroom, too, even when you’re fully aware of his presence – he’ll tell you to touch yourself, settling across the bed, and slowly fisting at his cock, licking his lips and watching with rapt attention as you spread your legs, playing with yourself and humming his name.

But it’s not quite the same as when you were alone, though, and Sanemi will tell you to act like I’m not here, don’t make shit up or fake your moans. He wants the authenticity, the rawness, the realness of you fully indulging in yourself.

It’s in these moments that you’ll see the more submissive side of Sanemi – the small part of him that absolutely loves when you ignore his existence, pretending he’s not fisting his cock like a madman simply to the sight, smell, and sound of you. He likes the way that you’re not paying him any mind, completely focused on yourself, Sanemi merely a bystander and watching you. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s in these moments that his obsession only further solidifies, his feelings for you growing stronger and latching into him deeper, like claws that make him shiver in pain-tinged pleasure. Because really, he can only consider himself lucky and cruelly blessed for getting to see you like this, for being allowed so close to you as you gush on your fingers and pinch at your nipples. It’s an honor, even if that explanation makes you shift uncomfortably and try to ignore the reverent look in his eye.

You’re just so damn pretty, can he really be blamed for wanting to stare and stare and stare?

Marking

While hyper fixated on your health and safety in every aspect of his obsession, one area where he’s ever so slightly lenient is in bed. He’ll outright refuse to do anything that draws blood or involves hitting you, but there’s something rather tempting about the idea of leaving a trace of himself after he spends hours upon hours getting you to come on his fingers and cock.

He likes the reminder that he’d been able to pleasure you, the feeling enough to get you moaning and clawing at his back and whining his name. And so, Sanemi develops a liking for leaving all sorts of hickeys and love bites all over your body.

He’s passionate when he fucks you, leaving kisses on every inch of skin he can reach and grasping onto you tightly enough that sometimes bruises appear.

(And he feels guilty for it, in the beginning, always scowling when he sees them the next day. But alongside the guilt there’s something good – something that makes him smug, pride settling in his gut because those are his fingermarks on your body, showing that he attends to your more intimate needs. Reminding him that you let him attend to those needs – that you let him kiss and hold you, that you let him squeeze and grope at your skin, that you let him spread your legs and push himself inside until he’s filling every possible inch of you, connected with you in the most raw, natural way. It’s romantic, almost, and it makes Sanemi squirm slightly just thinking about it because oh fuck, now he’s hard again and really you should take some accountability for showing off your collarbone and the barrage of hickeys like that…)

He’s not picky about where or how he does it, either – what you’ll mostly be covered in are hickeys, the dark spots dancing in patterns all along your neck, shoulders, collarbone, inner thighs, and even your stomach and ass. His favorite is your neck, though. He likes the way you get all breathless when he kisses and sucks and licks at the skin, the sensations making your breath go light and airy against his ear, the harsh puffs of air blowing against the tufts of white hair on his head.

And he’ll leave all over your neck – at the juncture at your jaw, sucking a few right below your ear.

(He’ll take a few moments to lightly nibble and bite at your earlobe, liking the way you whine his name and tell him to stop being weird, but it’s endearing, the way you clearly like it and are just saying that to keep up images. Silly girl.)

He’ll flutter kisses along the column of your neck, tracing your windpipe and smiling against your skin when you swallow heavily. He’ll suck dark hickeys into the flesh of your shoulders, the soft slope the perfect canvas for him to leave littered with his marks. Sometimes he’ll randomly pick spots, the final result looking a little unorganized but still enough to make his heart swell and his breathing to get heavier. Other times he’ll very strategically place them – spelling out an ‘s’ character or a heart or something sappy that leaves him feeling a bit embarrassed but he just can’t help it.

Your neck is his favorite because of the intimacy and the difficulty of hiding the particularly high ones, but your inner thighs are a very close second. When he settles onto his stomach and spreads your legs, mouth hovering over your cunt and his warm breath making you twitch, he’ll take his time kissing up the space from your knee to your pelvis, taking the skin between his teeth and lightly nibbling, pressing dark sucks against the area and loving the way you squirm underneath his rather harsh grip on your thighs.

He’s a tease once he grows confident in the fact that you crave intimacy with him, loving the way you get desperate and beg him to give you what he knows you need. (He’d watched you with enough consistency and thoroughness for all those months before stealing you away and now he knows your tells – the way your face looks, how you sound, how your body jerks and shakes, hell, even the way you smell when you get close.)

He’ll push you right up to the edge, fingers working magic in a come hither motion against that spongey spot inside of you that makes your whole body tense in pleasure, all while his thumb is rubbing circles at your clit that leave you bucking your hips and chanting out his name. He’ll get you right there, then pull back, going back to your inner thigh and working on a fresh, new hickey, the loss of stimulation making you pout and whine for him to touch you again.

He’ll only roll his eyes, pulling back with a loud thwap noise as the suction breaks, your slick still visible on his lips, chin, and cheeks. So demanding, he’ll start, sending a sharp brush of his fingers over your clit that gets you gasping.

He’ll hold out for a while longer, milking out the way you plead with him, before he’ll eventually give in and get back to your neglected cunt, bringing you to your high and rutting at the bed below him with the way you writhe and cry out. And for the next few days, every time he sees that particular hickey he’s suddenly way too red, sweaty and panting and growing more desperate by the second to give you more more more, wanting your whole body to be evidence of his presence in both your life and your bed.

And he’ll proudly wear any marks you make on his body, too – leave hickeys and love bites against his skin and he’ll only shiver and let his eyes roll to the back of his head. He’ll encourage you to run your nails down the expanse of his back when he’s got you in missionary or a press, growling your name as his hips fuck into you harder, faster, with more intent and purpose.

(And later, when he’s dressing himself and happens to see himself in a mirror, he can only gulp, thumb tracing along the scratch marks and blemishes left behind from you. It makes him giddy, often absentmindedly running a finger over them while he travels to missions, during pointless conversation, during times when he’s away on a mission and starting to think himself into a panic about how you’re doing, if you’re safe, if you’ve escaped him somehow. It calms him and only kindles his feelings for you, the knowledge of you willingly leaving your mark on him enough to get him licking his lips and palming himself over his pants, trying to restrain himself so that he can get you to leave newer, fresher marks.)

He just likes the idea, and while he’d never bite you hard enough to cause genuine pain or give you a hickey so deep that it hurt, he will be marking you from head to toe so that everyone you come into contact with (no one besides him, really, but that’s besides the point) cannot deny that you are Sanemi Shinazugawa’s woman.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Slapping

But in a very, very specific way – Sanemi treasures you, idolizing and worshipping you to the point of self-loathing, and consequently he’s not terribly mean in bed. Once a steady sexual relationship is established between the two of you, he’ll get more vocal and adventurous, adapting to what you like.

(And he’s willing to do just about anything you want of him sexually – he’ll get on his knees and kiss up your thighs, lapping and sucking at your cunt until you have to physically push him off of you, slick smeared across his lips, cheeks, and chin while he stares up at you, equal parts hazed and irritated that you’d pulled him away. He’ll let you climb on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head and letting you play with his cock until he’s near tears, the edging and phantom touches making him grit and groan, desperation eating away at him because your touch feels so good but oh – it’s the attention you’re giving to him that ultimately makes him paint your fist white.)

And though he’s not naturally inclined to be degrading towards you during sex, there’s one stark exception – that is, there’s something that makes the possessiveness and territorial feelings Sanemi harbors for you flare up when he smacks you with his cock. Nothing too hard, of course – the intention isn’t to hurt you or bruise you, but rather it’s like staking his claim on you.

It’s like showing you that you belong to him – he’ll grip himself at the base, biting his lip and flexing his arm as he shifts his weight, hovering over you and smacking his fat, soaked tip against your pretty, puffy clit, stifling a groan at the way you jerk at the contact.

He’s smacking himself against your folds, the wet and tacky noise making his fingers tighten against the pillow under your head, his breath getting heavier because fuck, you look so damn pretty underneath him like this, reactive to his cock even when it’s not inside of you.

He’s tracing his tip against your lips when you’re on your knees for him, whispered chants of your name falling from his lips as he lightly taps his tip against your cheeks, your lips, your outstretched tongue.

(And, after he smacks himself against your tongue, if you smile and giggle ever so slightly? Well, don’t be surprised when he stiffens up, his orgasm crashing through him after a mere minute of your hot, wet mouth around him. Don’t be surprised when he starts cursing and murmuring things under his breath right on the brink of his high, your name mixing with gravely I love you’s as he gives you rope after rope after rope of his cum, hot and potent and made with only you in mind.)

He just likes the physical action of it, the way that even something so small gives him the slightest bit of acknowledgement that you’re his, that you’re here and touching him and looking at him just as he’s been fantasizing of for so long. It’s hot, he thinks, and while he’d be extremely reluctant to actually hit you during sex, he’s rubbing and smacking his cock against every inch of your body that he can – your face, your ass, your tits (he especially loves to rub his cum-soaked tip against your nipples, watching as they get hard and get glossy in the candlelight), your thighs, hell, even your arms.

He wants to claim every part of you, and so between covering you in his cum and the imprint of his cock, you’ll be fully and utterly his.

Spitting

Again, it’s a possessive thing – tying into his desire to mark you as his and only his, Sanemi grows a penchant for spitting. It’s something he harshly avoids when you first begin your intimate relationship, finding the act too disrespectful and frankly gross to partake in. He’s worried you’ll find it derogatory and that you’ll see him as some misogynistic freak who views you as his property.

(Which is, in some ways, ever so slightly true – he does see you as his, but it’s reciprocal. You’re his just as much as he’s yours, and if you want to think about in such a crude, black-and-white way, then yes – he sees you as his property. But he’s your property, too, if it makes you feel any better.)

And frankly, he won’t bother indulging in the kink unless you initially bring it up – he’s too tied down to this philosophy and he doesn’t want to risk you getting disgusted or turned off when he’s touching you.

But if you bring it up and use a lot of ‘please’ and compliments, Sanemi will cave.

It’s awkward the first few times, hovering over you and perched on his elbows, nose scrunching slightly because he’s not sure how to do this in a way he thinks will be sexy for you. He wants to live up to your fantasy, so he presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth, collecting the saliva, before puckering his lips, letting the glob fall with a rather obnoxious noise.

Your mouth’s already open for him, tongue lightly sticking out and your eyes half-lidded with lust, and the mere sight alone makes Sanemi gulp, scared he might accidentally drool into your mouth.

(Though, perhaps you’d like that – you’re a freak, he thinks, but it still makes his cheeks feel hot, his cock jumping against your thigh, his Adam’s apple harshly bobbing.)

It’s in the moment when he watches his spit land on your tongue, pretty lips closing and the swallowing motion you make exaggerated and loud. He’ll pause, staring down at your lips in a daze, before suddenly telling you to do that again, the sight so strangely erotic that he needs to do it again and again and again.

It strokes something in his ego – some sort of feeling of dominance and claim on you, marking his territory by making sure you’ve got a little piece of him in you. Soon he’s cupping your jaw every time your clothes get stripped off, forcing your lips to open and immediately spitting onto your tongue, watching with hazy eyes and a small smirk as you obediently swallow, the sight never failing to get him even more eager to spread your legs and sink inside of you.

It gets to the point where it even becomes a non-sexual thing sometimes – it feels too good to be showing such an obvious sign of claim on you that he’ll slowly kiss you in the mornings, your soft lips and little sighs making him light-headed. He’ll pull back, his morning voice hoarse and gravely as he tells you to open up, immediately spitting into your open mouth and following it up with a few kisses against your jaw, a murmur of good morning.

He likes to start the day with it because it puts him into a good mood – a light, peaceful one, quelling the jealous, anxious worry that you’ll leave him, that you’ll be snatched up by another man, that you hate him.

And his fixation for spitting doesn’t just end at your mouth – he’ll spit onto your cunt when he’s kneeling between your legs, two thick fingers rubbing the fluid against your pretty folds, taking extra care to let it lubricate his fingertips before he presses quick, steady little circles against your clit.

He’ll spit into his own hand, coating his fingers and slowly pressing them into you, grunting at the way you gasp out and tighten impossibly around them. It’s lubrication, he thinks, and the idea of his saliva being in your pussy makes him shiver, the thought so dirty and taboo and so very good.

And he’d be happy if you wanted to return the favor – he’ll look at you expectantly, irritation evident in his gaze, before he sits down and forces you to stand over him, his own mouth open and awaiting. He likes it for all the same reasons, just reversed – he likes the idea of you wanting to stake your claim on him. He wants to feel wanted and cherished by you, and if you were to spit into his mouth it’d be direct evidence that you want him, at least in a sexual capacity.

It’s thrilling, frankly, and it leaves Sanemi eagerly swallowing, immediately attacking you with passionate, needy kisses and wandering hands that swiftly find purchase in groping at your ass.

He just thinks it’s romantic, and he’ll do everything in his power to win points with you. Anything to get you liking him more, craving him more.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

Despite holding status as both a Hashira and your captor, Sanemi is very, very shy about asking you for any sort of deviation in the bedroom. It’s a combination of things that hold him back – fear of rejection, mainly, but also embarrassment because he’s worried that you’ll think he’s strange for wanting to try certain things.

Namely, Sanemi desperately, desperately wants you to sit on his face.

He has no sexual experience and hadn’t even been aware this was an option until he’d accidentally overheard a conversation between Uzui and a (very uncomfortable) Giyuu, and while he’s ashamed to admit it he’d stuck around, eavesdropping just around the corner as Giyuu asked the older man what exactly that meant (only to very quickly regret it, his cheeks flushing a light pink and not even bothering to make up an excuse as he hurried away).

It’s where the woman sits down on the man’s face, giving him better access to pleasure her with his mouth! It’s quite flashy, and a good view, too.

Sanemi had been flustered at his words, too, but had spent the whole day struggling to get the thought out of his head. Fantasies about eating you out and making you fall apart with just his tongue and fingers had long been circling through his head, keeping him up at night and forcing him to wrap calloused fingers around his cock, holding the scrap of fabric from your kimono he’d managed to snag between his teeth, groaning and growling at the mere thought of what you taste like.

But this?

This is risqué, vulgar, perhaps even crude – and something he grows more and more antsy to try with each passing day, unable to stop his gaze from lingering on your thighs, biting his lip and imagining the way they’d feel around his head.

He generally likes sexual positions and scenarios where you’re getting most of the pleasure, genuinely getting off on the idea of being useful to you in the bedroom. And he finds the idea of being so surrounded by you – his sight, his hearing, his taste, his smell – enticing, loving the idea that he gets to spoil you by working at you for hours and letting you ride his face, all the while getting to indulge himself in all things you.

And he truly wants you to use him – he wants you to grind your hips against the expanse of his tongue, to let your clit press against his nose and hump at it. He wants his entire lips, chin, and cheeks to be smeared with your release, to have it seep into his skin and soak in so that he has a piece of you with him always, a reminder that you let him touch you, pleasure you, that you want him.

“Are you sure about this, ‘Nemi?” You ask, biting your lip and watching as he scowls. He’s laying down in front of you, clothes thrown off to some other part of the room and his cock already half-hard, flushed a deep pink color.

He’s cocking his brow at you, embarrassment creeping up his spine. He knew you’d find this weird – stupid Tengen, giving out stupid advice.

“Yes, hurry up!” He snaps, swallowing and looking away for a moment to collect himself. Excitement and anxiety eat away at his stomach. He’s surprised you’d agreed to this, given the way he’d very haphazardly and defensively presented the idea. He’s pleased, of course, but now there’s that familiar self-imposed pressure to make sure that he preforms perfectly, that you enjoy every minute of it, that you’ll be satisfied and happy with his performance.

When you still don’t move, his scowl morphs into a frown. He opens his mouth to speak, to reluctantly tell you that you don’t have to unless you want to, but your small nod and footsteps towards him snap his jaw back up.

He’s practically brimming with anticipation, fists clenched at his sides.

You step over him, slowly kneeling down and standing on your knees. You’re hesitating, shuffling forward but scared to lower yourself those last few inches, and Sanemi grumbles underneath you.

“I don’t fucking bite,” he starts, hands coming up to grip at the plush of your thighs. He guides you up further, moving you forward and forward until your cunt’s directly above him, a shaky exhale brushing against the sensitive skin of your folds and making you shiver.

“Now just sit down.” He tells you, squeezing his fingers as if imploring you to just do as he says. You lower down but still leave most of your weight on your own legs.

He inhales deeply, the sound filling the room and making you blanche, embarrassment eating away at you. Sanemi groans at the scent of you, the familiar musk making his cock throb even harder against the confines of his pants.

He’s slow when he starts – kitten licks against your clit and large, flat licks along your folds. His eyes are fixed on you’re the whole time, staring and transfixed, trying to note every minute, small change in your expression.

He’s steadily tonguing at your clit now, and a moan rips its way out of you before you can really stop it. Closing your eyes, you focus on the feeling of his tongue against you, his fingers pressing against your thighs, the brush of his hair against your bare skin.

But then he’s suddenly grabbing onto the globes of your ass, pulling you down down down –

“Sanemi!” You gasp, the sensation so much stronger now that you’re flush with his face. He’s using his strength to pull you down – muscles flexing in an effort to keep you still and exactly where he wants you.

Lilac eyes stare up at you half-lidded, the taste of you clouding his senses and leaving him eagerly licking for more, slurping at you with lewd sounds that only serve to get him harder and harder.

Soon your stationary position isn’t enough, though, and he’s guiding your hips in a forwards-backwards motion, effectively grinding you against his lips and noise. Your breath catches as the action and Sanemi swears he sees stars – you’re so damn pretty, and Tengen had been right about the view. He can see your face, feel your thighs around his head, and see your pretty tits from up close.

He’s gripping onto you so tightly that you can’t even try to break the control he has over your movements – he’s pulling you across his face in a rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your hands blindly reach out to steady yourself on anything nearby. It ends up being the wall in front of you, both palms laying flat against the paneling as you pant and sigh his name. His nose is pressing against your clit, the sensation only causing you to shake as he slowly builds up your orgasm.

He pulls away for the smallest moment, licking his lips and squeezing your ass even harder, kneading at your cheeks and spreading them apart from one another. “Use me, ride my face.”

You blanch at his words, doubt settling in your chest, but at the insistent tug of your cunt back down onto his face, you can only shakily sigh, taking his advice and slowly starting to gyrate your hips. The response is immediate – a groan of satisfaction from Sanemi, his tongue efforts doubling as you control the pace, smearing your cunt against his skin and feeling like you’re suffocating him.

He’s in heaven, meanwhile, tasting you with a fervor and lightly bucking his hips, the phantom ghost of your touch through his clothing making his mind spin. You’re so damn pretty and perfect and lovely and when you’re using his face like your own personal pillow to hump and fuck, how can he complain?

He can’t, which is why he’s groaning equally as loudly as you when you reach your high a few minutes later, your shakes and shivers against his skin leaving him drooling at the sight of your back arching, tits jutting out and your thighs clenching even tighter around himself. You’re so attractive like this – all sexy and adorable even when he’s doing such filthy things to you, and it’s the sight and knowledge that he’s the one making you feel this good – that it’s his face and tongue and cheeks and body – that are getting you to violently jerk and moan his name, fresh rounds of slick dripping against his tongue and making him groan tightly against you.

And you’ll be able to tell just how much the mental and physical pictures affected him because once he’s had his share – pulling four or five orgasms out of you with just this method – there’s a distinct wet spot over his trousers, seeping across the fabric and leaving everything thick and warm with cum.

But don’t worry – there’s plenty more where that came from that he’d love to you.

Plenty.

#yandere kny #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere ds #yandere demon slayer #yandere sanemi #yandere sanemi shinazugawa #yandere sanemi shinazugawa x reader #_kny #_sanemi shinazugawa #_lee's profiles #kny smut #sanemi smut #sanemi shinazugawa smut

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panravenc · 2 days ago

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i am sick and miserable; it is therefore my duty to bring out the sick!codywan headcanons into the light:

sick!cody:

has never been sick before, what is this sorcery? clones do not get sick, you see; except for when they do, apparently

he tries to push through it, but as soon as he visits the medbay for some pain-relief, the medic orders him bed rest

he does rest, but he also barricades himself because he does not want the illness to spread more than it already is: it is risky enough to have him and the few of ghost company who also have contracted the virus down, he is not risking the rest of his men

he is miserable. he has never suffered like this before, a blaster bolt to the chest would be easier than the combination of the killer headache, the cold, the bone-deep pain and a sore throat that has rendered his voice useless

childishly, he wants obi-wan by his side. he would like his batchmates too, but the presence he longs for the most is his general. there are tears gathering in his eyes and it is humiliating, can this sickness kill him instead?

gets immensely relieved when the door to his quarters opens and it is, indeed, obi-wan carrying with him medicine and a bowl of ration-soup

contrary to his feelings, he scowls and tries to scold obi-wan for risking himself when the 212th could be left without command

sadly, his voice still does not work. that means cody has to settle for glaring at obi-wan; it is not very effective, considering the state he is in

as much as he grumbles, as obi-wan takes care of him, he starts to feel better. he does not want to admit it, but knowing obi-wan is by his side makes bearing the illness easier

he feels weak and hates it. he feels useless, seeing obi-wan take care of him, and hates it even more; hates that he cannot smooth the stress out of obi-wan's frown, that he cannot reach out and reassure his general, that he needs rest in the first place and therefore cannot share the burden weighting on obi-wan's shoulders

and he hates how despite it all, he wants obi-wan's careful, gentle hands on his forehead; how he wants to keep hearing his general's voice in that soft, reassuring tone; how warmth spreads all over from his heart to his veins and his body relaxes under obi-wan's care, because it is obi-wan and that means he is safe

he tears up a bit. he feels sleepy, cotton-like thoughts filtering through his head, a daze that does not alarm him for obi-wan is still with him

he feels loved and cared for and weak, and he hates it, but he loves it; and despite how unwell and miserable he is, he wishes the tenderness of the moment could last forever

and he cannot help his hand reaching out and grabbing obi-wan's with it as he curls up and presses both against his chest, too many sensations leaving him tired and spent

and he falls asleep, safeguarded by his general and a golden, bursting and blooming feeling taking over his heart

when he wakes up later, obi-wan is sitting by his bunk, and their hands are still linked together

sick!obi-wan:

this man will never admit to being sick. he is in denial. he cannot get sick, he is a general and a jedi, he has work to do

unfortunately for him, he is, indeed, sick

and weaving it off to say it is just "a bit of a headache, really, dear, no need for theatrics" is not going to cut it when his fever is reaching dangerous temperatures

which cody discovers by accident by pulling obi-wan into a swift keldabe kiss before going their separate ways

obviously, that was before cody knew obi-wan was sick. no separate ways, no sir, they are going straight to the medbay

the worst patient award definitely should go to him

he is miserable. obi-wan has suffered through colds before, and this is a thousand times worse. he is cold, has bone-deep pain, is shivering in places he did not know could shiver, has a killer headache, and a sore throat that's made every word out of his mouth hurt. the force has forsaken him

his dramatics go up to a thousand

he is ordered bed rest by the medic. unlike cody, he decides that means to work from his bed instead of standing, and cody has to confiscate his datapads

and since he apparently needs a babysitter, it is cody the chosen one for such privilege. this leads to bickering to the most of obi-wan's current abilities; which, to be honest, are not exactly brag-worthy considering his predicament

it is rather humiliating that his commander is getting him to bed, but his legs have decided to give up on him, so there is not much choice there, really

spends the time insisting for his commander to go back to work. that he will be fine if left alone for five minutes

but cody refuses each time, and takes care of him even if rather clumsily, comming the medic back and forth for instructions, and really, this is not doing any favours to the crush he is harbouring for the man

cody does not leave. he does not move from his side, a hand on his forehead taking his temperature in regular intervals, awkwardly asking if there is anything else he can do to make obi-wan feel better, and oh

because obi-wan is sick, and miserable, and in pain, and probably also half-delirious from his fever, but love expands across his chest like it was always meant to, a golden place reserved for his hard-working, steady and beautiful commander

and obi-wan dislikes asking for help. not for others, or when he sees he may not be able to help out someone alone, but he does not like asking for himself. it leaves him feeling useless, and brings out vulnerabilities from years past he has always thought himself over of

yet, it is in that instance, that when cody asks once again, "is there anything more i could do to help, sir?" he reaches out, holds out for cody's hands, arm too weak to do much but tremble, and when his own is held between cody's, he asks: "stay?"

and cody stays. when obi-wan wakes up next, cody is there. and cody keeps being there, attending obi-wan's needs and supporting him, as he gets through the sickness and until he is healthy again

and for a moment, obi-wan wishes cody would forever stay there, by his side, no matter where the war takes them or the years of peace he longs for afterwards

that is all folks! hope you enjoyed this. i tried my best but i truly could not get cody and obi-wan out of my head, and since i am bed-ridden with sickness and despair, i want the boys to at least get some comfort, too.

talking about comfort, i am tagging @codywancomfort :) i hope it qualifies? i feel like cuddling while being sick definitely falls into the category of comfort.

love y'all,

―pau.

#pau writes #star wars #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #codywan #codywan headcanons #sick headcanons #obi-wan comforting cody and tenderly taking care of him #vs cody dragging obi-wan to bed and awkwardly asking what the hell does one do with a sick person #and i think that's valid #also when one is sick all they want is cuddles. that is certified because i am miserably sick and i want cuddles #and please forgive any mistakes english is not my first language and my brain is working at half capacity at the moment

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captain-bubble-wrap · 5 hours ago

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Reader is late getting home???? Worried huggy bear????

I myself, was half-asleep when I wrote this! I hope it isn't a complete mess! 🫣

Quinn: It's after midnight, baby. Are you okay? (12:19am)

Quinn: Hello? (12:43am)

Quinn: Missed call. (12:46am)

Quinn: Missed call. (12:52am)

Quinn: Baby, you're worrying me. Please, text me. (12:54am)

Quinn: Missed call. (12:55am)

Quinn: Baby, please, call me. (12:58am)

Pacing the living room floor, Quinn kept checking his phone, the screen never turning off as he walked back and forth, endlessly. You had gone out with some girlfriends hours ago, and had told Quinn that you would be back before midnight. However, it was nearing one o'clock in the morning and there hadn't been word from you since slightly after eleven. Always one to keep your word, he never had reason to worry until now. Quinn hated messaging you repeatedly, and even worse, all of the missed calls. He never wanted you to feel smothered or like he was keeping tabs on you. Quinn trusted you fully, and he hoped that it would still remain that way after you saw everything.

Unsure of what to do, other than remain pacing his apartment, Quinn decided to return to where you and your friends had gone for the evening, in hopes that maybe you were still there. Outside, it had been storming, pouring rain since dawn. He'd put on a hat and jacket before grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door. His palms were damp and his fingers trembled out of worry of what could have happened to you.

It was so late, no one in the building was about and it was eerily quiet. He'd enter the elevator and select the wrong floor either due to nerves or exhaustion. The parking garage would be what he had wanted, but instead, Quinn would press the ground floor button. Each floor that ticked by, another scenario would cross his mind about where you could be, and each time it would pain his heart. The doors would open, and blindly, Quinn would walk out, his mind clouded. It would take several steps before he'd realize he wasn't on the right floor. That's when he noticed something,

There, in one of the lobby's chairs, you were coiled up, asleep. He could have fallen to his knees in relief at the sight of you.

"Oh, thank god," he muttered to himself, before exhaling the deepest breath. Making short work of the gap, Quinn rushed to your side while you remained asleep. There on the floor in front of you, was your phone. Had you still been holding it, it was possible all of his phone calls could have stirred you, however, that clearly hadn't been the case.

"Wake up, sweetheart," he whispered, gently caressing your cheek, hoping to wake you without scaring you, "Sweetheart?"

"Hmm?" You were completely out of it when you finally came to. Blinking several times in quick succession, you'd finally realize it was Quinn who was talking to you. "Quinn? What-- what's going..on?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, "Yes, it's me, babe. I've been wondering where you've been!"

"Wh-what do you mean?" Dropping your legs down from their tightly tucked position, you winced from the pain. "Oh, ow--!"

Quinn put his hand to your back, giving soft touches while you struggled to unfold yourself. "Take your time, you're okay," he smiled. "I was just about to come see if I could find you."

"Where's-- where's my, phone?"

"I have it, baby. It was on the floor."

You looked up at him so confused. "I fell asleep down here?"

Quinn would step in front of you and kneel down, putting his hands on your legs. His expression was so loving and caring, and trying to convey that everything was okay. He was just happy that he had found you. "Let's go home, sweetheart. Let's get you upstairs."

You nodded, taking his hand after he rose back to his feet. Quinn carried your clutch and phone as he wrapped his other arm around your waist, helping you steady yourself. He knew you had had a few drinks and just didn't want anything to happen to you while in his care or otherwise.

"I'm so sorry, baby," you apologized, laying your head on your shoulder once in the elevator. "I remember them dropping me off, then sitting down to fix the strap of my shoe... I guess I just somehow fell asleep. Your tone was that was shame and embarrassment, but Quinn harbored none of those feelings.

"I'm just glad you're safe. That's all that matters to me, alright?" He reassured, placing his lips to your temple for a long kiss.

"What time is it?"

"After one by now."

"One?" You whined. "Oh my gosh, Quinny! I'm sorry!"

"Shh, you're alright."

You wanted to cry! You remembered telling him you would have been home around eleven. Quinn tightened his grip on your waist slightly. His touch was warm, sending a wave of goosebumps cascading over your skin. He loved you so much; you were the most important thing in his life and he wanted nothing more than to protect you. You, however, in that moment, felt so ashamed at what you had done. You would stay quiet until he got you back inside his apartment.

"Safe and sound," he whispered in your ear, standing directly behind you. "Time for bed?"

Staggering slightly, you turned around to face him, your eyelids so heavy with exhaustion. "Yes, please."

Quinn smiled, "Good, I've been ready."

In one quick movement, he'd pick you up and carry you to his bedroom, your head falling against his chest. He was your white knight. He'd sit you down on the bed and you would slump forward slightly, not having him to support you.

"Here, let me help you," he said, kneeling again, but this time to remove your shoes. His touch was so soft and delicate, caressing every curve your body had to offer. "Can you stand for me, sweetheart?"

With his hands extended, Quinn would help get you to your feet one more time and you'd fall into him slightly. With his arms around you, he'd find the zipper of your dress and drag it down to expose your back. Every time he touched you, it was so gentle and careful. Quinn was the only guy you had been with, who treated you with such compassion and tenderness. It seemed a lost art these days.

From your shoulders, your dress would drop from your body and come to rest around your bare feet. You pulled him closer to you, more cold than exposed, and he was so warm.

"Let me go get you something to sleep in, okay?" Quinn spoke softly, nose buried in your perfumed hair.

"May I have one of your hoodies, please?"

He smiled, knowing just how much you loved to steal them. "Of course, baby, hold on one second okay?"

When he stepped away, you'd cross your arms across your chest to stay as warm as you could, standing there in only your underwear. The light in the room was dim and you'd kick the dress from your feet nearly tripping yourself up in the process, wobbly from the alcohol still lingering in your system.

"Careful, careful," he cooed, making sure you didn't fall. "Here, how about this one?"

He'd help you get the hoodie on and down over your body, his hands lingering at the hem, just below the curve of your ass. With your face in the curve of your neck, the two of you would share a laugh as Quinn wasn't always the most...handsy...type. When he was, he got embarrassed and flustered, but you thought it was always adorable.

"I need to take my makeup off," you mumbled, unwilling to part with him though you needed to.

"Do you need any help?"

"No, I'll be okay. Thank you."

"You go do that, and then we'll go to bed," he hummed, sending chills through your body. Eventually, you'd find the strength to wander off to the bathroom and remove your makeup, but after sometime, Quinn joined you, already changed out of his street clothes.

"You're beautiful," he said, coming up behind you and after you had a clean face. "You don't need all of that stuff."

His arms snaked around your waist, his lips near your ear. "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," you replied, hand reaching up to touch his cheek. "You're too sweet."

"Come on, beautiful, time for bed?"

"Mhm."

After one more kiss, you'd follow him back to the bedroom where he had already pulled the covers back. You'd climb across his side of the bed to clumsily snuggle down into the covers.

"Comfy?" He'd ask after you were settled, joining you shortly after.

"I have the spins," you whined, feeling the room spin now that you were laying down.

"Come here, baby. You'll be okay once you relax."

Scooting over to Quinn, you'd put your hands against his chest and try to focus on his heartbeat rather than how your head was feeling. His warmth was so comforting and his touch addictive. Quinn's fingers trailed through your hair as your eyes finally fell closed.

"I'm sorry about making you worry, Quinny," you whispered, fingers coiled in his shirt.

"None of that matters now," he said, lips nearly touching your forehead. "I'm just glad I found you. I hate to sleep alone."

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic

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strwberri-milk · 10 hours ago

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hello author! your works gives me so much comfort. i would like to suggest something how lads would handle if you have dysautonomia which happened to faint during random events.

Zayne is of course best equipped to deal with your condition. He doesn't treat you like a fragile doll or anything but he does become very aware of your responses and how you seem to be. He wants details about your condition, making sure he can catch you or guide you to a safe spot if you're having a fainting episode.

If the two of you are going to have a longer day together he'll give you quick check ins once in a while just to make sure you're feeling alright. He'd hate for you to suddenly feel an episode coming on in a place that's going to be difficult for him to care for you until you wake up. It might be a little overbearing but you know he's doing it for your wellbeing and a genuine concern.

Xavier panics a little whenever you faint of course but he does get used to it over time. He starts to take note of your symptoms, trying to see if he can figure out when you're going to faint so he can catch you. Whenever you do faint he'll carry you to somewhere else to rest, letting you rest your head in his lap as he waits for you to wake up.

Rafayel hates not being able to do anything. He'll ask you tons of questions about your condition, trying to understand everything about it so he can try and prevent it. He knows that technically, there's really nothing he can do but in his head, helping you would mean making it so you don't feel the affects of your condition. He's a little overly cautious, something that might irritate you. You'd have to talk to him about what you want him to do and how you want him to treat you if you don't want him to be that way.

Sylus doesn't seem to act any differently after you tell him about your condition. He doesn't want you to think that he's treating you any differently but he is paying attention to every little detail about you. If the slightest thing seems off he'll pull you to his side, asking if you'd like to sit down or if the two of you should head home. If you express any sort of discomfort he's immediately with you, gauging your reaction and asking what you need from him.

#love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #lads x reader #zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x reader #l&ds sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader

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ooooo-mcyt · 2 days ago

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Scott and Joel's rivalry is so !!!

On Joel's end, I don't think Joel really hates Scott as much as he resents what Scott represents to him personally.

Joel's grudge against Scott really starts during Last Life, but as early as Third Life you can see the seeds being planted. Joel tries to steal Scott's cows, but Scott catches him and waves him off like nothing, and when Joel does eventually get cows from Scott, there's this calm sense that Scott isn't bothered by it. Joel burns Scott and Jimmy's wall and lies about it, and Scott's annoyed, but when all is settled Scott just announces, sounding almost pleased, that he'd known it was Joel all along and was glad to be validated in that after everyone else thought it was Scar.

From the beginning, there's this implication that even when Joel wins, Scott comes away from it mostly unaffected, or even validated in some way.

And then Last Life happens, and it's a hundred times worse. Joel antagonizes everyone this season, leaving death and chaos in his wake no matter where he does. Most players are angry, afraid, see Joel as one of the biggest threats on the server. But Scott just..doesn't. Joel kills Scott, but is killed immediately after. Joel blows up Scott's roof, just for Scott to criticize Joel's inefficient method. Joel covers Scott's base in lava, and Scott thanks him for the "defense", saying he kinda likes it. There are multiple scenes where Joel sneaks around Scott's base, trying to stay quiet, just to panic when Scott finds him. As if Joel, a red name, were the prey, needing to cower and hide from Scott!

Because Scott refuses to be afraid of Joel, because Scott never shows vulnerability, because Scott somehow always manages to make Joel feel small.

Since then, it's been consistent across seasons- Joel is..offput..when Scott is doing well, and Scott always seems to be doing well. Joel makes a point out of targeting Scott specifically at every turn, every chance he gets, wanting to see Scott fail.

It's not really..about Scott, though? Like yes, Joel hates how calm and confident Scott is, and he does find Scott genuinely infuriating. But I think it's always been less about Scott actually doing anything to wrong Joel and more about Joel's pride.

Joel is someone who cares a lot about how he effects people. He wants to have an impact, to be important in the eyes of others, whether by being able to frustrate them, having them admire him, or being able to intimidate them. Joel thrives off attention, for lack of a better word, and he hates Scott because Scott never seems effected by him, which is a sickening feeling for Joel. Though I'd honestly also say it's often good for Joel to have a target for his bloodlust, especially if he's using that target to work through personal insecurities too.

Scott's feelings toward Joel, on the other hand, are..complicated.

In Third Life, he really had no ill will toward Joel, to be honest. At the very beginning of the season, Scott sent Joel specifically (and nobody else) the location of his and Jimmy's base so Joel could come see them, because Scott wanted Joel there. Scott, on multiple occasions throughout the season, stops by to 'gossip' with Joel and give him information as well, and while Joel antagonizes Scott a few times, so does, like, everyone else, so Scott isn't really clocking Joel in specific as an enemy. By the end of the season, Scott and Joel are even fighting together, and Scott is openly unhappy when Joel dies (albeit not extremely so).

It's from Last Life on that Joel is really antagonizing Scott, but I think it'd be a stretch to say Scott really hates Joel. Sure, Joel can be a pain and get in the way, but I've also always got the sense that Scott- on a good day- kind of enjoys it. Scott is honestly amused by a lot of Joel's attempts against him. Not just in the condescending way when Scott wants to show he's unbothered, but also in the sense that Joel is just a really funny person and he's good at making Scott laugh.

Furthermore, Scott often sneaks through to the end of seasons with very little challenge just because people don't want to target him, and I get the sense that Scott gets a bit of a thrill out of Joel targeting him sometimes. Plus it's probably nice for Scott, who always feels the need to be the "responsible" one, to know he can be extra petty with Joel and it won't really matter (because joel will target him either way, so it's not like scott can make things much worse).

Which isn't to say Scott is completely unbothered by Joel. As I said before, Joel can be..frustrating, and even beyond that, Scott is someone who needs to always be in control of himself, so the few times Joel has genuinely won over Scott have probably been..hard to take in stride. As has the fact that Scott seemingly can't make an ally out of Joel, no matter what he does. Scott's main talent is his charisma, and having Joel be so resistant to it is genuinely offputting. A double edged sword where Scott is, in some ways, powerless, for once, but finds that to be fun as much as it is upsetting.

Overall, I don't think Joel and Scott hate each other at all. They're both very strong willed people. Joel needs to be able to effect people like he needs to breathe, but Scott refuses to lose control of himself most of the time, so they're offput by each other. But as much as they complain about one another, offputting doesn't always mean exclusively bad.

I think Joel likes Scott more than he'll ever admit, and it's honestly good for Joel to have someone to target his bloodlust onto. Joel resents the insecurities Scott represents, but he doesn't hate Scott, really.

And I think Scott likes Joel too, if Third Life is anything to go off of. Furthermore, I get the sense he almost enjoys the feeling of actually being challenged by someone who'll probably never be an ally. Even if it's frustrating.

Really, for being "enemies", I just get the sense they're almost good for each other in a lot of ways.

#trafficblr #traffic smp #smallishbeans #scott smajor #it's a traffic jam

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claramelooo · 2 days ago

Text

CRIMSON REVERIE

Guys, my routine is getting back to normal, so maybe I'll delay the time or day of the posts. I hope you'll forgive me 😩🙏🏻

Pay attention to the signs from now on.

Enjoy it <3

MINORS DO NO MUST INTERACT

Summary: Things are finally moving in the right direction, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist.

LOVE

As Wanda rose from the bed, the silence of the room felt heavy, filled only with the lingering echoes of shared moments. She reached for the blanket now crumpled on the floor, trying to restore the order that had unknowingly been shattered. The room, once immaculate, now bore the traces of desire, of intensity, of something immense and unique that had transpired between the two of you.

Her gaze swept across the space as she gathered the scattered clothes, and that’s when something caught her attention. There, on the floor near the headboard, something shimmered softly under the lamplight. Wanda crouched down, curiosity piqued, and found a necklace. It was simple, yet the pendant—a golden sun—seemed to emit a light of its own. Strange. She had never seen it before. Wanda held it between her fingers, her eyes narrowing in thought.

The necklace had been placed there deliberately, as if waiting to be found, but she couldn’t recall ever seeing it. She glanced at her own neck, confirming she wasn’t wearing it. The object didn’t belong to her memories, yet it felt familiar, as if it had always been there, silently waiting for this moment.

Wanda twisted the necklace between her fingers, feeling the coolness of the metal and the smoothness of the chain. The golden sun pendant seemed to glow faintly, warming her skin as she observed it more closely. It was simple yet elegant, carrying an air of antiquity—as if it held stories of its own, tales steeped in the weight of years, perhaps even lifetimes.

She tried to recall where she might have seen it or who could have left it there, but her mind offered no answers. Still, the sense of familiarity remained, unsettling and deep. What made it even stranger was the significance the necklace seemed to hold, as though it was part of something larger, something beyond the present—perhaps a fragment of an unknown future. It felt like a missing piece of her own existence.

She turned, her gaze falling on you, still lying there with your eyes closed and your expression serene. The necklace seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, but Wanda didn’t believe in coincidences. In her world, where magic and fate intertwined in mysterious ways, she knew that nothing happened without a reason. That necklace, that golden sun, must mean something.

Wanda watched you sleep, your body wrapped in the warmth of the blankets. For a while, she stood still, her eyes lingering on your peaceful face. You looked so calm, so innocent in that quiet moment. The contrast between the intensity of the night before and the softness of the present made her smile. Yet there was something she couldn’t ignore. Time was passing, and though she loved having you there, her responsibilities called.

“Y/n...” Wanda murmured softly, her voice gentle, as if reluctant to wake you. She reached out, her hand brushing through your hair with tender care. “Wake up, darling.”

Her voice was low, but the underlying urgency was palpable. Wanda didn’t want to break the tranquility, but the hours were slipping away. It was already past four in the afternoon, and she had things to do—like preparing dinner for the boys. She hated interrupting moments like this, but if she didn’t, she knew she’d lose track of time.

“My lazy little girl,” she teased, a playful smile curving her lips, though her tone remained affectionate. “Wake up… You’ll sleep the entire day away if you don’t.”

Her fingers traced your skin once more, this time with a firmer touch, ensuring you’d stir without being startled. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and mild exasperation, though beneath it all was the deep desire to see you happy, to savor life by her side.

“I know it’s cozy there, but, my love, you need to return to reality for a bit.” Wanda’s teasing tone held a deeper truth. She wanted you to know that while your time together was precious, the world outside still waited.

She watched as your fingers twitched, a sign of life stirring beneath the blankets, and her smile widened. Wanda loved seeing you wake like this—sleepy, beautiful, with a vulnerability only she was privileged to witness. She felt at peace, though a part of her buzzed with anticipation, waiting for the moment you’d fully awaken so she could share another touch, another whispered promise.

“Y/n...” Wanda repeated, her voice firmer this time but still soft. She felt the pull to draw you closer, to embrace you, yet she held back, knowing that the peaceful moment would soon come to an end. “Wake up, darling… You have to go, but we still have a little more time, don’t we?”

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, the gentle afternoon light spilling into the room. Despite the glow, your vision remained clouded with sleep, your body too heavy with comfort to want to move. But Wanda’s voice—soft, insistent—lingered in your mind.

“Wands...” you murmured, your voice husky with drowsiness, the nickname slipping out effortlessly, filled with affection and familiarity. It sounded like a reflex, an unconscious expression of the bond between you.

The sound of it made Wanda’s breath catch. Something about that simple word stirred something deep within her, something she couldn’t quite explain. Warmth spread through her chest, an unexpected, overwhelming feeling of belonging that made her heart race. It was as if that one word touched a hidden part of her, something she hadn’t realized was there—a feeling both new and familiar, like finding a piece of herself she hadn’t known was missing.

Wanda stayed still, watching you, her gaze intense and unwavering. She prided herself on control, but in that moment, all sense of control seemed distant. That nickname, so soft, so meaningful, seemed to reshape her world, painting a new reality she couldn’t deny.

Leaning closer, Wanda traced her fingers across your cheek, her touch delicate yet deliberate, as if confirming that you were real, that this wasn’t a dream. “What is it, my little one?” she asked, her voice lower than usual, laced with vulnerability—something she rarely allowed to show. Only you could draw that out of her.

The warmth spreading through her didn’t stop. Wanda wasn’t sure whether she wanted to keep you in that peaceful moment or lose herself completely in what she was feeling. That simple nickname carried an inexplicable power—a bond, invisible yet unbreakable, something beyond words.

As you pushed yourself up from the bed, your legs wobbled, unsteady from rest, as if melted by sleep. The room still hummed with the calm of the aftermath of something intense, and your mind remained hazy, clouded with lingering sensations you couldn’t yet process. Your feet touched the floor unsteadily, nearly tripping before you could brace yourself on the nearest piece of furniture.

And then Wanda’s playful, mischievous giggle sliced through the quiet.

“Mommy got you good, didn’t she?” she teased, her eyes gleaming with a wicked light, her voice dripping with playful malice.

As you looked at her, warmth rose to your cheeks, but instead of shying away, you met Wanda's intensity head-on, refusing to let her have the last word.

"Maybe," you teased, a playful smile lighting up your face, your eyes gleaming with challenge. "But you know you love seeing me like this."

Your response was steady, a blend of well-placed provocation and newfound confidence born from the moments you had just shared with her. Wanda raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your boldness, yet unable to hide her satisfaction at the effect she had on you.

"Oh, you're feeling quite cheeky now, aren’t you?" Wanda chuckled, her laughter laced with desire and undeniable affection. She stepped toward you, her predatory gaze and sly smile promising she was ready to make you surrender all over again.

"What can I say? My sharp tongue is what makes you feel so powerful, isn’t it?" you teased, your grin sharpening as the tension between you both thickened. "But you're hard to resist too."

Your words hit their mark with precision, spoken with the kind of directness that made Wanda's eyes flash with that familiar fire—a hunger that your every word seemed to stoke. This dynamic between you, the playful dance of power, submission, and teasing defiance, had grown into something undeniable. Wanda, ever watchful, took in your every movement, her gaze burning as though every word you uttered was both a challenge and an irresistible temptation.

Her lips parted slightly, her teeth grazing her bottom lip—a gesture she couldn’t quite control, as if she was already imagining the ways she’d claim you again. Her restraint was fragile, that much was clear. She knew time was running out. Responsibilities awaited. You both had lives to return to. But for a fleeting moment, Wanda hesitated, the desire to pull you back into her embrace stronger than any rational thought.

She took another step closer, her presence radiating warmth and pulling you in. You felt the heat between you, the magnetic pull that made your breath hitch and your heart race faster. Every inch closer made it harder to hold back, the urge to lose yourself in her overwhelming.

"You’re impossible," Wanda murmured, her voice low and dripping with desire, barely keeping her composure intact. "But I can’t stay away from you."

You leaned in, your voice soft yet laced with playful defiance. "I know, Wands. You’ll always want more."

Your bodies instinctively closed the distance, pulled by that invisible force binding you two. The air around you crackled with tension, every breath heavier, every glance charged with unspoken longing. Your lips were just a heartbeat away from meeting when—

"Mama!"

The sharp call of a child’s voice shattered the moment, like a bolt of lightning cutting through a storm.

The sound of her boys’ voices echoed from the distance, but it was enough to snap Wanda out of the trance. She froze, a sigh of frustration slipping from her lips as the spell between you broke. You, still caught in the heat of the moment, shivered at the sudden shift in reality. Wanda’s gaze locked on yours, her eyes still aflame with desire, but now tinted with exasperation.

"Time to face reality," she murmured with a soft, amused smile, though a flicker of reluctance lingered in her tone.

When you walked into the dining room, Tommy’s eyes widened, clearly surprised to still see you there.

"Y/N! You're still here?" he exclaimed, the surprise evident in his voice.

You let out an awkward laugh, trying to mask your embarrassment, but unable to suppress the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Yeah... your mom and I were talking about you two," you began, your voice a little hesitant, as if you were still searching for a plausible excuse. "She gave me some tips about Russian history..."

You glanced at Wanda, who, upon hearing you, raised an eyebrow with a subtle smirk playing on her lips. She was clearly amused by your attempt to justify what had just happened. Her gaze lingered on you, as if she knew exactly what was running through your mind, finding entertainment in your effort to maintain composure.

She said nothing, but the slight curl of her lips said it all: she understood that what the two of you had shared could not easily be explained, and she found the whole situation funny—the way you tried to disguise it, as if the world around you both wouldn't be able to comprehend.

Tommy still looked a little confused, but Billy, ever direct, wasted no time asking the question that seemed to hang in the air.

"Are you staying for dinner?" he asked, his mouth full of food, cheeks puffed out with a piece of chicken.

You opened your mouth to decline, to say you didn’t want to impose, but before you could finish your sentence, Wanda interrupted.

"Yes. Sit down, Y/N," she said, her tone firm but gentle, a tone you knew well.

When you glanced at the table, your heart softened at the sight—a fourth plate, carefully placed, as if Wanda had been expecting you.

It was such a simple thing, yet in that moment, it felt like more than just an ordinary meal. It was an invitation to be part of something, to integrate into the routine she so deeply wanted you to share with her and the boys. Wanda didn’t need to say anything more. That gesture alone spoke volumes, and despite your efforts to resist the idea of staying, something inside you gave in to the need to be part of that scene—to allow yourself to live that moment of connection, of family, with them.

You glanced at Wanda, and without meaning to, a small, sincere smile escaped your lips. That was what she wanted—what she needed, perhaps more than anything else. To feel whole. To feel that you were there with them, in those small, everyday moments.

Wanda watched you with a soft expression, almost as if she feared you might disappear at any moment. She had never truly understood what it meant to feel complete until now. That simple gesture—the fourth plate at the table—was everything she had been longing for.

It wasn’t about grand feats, battles won, or moments of glory. No. It was about that instant. She wanted you there, with them, sharing a meal, laughing with the boys, building bonds that were simple yet profound.

The shy smile you gave her made her chest tighten in a sweet, aching way, a warmth spreading through her. It was a smile of acceptance. Of belonging. And she felt as if, finally, she had found what she had been searching for.

After years of fighting, of loneliness, she never imagined that her happiness would come from something so simple. She had weathered countless storms, defeated powerful enemies, reshaped entire realities, but nothing compared to the satisfaction of seeing you there—so close, so human, so present. It made her feel that everything she had done, all the suffering and sacrifice, had been worth it. Because in that moment, she no longer needed the power to destroy; she needed the power to live.

If she had to fight to protect this, she would. Everything. She would do anything to ensure you remained there, with them. She wouldn’t allow anything to take away that sense of completeness. She never thought she could find peace in something as simple as being with her family—with you—but there it was, as clear as the sparkle in the boys’ eyes.

Wanda glanced at the plate you were about to take and let out a soft sigh. Perhaps it was the first time in a long while that she felt truly alive. No longer just the Scarlet Witch, the world-breaker, but a woman who longed for the warmth of a home. A home she knew, without a doubt, she wanted to build with you.

She didn’t need anything else. Just you. And she would do everything to keep this happiness, even if it meant fighting against fate itself.

Dinner was peaceful, yet there was a subtle tension in the air, a palpable energy that you could barely ignore. Wanda, seated beside you, chatted with the boys about their day, asking questions, laughing at Tommy's thoughtless, animated responses, and trying to provide some guidance to Billy, who always seemed lost in his own thoughts.

You remained quiet, your eyes darting between the boys and Wanda, observing the little moments. The air was filled with laughter and conversation, but something else vibrated between you and Wanda—a pull that thrived on the subtlest touches, the unspoken glances, as if all you wanted was to stay right there, close to her.

When your gaze met Wanda’s, her eyes were sparkling, a gentle smile on her lips. But her gaze spoke more than words ever could. She was attentive, always attentive to you, and the feeling of being seen by her in such a deep, sincere way made your heart race.

You tried to hide it, focusing on the food in front of you, but the rising warmth in your cheeks betrayed your inner thoughts.

And then, an unexpected sensation spread through your leg, making you shiver—not entirely surprised, but still caught off guard.

Wanda’s foot brushed against yours, sliding against your skin with a lightness that seemed intentional yet natural. It was as if she couldn’t keep herself away from you, even beneath the table where no one else could see.

The touch was soft, yet so charged with intent. Wanda was right there, beside you, doing nothing overt, yet everything around you seemed to vanish as you focused on that gesture. You remembered the kiss—the way she had kissed you with such intensity, as if trying to imprint the moment in her memory. The warmth, the urgency, the gentleness—it was as if she had left a mark on you that could never be erased.

You quickly turned, catching Wanda’s gaze once more. She was watching you with a quiet intensity, a subtle smile on her lips. She knew exactly what she was doing, and something inside you could no longer resist.

The energy between you was becoming almost unbearable, and even with the boys chatting excitedly about their plans for tomorrow, all you could do was lose yourself in her presence.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Billy asked, his childish concern pulling you back to reality.

You blinked, confused for a second, before forcing yourself to give a nervous smile. "Yes, of course. Just thinking that it's already late." Your eyes met Wanda's, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background, the warmth of her touch enveloping you once more.

Her smile widened, subtle but filled with silent promises, while the boys continued talking. She was there, present in every moment, but also, somehow, entirely yours. And as much as you wanted to hide behind your shyness, you knew that everything became more intense, more heated, more yours when you were by her side.

Dinner seemed to stretch longer than usual, the conversation flowing smoothly while you tried to remain as composed as possible, though your mind was filled with thoughts of Wanda. Now, as you stood from the table, the sensation of wanting to run away yet stay close to her consumed you.

The boys were distracted with their toys and chatter, and you took the opportunity to say your goodbyes, trying to maintain your composure. "Bye, Tommy. Bye, Billy. See you next Saturday, boys," you said with a smile, though your desire to leave was partially driven by everything that was happening between you and Wanda.

Wanda stood up after you, her expression somewhat serious, but with a soft smile as she motioned for you to follow her. She was calm, yet there was an intensity in her movements—something almost predatory, as if she were holding back something she could barely contain. It only fueled your desire to stay near her, to feel the heat radiating from her presence.

She guided you to the door, and as you passed through it, something in the air seemed to shift. You could no longer ignore what you were feeling—the tension between the two of you becoming almost unbearable. Her presence was in every corner of the house, but there, at the door, it felt like the very point where everything would unravel. You couldn’t hold back any longer. You wanted to kiss her right there, under the soft glow of the night.

Without thinking, you whispered, "I want to kiss you."

Wanda's reaction was instant. She stopped, her green eyes narrowing with a spark of something deeper, more primal. You felt the air between you electrify, and Wanda almost gasped before replying in a husky voice, "I know. I want it too. But we can’t."

That response was like fuel to a fire—a challenge you couldn’t resist. Without giving her time to say more, you stepped closer to her, ignoring logic, ignoring any rational thought about what might happen. All you felt was an uncontrollable desire to have her, to lose yourself in that moment with her, no matter the risk.

"I can’t get enough of you. What are you doing to me?" Your voice came out trembling, more vulnerable than you wanted to admit. But she knew it was the truth.

Wanda’s eyes grew even more intense, a flicker of red flashing through them as her control slipped by a thread. She let out a low growl, as if giving in to everything she had been holding back. "Fuck it," she muttered before capturing your mouth in a ravenous kiss.

The kiss started with urgency—a clash of mouths that unleashed all the pent-up tension between you. Wanda’s lips were warm and soft, moving with an almost wild hunger against yours as her hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if she wanted to fuse you into one. The world around you disappeared, leaving only the wet sound of your lips meeting and the frantic drumming of your hearts.

Her tongue met yours in a slow, possessive movement, exploring, teasing, claiming. Wanda tasted you like she wanted to memorize every detail, every flavor. Your bodies leaned into each other instinctively, seeking more contact, more heat, as the kiss deepened, growing messier and more desperate. There was something unstoppable about it—as if both of you were trying to extract everything you could from each other, as if tomorrow might never come.

You felt her nails lightly scratch your skin, and a soft, ragged moan escaped your throat. Wanda, in turn, let out a low growl, barely audible but filled with raw intensity. Your mouths parted briefly to catch your breath, only to crash together again, fiercer, hungrier, as if stopping was impossible.

Finally, the kiss began to slow, becoming gentler but no less passionate. Wanda rested her forehead against yours, your heavy breaths mingling in the cool night air. Your lips still tingled, and both of your faces glistened with the sheen of that shared moment.

"Good night," you murmured, your voice broken and trembling as you tried to catch your breath.

Wanda smiled against your lips, the tip of her nose brushing yours. "Good night, little one. Until tomorrow," she whispered, her tone low and dripping with promises.

She gave you one last look before stepping inside, her green eyes shining under the moonlight, leaving you standing on the sidewalk, still tasting her on your lips and feeling the fire of her kiss burning on your skin.

Wanda paused at the doorway, her hand lingering on the doorknob as if something held her back from simply walking inside. Slowly, she turned to face you, her green eyes raking over every inch of your body with a gaze that made your breath falter. There was something predatory in her stance, something that made the air around you feel heavier, thick with expectation and authority.

"Don’t even think about touching yourself." Her voice was firm, deep, each word carrying a command that tied your stomach into knots.

Heat spread through your body instantly, your face flushing as if her voice alone had the power to ignite a fire within you. Wanda tilted her head slightly, the corner of her lips curving into a small, dangerous smile as she pointed toward your center, warm and pulsing.

"That," she said, her voice softer now but no less intense. "That’s mine."

The look she gave you before stepping inside was enough to leave you breathless, as if she had left an invisible mark on you. And then she disappeared into the house, closing the door with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm she had just left brewing inside you.

You stood there, frozen, your heart pounding fiercely and your mind spinning in endless circles. Needy. Dominated. And completely incapable of doing anything except longing for the next night to come far too quickly.

As you remained rooted to the spot, still trying to catch your breath, something began to shift inside you. It was subtle at first, like a calm wave forming on the horizon, but it quickly grew in intensity. It wasn’t just desire burning through your body — it was something deeper, more visceral, almost spiritual.

Your heart seemed to beat in sync with a force that wasn’t solely your own. It felt as if Wanda had marked not only your skin but your very soul. Every word she had spoken, every touch, every gaze now weighed heavily in your mind with a gravity you couldn’t quite explain.

You felt different, as though something inside you had been unlocked. The connection between the two of you was no longer just physical or emotional; it was something greater, something that transcended what you understood as reality. It seemed as if your mind and heart were now inexplicably synchronized with hers, like an invisible thread permanently tied between you two.

It was both terrifying and comforting. Terrifying because you had never felt anything so intense, so absolute. Comforting because, deep down, it felt right. As if you had finally found the place you had always belonged, even without knowing it.

As you walked home, the night air seemed denser, charged with something you couldn’t see but could feel. With each step, the certainty grew inside you: after that night, nothing would ever be the same. You were no longer just yourself. And Wanda was no longer just Wanda. You were something new, something indissoluble. And that filled you with an ache you could barely contain.

You grew up alone. A small orphanage, far from any big city, with cold hallways and beds that creaked with every movement. It wasn’t a bad place, exactly, but it wasn’t good either. It simply was. A space where you existed, but never belonged.

You arrived there when you were only four years old, but the memories of that time were vague, hazy, like a bad dream you could never fully recall upon waking. You knew that something terrible had happened, but the details slipped away like grains of sand through your fingers.

All the social workers told you was that your parents had died in a fire. An accident, apparently, but no one could explain how you had managed to escape. The only thing that remained from that day was the box made of fine wood, given to you by a firefighter.

“Is this mine?” you remembered asking with your small, trembling hands clutching the box.

“Yes,” the firefighter replied, his voice gentle. “It was on the ground beside you. Hold onto it carefully, little one. It’s special.”

You never quite understood what he meant. Special? How could something be special when everything around you had been reduced to ashes?

The following weeks were a blur. You remembered unfamiliar voices, people trying to be kind, but nothing made sense. No one could explain why you had survived when your parents hadn’t. Worse, no one could tell you what they were like. The trauma had erased almost everything. You barely remembered their faces, their voices, or their embraces. All that remained was an echo, a vague sensation of belonging that vanished along with the flames.

And so you were taken to the orphanage.

It was an old building, with walls that seemed to whisper stories of other children who had passed through there — marks of paint and drawings on the walls. Some seemed to cry out for help; others screamed for freedom. You quickly learned that it was easier to become invisible. Easier not to form bonds, because bonds were easily broken in that place.

You clung to the sun-shaped pendant and the note inside the box. “You are our sun, Y/N. Shine for the world.” You read those words whenever the weight of loneliness became unbearable. It was a small ray of hope, but also a bitter reminder of what you had lost.

As you grew older, the sense of not belonging deepened. While other children were adopted, you remained there, year after year, watching temporary friends leave and feeling envious of their new lives. You wanted to believe that you, too, were worthy of love, but each passing day without a family made that belief wither.

You had questions that no one could answer. Who were your parents? Why had the fire happened? Why couldn’t you remember them? And, most importantly, why had they left behind a note that seemed to carry such profound meaning but offered no real answers?

It was in that void that you began to build your own dreams. If you couldn’t have a traditional family, then you would create one. If no one was going to save you, you would find your own strength. And, deep down, there was that silent, almost childlike desire to have someone look at you as if you were the center of their universe.

You dreamed of it. Of a house filled with laughter, of family dinners, of the feeling of safety you had never known. And without realizing it, fate was beginning to prepare you for something you couldn’t yet imagine.

Because while you spent nights in the orphanage clutching the sun-shaped pendant, the universe was weaving its invisible threads, connecting you to something greater. To someone greater. You didn’t know it yet, but there was far more to the words in that note. They were a promise, a reminder that you were more than an orphan, more than lost. You were the sun. And one day, you would shine again. And maybe, just maybe, you would find someone who would shine with you.

High school was a battlefield for you, and it seemed like you never had any armor. You were “the weirdo,” the girl who didn’t fit in anywhere. The second-hand clothes and your shy demeanor didn’t help. People love to find easy targets, and you seemed to carry a neon sign that said, “Attack here.”

Maria Hill was the epitome of all of it. She was the girl who seemed to have stepped straight out of a clichéd American high school movie: cheerleader, popular, confident, always surrounded by a group of followers who laughed at the jokes she made at your expense. She made it her mission to remind you every day that you would never be like her.

“You should be grateful that I even notice your existence,” she once said as she knocked your books out of your hands in the hallway. It was a phrase that summed up the dynamic between you two.

You hated Maria Hill. Not just for the way she treated you, but because it seemed like she enjoyed it. There was a twisted glint in her eyes every time she humiliated you, as if she took pleasure in seeing you vulnerable.

Then came that day. You were in the bathroom, trying to pull yourself together after another round of taunts. The sinks were old and stained, the mirrors smudged with fingerprints and spots no one bothered to clean. You were staring at your reflection, wondering what was wrong with you, when you heard the door open.

It was her. Maria Hill.

“You think you can just run away from me, freak?” she asked, her voice cold and dripping with provocation.

You turned away, trying to ignore her, but she crossed the space between you in seconds, trapping you against the wall. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest.

"Why are you so... irritating?" she whispered, her face so close to yours that you could smell the faint floral scent of her perfume.

You were ready to snap back, to say something sarcastic, but the words died in your throat when she leaned in even closer, her eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t just anger. It was something else, something you had never seen before.

"You drive me insane," she continued, her voice softer now, almost husky. There was something in her gaze that made you completely forget how much you hated her.

And then it happened. She kissed you.

It wasn’t a sweet or gentle kiss. It was filled with anger and confusion, like she was fighting a battle against herself. As if the hatred she pretended to feel for you had twisted into something she couldn’t control.

For a moment, you were paralyzed, shock coursing through you. But there was something in that kiss that ignited a spark inside you. Something that made your whole body react, even as your mind screamed at you to push her away.

When she pulled back, her eyes were filled with confusion, as if she didn’t understand what she had just done either.

"Don’t you dare tell anyone," she said, her voice trembling slightly. Then she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

That was the day you realized you liked girls. And somehow, you also discovered that there was something about women like Maria Hill — complicated, confusing, and, in a way, dangerous — that drew you in.

You didn’t know what to do with that feeling. Part of you wanted to hate her even more, but another part wanted to understand why she was like that. Why someone who seemed to have it all needed to tear you down to feel alive.

The rest of high school became strange after that. Maria continued to taunt you, but it was different now. More reserved, almost as if she was afraid of driving you away completely. And you... you were trapped in a tangle of feelings you still couldn’t name.

The days after that first kiss were a whirlwind of emotions. Maria seemed determined to keep you under her control, as if she had decided you were a precious secret only she could keep.

After cheerleading practice, when all the other girls had left, she would always find you under the bleachers. Always with that same look — like someone on the verge of breaking their own rules.

"Do you think you can escape me?" she would whisper before pulling you into another kiss. And you, even knowing how wrong it all was, couldn’t resist.

Her kisses were intense, like she was trying to mark you, to claim you as hers. The way she touched you, how she cupped your face in her hands, how she bit her lip when she pulled away — it all felt like a game. But a game where you didn’t know the rules, and she wasn’t willing to explain them.

"You’re mine," she said once, her face so close to yours that you could feel her warm breath against your skin. There was something possessive in her voice, something that made your heart race but also left an uncomfortable knot in your chest.

Because deep down, you knew you couldn’t give your heart to her. There was an emptiness in Maria’s eyes, a black hole of insecurity and confusion that she masked with arrogance. She could kiss you, touch you, tell you that you were hers, but she would never be able to give you anything in return.

And you were right.

At graduation, everything fell apart. You approached her during the party, hoping for... what, exactly? Maybe a kind word, maybe a sign of validation. But what you received was something entirely different.

Maria stood surrounded by her friends, the queen of the night as always. When she saw you, her eyes hardened, as if she was bracing for an attack.

"Oh, here comes the freak," she said loud enough for everyone around her to hear. The laughter that followed cut through you like a knife.

"Hey, Maria! There are rumors that you’ve been making out with the weirdo behind the bleachers!" a boy from her group jeered, his mocking tone drawing more laughter.

The comment echoed through the hall, and you felt the ground disappear beneath your feet. The group burst into laughter, and Maria, instead of denying it or standing up for you, gave a fake smile and let out a forced laugh that shattered you like glass.

"Me? Making out with her?" Maria repeated, her tone dripping with scorn. She crossed her arms and tilted her head, her cruel gaze locking on you. "Come on, do you really think someone like me would ever go for someone like her?"

The group’s laughter grew louder, and your face burned with humiliation, as if every light in the room was shining directly on you. You wanted to disappear, to evaporate right then and there, but you were trapped in a waking nightmare.

"Seriously?" you managed to whisper, your voice trembling and barely audible. But Maria heard you. And for a moment, her smile faltered, her mask slipping just a bit before she quickly put it back in place.

"'Seriously'?" she repeated, stepping closer as if to deliver the final blow. "Did you really think someone like me would ever be with someone like you? It was fun watching you humiliate yourself, but let’s be real — it’s getting pathetic now."

Her words hit like punches, one after another, until you could barely breathe. And then came the final strike:

"Oh, and just to be clear..." Maria leaned in, her voice cold, devoid of any trace of the passion or intensity from your secret encounters. "It never meant anything. You never meant anything."

You stood there, frozen, as she walked away with a smug smirk, tossing her hair back like she had just won a prize.

Your heart was in pieces. Not just because of what she said, but because you had believed, even for a moment, that Maria could be more than the cruel, insecure girl who needed to destroy others to feel powerful.

You left the party early that night, hot tears streaming down your face as you walked home. The pain was overwhelming, but somewhere deep inside, there was a flicker of relief. Because as much as it hurt more than anything you had ever felt, it was over. You were free of her. Free from the manipulation, the confusion, the pain of being treated as something disposable.

And deep down, a small voice whispered: You deserve more. Shine, Y/n.

In that moment, you didn’t know what "more" meant. You didn’t know that the universe had far greater plans for you, that someone much more worthy of your heart was waiting for you. But in that painful moment, you made a promise to yourself — that you would never let anyone treat you that way again.

You stood there, frozen in place, as the world around you seemed to crumble. Each word she spoke felt like a blow, tearing away at the fragile confidence you had built in her — and in yourself.

She had humiliated you, publicly, without remorse. And in that moment, you knew that Maria Hill had never been capable of loving you. She was a storm — chaotic and destructive — and you were just the house she tore down on her path.

As much as it hurt — and it did, like an open wound that never seemed to heal — you also knew, that night, that you had done the right thing by not giving your heart to her. Because it deserved more. You deserved more.

And even if you didn’t know it at the time, the universe was already setting someone aside for you — someone who would show you what it truly meant to be loved. Someone who would give you everything Maria never could.

As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, thoughts of Maria, the past, and all the pain you carried slowly began to fade, giving way to something much larger. Something overwhelming. Something that scared you, because it was Wanda.

Your heart seemed to beat to a different rhythm just thinking about her. It wasn’t just the way she looked at you — like you were something precious, something she was terrified to lose. It wasn’t just her touch, which somehow found every crack within you and began to fill them. It was all of that, yes, but it was so much more.

You turned onto your side, the crumpled sheets pressing against you, like the very space around you was tightening, pulling you deeper into yourself. Everything felt so distant, yet so close all at once. The silence of your room only amplified the confusion inside you. It was as if the world around you was moving in slow motion, while your thoughts stumbled over one another, chaotic and loud.

You tried to name what you were feeling, tried to label it, as you always did in order to understand the world. After all, everything had to have an explanation, right? You always needed an explanation for every small gesture, every word spoken, every glance exchanged. But now... now nothing seemed to fit.

What you felt for Wanda wasn’t just passion. It wasn’t something fleeting. It was far too vast, too deeply rooted to be dismissed so easily. It stretched beyond everything you could see, as if its roots ran through the very core of who you were. It wasn’t obsession — there was no frantic need, no fear of losing something you didn’t yet possess. There was no desperation. It was simply big. And, in a way, peaceful. Almost... complete.

You had always been someone who stood on the sidelines of things, someone who never felt entirely at ease in any place, with any person, with anything. You grew up alone, without a true home, without a sense of belonging. The orphanage, school, friends, parties... it all felt distant, like you were always observing from the outside, never truly a part of what was happening around you. It was always lonely, always feeling like a part of you was empty, a quiet space that could never be filled, because you didn’t even know what was missing.

Until Wanda entered your life.

Subtly. Silently. As though she had arrived to fill all those empty spaces you hadn’t even realized were there. And suddenly, there was a fit. Like that empty space, once so hollow and purposeless, had been made just for her. Like Wanda was the missing piece of the puzzle that was your existence.

But it wasn’t just that. It was more. It was her warmth, her protectiveness, the way she saw you — like you were unique, like there was no one else in the world who mattered as much as you did. And when she looked at you, it wasn’t just your face she saw; she looked deeper, as if seeing parts of you that even you didn’t know existed. Parts that belonged solely to her.

Wanda had a way of treating you that went beyond what you could have expected. She was warm, almost maternal, in a way that made your heart swell with a kind of comfort you’d never known. And yet, there was more to her than tenderness. There was something else in her actions — something that couldn’t be described as mere affection. It was as if she didn’t just love you; she wanted you. She wanted to possess you, to dominate you, to be the force that guided and protected you.

There were moments when her eyes hardened, her voice firm and commanding, guiding you down a path she believed to be right. Moments when she tested your patience, pushed your limits, and watched how far you would go to prove yourself. There was a discipline in her that both unsettled and thrilled you. And, deep down, you understood that her need to control wasn’t about power — it was about protection. By holding you in her hands, by claiming you as hers, she believed she was keeping you safe.

And then there were the softer moments, the moments when she showed herself vulnerable, desperate, like a woman who, upon finally having you to herself, feared losing what she had found. As if she were desperate to keep you, to have your heart, to earn your trust. It was as though she wanted you not just as a lover but as something more. As if you were hers entirely. You couldn’t quite understand what it all meant. What you knew was that when Wanda treated you that way—with that gentle touch, that smile of someone who felt in control—you didn’t feel intimidated. On the contrary, you felt cherished, loved, and protected in a way you had never experienced before.

And in moments like those, when she held you close, when your body was next to hers, you finally understood. It wasn’t about passion, nor about desire. It was about belonging. You felt something you’d never felt before—as if you were exactly where you were always meant to be. And despite the intensity of the emotions Wanda awakened in you, there was something comforting about it. Something that told you that, at last, you had found your place.

Your home, your family.

It wasn’t an ordinary relationship, nor something simple to understand. But it was real. And that was all you needed to know. The connection between you two was unique, profound, and layered with complexities you could barely comprehend. But it didn’t matter. Because in Wanda, you had finally found something you never knew you were looking for: belonging.

It felt like a discovery. Something long lost that suddenly fit perfectly, effortlessly, without haste. You caught yourself wondering, in an almost inaudible sigh: Is this what books call love?

But at the same time, something within you refused to allow that answer. Because love, in books, was always something grand, epic, filled with dramatic declarations and gestures that marked the end and beginning of a story. It was always cinematic, full of words and promises. What you felt for Wanda… wasn’t like that. There were no grand gestures, no words that could fully capture what existed between you. It was subtler, more intense, deeper—and because of that, so much harder to name.

It didn’t resemble anything you knew, nothing that could be summed up in a single phrase. It was the way she looked at you, the way she listened to you, the way her presence made everything feel calmer, clearer. It was the way she seemed to see you—a version of yourself you’d never known existed but that was undeniably there, within you. It was her smile, her touch, her energy, as if all of it was an extension of something that had always meant to be.

And what confused you most was that it didn’t feel like a choice. It didn’t feel like something you had controlled, nor something that had been planned. It wasn’t a feeling that arose because you thought about it or willed it into existence, but because somehow, it simply happened. As if it were inevitable.

But then you wondered: Why now? Why her? And at the same time, you felt no need for answers. You didn’t need to understand everything. Something bigger than you was at play, something broader than any logical explanation could offer. You and Wanda were simply… this. Something that defied explanation but undeniably existed. A truth you felt deep in your core, something that surpassed any doubt, any hesitation.

The days following that night were a tangle of emotions and sensations that defied all logic. It was as if an invisible thread, woven by something ancient and powerful, connected you to Wanda. A thread that tightened with every shared moment until it was impossible to tell where you ended and she began.

You started noticing the details. Small gestures that anyone else would overlook but were impossible for you to ignore: the way Wanda's breathing shifted when you entered a room, the slight furrow of her brow when she was lost in thoughts she didn’t share, the barely perceptible dance of her magic in the air when she felt vulnerable.

And then there were the feelings. They came in waves, overwhelming, strange, yet strangely familiar. It was as if Wanda were infiltrating you—beneath your skin, leaving pieces of herself in your mind and heart. You weren’t sure if it was intentional or just the natural result of the connection that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second.

One afternoon, as you reviewed the twins' materials in the library, you felt something different. An anguish that wasn’t yours but manifested in your chest as though it were. Wanda sat two tables away, a book open in her hands, but she wasn’t reading. Her eyes skimmed over the words unfocused, while her magic pulsed restlessly around her.

“Are you okay?” you asked, keeping your gaze on the papers before you, trying to sound casual.

Wanda froze. The silence that followed was as heavy as the air before a storm. “Why do you ask that?” Her voice was low, cautious.

You answered, turning to face her. “Are you nervous? Sad? I’m not sure, but it feels like it’s inside me too, like it’s mine.”

Her eyes narrowed, flickering with a hint of crimson. “Darling, I’m fine.” She closed the book with slow, deliberate movements and leaned slightly closer to you. “Do you feel what I feel?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yes. It’s strange, but at the same time… it feels so right.”

Time seemed to stand still in that moment, as if the library—with its sacred books and dusty shelves—had become a secret haven where the outside world ceased to exist. The silence between you was heavy yet brimming with a palpable energy. You were there, caught between words that could never fully describe what you felt, yet feeling every one of them transform into tangible reality.

For a moment, Wanda stayed silent before abruptly standing—as if giving you a cue to follow. Now, standing between shelves of books—a temple for a teacher and a student passionate about literature—it seemed she was searching for something within herself. Then, a shy smile curved her lips.

Wanda stood before you, her eyes fixed on yours as if she could see everything happening inside you. She seemed so calm, yet the power of her presence was overwhelming. She slowly closed the book, her hand moving with the grace of someone who controlled time itself, and as she did, the tension in the air seemed to intensify. She leaned toward you, the warmth of her breath the only sign she was alive—a flame on the verge of igniting.

“I feel you too,” she said, her voice carrying a depth that made your heart falter. “Your happiness, your sadness… even your thoughts. Especially when you’re thinking of me.”

Your face flushed, but you didn’t look away. You knew it was pointless to try hiding anything from her. Not anymore.

Wanda’s gaze held yours, her presence enveloping you, and something shifted at that moment. She wasn’t just the woman you wanted, the woman you craved, but also the woman you feared—the one who could destroy and rebuild everything inside you. She seemed to know that. She understood the power she held over you, but she also seemed as vulnerable as you were.

“What is it?” you asked, sitting beside her.

Wanda took her time to respond. The silence was charged but not empty; it was the silence of heavy thoughts, of words she struggled to form. Finally, she murmured, “You.”

The word sounded like a confession. Her eyes glowed—not just with scarlet magic but with something deeper, something human. “You’re all I think about, all I want. And that scares me more than anything I’ve ever faced.”

You took her hand, feeling the energy pulsing beneath her skin. “I feel it too. Honestly, it’s terrifying—I’ve never felt anything close to this for anyone—but it doesn’t mean it’s bad, does it?”

She let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I… I should be stronger than this. I should be able to control it. But you…” She paused, her eyes locking with yours, heavy with an emotion that was almost crushing. “You make me want to give up control. And that terrifies me.”

Your heart raced. “Maybe this isn’t about control, Wanda. Maybe it’s about trust. About surrendering to what we are, together.”

When Wanda leaned in to kiss you, it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was fierce, filled with desire and urgency, as if it were the last kiss that mattered. She pulled you closer, her body pressing against yours as though she wanted to merge with you, as if nothing else mattered.

The softness of her lips quickly gave way to something more intense, more desperate. Wanda wasn’t testing the limits of your connection anymore; she was crossing them, seeking something only you could give her. Her hands moved to your face, touching your skin reverently, as though she wanted all of you but didn’t want to miss a single moment of this surrender.

Your hands followed suit, seeking the warmth of her body, finding refuge in her heated skin. One hand traveled up her side while the other clutched her blouse, pulling her even closer as if you needed something solid to ground you.

The kiss deepened, becoming more intense, more urgent, as though you were both trying to fill the emptiness in your lives—an emptiness you instinctively knew only the other could complete. The world around you faded, leaving only the touch, the heat, and the overwhelming desire to give yourselves completely.

Hidden among the library’s shelves, you and Wanda were both concealed and exposed in ways no one else could understand. The books surrounding you, filled with stories of love, passion, and loss, were now silent witnesses to a story being written in the intensity of your intertwined bodies and souls. And despite the uncertainty of the future, despite the lingering fear, you knew that in this moment, what mattered most was being together.

The aroma of fresh coffee and aged paper lingered in the air, creating an almost magical atmosphere that grew more intimate with every second. The professor’s words about Balzac danced in the air, but your thoughts were no longer on the writer’s words. They were on Wanda. The heat coursing through your body was indescribable—a strange sensation that consumed you, one you weren’t sure came from her, from you, or both, but one you couldn’t ignore.

The tension spread through the room like an invisible spell, and soon, Wanda’s anger became clear—a strong, palpable emotion you could feel in your bones. It was as if she were inside you, sharing her frustrations in a way that made them impossible to ignore.

"Excuse me," you whispered to the colleague beside you, standing quickly. The teacher shot you a curious look, but you didn’t care. You simply mumbled a hurried apology and rushed out of the room, your heart beating too fast, your steps quick but weighted with the urgency only Wanda could provoke in you.

Every beat of your heart carried you closer to her, and you knew, without hesitation, the only place you'd find her was in her office. When you reached the door, the sound of objects being abruptly moved tightened your stomach. Wanda's low, tense murmuring reached your ears, a wave of desperation mingled with frustration. Without delay, you knocked lightly but didn’t wait for permission to enter.

"Wanda?" Your voice came out hesitant, almost timid, as if you felt vulnerable in a space where the certainty of connection never failed, but the fear of loss lingered.

She stood with her back to you, her shoulders tense, and a pulse of scarlet energy surrounded her hands, creating almost uncontrollable waves—a raw, visceral reflection of her inner turmoil. It was rare to see Wanda like this, completely unrestrained. Her magic was so wild, so untamed. She turned abruptly, her eyes glowing a deep red, her lips slightly parted. But at the sight of you, the glow softened, and the magic around her hands dissipated like a veil.

"What are you doing here?" Wanda’s voice was low, muffled by tension, but there was a softness in it you recognized—a vulnerability hidden beneath the steel of her posture.

"I felt you." Your voice was direct but warm, laced with a sincerity only she could draw out of you. "You’re angry. What happened?"

She looked away, crossing her arms in a defensive gesture, an attempt to shield herself. But you knew her—you knew every movement, every nuance. Wanda couldn’t lie to you. "It's nothing... just trivial things."

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to her cautiously. "Wanda, I was sitting there, lost in Balzac’s romances, and I felt your anger, your frustration, as if it were my own. This isn’t 'trivial.'"

She let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it—it was bitter. "You feel everything, don’t you?" Her voice carried something you couldn’t identify, but you knew it was more than she let on.

"Yes." You took a deep breath, the weight of your sincerity growing heavier between you both. "I always have, and you know that. And you also know you can’t hide anything from me."

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she ran a hand through her hair, messing it almost absentmindedly. "It's ridiculous. A meeting with the twins' school directors... They questioned my criticisms of the teaching methods in their classes. As if I were incompetent, as if I didn’t know what’s best for them."

You felt the heat of her anger bridge the space between you. It was like an electric current passing through your bodies. Without a second thought, you took another step forward, reaching out to touch her arm—a simple gesture, but one loaded with meaning.

"They’re wrong," you stated firmly, your eyes fixed on hers, conveying a strength only she could draw out of you. "You’re the most brilliant and capable woman I know. No one has the right to make you doubt that."

Wanda’s gaze softened. She seemed like she wanted to protest, but the force of your words silenced her. Relief flickered across her face, though something heavy still lingered—something she didn’t want to admit, even to herself. "You make it sound so simple," she murmured, her voice so low you had to step closer to hear her. "Simple and... easy."

You gave her a soft smile—not one of pity, but of understanding—touching her arm gently. "Because it is, Wanda. What you need to do is let yourself believe it. Now, what do you need? Because I’m here, and you don’t have to carry this alone."

Wanda stayed silent, studying you with an intensity that made heat rise to your cheeks. Finally, she gave a small smile.

"I just need you," she said, and the simplicity of her words made your heart race.

You nodded, allowing yourself a shy smile in return. "Then you have me."

Wanda let out a soft laugh, a sound that reverberated low in your chest as she pulled her chair closer to you. Her gaze was indecipherable—a mix of amusement and something deeper you couldn’t name.

"Come here," she said, her voice low but filled with authority, as she patted her lap lightly.

You blinked, surprised, feeling heat flood your face. "You want me to... sit on your lap?"

"I do," she replied, the certainty in her voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."

With a mock sigh of resignation, one that couldn’t hide the smile forming on your lips, you stepped closer and settled into Wanda’s lap. The warmth of her body was comforting, like a sanctuary only she could provide. Her hands rested firmly on your waist, adjusting you until you felt entirely comfortable yet vulnerable—exposed in a way only she could make intimate.

Your arms wrapped around her instinctively, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if you had no choice but to surrender to this closeness, this touch. And somehow, it gave you a sense of belonging—a deep, irrational belonging you hadn’t known you desired so much.

"You’re so bossy," you murmured, trying to mask your shyness with a hint of teasing. But your words came out laced with a sweetness that made your surrender feel voluntary, though unspoken.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, her usual sharp gaze softened by the slow smile tugging at her lips. Tilting her head slightly, she said in a voice as much a promise as it was a challenge, "Bossy, hmm? Maybe. But you like it, don’t you?"

There were no words to deny it, no room left to resist. Wanda’s presence enveloped you with a quiet force, and you couldn’t hide from what you felt anymore.

You didn't know if it was the way she effortlessly had the ability to control you or the way she made it feel so natural, so safe. There were no more words to deny it, no more room to resist. Wanda was drawing you into her presence with the force of a silent magnetism, and you could no longer hide from what you felt.

She sighed, a deep breath that seemed to carry all the tension of her thoughts. Wanda had a unique way of keeping everything under control, but you could feel the anxiety she tried to hide—the immense desire to see you graduate soon, to make your lives together a reality. She wanted the future to be now, for you both to be definitively together. Thoughts of marriage, traveling, building something solid. But more than that, she wanted to have your child. The thought consumed her, but it was a desire she didn’t know how to fulfill.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died in your throat when Wanda began cradling you gently, her hands moving up and down your back in a soothing gesture. It was comforting, but also strangely vulnerable, as if you’d been reduced to something small and precious under her touch.

“Are all ‘Wandas’ like this?” you asked, more to fill the silence than out of real curiosity.

Her eyes gleamed with a subtle red, and you almost felt her thought before she spoke. “All the ‘Wandas’?”

You hesitated, realizing the depth of the question you’d just asked. “I mean... all versions of you… are they like this? So stubborn, so... intense?”

She laughed again, but this time there was something darker behind the sound. “Perhaps. But the real question is: are all versions of you like this? So headstrong, so brave... so ready to stand against me and then yield?”

The heat on your face intensified, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you let her question echo in your mind. What if... all versions of us were like this? Two opposing forces that, even in different worlds, always found a path to collision—and then connection.

“Do you think we’re always like this? Stuck in this cycle?” you asked, your voice a whisper.

Wanda tilted her head, her fingers tracing slow circles on your back. “Maybe it’s not a cycle,” she said softly. “Maybe it’s a choice we make, life after life. Maybe we’re destined for this... because we want to be.”

Her words resonated within you, like a key turning in an ancient lock. Something clicked, and you knew, with inexplicable certainty, that she was right.

You let your head fall against her shoulder, closing your eyes as you felt her warmth completely envelop you. “Whatever the reason... I think I never want to choose anything but this. You’re perfect. Perfect for me.”

Wanda pulled you closer, her chin resting lightly on top of your head. “Then always choose me,” she murmured.

Wanda fell silent, her gaze deep and attentive, as if trying to read something inside you, something she didn’t fully understand yet. Her expression carried an intensity you could barely bear. Warmth rose to your face, and your chest tightened with an uncomfortable sensation, almost as if the weight of her emotions was spilling over and affecting your own body.

The tension between you, built over the minutes, wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper, more visceral. You felt the pain Wanda tried to hide, and for a moment, everything fell silent, as if time had stopped.

Wanda looked away, breathing heavily, as if trying to regain control. Her tense, anxious body was still close to yours, but she seemed lost in her own thoughts. The concern for the future, the desire to build something solid with you, consumed every part of her mind.

Then, a strong, almost painful feeling grew in her chest. Wanda no longer wanted to hide what she felt. She didn’t know how to deal with it, with this immense longing to have a life with you, to start a family, but at the same time, the fear of not knowing how to make it happen.

You, feeling the same pressure in your chest, brought a hand to it, as if trying to hold back the ache forming there as well. Your eyes filled with tears, and the tension in your body was palpable. “Wanda... are you okay?” you asked, your voice trembling, unsure of what else to say.

Wanda froze at the sound of your voice. Her shoulders trembled slightly, and a sigh that sounded more like a sob escaped her lips. She shook her head but didn’t speak immediately. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, as if she were fighting something consuming her from the inside out.

“No... no, I’m not,” she finally admitted, her voice almost inaudible, broken by a vulnerability she rarely let show. Her green eyes glistened with tears she refused to shed, but you could see the storm inside her.

“I... I don’t know how it’s possible to love someone this much,” she whispered, her fingers gripping her own arms, as if trying to anchor herself to reality. “It’s so strong it hurts.”

You felt your heart tighten. You had never seen Wanda like this: so raw, so exposed. She had always been a fortress, a woman who faced the world with unshakable determination. But now, in front of you, she seemed so human, so scared.

“I have so many enemies,” she continued, her voice even weaker, her eyes lost in the void. “What if they find out about you? What if they hurt you because they know I... because they know how much you mean to me?”

Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling irregularly. It was as if the weight of all her fears was collapsing on her all at once.

You stepped closer, hesitant but determined. “Wanda, look at me,” you asked, your voice soft but firm. When she finally lifted her eyes to meet yours, you held her face in your hands, your thumbs gently stroking her cheeks.

“Breathe with me,” you said, guiding her with your own rhythm, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Wanda tried to follow, at first failing, but gradually managing to control her breathing.

“I’m here,” you continued, your voice low and comforting. “And no one will take me away from you. Not as long as you’re by my side.”

Wanda closed her eyes, letting a few more tears escape. “But I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” she admitted, almost in a whisper.

You felt the weight of those words, but instead of responding directly, you pulled her into a tight embrace. “You don’t have to face this alone,” you said, your voice close to her ear. “We’re in this together, Wanda. Together.”

Her body relaxed against yours, and you felt her surrender to the comfort of the moment. The anxiety consuming her was still there, but at least for now, she could feel that she wasn’t alone.

“I just need you,” she murmured again, her tone softer now, as if the words carried a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself. She didn’t know what the future held, but she knew with absolute certainty that you were the answer she was searching for.

You closed your eyes, absorbing the intensity of the moment. "I need you too, Wanda. In every way... now and always."

And in that instant, wrapped in a tight embrace and the silence surrounding them, both knew they were sharing something rare and precious—a love so immense that it only grew stronger with each obstacle, each doubt, and most importantly, each choice they made to stay together.

[...]

The house was enveloped in a comforting silence, the kind that only comes after a full day. Wanda carefully closed the twins' bedroom door, her heart warmed by the sight of her sleeping children. This was a ritual she never abandoned, an anchor in her chaotic, magical life. Every night, she tucked them in with the care of someone who knew the value of small moments of peace.

She descended the stairs, her bare feet nearly silent against the wooden floor, and made her way to the living room. Sitting on the couch, Wanda stared into the void for a moment, her thoughts heavy like an impending storm. Something within her was changing—not something recent, but something that had been growing over time, slowly taking shape. The sense that an essential part of her destiny lay elsewhere.

The sound of the lock turning pulled her back to reality. The front door opened, revealing Vision. He entered with his usual serene posture, but his eyes immediately caught the mood in the room.

“Wanda,” he greeted softly, closing the door behind him. “The boys are asleep?”

She nodded. “Like angels.”

Vision smiled, but the smile faded when he noticed her expression. He stepped closer, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her. “Is something wrong?”

She took a deep breath. “Vision, we need to talk.”

His face didn’t change, but a flicker of concern passed through his eyes. He leaned slightly forward. “I’m listening.”

Wanda clasped her hands in her lap, searching for the right words. “I… I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About what we have, what we share. And I realize that, while we’ve built a life together, something is missing.”

Vision frowned, confused. “Missing? Wanda, we have the boys. We have… everything we’ve built.”

She looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “Yes, and I cherish every moment. Every memory. You’ve given me more than I could ever ask for. But I can’t ignore… this feeling. That our time together wasn’t meant to be forever. That there’s something else waiting for me. And for you.”

He was silent, processing her words. Finally, he tilted his head slightly, a curious expression forming. “You believe this is about destiny?”

She nodded. “I believe there are paths we’re meant to follow. And, while I’ve loved you with all that I am, our path together is… coming to an end.”

For a moment, Vision remained silent. But to Wanda’s surprise, he didn’t show anger or hurt. Instead, his eyes softened, and a small smile appeared on his lips. “Wanda, you know how much I value your honesty. But I also value your happiness. I always have.”

She blinked, surprised. “So, you understand?”

“Yes,” he said, taking her hands. “Because, deep down, I knew too. I knew that, no matter how beautiful what we created was, it wasn’t meant to last forever. This isn’t about us or this world. It’s about destiny.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, but it was a tear of relief. “Vision, I never wanted to hurt you.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t hurt me. You gave me something few ever experience: the privilege of loving and being loved, even if only for a time. And more than that, you gave me the boys. They are the best part of us.”

She smiled, squeezing his hands. “You are… incredible. I don’t know how to thank you for understanding.”

Vision stood, pulling her into an embrace. “There’s no need to thank me, Wanda. We were a beautiful story. And even though the ending is now, it doesn’t diminish the value of what we had.”

When they pulled apart, Vision looked at her with a gentle sparkle in his eyes. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Wanda replied.

“Be happy. Wherever destiny takes you, with whomever destiny brings to you, be happy. You deserve that.”

Wanda nodded, feeling the weight of the moment but also the lightness of knowing that even in their goodbye, there was love. And as Vision left, she remained there, in the silent living room, sensing that something new—and inevitable—was about to begin.

[...]

The night was calm, filled with laughter and lively chatter in the dorm. Yelena, Kate, Bucky, and Darcy were all there, immersed in yet another movie marathon. The atmosphere was cozy and light, a perfect contrast to the storm outside. Rain poured heavily, pattering against the windows and creating a soothing sound that matched the setting.

The room was a cozy mess: scattered cushions, nearly empty popcorn buckets, and a blanket or two being fiercely claimed as sacred territory. Kate, ever energetic, stood in front of the TV with the remote in hand, waving it dramatically like a royal scepter.

“All right, listen up, peasants!” she began, with an exaggerated attempt at authority. “Tonight, I pick the movie because I am clearly the most reasonable one here.”

Yelena, comfortably sprawled in an armchair, rolled her eyes as she stuffed more popcorn into her mouth. “Reasonable? You thought Fast & Furious 7 was a historical drama.”

“Hey! It was about family!” Kate retorted, pointing the remote at Yelena as if challenging her to a duel.

Darcy, curled up on the couch under an enormous blanket, raised her hand. “I vote for something with aliens. Maybe Men in Black? Always good to revisit a classic.”

Bucky huffed, sunk into the corner of the couch, guarding a bowl of popcorn like it was a relic. “Why not something serious? Like… I don’t know, The Godfather. Teaches important life lessons.”

“You only want to watch that because you think it’s a kind of autobiography, Mr. Mafia Soldier,” Yelena teased, laughing as she tossed a piece of popcorn at him.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to dodge. “At least it’s not another teen musical someone suggested last week.”

Kate threw her hands up in protest. “Hey! High School Musical is a masterpiece.”

“Okay, guys, focus!” you intervened, trying to contain the growing chaos. “Why don’t we settle this fairly? A vote.”

“Voting is for cowards,” Yelena declared, rising from her chair and stretching her arms. “Let’s settle this with arm wrestling. Winner picks the movie.”

Darcy laughed. “Great plan, Yelena. Except that kind of favors a certain super-soldier in the room.”

Bucky shrugged with a subtle smile. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Or,” you tried again, sighing, “we could just draw names from a hat?”

Kate was already swinging the remote like a lightsaber. “No way! I want a charades duel. Best movie scene wins.”

The confusion only grew. Between clumsy miming, Yelena insisting Shrek was the best movie of all time, and Darcy proposing to watch all the trailers before deciding, you all ended up… back where you started.

“So, High School Musical?” Kate asked hopefully after all the chaos.

“No,” everyone replied in unison.

In the end, you finally settled on The Avengers—because, of course, there’s nothing like watching your own fictional selves in action to end the night.

You were distracted, laughing at your friends’ jokes, but something on your phone caught your attention. It was a message from Wanda.

“It’s over. Vision and I. Can I have you all to myself now?”

The screen illuminated her face in the dimness of the room, and you felt a mix of conflicting emotions. The first was a wave of pleasure, an internal satisfaction, as if an important piece of your destiny had perfectly clicked into place. But immediately after, a knot tightened in your stomach. Wanda was undoubtedly sad. She had shared a life with Vision, with her children, and that wasn’t easy. Nothing about the end of something so significant could ever be simple.

You didn’t think twice. “Guys, I need to step out for a bit.”

“Y/n, it’s past midnight!” Yelena exclaimed, looking at you with concern. “You’re going out in this weather?”

“Y/n, it’s raining out there!” Darcy added, her voice filled with worry. “You’ll catch a cold!”

You ignored their warnings. Nothing at that moment could stop the urgency you felt in your skin. Wanda needed you. She was breaking, and you couldn’t stay there, safe and comfortable, while she faced the emotional storm alone.

Without offering further explanations, you got up and grabbed your bike. The rain was already pouring heavily when you left the building, but you didn’t care. The sensation of cold water hitting your face was a small distraction from the storm raging inside you. You pedaled nonstop, your thoughts jumping from one to another but always circling back to the same conclusion: Wanda needed you now more than ever.

The journey to her house seemed longer than it actually was. Raindrops sprayed through the air, making the night even darker and more intense. By the time you reached Wanda’s house, your hair was soaked, and your clothes clung to your body, but what mattered was that you were there.

You knocked on the door, your heart racing in anticipation, and soon she opened it. Your eyes met, and Wanda, who looked surprised, hesitated for a moment before stepping aside to let you in.

“Y/n…” Her voice was heavy with something hard to decipher, a mix of vulnerability and something else she was trying to hide.

You stepped inside, removing your wet jacket, your steps silent on the cold floor of the entryway. The house was too quiet, the soft lighting illuminating the space, but everything felt... heavy, as if the finality of something had settled in the air.

“What are you doing here?” Wanda said, her voice slightly trembling. She stood in the living room, her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the night had entirely overtaken her.

You hesitated for a moment, still trying to organize your thoughts and the flood of emotions coursing through your chest. "You wanted me all to yourself, didn’t you?" you said, your voice softer than you expected. "And I... I felt I had to come."

Her eyes found yours again, and you saw she was fighting back tears. She looked so vulnerable, stripped of all the strength that usually surrounded her. Without the armor of control you were used to, she was just... Wanda. And that made your heart ache.

“I didn’t want you to come like this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Not in this rain. Not like this.”

You stepped forward slowly, feeling the tension in the air grow with every movement. “And you think I could stay home knowing that you—my other half—are going through this alone?”

Wanda looked at your hands, her eyes lingering on the contact. It was such a small gesture, yet so full of meaning. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet yours, there was something different there—a flicker of hope, perhaps, or relief.

“You’re soaked,” she murmured, almost distractedly, but there was a tenderness in her tone that tightened your chest. “Come. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

She guided you to the sofa, grabbing a blanket on the way. You sat down, still trembling slightly—not from the cold, but from something deeper. As Wanda knelt to wrap the warm fabric around you, her fingers brushed your skin briefly, and you noticed her eyes lingering on yours again.

“Thank you for coming,” she finally said, her voice a bit steadier now but still loaded with emotion. “I... I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you replied with a small smile. And in that moment, even with the storm outside and the chaos within, there was a strange calm between you two—as if, for an instant, everything was exactly where it was meant to be.

You leaned in slightly, feeling the warmth of the house contrasting with the cold lingering on your body. But more than that, you felt the warmth of Wanda’s presence, and it was enough to melt any remaining hesitation within you.

“I’m here,” you said, your smile more a promise than just a reaction. “No matter what’s happened, I’m here, Wanda.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if allowing herself a breath, and then looked at you, her gaze intense and filled with emotions you couldn’t ignore. She took a step forward, the distance between you disappearing almost immediately.

“I... I don’t know what to do with this, Y/n,” Wanda said, her voice low and sorrowful. “This part of me, this thing I carried for so long, it’s just... gone. And now I’m staring into a void. But you... you’re everything I want. Everything I’ve ever wanted. I can’t deny that.”

You took her hand, guiding her to the sofa, where you both sat close but still holding onto the emotional distance Wanda had tried to maintain all this time. But now, that distance was fading.

“You don’t have to do anything, Wanda,” you said, gently stroking her hand. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. We’re here. And that’s what matters.”

The silence between you was comfortable yet heavy. There was no need for more words. You both knew what was happening. And even with the rain outside, the memories of Vision, and the painful ending she had just faced, in that moment, Wanda wasn’t alone. And you would make sure she always knew that.

Wanda looked at you again, her eyes seeming to hold the entire universe—so intense, so full of conflicting emotions. The shadows of pain were still there, but there was something else, something beginning to emerge as a subtle glow in the darkness.

“You’re the only thing that makes sense right now,” she whispered, almost as if confessing a secret even she hadn’t realized she carried. “You scare me... because you’re everything I never knew I needed. But you’re also the one thing I don’t want to lose.”

Your heart raced at her words. There was so much power and vulnerability in them, and you knew this was the moment. Taking a deep breath, you lifted a hand to gently touch her face, your fingers tracing invisible lines on her soft skin.

“I love you, Wanda,” you said, your voice firm but brimming with emotion. Your eyes locked onto hers, diving into that green expanse that now seemed to shine even brighter. “I love you with everything I am. With your fears, with your mistakes, with every part of who you are. And nothing in this world can change that.”

You saw her pupils dilate instantly at your words. It was as if the air around you shifted, becoming denser, more charged with something both terrifying and indescribably beautiful.

Wanda's magic manifested almost uncontrollably, wrapping the two of you in a delicate aura, with subtle sparks and an intoxicating scent that seemed to reflect her very essence. You felt the tiny, shimmering particles touch your skin, like soft tickles igniting every part of your being.

Wanda didn’t speak immediately. She simply looked at you, her eyes glistening with tears that threatened to fall but were held back with her usual intensity. Then, with a slowness that seemed to carry the weight of the world, she placed her hand over yours, still resting on her face, holding it there as if she wanted to etch this moment into eternity.

"You don’t know what you’ve just done to me," she whispered, her voice hoarse and filled with emotion. "I didn’t know I could love like this... I didn’t know it was possible."

Wanda rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed as the sparks of her magic continued to dance around you. The silence was full, laden with everything that didn’t need to be said but was present in the air.

When she finally opened her eyes, the soft, vulnerable smile she gave you warmed your heart in a way that words couldn’t describe. "I love you," she whispered, as if surrendering the last of her defenses to you. "And I feel so happy..."

You closed the distance between you in a kiss that was delicate and laden with something—love.

The kiss was more than just a gesture. It felt as though time and space had bent around you, creating a world where only the warmth of her lips, the softness of her touch, and the unique essence of your souls intertwined existed. The love between you wasn’t simple. It was dense, heavy with past stories, scars, and unspoken desires that were finally finding a place to be expressed.

Wanda felt her magic pulse to the rhythm of her heart, as if every particle around her vibrated with the force of the emotion threatening to overflow. It was terrifying and yet breathtaking. This wasn’t ordinary love, linear or easy to comprehend. No, it transcended words or explanations. It was like an ancient melody, something that had always existed, just waiting for the right moment to be heard.

When the kiss ended, Wanda kept her eyes closed, taking a deep breath, as if trying to capture that moment within herself. "Do you feel it?" she asked, her voice a reverent whisper.

You nodded because you did. You felt as though you were connected to something greater, something that couldn’t be explained. It was as if the universe had leaned in to create this connection, this bond that defied reason yet was the only thing that felt right in the world.

"It’s like… magic," you replied, and Wanda chuckled softly, a sound full of emotion.

"It’s more than magic," she said, her green eyes shining with a mix of reverence and intensity. "It’s you. It’s what you’ve brought to me, what you’ve awakened in me. I didn’t know I could feel this again—something so powerful it seems to consume everything around me."

Silence settled once more, but this time it wasn’t heavy—just the calm after a storm. You held her hand, your fingers entwined as if they were meant to find each other. The love you shared was a force of its own, something that seemed to flow around you, pulsing, breathing, growing.

There, under the soft light and with Wanda’s magic still dancing in the air, you knew you had found something beyond description or containment. It was a love that transcended everything—a love that was both mystical and real, powerful and delicate. And as Wanda’s eyes glimmered with that touch of red that seemed to illuminate her very soul, you knew you loved the most powerful witch—and the only one—you’d ever known.

~*~

I just want a love like this 🥺🤏🏻

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