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meownotgood · 2 days ago

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pillars. / viktor x gn!reader, fluff and angst, lots of angst actually, implied childhood friends, confession kisses, mentions of death, one singular czech pet name, kissing viktor's moles, takes place during s1 act 2, so technically no s2 spoilers but some things are implied. word count: 7.9k

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"You look exhausted," You hum, your voice thick with fatigue in unison, "Don't you think you should rest?"

Viktor takes a breath deep and slow enough to hear, his hands briefly faltering as he twirls a small, bronze magnifying glass with his fingers, but he doesn't reply, nor does he turn away from his notes.

The lab is cool, quiet — aside from the distant hum of various pressure valves and idle machinery. The Hexcore thrums. Runic engravings litter each complex, geometric surface. Viktor rests his balled-up hand on his face, bony knuckles pressing into his cheek. With his inkpen, he messily scrawls something into his notebook. Low, blue light illuminates the cluttered room and his workspace. Each side of the Hexcore pulses when you approach behind him, twirling to its own complex, ominous rhythm. Acknowledging you, somewhat.

Viktor inhales sharply, and shakes his head frustratedly, crossing out what he'd just written with jittery, forceful motions.

It wouldn't be the first time you've found him here, like this, mulling over some sort of invention or idea when most of the city is already asleep. Falling into a focused routine is merely second nature. And normally, you wouldn't protest.

When you were much, much younger, staying awake as long as you could felt fun. Helping Viktor cram studying for exams in between finishing an invention the night before Progress Day became a yearly occurrence. In the weeks before finalizing blueprints for the Hexgates, you'd almost forgotten when either of you had last seen the sun. It's just that this routine has been far more absorbing, far more taxing — and the repercussions are painted clearly on Viktor's shadowed face.

He looks drained. Worn. Like if he tried to stand, if he wasn't leaning against his desk and absorbed in his research, the weight of his own exhaustion might make him crumble and collapse. The ends of his hair stick out in messy, curled strands, from where he's anxiously twirled them around his fingers.

You hate the dark bags that have made their home under his eyes. You feel a knot in your gut as you watch Viktor's hands; shaky, and imprecise. Flipping through the pages of his notebook to search for something. Tracing a sentence with the end of his inkpen, only for his gaze to flicker back to the start when the words failed to register.

You sigh. Forcing a smile, even though he can't see it, you take another stumbling step forwards. Your arms wrap around his thin figure loosely, and your weight settles gently yet firmly against his hunched back, in something of a tender, evocative hug.

Viktor shifts, his grip tightens on his pen when it almost slips. You nuzzle into the perfect, head-shaped space at the crook of his neck, breathing him in — flooding your senses with a coffee-warm richness, with the scent of ash and sweat and lingering sparks.

His gaze softens like melted honey. As if the simple press of your body to his returned pieces to himself he'd thought he lost. Brows unpinching, your heat at his neck spreads across him in waves, contradicting the collected edge kept in his tone.

"I'm not yet tired," Viktor lies, trying his hardest not to lean into your embrace. "I'd like to analyze this for a few moments longer. This page is," He shakes his head. "Incomplete. If I could find the key to what induces some form of response, then-"

As if on queue, the Hexcore sparks with energy, twirling faster, glowing with luminous constellations. Viktor swiftly moves to jot something down, but as fast as the Hexcore reacted, it's just as quick to return to normalcy.

He mutters something under his breath, slightly jostling you from his shoulders when he leans forwards in focus.

"I swear," You're grumbling; you rest your chin on the hard edge of his shoulder, glancing between the Hexcore and his notes with passive interest. "You've always been like this."

"Like what?" Viktor flips through his notebook once more. "Stubborn, I'm assuming?"

"Stubborn, yes. Smart. Terribly ambitious." You reach up, until you're able to place a few taps onto his forehead with the end of your finger. Viktor barely seems to notice. He adds onto an almost-full page by messily writing in the margins.

"I know how hard it is for you to stop those gears in that brain of yours. Once they're going, it's impossible to get them to stop."

"Mm. And you know how important this pursuit is in particular, yes?"

He reaches for a notched turn dial on the opposite side of his desk, connected to the Hexcore by a series of braided wires and support poles. Your gaze follows his hands — gripping carefully, with delicate, calloused fingers. There's a distinct pause. A moment of palpable tension, as you both instinctively hold your breath.

Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice.

The Hexcore gives off a few miniscule, pitiful sparks, like a God's first attempt at a lightning storm. And he expels a long, drowsy, disappointed sigh.

"I do," You murmur, sympathetic.

Viktor grinds his jaw, hard enough to feel it aching, but even through his fierce familiarity with self-induced destruction, even though he isn't deserving of this, he can't hope to hold onto the ragged bites of stress in his veins. Not when you're so warm, when the feeling you ignite in his chest with your voice alone is so terribly soft. He has missed this.

"But I also know," You're continuing, "Every time you get close to a breakthrough, once you let yourself rest," Viktor's head nods sleepily, struggling not to fall, and you playfully tap your index finger to the end of his nose.

"That's when you find it."

Part of him wishes he could keep himself from listening. Of course, as strongly as he wants to be better and more efficient, because taking a break is like admitting defeat, and defeat is worse than accepting he might've reached the end of his line — he knows you're right.

Placing the cap on his pen, he leaves it in the middle of his notebook, closes the pages to save his spot before hastily, reluctantly pushing it aside.

You grin. You slowly shift up, and Viktor feels your arms sliding from his shoulders, your weight leaving his body. For a second, he thinks you might move, believes you'll leave and feels a sharp grind between his ribs at the thought. Instead, you place your palms on his rigid shoulders, and you squeeze.

His lashes flutter, eyes partially rolling into his skull. His head grows dizzy, like he'd been spun. Frustration melts out of him as warmth and light take its place, shining from your touch like the kiss of stars and the rays of the sun. Bright and lovely; galaxies weaving themselves into his tired muscles.

Relaxing, he can't help but lean back, dropping his head against your waiting chest.

"I saw Jayce before I left this morning," You're murmuring. It's in one ear, and out the other at first. You lean in, speaking close to him this time, to make sure you've been heard. Your voice shudders through him, warm like candle wax. "Says he hasn't seen you sleep in days."

"In one day," Viktor corrects, rather matter-of-fact for someone who's busy melting into you like his limbs are boneless. "Technically, about twenty- no, twenty two hours. More or less. Honestly… hardly worth the over-exaggeration."

"Vik," You scoff playfully, breath fanning warmly on his skin. "You're doing it again."

Your palms move. They drift from his shoulders to his arms, fingertips gently toying with his sleeves in a foolish attempt to touch his skin. He tilts his head all the way back, and cracks his weary eyes open to look at you.

"And what is it I'm doing?"

"Saying things that make me worry about you. And then expecting me not to."

"I am not-"

Right then, before he can speak, your hands return to his now-tensed shoulders; they combat the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat when they roll his muscles. His chest thrums with a soothing gentleness, rich and saccharine, difficult to swallow down.

"You are worried about me?" Viktor questions, sighing slightly when your hands work out a particularly old, tightened knot. "I have not seen you in… who knows how many days. I have lost count."

Your mouth forms a hard line.

"I- I know," You're answering, hands drifting down smoothly, as if they're carried on waves. They find where his tie is neatly fastened around his collar, grasping the diamond and pulling to loosen it. "I've been trying not to get in your way. Everything is just- Jayce is a counselor now, and you're busy with a thousand different things. I'm not going to interrupt your work with my stupid-"

"Our work." Viktor's tone is resolute. It holds you, grounds you against the raging winds in your mind that threaten to pull at your pieces. "Hextech was furthered by your contributions. Do not forget that."

You swallow, but it does little to chase away the dryness in your throat. In a hasty, abrupt motion, your palm grasps Viktor's shoulder, this time twisting his chair to make him face you. He eyes you with surprise for a moment, his tired gaze tender and weak enough to light the shrapnel in your stomach.

"Viktor." Your head tilts, affectionate. You reach up, and brush away the messy strands of hair that cover his pretty face and tickle his forehead. "This research, this dream of yours, it's-"

"It is a necessary risk."

Gaze wide, you freeze up. Viktor exhales sharply, glances away from you to focus on something in the distance instead — messy shelves of discarded machinery, inventions you once worked on together, etched with your signature and his — because the way you're looking at him has an ache prodding at his heart, sharp and thorned.

"Finalizing this thesis would simply be the beginning," Viktor continues, passionate, gradually starting to talk with his hands. "Think of the lives we could save, of the good we could prosper from this sort of technology. Enough to improve the Undercity for the better, to provide rationale for the potential dangers. I understand you are worried- but this is our life's work we are talking about. If we were to determine the true limits of Hextech, it would make our efforts worth it, in spite of… even if…"

He stops, trails off. Glances up, and decides he might've said too much. You understand. You have always understood where all of this is going.

The lives he could change would be worth the price, even if he was to throw away his.

Tattered threads tear from within you — unspoken, buried deep. You've become well acquainted with the taste of denial. Sharp on your tongue, thick in your throat to meld with the bile. It sits on your lips as words better left unspoken. Eats away at your skin and your flesh and your core, settles in your limbs and at the tips of your useless fingers. Reverberates, until the ringing in your ears begins to sound like him.

Piltover feels so distant, with the idle noise of the lab filling the room. Miles away, even though you're right in its heart. Nothing has ever been fair. It cast you aside, it was never your home. He was.

All you've received for ages now are fake sentiments, vague reassurances. Reminders of how terribly futile your ambitions have proven to be. Every sun has to set, every star will burn out — but fuck, you don't want him to burn.

Your mind is dizzy. Each thought spins, tipped faster and faster. Light pounds from behind your eyelids, and your stomach churns, making you nauseous. The lines blur between Viktor's figure, the floor, and the dull aura of the Hexcore, beginning to overlap everything together.

You aren't present, or perhaps you're wishing to be anywhere but here. Curled beneath the covers, hiding under your bed like you did when you were a child, running to the furthest, broken edge of the universe so you wouldn't have to imagine him slipping through your fingertips; Viktor draws you back, grasping your chin oh-so gently. He tilts you towards him, puts your focus on him to push the rest of the world into the background.

"Though, I suppose there is no harm in stopping for the night," Viktor reasons, his tone a soft murmur, devastatingly gentle. "I have missed you. I believe I may have neglected to make myself clear."

And for a brief reprieve, there isn't anything sweeter. Nothing this fatal.

His arm braces behind him, elbow resting on the edge of the desk. You follow through when he gently keeps you in place, steady on his direction; you're a compass, and he's Polaris. Your gazes don't separate, magnetized together like a hex crystal to iron.

For a moment, he forms a small pout, in a way that would have you grinning if the circumstances were different. His expression ripens, becomes soft. Almost guilty. A plea and an apology and some form of a confession, muddled into one dangerous, indecipherable nebula.

"You sure?" You're muttering, trying to keep your tone upbeat, regardless. "Your project looks like it's itching to fly away."

"Eh," Viktor shrugs, he allows his thumb to brush over your cheek. "I'm sure it can wait. It understands I have more important things to focus on."

His touch makes you ache. Guides your sorrow to entwine with his, digs in deep to grasp at your chest with such devastating familiarity.

It's an excruciating reminder of how much you have craved this. How badly it hurts, to feel Viktor's hand tremble as he touches you, slightly unsure, when you wish he wouldn't be. Exhaustion is wound so deeply into his system, you'd think he was born with it. He brushes his palm from your cheek to your jaw, caressing idly, in an absent, lazy motion. And it frustrates you, because you know you'll soon be lost, wishing you could feel his touch again.

Every pound of your heart reminds you of everything — of the brushes of fingers, when passing tools and pens at the work table. Hands solidly grabbing one another to steady anxieties, to offer familiar reminders. Nights spent categorizing constellations, while in your eyes, Viktor's radiance burned brighter than any distant galaxy.

Gentle touches pressed to weary limbs. Tightening machinery, releasing the gears on a brace. An arm offered to help him stand. Instinctually standing beside him, at the side that might need you. Fingertips exploring the notches of a spine, traveling rivers of veins, mapping out star-shaped clusters of freckles.

Tired moments much like this, but instead of protests and strives against fate, there were lovely brushes of whispers. Twin dips in the same bed, murmurs of, I'm here, you can go back to sleep. Touches that wished for themselves to be something more, something lasting. Though they knew they'd evaporate by morning.

It's far too late to still rely on daydreams.

You let the haze die out, tracing the edges of his hard knuckles as an apology before you clumsily push his hand from your cheek. Standing up straight, the lab seeming more cold and quiet and empty than ever, you choose to put distance in between yourself, and your lost love.

"Sorry. I shouldn't-" Breathe, you've got to remind yourself to breathe. Air catches in your lungs, sharp and dizzy, and you quickly shake your head. "Viktor, I-"

Gods, Viktor shouldn't have to choose between you and his ambition. He shouldn't need to place his own body in the middle of making a difference, and saving himself. There's still so much you haven't done, haven't said. The life you both dreamed of and fought for is crumbling, he still has so much he was meant to accomplish, and yet —

A hand grabs your wrist with surprising force, to keep you from taking another step back.

Viktor's brows pinch. "Do not tell me you're thinking of leaving."

Oh. Your gaze finally travels up from your feet, and he looks hurt; his voice barely manages to avoid cracking around the edges. His fingers dig into your wrist sharply, desperately.

Viktor's jaw tightens, his firm grip causing veins to show in his wrist. Your shoulders slump, and you exhale.

"I'll walk home with you. You shouldn't sleep here, it's bad for your-"

"No, no you will not," Viktor interrupts, exasperation echoed through his tone, pain and worry laced through the lines of his palms to compel them to shake. "Tell me why you are refusing to stay. It's been weeks without change, why must you run off the moment I attempt to make time for you? I doubt you have any idea how much this torments me."

Weeks of avoidance, days upon days where he'd watch you disappear too soon. Viktor would turn, he'd say something to the empty air because he expected you to be there, but you would be gone, absent from the lab or the hallways or the dorm you once shared. Bitter sentimentality, the hurt you forgot to take with you, is all that would linger in his bones.

Just how far are you willing to run — in vain, until your legs might snap — to pretend you won't lose the only thing you have left, your friend, your partner, to imagine you might escape the certainty of his conclusion?

Your gaze is flighty. It carries raindrops, flutters on soft wings, between him and the intricate, statuette angles of his face. Between the ground and the desk, and the glowing Hexcore. He has rarely seen you so unsettled. When your emotions run high, you hide them from him; unsuccessfully, he might add. Your wrist flexes beneath his palm as he feels your hand clench, and unclench.

Little by little, you're tugging his heart from between his ribs. Tearing it apart like petals pulled, like the games you used to get lost in when you both were kids; you love him, you love him not —

"I can't stay. I wasn't- I shouldn't have tried to come back to the lab in the first place," You answer, dejected. His grip only tightens on your wrist when you pull. "Viktor, please."

"Answer me. I need you to say something," Viktor grits out, voice getting louder, his shoulders tensed with frustration. "What is the cause of this- this fracture in between us?"

Your arm drops. Your bottom lip quivers, and your breath gets caught in your lungs. The expression on your face is more sore than he's ever seen it, painful enough to kill, bordering on bursting into tears.

And then, your voice quiets. "I don't want to watch you die."

The Hexcore gives off a low, rumbling sound. The lab becomes quiet enough to hear the individual ticks of machinery gears.

Viktor's grip loosens on your wrist, only slightly. He doesn't speak, he can't listen to his heart or his head when he's placed between the persistent thrumming of both. You aren't looking at him. Regret dawns on your face, then sadness, then something he can't recognize when you turn your head away. Fatigue curls into his system, and settles amongst everything else: the guilt, the anticipation. The raw, forceful tenderness.

It's a reminder that you're right.

The passing of each slow second seems to exist for just the two of you. Dragging on and on. Barely helping him to find any answers. If only there was more time.

Words could never be enough, burying your emotions like lodging a knife way deep in your chest isn't working. Your partner was made to burn bright, to exist as an act of defiance itself. To dedicate his mind and his body and his bruised hands to progress, no matter the obstacles or limitations, the past grievances or untold emotions.

So many moments were never adequately spent. Days and weeks across years taunted you, moments spent as friends and colleagues, despite half of you belonging to him.

You just needed one push, one thrust into the light to stop you from holding back, because you knew you risked ruining everything. But if Viktor continues, if the Hexcore grows more and more dangerous, if the council continues to require more of him, and what you haven't spoken about becomes true — there won't be anything left to ruin.

And as he watches you collapse, firm on the outside but weak on the inside, turning back to him because you have to, not because you want to, Viktor finally understands.

He knows this body is… wilting.

Decaying; he can feel every ounce of newfound weakness in his limbs, knows he's a servant to his own existence as it waits for him to waste away. Many from the Undercity are much less fortunate. He is grateful you are stronger than him.

More pressingly, he is acutely, abruptly aware of how little time he's spent with you — it runs as fierce in his chest as the hourglass-shaped reminders of the short span he has left. You used to be inseparable, you shared the same dreams. Your talks weren't limited to melancholy utterances of, Have you eaten yet? and, Is your leg okay? and, I never see you anymore, will this time be the last?

How he's chosen to treat himself are small deaths, in a way. Promises to join you later that led to nothing, nights of exhaustion framed by mornings of fading in and out. He's followed his own guide to avoidance, the steps were simply laid out differently. He's grown sick of it, truly. And deep down, or perhaps on the surface, he is so, terribly exhausted.

Swallowing thickly, you remain frozen in place, waiting for him to give up, for his hand to slip from your wrist. When it does, you continue to linger. Your heart pounds loud in your ears. Little glances at him greet you with his face downcast, his shoulders slumped.

You sigh — and you decide this can't be it, or perhaps you're just not ready. You draw yourself dangerously close, to trail your knuckles down Viktor's sharp jaw as a weak apology.

If there's one thing he isn't accustomed to, it's throwing logic to the wind. Viktor tries to think of this like his notes, attempts to categorize and interpret these emotions. He imagines there's diagrams and logs in his own swirly handwriting, outlines that would guide him to precisely what he needs to do.

None of it works, of course. It's a terribly juvenile line of thinking. And he's rarely one to give into impulsivity, but you make it so difficult to think, to focus.

His breathing is already quickening and sharpening, creating pockets of light in his weak lungs, even through the reminders of his own mortality's shadow. Nothing is more important than the feeling you cradle in his chest, bright and fate-defying.

It would not be like him to accept this. To fade out with a hundred contributions unfinished, a thousand words unspoken. Confessions meant to fall from his voice like meteor showers, fears and regrets with no way to form on his tongue. The thought alone leaves him troubled, choked. His jaw tightens in frustration, only relaxing when the ghost of your fingertips guides him to.

Low light frames you, the features of your face troubled; oh, he can hardly remember the last time he's seen your smile. But he remembers, knows it to be beautiful. The slight softening his gaze undergoes as it flickers across you is utterly familiar — you pointed it out, once.

Your eyes overfill with warmth, they melt like amber. Your pupils widen like big, lovesick moons. His head can't help but spin; there's so much he never realized, when you did.

His hands like to absently search for something to fiddle with when he needs to think. His fingers have a habit of tapping against something methodically: his desk, the spine of his notebook, his own forehead. The mark above his mouth follows his lips, when they tip into a smile. He's doing it now, surely. Softening in your afterimage. Gaze warm, honeyed, hopeful.

No, he isn't sure if his fate can be changed; he's treading close, but he isn't dying yet. The Hexcore is unresponsive to every stimulus he's attempted, but his research is far from complete. There are mountains of quandaries he isn't sure he can fix, pitfalls remaining just out of his control. All but one, all but this. This is something he could do, something he can change.

You almost speak. Almost give some useless, parting words when his tired, gentle eyes drift back to yours, two ships on the same sea. He's inquisitive, hesitant, his brows creased together in thought and with conviction. The mere sight of him — hair a mess, skin pallid, ignites a thousand feelings and worries in your gut; a lighter tossed to a puddle of gasoline.

It's something Viktor picks up on.

You look pained. Unsure of yourself, from the way your eyes can't quite meet his own, from how your hand slips away from his cheek, as everything in you threatens to disappear. Weary, as you gaze at him like you've already lost him.

You've forgotten how to read him, he realizes. Caught up on what you might lose, the both of you have forgotten what you could have. Viktor's heart feels like it might burst, with enough force to make the sun's implosion look weak, and you don't understand, he'd have to show you.

He takes it as a sign. Grasps the last chance you've extended to him, and runs with it as fast as he can.

His name dies on your mouth, before you have the chance to speak it. Echoes haunt your soul when his palm finds your cheek, solid, sure; Viktor pulls you in hard, threads of distance easily closed, and he presses his lips to yours with an intensity that feels vividly visceral.

It won't fix what's already been done. This isn't a promise, falling short between being reassurance and becoming a goodbye. It isn't the way he would want to confess, if fate was kind enough to give him a choice.

But Gods, logic and reason, worry and mortality are all melting into nothing. Fading and fizzing into the sky, budding and beginning anew in his lungs — because for so long, he has needed this, needed you. As fiercely as dead parchment longs to be burned.

Your body immediately goes tense in surprise. Your arms awkwardly hover in place, until Viktor's head tilts, following the gentle aria, his palm brushing from your jaw to your cheek to hold you close — as though you're still prone to vanishing, if he were to let go. Like this is the beginning of too many firsts, and even more lasts. This kiss is worthy of savoring.

So, you do. You let your eyes flutter closed. You shift forwards with a shaky step, practically stumbling into him.

It's sweeter than you ever could have pictured. The subtle roughness to his chapped lips. The slight tickle of his breath, when you pull apart for long enough to hesitate, but not enough to gain the wisdom to stop.

Soft kisses draw you further, closer. A hand holds his cheek, a palm braces to his shoulder. Careful to use little force, to avoid any accidental hurt.

Viktor follows, leans back, has you bending closer as you get caught in his butterfly effect; blue light bathes you, and the Hexcore shifts, utterly radiant. There's a moment of separation, a brief second where your eyes barely get to flutter open. A pause that promises to be your last opportunity for regret. Greedy and urgent, brutally eager, Viktor drags you back in, keeping you caught in his penumbra. Coaxing you to cage him in — to kiss him like you mean it.

The taste of you is vivid, perfect, intense, rich; you make charged electricity glitter down his spine when your fingers curl into the soft, chestnut tresses of his hair. Grasping, pulling, leaving it even messier than it already was before.

Your lips part, your breath forms an intoxicating meld with his. And he is only foolishly, stupidly human. Made of flesh and bright dreams, etched with soft skin and fervent desires. Too weak, desperate, and caught in your echo to contemplate anything but the way his own name sounds — the V is a soft vibration, the completion of the consonants makes it sound like reverence — when it's breathed into his mouth.

Hazily, he feels your palm press, shoving gently to his chest, pushing his back against the desk in a clumsy effort to bring yourself closer. His chair shifts slightly from the movement, rusted wheels grating the tile. Your palm finds its place between his lower back and the desk's firm edge, bracing some of his weight, and acting as a buffer, keeping him from pressing against it.

Viktor melts underneath you, breathes a soft noise into your mouth that begs you not to stop — as if you could. As if you haven't wanted this in an unquantifiable amount of ways, across an infinitum of discarded daydreams. You're left to steal gasps in between, clinging onto quickened sighs that rival the struggle of keeping your head above water, as wild waves crash over your skull.

Out of breath, he blindly fumbles to find your shoulder; pushes gently, silently asks you for a moment of reprieve.

You draw back immediately. You're unable to stop yourself from shuddering when he softly breathes your name. Familiar accent curling around the syllables, giving them life and importance like your name was made for him to say. To whisper, to covet, to plead.

"Lásko," Viktor coos, as his eyes grow heavy. Glinting, with a spark of zeal that tells you to stop holding back.

You're well acquainted with the warm, softhearted nickname. You know it to be something Viktor taught you himself, between gentle explorations of the few things you didn't already know about one another, when your late-night curiosity and desire to learn led you to, Oh, and what name would you use for someone special?

His jaw grits; his next words, murmured in his mother tongue, resemble a sharp, possessive swear. His head tilts with yours when you lean closer — but you shift, falling in to let your lips find his neck.

The kisses you place there are hurried, desperate; like rays of light, as if you don't have time. Obediently, he stifles a whimper, and allows his head to fall back. It leaves plenty of room for your wandering hands to crinkle and press aside his shirt collar, and you place your lips on the firm, jutting curve of his collarbone.

You find the twin moles on his neck tendon, blessing a kiss there, near desperate enough to bruise. You follow them like a treasure map, to kiss the perfectly-placed mole above his mouth. Your palms cup his face faintly. Then, you sweetly kiss the mark on his opposite cheek, your lips warm, laced with fervent sparks.

Viktor shudders, he feels lighting race up his spine and split him open like a scythe. He's been avoiding his own declining reflection for weeks upon months now, but he doesn't need to remember much of himself to still know exactly where you're kissing, like the back of his hand.

The ghost of your lips just above his mouth, and then to the apple of his cheek send a thick, syrup-sweet realization reeling through him. His moles. It reminds him of fingertips playfully tapping his face. Of soft comments and pretty compliments, portraits of his own image that he'd never forgotten because they were from you.

When you hear the hitch in his breath, he swears he feels you smile against him. He's certain, once you shift back down to his neck, to repeat the process all over again. Placing messy kisses onto his soft skin, worshiping the intricacies he would've never thought were admirable. Memorizing each placement as though it's deliberate, like making a map of the night sky's constellations. And Viktor swallows, shakes, softens.

Blindly, you search for where his hand has been kept at your side. You grasp it, and pursue the natural interlacing of fingers: yours fitting perfectly between the gaps of his.

Trying not to shudder, failing when your breath fans against the right-angle corner of his jaw, he guides his free hand to trace the small of your back. His fingertips are gentle, hesitant. Careful brushes akin to a study, an exploration.

With a dizzy mind and even more muddled thoughts, he doesn't expect when you support your weight by placing your knee on his stool, between his legs — when you lean in close and fast and hard, crashing your lips against his once more. One kiss isn't enough, so you kiss him again; you let yourself be pulled in on his current, and he forgoes breathing to drink you in instead.

Your body arches into his touch, curves when his palm presses flat to your back, attempting to feel as much of you as possible. You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded would leave an imprint. You'd have something to remember what this meant, what his touch felt like.

Seconds and minutes bleed into one another. You can barely tell where he begins, and you end. Two halves of the same anatomy, you can feel the thrum of his inherent light beneath your breastbone.

The Hexcore watches. Pulses, hard enough to make pens begin to roll across the desk. To topple a precarious stack of diagrams, which sends a few papers fluttering to the ground, to make the steel marbles of a Newton's cradle clumsily clink together.

Neither of you notice. The response Viktor's been searching for spikes just beyond his reach. You make him feel weightless, as though the fragility of his own vessel is more of an afterthought, until he could be ripped into fragments and you would be there to put him back together. Viktor's palm holds the back of your neck, his head tilts with yours, and you kiss. Falling into one another, only unfalling to breathe. Your atoms melt into his particles, blossoming a blur between your two shapes. Your heart pounds with his, to a rhythm so exact they could be mistaken for the same singular beat.

Finally pulling away requires a mountain's worth of strength and effort. You only do so because you've got Viktor's back pressed hard against the desk, and he's practically about to fall off his chair.

You both needed to breathe. It takes several moments for your head to stop spinning. You can barely focus on anything, but the bruising of your lips and the skip of your heartbeat. Stumbling back, sliding from his chair to offer him more room, you cup his jaw in both palms. Soft and blissfully tender, as though this is what they were made to hold.

Viktor sighs hard, gasping heavily. His skin is slightly flushed, still warm to the touch. His gaze stays on you, basking in your afterglow. You're used to him flinching away. A slight hesitation always laces through his fingers when you try to grab his hand. His muscles tense on instinct whenever your arm wraps around him, braced to help support his weight.

But this time, your palms hold his face, your thumbs brush his skin, and he melts into your touch, unburdened. Gaze fluttery, expression relaxed. Giving in at last, after countless ages of starvation.

The low light of the lab, and the soft glow of the Hexcore's rune matrix — quiet, now — frame his face in outlines of shadow and hues of cerulean. Shades of blue meld with the honeycomb of his eyes, dulling the color. Clouds over a fading sun.

He hears the slight shake in your breath first, before he feels a tiny droplet hit his cheek; and you're leaning forward, trying to hide. Eyes shut tight, as you rest your forehead against his.

"Sorry, I-" Viktor murmurs, weak and faint. So quiet, you almost fail to hear. "I know this does not… fix things."

Oh. He hasn't seen you cry since you were both kids.

Viktor remembers clumsily trying to comfort you, making a crude somewhat-flower-pinwheel out of scrap metal as a gift, because he thought it wouldn't fix everything, but it might make things a little bit easier. For a time, anyway.

Reality is often a cold, cruel overseer. Remembering how to breathe again brings sharp pain into his lungs, it returns an ache to his tired shoulders and his strained leg. His vision comes back into focus, his future returns to taunt him but this time, something is different.

He feels a spark. A newfound wave of ambition. The radiant golden hour, before a bright, final breakthrough.

"It's fine," You breathe, weak and fragile, with a meager shrug of your shoulders that says you are anything but. "I didn't expect it to."

Viktor grasps your chin, gently shifting you back to give him space to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray droplet from your cheek. He tuts: a soft, teasing, tch sound. "Ah, but for a time, the world nearly felt miles away. Did it not?"

His gaze is hopeful, almost nervous. Trying to gauge any slight shift in your reaction. Thankfully, his voice seems to swiftly bring you back to life. You laugh a bit, wiping the remainder of tears away with the back of your hand; there's the smile he's always admired.

"Like we were melting into each other," You admit, a little shy, tenderly wistful. Your heart unfurls in your chest like a bright, pretty blossom. It's fitting for the both of you to recollect, to try and analyze the intricacies of every situation. "It was…"

You're pausing, trying to find the right description, as you rest your arms around his shoulders in something of a half-hug. It was lovely? Captivating? Addicting?

You shake your head. You're glancing away, because even remembering kissing him is enough to make your heart pound, enough to tempt you to pull him in again. Viktor tilts you back towards him, his finger lightly tapping your jaw.

"Hm- Breathtaking?" He muses, "Better than you could have dreamed?"

The brief lilt of confidence he embodies, words smooth as they're carried on his accent, pleasantly reminds you of when he was younger. Far too composed, and eager to prove himself. He follows it through, coaxing you forwards with a palm to your side. You're gentle; most of your weight, you support yourself, until Viktor pulls you down, patiently and decidedly guiding you to settle against his lap.

"You know," You're cooing, head tilted, "That sounds an awful lot like a confession."

You can see each subtle heave of Viktor's chest, expanding with every long breath he takes in. It's a tight fit. His stool is barely wide enough to accommodate himself, let alone you. His brace presses into the back of your leg just slightly: jutting metal, protruding bolts. The spread of his thighs leaves you with a small amount of space, but still forces your body to press awfully close to his.

You're in the perfect position to witness every detail of his face. His tired eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his nose. His thick brows pinch slightly, forming a faux pout, and you reach up. You brush your thumb from his temple to his brow, relishing in the instant softening of his expression.

"Perhaps it is one. Or, actually-" Viktor hums, inquisitive. "It contains the potential to be one, if I decided to elaborate."

"Oh? Enlighten me."

A pause. Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he ruminates, and your fingertips push fluffy strands of hair from his face to tuck behind his ears.

"For so long, I… ached to be close to you." His tone is calm, temperate. It twists a shiver up your spine, cool and heaven-sent. His palm trails and caresses your face; a lesson in restraint, as he tries to stop himself from pulling you in once more. "It was a pipe dream. I assumed I was… too late."

"I thought- I was sure you didn't-" Your shoulders grow tense and the bridge of your nose knots up, you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger and pull it away to admire the resounding curl. "Since when?"

Viktor exhales. "We have been effectively inseparable since the day we met, I am certain you still remember when the Undercity kids would laugh and- and make jabs at my obvious crush. But, you are searching for something specific. In that case, there is one instance."

This time, you don't have to ask him to elaborate.

A palm tracing down the column of your neck, idle yet admiring, Viktor takes one more steady, deep breath. "It was the Progress Day after we had finalized the Hexgates. The council's afterparty was… stifling. I was fortunate to have convinced you to attend. You wore such gorgeous attire. Jayce commented, stated I was unable to take my eyes off of you. I denied it. In hindsight, it was more than obvious."

The party was hardly your usual scene. Viktor was always the one who wound up convincing you to attend every Progress Day.

He'd mention you should vouch for your contributions, try to mingle. You were fine with dressing up for an hour or two, but all of the drinking and fraternizing — you found the presentations about new technology to be interesting, but everything to happen afterwards was tiring, to put it bluntly.

The occasion then was more special than most, though. There was a difference in the way Viktor asked you, sounding hopeful and stress-bound. It seemed important to him, and so it was doubly precious to you.

"I joined you on the balcony, once I was able to shake the flocks of investors." Viktor continues, thinking, thumbing through all of the details, "You'd been saving a cocktail for me all night, if you remember. Something made with rum- apple cider, I believe."

Viktor recalls overhearing several of your conversations. Your excitement to show off what you invented together was palpable. You made the room shine, he thinks. He watched you go on and on, when you thought he wasn't listening, assuming he was busy with his own consultations. Viktor zoned out of them, truly. Once the day's festivities are over, the rich folk of Piltover are more interested in finances than progress.

Your words were so kind. Viktor is amazing, have you met him yet? Every sponsor and socialite would know your partner to be intelligent, inventive, incredible. He doesn't compare. It's funny, how Viktor saw the same qualities in you.

For most of the night, you were separated; Viktor was busy with the swarm of fancy patrons, all of Piltover's finest hoping to get the latest gossip on what the partner to the Man of Progress would come up with next. Luckily, the both of you chose the same hideaway to try and escape the crowd.

"I had been waiting for such a moment- to speak with you. You offered me your congratulations. Complimented me, on my performance of the short speech you helped me to memorize. And… so clearly, I remember you said, 'I'm so proud, Viktor. But I knew you could do this.'"

I knew you could. No underestimations, never a doubt in his potential. You believed in him, even when no-one else did. When there weren't eager investors and a fawning council, just you and him, the suffocating smog of the Undercity, and his foolish dreams. Within the gaps in between, your praises sung as loud, unbidden, echoing strums.

He supposes he's going to have to ask again for your faith, just one more time.

Viktor's gaze stays focused down, for a moment. Contemplative, emotional.

"I almost kissed you right then." He glances up to you, finally. "But-" He hums, then sighs, "There were benefactors still lingering just beyond the balcony, some of which already decided to inquire extensively about my personal life. I would have hated for our first kiss to incite such a scene."

Viktor admires the tender kindling of gentleness on your face. Slightly pained, despite the hints of softness. It's his cue to find your cheek, to hold you close and oh-so softly like he did from the start; the cliff before the waterfall, his first step in to drown with you.

Nothing will ever return to simplicity. But Viktor refuses to regret this, decides he should face it head on. Every building conflict, these budding emotions, the remnants of how your lips felt on his; tenderly unforgettable, a crucial step that he refuses to forget.

You can feel the slight tremble to his fingers, the calluses on his palm —

"Vik-"

"I need to have your trust."

Your eyes widen.

"Viktor," You're starting again, "You already do- you always have. I don't want you to hesitate, you can-"

"No, no, the Hexcore," Viktor corrects. He takes a quick glance between you, and the shifting runes of his project's surface. Glowing and fluctuating, a marvel even when it is dormant. "There is much I have not yet told the council. Nor Jayce, nor you."

A newfound flicker of conviction blazes behind his sun-bound eyes. A brightened enthusiasm to solve any puzzle he's presented with, a key twisted into a door that he never thought would open.

Your gaze is curious, attentive, then clearly conflicted, and he feels his jaw start to tighten. In spite, he continues, speaks with his entire chest, even though his hands tremor at the thought, and his voice is much too soft and broken and he hates the sound it makes when it's breaking —

"You are the one thing I cannot lose." Viktor holds your face lovingly, captures you in a statue-like state of devotion, as he fights against the gnawing roughness at the back of his throat. "I believe I can solve this, but I need to know that to any end, you will follow. Please."

It's something he's already sure of, against the faint threads of doubt in his mind. Of course you would, if he was the one to ask. The both of you are knit together as endlessly as the lines that connect the constellations, he just needs to hear you say it.

You offer him a weakened smile, your touch brushing the curve of his face like fingertips would caress the arch of a flower's petal. "Do what you think is right. I trust you."

Viktor softens.

There's bittersweet catharsis in finally admitting the truth, along with an endless chasm threatening to swallow him whole — and for now, for the rest of the night, at least, he wants nothing more than to fall in with you.

"My love," He murmurs; he draws you close, with the pull of the sea to the moon. He dares to press one more faint kiss to your cheek, despite knowing how infinitely difficult it will be to pull away. "My inspiration," A kiss to the opposite cheek, then. "My little spark."

The lab remains quiet, dark, save for the low hum, and the glowing orbit of the Hexcore. Viktor leans his head against your chest, relaxes further once you begin gently toying with his hair. And finally, fully, he allows his heavy eyes to close.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane

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sunflowerwinds · 2 days ago

Text

hers | s.a

summary: your bright personality unexpectedly draws in sevika and she can’t help but fall for you. when finn makes a comment that he can’t take back, sevika reminds him and you how much you mean to her.

pairing: fem!reader x sevika arcane

contains: mature language and content (18+), set sometime between act 1 and act 2 of season 1, established relationship, sunshine!reader, sensitive!reader, reader is described to wear more feminine outfits and makeup, finn being a WEIRDO to reader like omg, minor violence to men who deserve it, smut including — no foreplay, strap-on (hex-strap <3) r!recieving, sevika calls reader pet names such as sunshine, pretty girl, baby, sweet girl, angel, rushed ending.

word count: 4.4K

a/n: i’m ready to bear her children. a little treat before what we might endure in act 2. muah muah i love you angels <333 i am so sorry for posting this so late within the day. i had a hectic day at work but i pushed through for yall!

Sevika would never be described as a bright person.

Her position as Silco’s right-hand woman made her eerily unapproachable. She wore a poker face, gambled with ease, and was expertly skilled in combat. Fear struck in those who dared to try her.

Except, well, you.

When you first took the position as a waitress at The Last Drop, you were immediately drawn to the so-called scary woman. You heard whispers amongst the customers of her actions but all you saw was a tall, gorgeous woman.

Chuck, at least you assumed that was his name as the little 12-year-old girl with bright blue hair repeatedly called him in when she was lingering around, noticed your longing gaze at the woman. He warned you that someone as preppy as you is not someone Sevika would enjoy in her presence.

You were aware of your bubbly personality that, to most, was a bit overwhelming to be around. Your outfits drew attention as you enjoyed more frilly and bright things, always wearing jewelry or makeup or both to color coordinate with your outfits. It brought you joy and you weren’t ashamed of it.

You ignored him as you thought he was being ridiculous. How could she judge you so quickly without even getting to know you?

“I’m going to say hi!” You state with a nod to Chuck. “Do you know her favorite drink?”

You lean against the counter, beaming charmingly at the man. He hesitates as he doesn't want you to get yelled at or scoffed at for even trying.

“I-I don’t know. Sevika’s not… fond of being interrupted during her poker games.”

You blink as you turn back around to watch her shuffle the cards with one clawed and flesh hand, a cigar hanging from her beautiful lips. As much as you wanted to go over there and admire her up close; Chuck was right.

You didn’t want to be rude.

“I’ll just wait until she’s done then,” you nod to confirm.

And that’s what you do. You watch as her opponents angrily toss their forfeit onto the table, muttering curses at the woman. The larger woman keeps her cool composure, a winning smirk on her face. You grin happily at her now empty table, grabbing the drink Chuck had reluctantly handed you to deliver to the woman.

You control the pep in your step as much as you can as you didn’t want to spill the drink. Sevika gathers the coins into her leather pouch when you first approach her table.

“Hi!” You smile warmly.

Sevika, much to your surprise, doesn’t ignore you as Chuck made you believe she would. In fact, she sits back in her seat, her gray eyes trailing up and down your figure as you set down the drink.

“I thought I’d bring you a celebratory drink and introduce myself,” you beam as you clasped your hands behind your back. “You’re Sevika, right?”

And she was even more devilishly charming up close. That was a given but you were able to admire her little marks much closer now. You even noticed blue scars running up the side of her face, trailing down the side of her mechanic arm.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Sevika hummed as she moved her gaze to your awaiting eyes.

You nod, trying not to burst out with excitement so you wouldn’t scare her.

“I am! Just started a week ago, I think. I saw you when I first started and wanted to go say hi and Chuck told me not to,” you wave off like the man was ridiculous with a lovely chuckle. “Everyone says you’re scary but you don’t seem scary to me.”

Sevika’s eyes had flickered over to the bar where Chuck was avoiding her sharp gaze as you unknowingly ratted him out. She decides to let whatever he said slide and focus on the vision that is you right in front of her.

With one more once over your frame, Sevika actually grins at you.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to scare someone as pretty as you, angel.”

Sevika takes her cigar from her lips to blow out the smoke away from you and reaches across the table to grab the drink. You were obsessed with the way she called you ‘angel’, wanting to hear her voice on a loop forever.

“You think I’m pretty?” You swore your face was stretching due to how much you were smiling.

Sevika hums as she takes a slow sip from the slightly rusted glass.

“The prettiest,” she affirmed your question before leaning in close so she could look you in the eyes, admiring the shimmer over your eyelids. “I hope to see you around.”

You nod with an overwhelming flushed face, practically bouncing on the soles of your shoes. You left the table with an overwhelming amount of confidence. Sevika watched you walk back to the bar counter to gush to Chuck about how nice she was.

That was only the beginning of Sevika’s infatuation with you.

She tried to ignore the bubbling feeling of yearning for you but every time she came into the Last Drop, you were just the sweetest girl to her and never made her feel like just a crime lord. Every outfit you wore had her on the verge of begging on her knees for you to let her make you feel so good because that’s what you deserve.

You asked her random questions about her and her life when you would bring her drinks, slowly emerging into Sevika’s life. Sure, it was the bare minimum and you acted this way with most. But when you stared at her as she spoke, nodding to show you were listening and taking in every word with those lovely eyes, she knew she was fucked.

Within the first month of meeting, Sevika built up the courage to ask you out after your shift at the Last Drop. You, of course, were as sweet about it as ever. After that first date, everything shifted in the bond that you two had made over those weeks.

You quickly learned how obsessed and protective Sevika would be over you. Her arm — mechanic or not — would be draped over your soft hips, signaling to everyone that you were hers.

Word quickly spread about you and Sevika’s relationship.

It seemed like out of the blue the men and women would give you dirty looks and make passive-aggressive comments in the Last Drop became significantly nicer to you as well. When you would beam to Sevika how you all of a sudden started getting tipped more at work, she would congratulate you, showering you with kisses.

Little did you know it was because everyone was afraid to rub you the wrong way and that you would tell the intimidating woman. If you were upset, which was rare, you could guarantee Sevika would be just as upset if not more than you.

Just as she had treated you like the princess she saw you as you were just as loving to her. There was no shocker there as you didn’t seem to have one malicious bone in your body. When you weren’t at work, you were right next to Sevika. Whether it’d be at Silco’s office or helping her babysit Jinx, you’d happily be right by her side to help or just be there for support.

The little blue-haired girl would constantly tease Sevika about being a ‘big old softie’ when you came around. You thought she was the cutest thing and Sevika would simply tell her to shut it.

Like any other day, you were sitting on her lap during her poker games, leaning over her shoulder to stare at the hand she had. The opponents across the table were gawking and staring at you, clearly getting distracted by your beauty and outfits. Even after almost a year of being together, Sevika would get so flustered when you would place a kiss on her cheek or jaw when she won a match. She couldn’t — and would never even try — to hide her love and admiration for you.

She called you your good luck charm as if she hadn’t already become a pro at poker before you popped out of nowhere.

This particular match was different though. Her opponents were ones that you knew — Finn and Smeech. You had seen them a few times when you swung by Silco’s office to drop off some treats for your girlfriend and whoever wanted some as well.

You didn’t mean to but you made eye contact with Finn while you were simply gazing around the surrounding space. His bright luminescent green eyes catch yours and you immediately look away. Sevika notices the tension in your body and clears her throat, her strong arm settling around your waist to try and ease you.

“Your eyes are getting away from your cards, Finn,” Sevika quipped, eyes narrowing for a moment before focusing on your breathing that was picking up.

Her thumb rubbed at the revealed skin. You place a gentle hand on her larger one, trying to distract yourself. Most that were played against Sevika didn’t even dare to look you in the eyes; you were Sevika’s and they knew better.

Turns out, Finn was not aware of this.

“Well, something is distracting me, Sevika.” Finn’s off-putting comment made your stomach turn, looking at you with an almost predatory look.

Sevika’s nostrils flared for a moment, puffing out some of the smoke from the cigar dangling from her lips. Your hand tightened on hers, blinking and looking away from him.

“You sure picked a pretty one,” Finn continued and you looked up at him to see him wink at you. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You are taken aback by the question, glancing at Sevika as you mutter out your name. Usually, you were able to converse with the opponents to distract them from Sevika with your effortless charm but you wanted to do anything but talk to Finn.

“Focus on the game or get up from the table,” Sevika warns the man.

You hated seeing Sevika get angry as you knew her as anything but. Sure, she was grumpy and had a stone-cold face but she was the most attentive and loyal girlfriend to you.

“Sev,” you whisper to try and ease her clear anger with the man.

Finn chuckles at her obvious irritation with him. Sevika’s lip twitches at the sound and she sucks in a deep breath, glancing down at the hand of cards.

“Are you done or can we get this going?”

You look back at Sevika with an awkward smile. You felt like you were on display at an exhibit with his eyes on you and not in the way that Sevika looked at you.

No, she was so tender and loving with you.

“You know what? I, um, I forgot the muffins I made in the office. I’ll be right back, baby,” you pat her hand that was gripping onto your torso.

Sevika’s gray eyes found your gaze, watching as they anxiously darted from eye to eye. You were uncomfortable. Finn made you feel uncomfortable. From the moment you weakly smiled at her, Sevika knew she had to deal with him the moment you were out of her eye-line.

“Okay, sweet girl. Be quick. Need my good luck charm,” Sevika curtly nodded, plastering on a grin for your sake.

“I’ll be quick. I love you,” you ignore the obvious stares from the two across the table as you lean down to place a lovely kiss on her lips.

The taste of your lips fogs Sevika’s brain for a moment, reluctantly releasing your waist so you can leave her presence. “And I love you.”

You send her one more darling smile before keeping your distance from the two opponents as you make your way to where the office is located. You wave to Chuck as you pass by him handing a drink to Jinx at the bar in her signature cup.

You pat her on the head and flick one of her collarbone-length braids, watching her whip her head to find your awaiting grin. She leans forward to capture the straw between her lips, waving to you. You chuckle at her mean face before she realized it was you.

Sevika watched you walk away until you were completely out of sight before she reached over the table to grab onto the hair on Finn’s head and slammed it down thrice onto the wooden table. Her large hand held him down, watching him struggle to let himself up after the impact it had on his head.

The thud mixed with his pained grunt echoed, the few people within the bar pausing their movements. Objects clattered and chairs scooted to see where the sound came from. She uses her mechanic hand to take the cigar out of her mouth to rest it on the little ashtray that you sculpted for her.

“You really just couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut,” Sevika snarled at the man who was getting small splinters embedded into his skin from the old wood.

“He didn’t mean it,” Smeech proposed after being silent throughout the entire match up until now. Fucking coward, Sevika thought to herself. “We could… work out a deal to make this go away.”

Sevika scoffed as she started up her mechanical arm, the blade within it revealing itself and extending to push against the small jaw of Smeech’s fury face.

“A misunderstanding is all,” Smeech sputtered out, glancing at Finn’s smashed-in face.

Sevika stood up from her seat to grab onto Finn’s hair and ram him up against the nearest wall, head pounding against the tough wood. The man had yet to say a word about his over-the-line actions. A bloody smile was all he wore. Her hand held him up against the wall, her chest heaving from anger and her hand tightening to watch him writhe under her touch.

“Complete forfeit and that’s it. We’re gone. We’ll never look at her again,” Smeech rushed out

“And what would Silco say to this reckless behavior? We’re partners, you know?” Finn coughed out, spitting some of his blood out onto the ground. “Would not be too keen on that now would he?”

Sevika glanced over at Smeech’s trembling figure, carefully lowering her blade. He was right. As much as she wished she could beat his face until it was black and blue, nearing death, Silco would have more than a few words for her. She retracts the blade back into the arm and releases Finn from his throat, watching him pant and rub at the sore area.

“Leave the money,” Sevika grabbed the still-lit cigar and pressed it onto Finn’s free hand when he wasn’t paying attention. He gasped at the burn seeping into his skin, unable to react as Sevika grabbed him by the collar to push him toward the exit. “And get the hell out here.”

Smeech kept his distance as he nodded in understanding of Sevika’s anger. He released a frantic chuckle as he, along with Finn, left the building without looking back. Sevika shook out her hand and stretched a bit. When she takes a look around, the paused customers instantly continue their previous actions.

“Sev?” She hears you call from behind her, your footsteps growing closer. “Wait, what happened?”

Sevika shook her head as she turned to face your confused expression at the now-empty table. She glanced down at the small tray of muffins that you and Jinx made.

“They had places to be.”

“Aww. I was going to give them a muffin to try before they left. They’re not like ones that’d be up in Piltover but I think we did a pretty good job.” You motion to the berry muffins. “Have you tried one yet? I can’t remember.”

Sevika hums with a shake of her head before grabbing one off of the tray.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” She insisted with a hand out for you to take.

You nod happily at her suggestion, intertwining your fingers with yours as you leave out the door of the Last Drop.

Entering Sevika’s apartment, you rambled about the muffins you made. You were yet to notice Sevika practically undressing you with her eyes.

“I just think if you know if I was able to get a different kind of fruit,” you examine one of them in your hand, letting Sevika lead you by your hip around to the kitchen so you could set your muffins down on the countertop. “You know? Next time you have a transportation, can you stop by a fruit vendor or something up there so that I could—”

“Baby,” Sevika chuckles at your rambling as she rests her hands on your waist, squeezing the plush skin to grab your attention.

“Oh, right. Tell me about the rest of the poker game,” you shook your head and patted her bicep, looking up at her with a sweet smile.

Sevika could take you right there and then. She presses a loving kiss onto your lips before using her non-mechanic hand to cup the side of your face, keeping her hunger for you at bay for now.

“Did I ruin it when I left? Is that why everyone was gone when I came back?” You question, your face wincing at the idea that you may have altered the game. “I-I know I was… being distracting to Finn and I didn’t mean to.”

Sevika shook her head at your words, shushing your insecure thoughts creeping into your head.

“No. No, you did nothing wrong. Finn was the one out of line,” Sevika sneered, rubbing her thumb along the apple of your cheek.

“Are you sure?” You checked in one more time.

“Yes, angel. I mean it,” her voice is assertive but reassuring.

You nod, sighing as you lean into the comforting feeling of her palm. The feeling of discomfort from half an hour ago still lingered in your mind. You release an awkward chuckle, staring up at Sevika’s comforting gray eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just never felt that weird before.”

Sevika’s brows furrowed at your confession. Once you realize how depressing you sound, you shake your head as you reach up to cup her stern face, running your thumb over her blue scars. She wished she would’ve just finished Finn off right there and then seeing you contemplate who you are because of him.

“You… are perfect. Everything about you,” Sevika breathed out, leaning in to place kisses on the under of your jaw.

You gasp softly at the feeling, running a hand over the length of her shoulder. Her hand cupped at your neck, her thumb pressing underneath your to get you to tilt your chin upwards. You pant as her lips trail down the length of your neck, barely ghosting her lips to draw the neediness out of you.

It didn’t take much for you to get riled up for Sevika. Because, well, it was Sevika. She learned every spot that drove you wild and made it her mission to take advantage of that.

“I-I’m really okay, Sev,” you assure her but your slack jaw gave away how much you wanted this.

“Do you want me to stop?” She questions, pausing her movements but still heavily panting against your neck.

You shake your head rapidly, hand cursing up the back of her head into her hair.

“No, no. Please don’t.”

And how could she not give you what you want? Especially when you’re so sweet.

“Such a sweet girl, baby,” she breathed out before backing out of the comforting crook of your neck.

You preen at the praise, looking up at her with dazed-out eyes. Your hands were clamped down on the counter behind you, the ledge digging into your back. She traced the wet mark on your skin before delving back into your lips.

You ‘hmph’ at the attack on you but recover quickly, falling into a rhythm against her. Her hands settle back on your waist, her real hand sneaking up your top to run her fingers over your ribcage. You shiver against her, the sound of your lips smacking and the feeling of her tongue grazing over your bottom lip increasing your arousal.

“Wanna get up on the corner for me?” Sevika hums between kisses, her hands gripping at the meat of your thighs.

You nod with a hum, releasing the counter. Sevika lifted you with ease, hoisting you up on the counter. You couldn’t but giggle at the motion, still not being used to the fact that she was that strong. Her muscles were a constant reminder but when she was able to effortlessly move you around, you swore you were on top of the world.

“Need you, Sev,” you whisper against her lips, a smile creeping onto your lips.

Sevika's eyes shut at the sound of you asking for, needing her.

“Say that again, pretty girl,” she mutters as her grip on you tightens.

You smile against her lips as you peck them a few times before tilting your head up at her.

“I need you, baby. Please.”

Sevika released a near growl at your begging for her. She nearly knocks you back onto the counter as her lips find yours once again. Your bodies press up against one another, grinding your crotches. Your eyebrows raise at the bulge in between her legs.

You were not expecting her to be wearing the strap-on around. A pleasant surprise, nonetheless.

Sevika must've noticed you slowing down, pulling away with a slight smirk.

“You want it?” Sevika hummed, slowly grinding the bulge against you once again.

You nod again with greed, clawing at her back. With quick and hurried movements, you helped her move your panties down from underneath your rather short skirt. Sevika runs her hands up the plush of your thighs as her lips kiss your collarbones.

Growing impatient, you take matters into your own hands and reach for the button of her pants. Sevika hummed at the feeling, in fact pushing your hips into your hands to encourage the neediness. You took the strap out of her briefs, not wanting to take the time for foreplay.

You were positive that you were wet enough for Sevika to just ease into you. She chuckles at you angling your hips so she could line herself up to your aching pussy.

“Needy girl,” she teases.

You flush at the mocking, loving any sort of attention she was giving you. Your mind had completely blanked on why you were feeling so weird in the first place. Sevika was all that was able to make its way through your thoughts.

Her rough yet tender hands, her addicting lips, her toned waist, her ever-so-loving voice.

Just Sevika.

“Should’ve killed him for staring at you,” Sevika mutters against your skin. “For talking to you like that, angel.”

You shake your head at her words. “Just want you, Sev.”

Sevika nodded, knowing how much you hated seeing the violence. You, of course, knew it was a part of her job but when you saw people physically get hurt, you could feel it too. You would hate to know someone got hurt on your account.

“I’ll take care of you,” Sevika says out loud as if she’s trying to get herself back on track.

You were a waiting mess for her and she was thinking about killing that fucker. She blinked and looked at you, really admiring every curve of your body. Your hands were running over her broad shoulder, glancing down at the dildo in between you two.

Her hands push your legs apart, a smile growing on her face. You pant as your patience is wearing thin, watching her grab the base end of the strap to glide the tip through your folds. She was still teasing you, an evil smirk on her lips.

“Baby, don’t be mean,” you whine, looking up at her with desperation written all over your face.

Sevika whispers an ‘I’m sorry’, placing a kiss and soft bite underneath your dropped jaw. She held your hips still in place as she carefully inched herself into you. You gasped and moaned at the stretch inside of you. Sevika’s head tilts back as she curses under her breath.

You swore at times she acted like she really could feel you through the strap.

“Fuck,” she groans, humming as she bottoms out inside of you.

Your nails were digging into the scarred skin of her neck, emitting another moan from the woman. Without wasting another second, Sevika, once she was sure you were okay, began thrusting inside of you.

Your tits bounced with every thrust, nearly popping out of your top from movements. Sevika shamelessly watched your face twist in pleasure, your beautiful skin glistening with her saliva from her wet kisses and your sweat.

“Baby,” you moan out, shivering when she thrusts hard up into you.

Sevika grabbed underneath your jaw with her real hand, making you make eye contact with her as she fucked into you.

“My perfect girl,” she praises as her thrusts continue, slapping against your inner thighs.

You preen at the praise, wanting to look away but Sevika wouldn’t let you. Your stomach tightens at your overwhelming fast orgasm approaching. It was creeping up your spine, burning in the best way possible.

“Just like that, baby,” Sevika nodded as she released your face to focus on your soft hips.

Your breathy and whiny moans drive Sevika to speed up her thrusts into you. Your legs were hiked up around her toned waist, brushing deliciously at her v-line.

“Sev, please,” you beg.

For what? You weren’t sure anymore.

“Say you’re perfect. Say it for me, angel,” Sevika groaned as she continued her thrusts inside of you, one of her hands cupping underneath your jaw.

Your mind was foggy, barely able to focus on what she was asking you what to do. Your hips stutter as you try to match the pace of her thrusts.

“I’m… p-perfect.” You sputter through your heavy breathing, reaching and holding onto her strong forearm.

The metal of her mechanic arm made your skin shiver as she shifted your legs to somehow reach deeper into you. Your painted nails dug into her skin as you tried to adjust to the angle change.

“You’re my perfect girl. My angel, my sunshine,” Sevika praises you as her thrusts become sloppier, a shiver running down her spine.

Nothing, not even Shimmer, could compare to the euphoric feeling of being with you like this. Nothing was as addicting as you.

“Yours,” was all you could whimper out.

You were sure your makeup was smudged, most of your eyeshadow faded from the heat exuding from your body. Sevika wouldn’t let you even try to think about anything else but feeling good.

“‘M yours too, angel. Don’t you forget it.”

TAGLIST: @eilishxo @prettydeeryess @hauntedclaudio @maaaaaaaaaaari @prettysuplicant @twlaei @soodle-noup @xayn-xd @fict1onallyobsessed @lamiadrowned @asmrgirll @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @kissyslut @archangeldyke-all

#wlw #sapphic #sevika fanfic #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane league of lesbians #arcane sevika #arcane show #arcane #sevika

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hemlock-dreams · 3 days ago

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Horny brain! Activate!

Just wanted to write a scene of Spidey finally getting to indulge his colossal oral fixation. Wade volunteers as tribute! So here: 4k words of pure filth.

---------------

Wade's back hits the wall. He's out of breath, body thrumming from the adrenaline, pulse a hummingbird beat against his chest.

Spiderman has him caged against the rooftop access, an inky blot in the darkness, an electric shadow pressed up against Wade. Their masks are halfway up, and Spidey's tongue is halfway down Wade's throat.

Spidey drops his head to the crook of Wade's neck, leaving a series of sucking kisses that make Wade ache in the suit. "I win," he says, smug as shit, but Wade can't fault him for it.

It was a good fucking chase and an even better fucking fight. He just wishes he could keep the bruises.

"Yeah, you did," Wade pants, grinding against Spidey's dense body. It's amazing, a perfect end to the night, except Wade's not ready for it to be over. "Where I come from, winners get a prize." He says, hoping it doesn't come out too desperate. Or maybe just the right amount of desperate.

Who the winner is in this situation is really up for interpretation, but Wade wants to think they can both get what they want.

Clearly, they're on the same wavelength because Spidey grabs the tail end of the thought and runs with it. "I've got some ideas…"

The dark, masculine purr of Spidey's voice makes Wade want to lick into his mouth, so he does, groaning when Spidey lets him have it. It feels so unbelievably good to let himself want without compunction, to take what's on offer without having to break off pieces of himself to pay for it.

It has the strange side effect of making Wade unusually generous. Borderline pliant—especially when it comes to his favorite spider.

"Oh, yeah?" Wade asks. His vision is already starting to sparkle, body twitching under Spidey's hands from the venom. Wandering hands inevitably end up on Spidey's magnificent ass, squeezing hard, knowing he can take it. "You know what they say. Sharing is caring."

A hand comes up between Wade's legs, palming the erection that's been there ever since Spidey tackled him across a fire escape three blocks ago. He's not gentle, either. Wade pushes up into it, shuddering when the pressure doesn't let up.

Fuck it's good. But he's more interested in what's Spidey's got cooking.

"Here's what's going to happen," Spidey starts casually, cool as a cucumber. Wade's heartbeat picks up immediately. Spidey always has spectacular plans, especially when they involve Wade. "I'm going to get on my knees, and you're going to fuck my mouth. My prize, is going to be swallowing you down— as many times as you can take it."

The words hit Wade like a nuclear fucking blast, evaporating all the air in his lungs. He doesn't even pretend to think about it; just shoves his hands between their bodies and starts yanking at his suit like it's offended the honor of his house and name.

“I haven’t done this before,” Spidey’s voice is thick with anticipation, and the way he watches Wade unbuckle his suit, licking his lips like there’s a five-course meal waiting in Wade’s pants makes his hands shake. “But I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

His mouth brushes under the edge of Wade’s mask as he confesses, licking the seam of the merc’s lips before continuing down his chin.

“Tell me,” Wade grunts, fingers clumsy as he tries to get his fucking zipper to cooperate- difficult when Spidey’s fangs scrape over the sensitive skin of his jaw, little pinpricks of pain and pixie magic that make his trapped cock scream in the suit.

“Been thinking about how it would feel on my tongue,” Spidey indulges, panting wetly against Wade’s neck. “Thought about holding you down and stretching my throat around you, wanna swallow till I’m sore-”

Wade tears the zipper clean off with an unhinged sound. Spidey huffs a laugh, something about being impatient, but he's far past caring. Fuck patience. Fuck the suit. Everything between him and Spidey’s ravenous fucking mouth needs to fucking disappear.

It takes a few drugged, desperate seconds to summon the coordination, but Wade finally manages to pull out his dick, hissing in relief as he palms the throbbing length of it. He’s already painfully hard from the chase. The thrill of being so thoroughly roughed up has him leaking against the blood-slick leather of his glove where he twists it around the head.

Spidey bats it away with a low, possessive growl that makes Wade forget to register the tired knee-jerk stab of shame about his scarring. All attention is devoted to the sight of Spidey sinking to his knees with inhuman, predatory grace, and the heavy curl of his hands around Wade’s hips, coupled with the sharp glint of his venom-streaked fangs, has his dick jumping like he’s been electrocuted.

Fuck, fuck— Spidey hasn’t even done anything, and Wade's on the verge of begging.

“C’mon, Fangs,” he pleads because shame is on vacation right now, fisting the edges of Spidey’s suit and spreading his legs as far as the leather will allow. He tries to flex his hips, but it’s no use. Spiderman is carved from marble, his hands immovable from where he’s anchored Wade.

There’s barely two inches between Spidey’s mouth and his dick, but it might as well be a fucking mile. He glances up at Wade, and his smile is hungry and a little manic, tongue pink and lurid as he swipes it across his fangs.

“I’ll probably hurt you,” he whispers.

Wade’s brain rattles in his head. “Promise?” He begs, breathless because just the thought of it has him panting like a bitch.

That was apparently the right thing to say because Spidey laughs and gets with the fucking program.

It’s been a while since Wade’s been on his knees for anyone. Even longer since he’s been on the receiving end, but given Spidey’s hungry enthusiasm, Wade expected to be halfway down the man’s throat by now.

But predicting Spiderman is an exercise in futility because instead of going to town or doing any of the normal things people do when presented with a cock, he bypasses it to press his face to the base of the shaft, inhaling through his teeth in heaving gulps.

Oh, that’s right.

It's been mentioned once or twice, how Spidey can taste Wade on the air, that their constant proximity means he can parse the merc’s flavor apart from the rest of the ambient soup of the world.

Wade doesn’t know what that really means, but he doesn’t care because Spidey rolls his face against Wade’s skin, breathing deeply, fingers convulsing around the merc’s hips in fits.

It’s both blisteringly hot and strangely chaste— like Spidey is feeling Wade because he’s pleasing to touch, using his body to satisfy all the little urges he’s had to keep tucked away, just because Wade makes him feel good in some bone-deep way.

The feeling unfurls, rolling outwards till his legs are trembling. His hands scrabble against Spidey because his grip is the only thing keeping Wade from freefalling.

“Jesus, Slick,” Wade pants, trying to swallow around the sudden lump his throat, “You’re gonna fucking kill me, come on.”

“Pot. Kettle.” Spidey breathes, in time with Wade’s spiking pulse, “You’ve been driving me crazy. The way you fucking taste, you have no idea-”

Wade really doesn’t. He’s extremely fuzzy on what keeps Spidey here, but he’s not dumb enough to call his bluff, not when his gorgeous hunter leans back and rolls his tongue over the head of Wade’s weeping dick, groaning like the merc is doing him a favor.

The first real touch of his tongue has both of them shivering, and Spidey suddenly descends on Wade like a man starved. He works his lips over the head of his dick like it’s the world’s most delicious lollipop, leaving tingling iridescent trails in his wake as he kisses down the shaft.

Wade is transfixed at the sight, pulse rabbiting as Spidey traces over the scars with his tongue, dipping into the grooves like he’s trying to ingrain them into his memory by mouthfeel alone.

It’s the hottest fucking thing Wade’s ever seen. In fact, he wishes he could permanently pluck out his own eyes to make sure it’s the last thing he ever sees. Then again, maybe it's good he can't because there’s no way he’s missing the sight of Spidey chasing a drop of precum like it’s vital to his survival.

“You taste so pretty,” Spiderman slurs like he can read Wade’s mind, or maybe taste it on his tongue— punctuating the statement with a debauched kiss to the leaking tip. “So fucking perfect, wanna keep you here forever.”

The praise goes straight to Wade’s head, hips jerking uselessly against Spidey’s iron grip. “You can,” he sounds pathetic. “As long as you want, all yours.” And he is, fuck, he is— for as long as long as Spiderman can stand him.

“Yeah?” A pink-slick tongue laves the underside of the head, tracing the throbbing vein there. Wade’s vision crackles; it’s so intense, “Whenever I want?” There’s something deeply satisfying in the way his fingers dig into Wade’s hip, ten sweet points of bruising pain that makes his dick weep.

“Yeah. Anytime, anywhere,” Wade promises fervently, sounding like the lovelorn maiden he is. He’ll let Spidey blame it on the venom.

That gets him a crooked grin, pleased. Spidey purses his lips around the head of Wade’s cock, content to linger, pressing torturous little licks into his slit.

Now, Wade is a well-known masochist, but apparently, he’s got a limit. “C’mon, Fangs,” he moans, twitching against Spidey’s mouth, heart jumping when the head of his cock hitches one venom-slicked lip high enough to see teeth, “Let me in.”

That earns him a heartfelt groan and a shiver.

“I want, but-” Spidey hisses, rubbing his lips against scarred skin. Lips draw back in a facsimile of a snarl.

Wade pulls at Spidey’s shoulders, impatient, “Your teeth? Trust me, baby, it's all I've been thinking about. I want it.” Wade’s cock is literally jumping at the sight. Want doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Wade needs it; needs to see that pretty needle-lined mouth wrapped around his cock before he wakes up behind whatever dumpster he’s offloaded his body.

Spidey stares at him, breath coming out in harsh gasps.

"Please," Wade begs, and it must be convincing because Spidey twitches forward in an aborted movement.

“Show me,” Spiderman says, then shakes his head, sounding unhinged, borderline feral. “No…Make me.”

The demand practically creaks under years of habits born in response to having fangs that don’t retract.

Jesus, he really hasn't done this before, has he?

The thought of being the first person to sink into Spiderman’s virgin fucking mouth drives him crazy. Wade isn’t delusional enough to believe he’ll be the last but fuck, he wants to make it so good that Spidey keeps coming back-

He remembers to tear his gloves off before fisting one hand into the back of Spidey’s mask, tugging hard, forcing the man’s head back until his neck is a pale, elegant line in the dark.

His gorgeous little spider doesn't even flinch; he just leans into the pain like it's a gift. The explicit show of trust sends all voices roaring, and the intensity of Wade's desire takes him by surprise. Violence, lust, love, all the lines blur until Wade can't tell the difference between wanting to fuck Spidey or kill him— whatever it takes to permanently mark him as Wade's.

Spidey chooses that moment to swallow, knowing that Wade's eyes follow the motion like a man possessed. Fucking tease. Wade's going to ruin him.

“Poor itsy bitsy spider,” Wade's voice is a velvet growl as he settles his other hand around Spidey’s jaw, reveling in how the simple touch makes him shiver. Has anyone else ever reacted like that to Wade? “Spent your entire life with that hungry mouth muzzled, huh?”

Wade doesn't wait for Spidey to confirm. He can already imagine the man's civilian life, a sad snapshot of carefully regulated emotions filled with close-lipped smiles and pursed grins. A real fucking shame because Wade recognizes a repressed slut when he sees one. Something, something birds of a feather.

“Don't worry, baby,” He slides his cock up and over Spidey's mouth, watching the wallcrawler jerk and pant as he spreads all that shiny venom over his cheeks, pushing up against the edge of his mask, “I'm going to pry you open just to see how soft you are inside.”

Spidey grits out a wounded noise, jaw hard enough to chew through gravel. He’s drooling through clamped teeth, venom, and spit trailing down his chin in rivulets. He wants it, bad, and Wade wants to give it to him.

Spidey just needs a little coaxing, and the challenge of it, combined with Wade's frayed impatience, makes his touches mean.

“Thought you wanted this?” Wade cruelly squeezes his fingers deep into the bone, right where the hinge is, just to watch Spidey flinch and take it. “Don’t tell me you chased me through the city just to pass on your prize?”

He presses his cock against Spidey’s closed mouth, pushing past his lips to rub against his teeth and catch against his swollen gums, right up against the sensitive glands.

It must feel intense because Spidey shakes and whines, muscles spasming under Wade's fingers as he struggles to fight years of conditioning.

“Was it all talk?” He taunts, pulling back just enough to watch Spidey fight his grip to chase him. “Is it too much for you? Maybe I should put it away-”

It’s a bluff because Wade is fucking desperate, but Spidey’s jaw flexes in response, loosening just enough to unleash a furious growl.

“No?” Wade pretends to think about it long enough for Spidey’s grip to turn dangerous. Wade's hips might be splinters by the end, but that’s just icing on the cake. “You want it?”

“Yes,” Spidey chokes out, and Wade gives him a brutal little shake,

“Then, open up.” His voice is all malice, the way it gets when Wade's face to face with a target he’s looking particularly forward to taking his time with. “Let me break you in.”

That does it. A full-body tremor rolls up Spidey’s entire frame, and slowly, very slowly, his jaw begins to relax.

What a perfect, fucking freak.

Immediately, Wade pushes his fingers into the soft hollows of Spidey’s cheeks, forcing his jaw wider, crooning in pleasure as he watches bruises bloom under pressure. “That’s it, Slick. Open up those pearly gates, lemme see what heaven looks like.”

The fangs really are pretty- long and graceful, and absolutely drenched, gums swollen around the base of his canines— hypersensitive, if the way Spidey is twitching is any indication. His mouth is plush and bright pink, a salivating mess when Wade jerks his head up for a better look.

His cock throbs at the sight, and Wade reached his limit about two paragraphs into this whole thing, so he starts pushing, dragging the leaking tip past Spidey’s criminally soft lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand shaking around Spidey’s jaw. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Wider, that’s it, yeah-“

Spidey makes a garbled, incoherent noise that makes Wade want to slam in. His spider is breathing hard and fast, hands tight across the merc's hips; Wade has to fight for every goddamn inch, earn every shallow, torturous slide into that glorious mouth.

The wet, needy sound that accompanies every slide is addicting.

“That’s it, baby, keep that mouth nice and loose for me. Let me give it to you, fuck-” he’s working his hips in little jerks, just dragging the head across Spidey’s drooling mouth, fighting not to come before he's given Spidey his damn prize.

Wade goes deeper each time, teasing both of them when he pulls out and dips back in, little thrusts that have Wade’s nerve endings sparking. Fuck, fuck, he needs more—

"Is that all you can take?" It's supposed to be a taunt, but the words come out twisted, desperate. Wade needs to get deeper; he needs to carve out a space in Spidey's body just for him.

Spidey makes a frustrated, guttural noise around Wade’s cock as he tilts his head. The new angle makes his fangs look obscene, like two gleaming daggers poised over the head of Wade’s dick, and his voice pitches embarrassingly high at the sight.

“In, wanna see you take it.” Panting breaths, Wade pulling as much as he can, pushing his hips at the same time, but there's no fucking give to Spiderman. “Come on, come on, c’mon, c'moncmoncmon-”

Spidey shifts, and Wade feels his jaw pop under his thumb, the final piece of resistance disappearing as he finally leans in, and god- Spidey's mouth is a fucking revelation, all scorching heat, so wet there's almost no friction, just a long, dripping, sinful slide.

Wade hears himself whine, a perfect counterpitch to Spidey's low animal groan.

It's too fast, especially given Spidey's inexperience, but the promise of bruising that beautiful throat from the inside out burns all of Wade's gentler impulses.

And Spidey sounds so fucking pleased, like Wade is everything he ever wanted, sinking further and further like he can't bear the thought of pulling back— like the weight of Wade's cock is more important than the air in his lungs.

“C’mon,” He’s babbling, comically delirious even to his own ears, leaking every thought right into Spidey's greedy mouth, “Take it, take it, sweetheart, it’s yours, all of it, anything you need, Slick, please—”

He's so close. The world is starting to go hazy, the wet sound of Spidey's mouth, the bruising grip around his hips, the chill breeze over his stomach, everything blurring together to tease the most monstrous orgasm of his life.

Right as he's about to tip over the edge, Spiderman retreats, and Wade nearly breaks his own fingers trying to claw him back over his aching dick. Wade's throat burns, loud and incoherent, a wash of white noise against the coming tide.

It doesn't seem to matter, or maybe it does, because Spidey just breathes deep and sinks all the way to the root, and the resounding crack of Wade's skull against the wall is nothing but a delicious accent to the absolute tidal wave of pleasure that swamps him.

Time turns to spaghetti, and by the time Wade floats back up, it's to the sight and sound of Spidey shaking, whining around the thick length of Wade's cock, nose pressed against the bone. He sounds pained, like he's hurting, or—

“Jesus, Jesus, baby, did you just-?” Wade shudders, staring down at Spidey's kneeling form in disbelief.

Spidey just makes a raw, broken noise, sounding as fucked out as Wade feels. He swallows, then nods.

His hands haven't moved from Wade's hips.

"Where did they make you? Fuck, you're so, —just— fucking perfect. You're gonna kill me," Wade chokes out, hoarse, twitching against the soft meat of Spidey's throat.

Spiderman seems to take this as advice because instead of pulling off, he sinks even further until his face is completely pressed up against Wade's abdomen.

It's immediately too much, and Wade scrabbles at Spidey's shoulders, hissing as his body instinctively tries to retreat.

He doesn't go far because Spidey fuckin’ snarls around Wade’s cock in protest, and Wade suddenly finds himself pushed against the wall hard enough to grind his spine into the brick. He’s pinned, completely immobile, save for his mouth- which is still running a mile a minute,

“Fuck, baby, Jesus, you're a fucking lunatic—!" His voice cracks as Spidey inhales him, taking the entirety of Wade's shaft like he's going to find the meaning of life at the base of it.

He stays there for a long time, immune to the desperate, inarticulate noises tearing out of Wade's mouth. Wade's cock hasn't even had a chance to go down, and thanks to Spidey, is almost painfully hard against the back of his throat.

Enthusiasm aside, Wade knows he needs to ease up. Spidey can't be getting enough air— but Wade can’t pull back, not when he feels the tips of those fangs threaten him when he tries. Instinct paralyzes Wade, but the sound that Spidey makes, a low hum of warning, vibrates through his cock and all the way up his spine.

Those teeth press close, locking tight enough to be unnerving. There's no pain, not yet, but the threat, the mere idea of it, sends Wade's brain right into the fucking stratosphere.

When his ears turn back on, it’s to the sound of his own babbling, out of his mind on a heady cocktail of terror and pleasure, "Fuck, Slick, your fucking teeth, yeah do it, do it, do it, do it—" Wade’s voice is wobbly, wet as he shakes from the overstimulation.

Spiderman doesn't let up, forcibly pushing Wade deeper into the wall as he speeds up.

Spiderman pulls back and sinks down, dragging the sharp points of his teeth across Wade's cock over and over and over, carving shallow lines of blistering pain and pleasure that coil in the mess of his brain until they're indistinguishable from one another.

Wade is suspended, writhing in pure, terrifying sensation, and the sounds being punched out of his chest are humiliatingly small and honest.

Spidey’s venom is shimmering on his skin, coursing in his veins, sinking into his fucking soul and staining the ragged thing electric pink. His entire nervous system feels like it's been doused with gasoline and set on fucking fire.

It's too much. Every inch of exposed skin feels flayed. Wade's cock is just a raw nerve, and Spidey’s mouth a fucking black hole, sucking every single thought out of Wade’s head with incredible violence.

“Fuckbabyfuckican't—" But he wants to, wants to give it to Spidey, but there's just no way, he can't.

Spidey doesn't give a shit about Wade's limits, because he pries one of the merc's hands from his shoulder, and Wade valiantly scrapes half a brain cell off the floor to pay attention when Spidey presses the bare palm to the side of his neck—

Everything slows down. Oh fuck. Oh fuck-

Then Spidey swallows and squeezes, and the feel of his fangs pressing in, his throat distending around Wade’s cock, under his palm-

That’s it. Game over. Wade’s entire body locks up, muscles convulsing as Spidey wrenches his second orgasm from the fucking pits of hell. He comes so hard his teeth ache. It lasts for centuries, time stretching and wringing out every drop of pleasure until Wade is whiting out, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He’s not sure he ever really comes back down; just floats just over the precipice of consciousness, just low enough to hear his own overstimulated whimpers as Spidey swallows around him, just like he promised.

For the first time in ages, Wade's head is blissfully silent, and he basks in it for as long as he can.

Eventually, the world begins to filter in, but Wade's body still feels languid, lacking the telltale bite he associates with general living.

Cracking his eyes open— when had he closed them?— Wade is treated to the sight of a very satisfied, very smug spider.

"Fucker." He manages, voice broken and rough with affection.

His legs are completely fucking shot, and the only thing stopping Wade from buckling to the grimy cement are Spidey's hands holding him to the wall, keeping the entire bulk of Wade's considerable weight like he's nothing.

His thumbs are stroking over Wade's hipbones.

It's hot. It's...it's...

He runs a soft hand over the fading bruises on Spidey's jaw and gets a sweet kiss on his knuckles in return. Wade's heart does something funny in his chest, but the accompanying feeling isn't funny in the slightest.

Then Spidey nips the thumb, grinning wide, a little drunk and a lot vicious. The broken rasp of his voice straight up rewires the pleasure centers of Wade's brain, “Again?”

Wade feels the addiction forming, physically impossible but there all the same. And like every substance abuse story, Spidey is going to eat Wade alive from the inside out.

What a way to go.

"Yeah," Wade grins. "C'mon sweetheart, let's see if you can actually kill me this time."

#hunting!spider #spiderman #deadpool #spideypool #blink and miss it character study #can't wait to spot all the typos the moment I post this up #the 3am brain just hits different #they're in love your honor

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enhas-pov · 2 days ago

Text

enemies by blood pt.2

summary: after sunghoon failed to kill reader, you’d think they both left it behind them, but no. they both seem to force themselves to do what their dads ordered, but why do they keep on holding back? they’re enemies after all.. right?

warnings: guns, yelling, cursing, near death experience, kissing, smut, fingering, pussy eating, unprotected sex, r4pe(not sure?) reader is against it at first but enjoys it later on.. backshots, creampie, pet names

word count: 7.7k

pt.1

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i was sat up with my back against the wall, still in pain after my "fight to the death" with sunghoon. yes, im still alive, surprisingly. it surely wasnt supposed to end like this, especially not with the both of us still alive breathing. one of us were supposed to go down, and he had the chance to end it all for me, but he chose not to, and i have no idea why.

"kiss me goodbye?" i said, almost sounding like a whisper. he froze like he couldnt believe what had just come out of my mouth. his grip on the gun loosened, just for a second as if he was questioning whether to kill me or not. he stared at me with his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, unsure if i was joking or not. with the way i was looking into his eyes he could tell i was being serious when a tear rolled down my cheek. i leaned forward, my bloodied lips parting before they touched his. the kiss was soft as our lips moved together. i felt him deepening the kiss, parting his mouth as well. and with his lips still on mine, he pulled the trigger.

the gun fired, but not through my head. he fired the gun into the wall right beside us instead of at me. confused, i pulled away from the kiss to look at him, but he only lowered his head and buried his face in the crook of my neck. i let out an unexpected sob, reality hitting me that i was afraid of losing my life. "sunghoon..?" i whispered. he didnt answer me, only i could feel his heavy breath against my neck. the two of us—laying on the floor in complete silence with our bodies pressed together, a weird feeling of comfort filling the air.

“i was supposed to kill you.” sunghoon said, looking down at my weak body still sat up against the wall. he kept on walking back in forth due to how stressed he was, meanwhile i couldn’t be bothered to stress about this. “you’re supposed to be dead!” he shouted at me before he pointed the gun at me once again. “then shoot me” i simply said. his eyebrows furrowed, gripping the gun in his hand—knuckles white from the pressure. the gun trembled lightly as he clenched his jaw, he couldn’t do it. “fuck this..” he mumbled before he started walking towards me. he threw the gun on the ground, gripping both of my arms as he forced me to stand up. his touch was rough, but the look in his eyes were the complete opposite.

“can’t do it?” i asked him. he didn’t answer right away, he just looked me dead in the eye like he could see right through me. for a moment, i thought maybe he’d kill me right here with his bare hands.. but to my surprise he didn’t. “you’re not worth it” he spat, shaking his head. “i don’t give a damn anymore” he said. i swallowed hard, trying to keep myself cool and not show my weak side, “then go. leave me here”. his grip on my arms only tightened, but then just as quickly, he let go. he turned his back on me and ran his hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. his fists clenched as if he was fighting back, “get out of here” he said, his voice low. i looked at him confused, “what?”. his head suddenly snapped back around, eyes darker than they were before. “get out of here.” he repeated.

“i don’t want to see you again, understand? just fucking go” he lifted his hand up, using his index finger to point to the exit. “but-“, “go!” he yelled at me. it was like he was trying to make me believe he actually didn’t care about saving my life, or maybe he was trying to convince himself he didn’t care. i hesitated for a second, not knowing if i should listen to him or not. if i didn’t listen to him there’s a chance i could end up dead, so i had no choice but to do what he told me to do. i turned towards the exit, slowly walking away before i heard his voice again, “don’t make me regret this” he mumbled. “don’t come back, you hear me?” i froze, and i couldn’t help but to smile a little at him. “you know i will. only one of us is supposed to make it out alive after all” i said before simply turning away and walking out, leaving him all alone with the decision he made—to keep me alive.

i felt a stinging pain when the hot water came in contact with my wounds. i closed my eyes and let the water run down my face, and down to my body. sunghoon. park sunghoon. he was all i could think about. why didn’t he kill me? it was stuck on my mind.. i mean, he hated me didn’t he? is hate even the right word? that man despises me. if the roles were switched and i had the gun in my hands, i’d kill him in a heartbeat since my dad told me to do so. im not weak—i can actually do what im told unlike someone.. right? i mean, his blood on my hands? that wouldn’t bother me.. shit, i can’t keep lying to myself. i let out a big sigh, turning the water off before i wrapped the towel around my body.

i looked at myself in the mirror after my shower. you couldn’t see my wounds, thank god, they were covered by my pajamas. i couldn’t have my dad asking any questions- i quickly turned my head around at the sound of a door creaking, it was the front door. my dad wasn’t supposed to be home yet, so who was in my house? i slowly made my way out of the bathroom before walking down the stairs—keeping an eye out on anything that might seem off. “___” the sound of my name made me jump. i turned around just to see my dad stood behind me. “dad? you’re home early..” i let out a sigh of relief. “yes i am, and do you know why?” he raised his eyebrows at me and crossed his arms. was i supposed to guess why?, “no..” i mumbled.

“i stopped by the den. figured i’d help train my daughter, and you know what i see?” shit. “my men. dead. care to explain?” my dad wasn’t completely shocked, he’s had a lot of his men die before so that’s why he’s not bawling his eyes out like a baby. “i left early.. are they all dead?” i tried to lie my way out of this, i couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth about sunghoon. “all of them” he said. sunghoon must’ve gotten rid of his own men’s bodies before my dad arrived, or else this would’ve been a whole different conversation. “i really don’t know what happened” i lied with a straight look on my face. he nodded slightly, “i’m gonna guess it was park. probably sending us a warning..” he muttered. i only nodded in agreement, not sure of what to say.

“as my daughter, i expect him to be dead by the end of this week.” he said in a serious voice. “by the end of this week?” i almost stuttered, caught off guard by how little time i had left. “yes. will that be a problem?” he questioned me. “no dad” i said, straightening my back to prove my worth. he nodded, “i trust you won’t disappoint me. you’re my only daughter after all, it would be a shame if you did” he smiled, placing his hand on my shoulder before he walked away. jesus christ dad.. always putting so much weight on my shoulders. i’m not sure how i was gonna be able to kill sunghoon by the end of this week, but i was going to get it done. i can’t disappoint my own dad, im his only daughter after all.

i was parked on the side of the road in the city of seoul, waiting impatiently for sunghoon. my dad got one of his men, jiho to find out exactly where sunghoon would be so i could be there to kill him. it kinda sucked that he happened to be in the city since there are people everywhere, so i would have to somehow get him to a non-crowded place. chewing my gum, i blew a bubble before catching a sight of sunghoon *pop* "got you.." i reached into the glove box, taking out my glock and hiding it inside the waistband of my jeans. i got out of the car and shut the door behind me before i slowly started walking towards him.

i stopped right next to him where he was buying food on the side of the street, and he didnt notice me until i spoke up. "beautiful day, no?" i said, my eyes scanning around for something delicious to get for myself. "uh, yeah-" he turned to me and froze, the small smile on his lips fading quicker than ever. "shit.." he cursed under his breath. "look- this isnt a good time for you to be here." his voice was serious and direct. i hummed in response--not taking him serious at all, "well.. its a good time for you to come with me" i said, keeping my gaze fixed on the food instead of him. he let out an exaggerated sigh, "i cant-"

"sunghoon. i will blow your brains out right here--right now, ill get out of here way before the cops-"

"sunghoon!!" a sweet and excited voice cut me off.

sunghoon and i both turned around at the same time, revealing a happy and young girl stood behind us. "who is she?" she asked him, the happy look on her face turning into confusion. i turned to sunghoon just to see that he himself had no idea what to say. "im a friend of his" i lied, answering the question he couldnt. the girl still looked confused, squinting her eyes as she looked in between the two of us. "ohhh, i get it! shes that kind of friend" the girl smiled, covering her mouth with her hands. sunghoon and i both furrowed our eyebrows in confusion, having no idea to what she was talking about. "youre dating!" she exclaimed all of a sudden.

"no-" sunghoon and i jinxed. "shes really pretty tho" she nudged sunghoon, trying to keep her voice down when saying so, but i heard it clearer than ever. she turned to me with a smile, "im yeji! sunghoons younger sister" she said. i let out a nervous chuckle, "im ___-" sunghoon suddenly grabbed me by my arm, "dont you have somewhere to be? babe.." he glared at me, the pet name making him physically cringe. i looked at his sister and then back at him, putting on a fake smile before i brought my hand to his bicep. i stood on my tiptoes, leaning in closer to sunghoon and placing a kiss on his cheek. sunghoon was taken aback, meanwhile his sister let out a giggle. "ill see you later hoon!" i waved goodbye to his sister before i walked away.

i brought my phone out and dialed jihos number, putting the phone up to my ear after. "hello?" i heard his voice from the other line say. "move it." i ordered him as i walked back to my car. "yes maam, when would you like me to move it to?" he asked me. "tomorrow" i said as i walked back to my car, "im gonna kill him tomorrow" i hung up the phone and opened the door to my car before getting in. i couldnt kill sunghoon in front of his own sister. i might not have any siblings of my own, but i couldnt imagine having someone that i love watch me die right in front of their eyes, im not that evil after all.

i walked into the entrance of a tall building along with 5 men of my dads. "here you go" jiho said, handing me a heavy sniper that i would be using on sunghoon. "youll be going to the rooftop while were on ground. give us the signal if something goes wrong, and we`ll help you right away" i nodded at him, watching as the 5 men walked out into the dark late at night. i made my way up the stairs of the building while i carried my sniper, a million thoughts filling my mind. what i was thinking about the most was his little sister, i could imagine having one and her finding out i was shot and killed. im not completely heartless? of course im gonna feel some sort of guilt.

i made my way to the top of the stairs before reaching for the heavy door and opening it. a loud thud of the door shutting behind me when i walked out on the rooftop. it was a bit difficult to see, but my sniper had a night vision mode. i leaned over the edge of the roof, watching the view of the whole city. it was pretty, but parts of it would be covered in blood pretty soon. i placed my sniper in a comfortable position before leaning in, watching the dark turn into a green-tinted glowing hue. "i dont see him.." i spoke into my earpiece with a low voice, my fingers slightly adjusting the sniper as i looked around for him. "hes supposed to be leaving his dads office in a few minutes. theres no sign of a car to pick him up, so he`ll be standing outside long enough for you to get your shot"

i hummed, catching a sight of mr. parks office. i waited for what felt like forever until jiho spoke, "he should be leaving about... now". i watched the big doors to mr. parks office open, and there was sunghoon. he was wearing a black suit with his hair slick-back, he looked good not gonna lie. he was all alone, stood outside with his hands in his pockets. "whenever youre ready" jiho said. i aimed for his chest, not feeling evil enough to ruin his pretty face. i took a deep breath, my finger hovering just above the trigger. suddenly, my hand froze with the sniper still in my grip. *ring ring* the silence broke when my phone started ringing, "what the fuck.." i mumbled, taking my eyes off sunghoon and the sniper. "is everything okay?" jiho asked me, his voice filled with concern. "everything is fine. its probably dad" i reached into my pocket just to see "uknown caller" on my screen.

my eyebrows furrowed. confused and annoyed, i placed my phone back in my pocket and turned back to the sniper. i leaned in, ready to take out sunghoon for real this time, but that was until he was no longer there. my eyes widened, "where is he?!" i shouted in irritation as i looked around for him in panic. "shit.. we lost him" jiho cursed to himself before i heard him telling everyone to spread out and look for him. i rolled my eyes and leaned away from the sniper, "where the fuck did he go.." i mumbled to myself, but then i froze. my heart pounding in my chest when i felt a cold, hard metal press against the back of my head. fucking hell sunghoon..

"tell them you found me" sunghoon whispered, his voice so quiet that jiho and the others couldnt hear. i let out a shaky breath, "i found him" i said while i looked straight ahead. "we havent been able to locate him. where is he at?" jihos voice said from the other line as i fought every bone in my body not to tell him that sunghoon was stood right behind me. "call it off. tell them you want to do it on your own" he said, his voice sharp and cold as his hands gripped the gun pointed at my head even tighter. i let out a chuckle and shook my head, no way i was going to listen to him. sunghoon wasnt having it tho. he tightly wrapped his other hand around my waist and yanked me backwards against his chest, his fingers digging into my skin with a painful force.

he moved the gun towards my temple and pressed it into my skin, threatening to blow my brains out. i took a deep breath, "call it off" i said, only receiving confused voices from the other end of the ear piece. "maam, this would be the second time youre calling it off. your dad wouldnt be happy about this" jiho said, sunghoon listening in. "and?" sunghoon whispered. "i want to do it on my own.. for dad.." my voice came out barely above a whisper, "louder." sunghoon ordered. i let out a sigh before speaking up again, "i want to do it on my own. for dad". jiho understood and agreed, him and the others packing up and getting ready to leave.

sunghoon roughly ripped my ear piece out, throwing it on the ground before he stepped on it. he suddenly pushed me away from his grip, causing me to stumble forwards. i turned around annoyed, watching him adjust his tie. i was desperate to know how sunghoon knew i was on the rooftop, and how he planned all of this? "how did you..?" i asked in disbelief, not being able to finish my question before he cut me off. "doesnt matter." he said sharply, his voice tense and direct. "dont you owe me one?" i asked him, his eyebrows raising in question. "for not blowing your brains out in front of your little sister" i said, trying to sound casual as if the situation i was in wasnt as tense as it was. "ill admit it was generous of you. but unfortunately, i dont owe you anything--though i cant say i havent thought about it" he smirked at his own last words, gross.

i watched him intensely as i waited for him to make a move, he didnt even have the gun pointed at me anymore so i was really confused. without saying a word, he started walking towards me which only caused me to back away until i felt my body come in touch with the edge of the rooftop. sunghoon only got closer, placing each one of his hands on either side of me, trapping me against the edge. he leaned in with his face close against mine, "how many times do you think we`ll find ourselves like this, hm? because ill have to admit, im really starting to enjoy this" he mumbled, tilting his head at me slightly. "cut the crap, sunghoon. what are you planning on doing this time? since.. you couldnt kill me last time" i grabbed a hold of his tie, pulling him even closer to me.

he let out a chuckle before he grabbed my hand that was playing with his tie, "maybe ill just have to get creative this time." a cocky smile curling at the corner of his lips before he looked to the side, where my sniper still was stood. i followed his eyes and let out a chuckle when i noticed what he was looking at, "you call shooting me with a sniper creative?-" he brought his hand out, shoving the sniper off the edge of the rooftop, and for a brief moment, there was only silence. a sudden woosh of air, followed by a sharp crack as the sniper collided with the ground, sunghoon turning to me with the same cocky smile that was just on his lips.

i froze for a split second, my eyes flickering from the edge of the rooftop and back to him. inside i was trembling, terrified for heights but i wasnt going to let him notice my slight fear. "is that supposed to scare me?" i said, my tone sounding a little too forced as i tried to keep it cool.. which i hope he didnt notice. "no. but i can tell it did" his hand brushed against my arm, causing me to shiver just a bit. i shook my head as i avoided eye contact, looking around for a way to get out of the current situation im in. sunghoon could push me right now and id fall off the rooftop just like that, i needed a distraction or something.. "distracted?" sunghoon asked me as if he could read my thoughts.

i looked back at him, a sudden thought coming to my mind right away. he was a man after all, distracting him would be the easiest thing to do. i looked up at him with pleading eyes, "are you gonna kiss me goodbye again?" i asked, tilting my head at him slightly. he bit down on his lower lip, "i might.." he said. "but youre not gonna like how it ends this time" his voice low and threatening as he leaned away slightly, but i only pulled him back by his tie before crashing my lips onto his--giving him no time to process it. i brought my hands up to the back of his head and tugged at his hair to which he put his hands on my waist and pulled me in closer. i opened my mouth slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue past my lips and deepening the kiss even more. while he was earning himself a boner, i was ready to end it for him once and for all.

my hand slid up his chest, and in a swift and effortless motion, i took control. i used all my strength and flipped us both around. before sunghoon could react, i shoved him--his body falling over the edge. i let out a shaky breath and turned around, not feeling like watching him fall all the way down and have his body smashed against the concrete, gross.. that was it, easier than i thought.. i just killed him, sunghoon is dead and my dad is gonna be so proud of me. my chest was rising and falling slowly as the wind was the only thing to be heard. on the outside, i looked calm and fine, but on the inside my mind was racing. i held it all in, clenching my fists before turning around to walk away.

"you bitch.." i heard a mumble. no fucking way.. i turned back around, my eyes widening when i watched sunghoon swing his leg up, pulling himself back up before his feet came in touch with the rooftop floor again. i looked at him in horror. meanwhile, sunghoon adjusted his tie calmly and clenched his jaw. "youre insane.." i gasped, slowly backing up as i knew what was coming for me. "says the girl who just pushed me off the roof." his voice was unsettling and cold, sending shivers down my spine. "dont act like you werent about to do the same" i barked back at him. and with no warning, he launched himself at me. he aimed a kick in my stomach that caught me off guard, causing me to stumble backwards.

"what the fuck?!-" he charged at me again--a swift punch aimed at my jaw. i stumbled back once again, struggling to keep my balance as i swear my vision was about to go black. he suddenly grabbed my arm and yanked me closer to him, twisting my wrist in doing so. "a-ah!" i yelped, pain taking over my whole body. i twisted myself out of his grip, turning on my heel to deliver a swift kick to the side of his knee. he groaned as he fell to one knee, slowly turning up to look at me with a glare. "is that all you got baby?" he taunted before getting back up on his feet. and with no warning once again his fist landed on my cheek, sending me almost flying backwards as my body hit the ground.

i started backing up when sunghoon was walking towards me, and i didnt notice how i was getting closer and closer to the edge of the roof. he got on top of me and threw another punch across my face, my eyes shutting close when my head threw back. my head pounding and every bone in my body hurting, i desperately tried grabbing onto something to stabilize myself--only to realize there was nothing to grab onto. i opened my eyes, my vision blurry but still able to see sunghoon hovering over me. he let out a chuckle, and as confused as i was i looked to the side--my eyes widening when i found myself hanging off the side of the roof, half of my body dangling over literally just air.

sunghoon leaned over me, a sick and twisted expression on his face. "this is it princess, already got your goodbye kiss." he growled, his breath hot against my face. he could see the panic in my eyes, it made him smirk while i was terrified for my life. without thinking, i drew back my arm and swung it with all my strength, my fist connecting with his stomach. the unexpected force of my punch took him by surpise, and he lost his grip--stumbling backwards as his back crashed hard onto the rooftop, the wind knocking the air out of him. i quickly lifted myself up and got back on solid ground. i glanced at the edge where the terrifying drop had been moments ago, returning back to reality right away.

i got up on my feet, my legs shaking with fear while my heart pounded faster than usual. my eyes caught onto the rooftop door, and with one last look at sunghoons body laying on the ground in pain--i made a quick run for it. running towards the door, i could hear sunghoon slowly getting back up on his feet which only made me panic even more. i barged right through the door and slammed it shut behind me, trying to lock it when i suddenly realized it didnt have a lock. "fuck- no.." i cursed to myself. i turned around and started running down the stairs, and i had no idea where i was going because the second i get out of the building i would be running straight into the dark.

my body suddenly froze, flinching at the sound of the door being slammed open. i watched sunghoon walk through the door, his tall and dark figure looking down at me right away. "im not done with you yet.." he said, his voice low and chilling--sending a chill down my spine. "fuck you sunghoon!" i yelled at him, furrowing my eyebrows in anger right before i started running down the stairs again, sunghoon following from behind me. i quickly glanced behind me--eyes widening with fear when i saw him close behind, closer than i thought he would be. my heart only raced faster, and without thinking i stopped by a random door near the end of the stairs and flung it open. it was an office. there was a couch, a small table, a desk with a chair, and the only light coming from a desk lamp.

i also happened to notice a drawer right next to the door, perfect. after locking the door i got behind the drawer, using all of my strength to push the heavy drawer across the floor. my hands trembled as i struggled to shove it in front of the door. it scraped against the hard wooden floor with a loud and unsettling sound, and right as i managed to push it in front of the door--the door handle started rattling. i let out a sigh of relief as i watched sunghoon struggling to open the door, meanwhile i started looking around for a way out. i walked over to the window and looked down, it wasnt any different from when i was hanging off the roof just a second ago. "come on baby.. open the door!" i heard sunghoon shout from the other side of the door, while still trying to break through.

"fuck off park!" i snapped at him, sick off all the disgusting pet names he keeps on calling me. i ran my hand through my hair, letting out a frustrated sigh as i tried to figure out how i could possibly get out of the current situation im in. i started pacing back and forth, not realizing that the sound of sunghoon trying to break through the door had stopped. i paused and turned to look at the door, did he give up? i slowly started making my way towards the door, leaning over the drawer to place my ear against the hard wood. i cant hear anything- "a-agh! f-fuck..!" i let out possibly the loudest scream ever when a sharp metal object slammed into the door with a loud *crack*, punching a hole straight through the door and right into my ear.

"youre the one to blame for that." sunghoon growled at me, his voice thick with rage. i could hear him throw away the object he basically just stabbed me with, right before his fist started punching holes right through the door like it was nothing. meanwhile i was dealing with unbearable pain. the pain had hit me instantly, like a sharp pain bursting right through my skull. it blurred everything around me for just a second as i struggled to keep my balance. "a-ah.." i whimpered in pain as blood started running down my ear. i glanced at the door, panic not being able to take over me when i saw sunghoon glaring at me through the big hole he punched in the door. i watched both of his hands fit through the door, finding the edge of the drawer before he shoved it to the side with a forceful push.

i started looking around for something to defend myself with, sunghoons fingers brushing against the door knob from the inside before twisting it with a *click* sound. i was stood frozen in the middle of the office with my heart pounding painfully in my chest, trying to steady myself but every inch of me felt too weak. the door creaks open slowly--seconds before sungoons tall figure stepped into the office. "you look.." he stepped closer to me, a smirk forming on his lips, "like you`ve given up." he said. his gaze ran over me slowly like he was savoring every second of my weakness. i shook my head and kept my chin lifted, acting like i wasnt literally about to fall to my knees and actually give up.. but i could feel the tension creeping up my neck.

with his hands in his pockets, he started walking towards me slowly. backing away would only make me look scared, and even tho i was i wasnt going to give him the satisfaction. i straightened my shoulders when he approached me, his dark eyes looking down at me while mine looked up at his.

"i can tell when youre pretending.." he said.

"what-"

"a-ah!" i let out a scream when sunghoon suddenly slammed his foot into the side of my knee, the force twisting my leg in a way its not meant to go.. i immediately fell to both my knees right in front of him, the sharp pain pulsing through it as i struggled to catch my breath. sunghoon didnt leave me be for a second before he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head backwards. i let out another painful scream, tears forming in my eyes when he kept on tightening his grip by each second that passed. "s-stop..!" i yelped, looking up at him with my teary eyes--only to see that he was smiling down at me. hes a sick fuck for enjoying this.. "wont stop until youre dead.." he mumbled, his eyes locked on me intensely.

i couldnt even process his words before my head was slammed into the wall with a sickening loud thud. the impact rattled through my skull, sharp and dizzying. before i could try and somehow defend myself, he slammed my head into the wall once again.. and again, and again. my vision went completely blurry, my head pounding in the worst way possible and i was suddenly aware of nothing.. i felt numb. before my body could crash onto the floor, sunghoon let go of my hair and caught my almost-lifeless body. i was awake, but i wasnt really there. the room felt like it was tilting--my vision coming and going and i was painfully aware of every moment. with my limp body in his arms, he threw me onto the couch with a quick and careless motion.

my body flopped awkwardly when i landed on my stomach. my face was pressed into the cushions, and i could feel sunghoons eyes looking down at me from above. i opened my mouth slighlty, trying to beg for my life.. but i couldnt say much. "hoon.." i mumbled quietly, but he still managed to hear me. he didnt answer, only i felt his hands caressing my hips. i knew what was coming.. he was probably gonna stab me in the back or something (literally). i let out a shaky breath, preparing myself for the pain of death, but to my surpise i felt him grip my hips before lifting me up. i was extremely confused to why the fuck he positioned my ass in the air, "ill make sure your last moments are filled with pleasure.. not pain." he uttered coldy, leaning down with his front against my back. "its the least i can do for you angel.." he taunted into my ear before he let out a dark chuckle.

"w-what..?" i murmured under my breath, trying to turn my head to get a glimpse of what he was doing--but he only buried my face deep into the cushions causing me to let out a whimper. "shh.." he cooed me, stroking my hair before i felt his hands tugging down my black shorts. no fucking way. my eyes widened when i realized what this horny, disgusting, sick fuck was about to do to me. i started wiggling my hips around to get away from his grip, but he held me still with one hand while the other successfully pulled my shorts down, and i let out a gasp when he did. "p-please stop.." i sobbed, trying to lift myself up--but my body gave in and i plopped back onto the couch. sunghoon let out a laugh at my struggle before he brought his hand to my ass cheek, stroking it lightly before leaving a harsh slap on my skin.

i let out a yelp when my body jolted. i thought the stinging pain would go away by itself, but it didnt when sunghoon kept on leaving harsh and painful slaps on my ass cheek, my skin turning redder and redder each time he did. "shit- sorry princess. i was supposed to give you pleasure right? not more pain.. my poor baby." he spoke gently. his hand caressed my red ass cheek--nothing but a whimper coming out of my mouth due to the fact that it was still stinging. "s-sunghoon.." i hiccuped, "you dont- you dont have to do t-this.." i begged him to let me go, or at least just kill me right away. i didnt want to die like this. he hummed, "now, why would i do that? hm?" he brought his fingers to my panty-covered clit before he began moving his fingers in a circular motion. i let out an unexpected moan, not on purpose..

"see. you like it dont you? fucking slut.. acting as if you werent the one making out with me on the rooftop." he growled at me. i felt his fingers leave my clit, and i was relieved for a second--until he tried moving my panties to the side. i hurriedly closed my legs, stopping him from going any further, but that was the wrong move of me to make. he gripped both of my thighs, forcefully spreading them apart, "keep these open" he tapped my thigh, "wouldnt want to hurt you even more." he said as if he cared if i got hurt or not. "just kill me.." i finally said, which felt ironic because i never imagined id say those words. especially to sunghoon himself.. "just kill you?" he repeated while teasing my entrance with his finger. i let out a mumble, "i dont wanna.." i shook my head.

he hummed as if he was actually considering my words, and then i felt him insert a finger deep into my tight hole. i let out a loud moan, not being able to control my reaction to the pleasure i was feeling. even tho i couldnt see sunghoons face, i just knew he had that evil smirk on his lips.. i bit down on my lip when he started finger-fucking me. he curled his fingers inside my walls, and i couldnt help but to lean into his touch. "knew it.. you fucking whore." he spat (literally). he leaned down with his face dangerously close to my pussy, right before spitting directly at my clit. my whole body jolted when he attatched his mouth to my clit and sucked on it aggressively, "m-mmh! n-not there..!" i yelped as i squirmed around uncomfortably. he ignored my words as he continued sucking on my clit and finger-fucking me at the same time.

when the tip of his long and thick finger pushed against my sweet spot, i let out a loud cry at the overstimulation. a silent scream left my throat, "i-its too much!!" i squeaked. sunghoon pulled his mouth off my clit, placing a small kiss on it before he leaned back. "so pretty.." he mumbled. "makes me want to keep you alive just so i can use your pretty little pussy whenever i want to." i cringed at his words. i then felt him pull out his finger and a sigh left my lips at the loss of it. my eyes darted around the room before taking a deep breath--a breath that got caught in my throat when i heard the sound of sunghoon unbuckling his belt. "g-go jerk off or something..!" i yelled at him, but my words were quickly muffled when he shoved my face into the cushions.

"mmm!" i tried to scream, "i will. just inside you.." sunghoon pulled down his pants along with his boxers, his cock jumping out with pre-cum leaking from his tip. he wrapped his hand around his length and started jerking himself off, groaning at the pleasure he was feeling. i suddenly let out a soft moan when he ran his tip through my slit, hating the fact that he was actually making me feel good. he lined up with my entrance--both my fists clenching as i was pressed hard into the cushions, my palms sweaty and shaking slightly. i let out a gasp when he pushed himself into my entrance, the burning sensation making me eyes water. "so fucking tight.." sunghoon groaned, forcing his cock deeper into my walls. "i-it hurts!!" i yelped but sunghoon didnt seem to care when he continued pushing in deeper.

"it`ll feel better soon. i promise baby" he mumbled, his hand moving to the side of my face before he stroked my cheek. i let out a whimper when his tip suddenly touched my cervix, his full length inside of me--pressed so tightly that i could feel every inch of him, as if i were about to burst free from the pressure. "sunghoon- y-youre too big.." i moaned, all though it wasnt supposed to come out as one.. "ill make it work- fuck.. just relax for me." his hands sneaked their way to my hips where he gripped tightly at my skin, preparing himself to start pounding into me. i let out a whine when he slowly pulled out of me until his tip was the only thing inside, and with one very harsh thrust.. he slammed his way all the way back in.

"a-ah!" i let out a silent scream when his tip came in touch with my cervix again, but this time it felt like a stab. sunghoon bit down on his lip, throwing his head back in pleasure when he started pounding into me from the back at a slow pace. maybe he really was trying to pleasure me..? "mmh.." i moaned, craving more but at the same time i hated it. it made me feel disgusted by myself, torn between what my body was reacting to and what my mind was screaming. i couldnt let him know that despite everything, a part of me was actually enjoying this. i tried to push myself backwards on his dick unnoticed, but oh did he notice.. "look at you wanting more.." he laughed at me, "you want more baby?" he tilted his head to the side. i shook my head, telling him no but him and i both knew that was a lie.

"no? alright-" he stopped his movements, ready to pull out of me before i stopped him. "no!- wait.." i blurted out, lifting my head up and slightly turning to the side to look at him. "hm?" he hummed, "tell me what you want." he demanded, his hands caressing my hips while he waited. "m-more.." i mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper. "cant hear you" he taunted me. bitch.. "i-i want more" i repeated myself, making it clear to him that i did want more and i hated myself for it. "fucking whore" he degraded me which only made me clench around his dick, "you like that?" he let out a dark chuckle before he started pounding into me again, this time faster and exactly how my body was craving it. "mhm..!" i moaned, my mouth falling open slightly while my eyebrows furrowed.

"shit-" sunghoon groaned, the sound of skin slapping filling the room every time his hips came in touch with my bare ass. he slipped one of his hands down to my lower stomach, pressing down against his bulge that was very much visible through my skin. "feel how big i am for you?" his other hand squeezed my hip as he started pounding into me even faster. i let out a cry at the feeling of it while already being a whimpering and moaning mess for his dick. when i felt myself getting closer to my high, i opened my mouth slightly, "hoon-" i tried to speak, but i only ended up choking on an unexpected moan. "youre close- i know, fuck. can feel it with how youre clenching around my dick like crazy.." his hand that was pressing onto his own bulge on my lower stomach travelled its way down to my clit, his fingers starting to move in a circular motion.

i yelped when my whole body jolted, feeling myself about to burst at any moment. "me too baby. go on, milk my cock.." he said, his dark voice making it clear that hes not asking me to--but telling. a loud and pornographic moan escaped my lips when i felt the wave of pleasure crashing over me, my back arching and my toes curling when i came all over his cock. "f-fuck..!" i yelped, my legs starting to shake at the feeling of sunghoon still pounding into me. sunghoon moved his hands to my ass cheeks, squeezing and slapping them afterwards when he got closer to his high. "shit shit shit..!" he groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure when his thick cum spurted deep inside of me. i whimpered when i felt him painting my walls white, a mix of his cum and mine leaking out of my tight hole.

sunghoons thrusts slowed down as he came down from his high, the both of us panting and trying to catch our breaths. sunghoon pulled out of me slowly, looking down at my cum-leaking hole clenching around nothing. i let out a sigh at the loss of him, burying my face into the cushions with a soft moan. sunghoons hands reached for my body, his hands gripping at my waist before gently flipping me over. he guided me onto my back, my hair falling over my face when i rolled onto my back. i looked at sunghoon sat on his knees in front of me, his eyes looking down at my body resting on the couch with my legs slightly spread open for him. he leaned down against me until his chest was pressed against mine, his hands placed on each side of my head as his eyes looked into mine.

he brought one of his hands to my face, moving away the hair that was in the way. "how are you gonna do it?" i asked him, my voice coming out as a soft whisper. he looked at me for a second, and without saying a word he buried his face in the crook of my neck, and it only reminded me of last time he failed to kill me. i felt him leave a trail of small and soft kisses down my neck before he looked back up at me again, "my dad will have to kill you himself." he mumbled, leaning in and brushing his lips against mine. "i wont let him get near you.." i froze for just a second, caught off guard by his words. my eyes blinked up at him, my hand moving up to his face before i cupped his cheek. "if my dad comes after you.." i whispered, "ill kill him myself" i said, sunghoon raising his eyebrows at my sudden words, a smile tugging on his lips.

"i know you will" he said before he pressed his lips against mine.

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frenchie-simone · 1 day ago

Text

Physicality

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader

word count: 2.8k

tags/warnings: SMUT 18+, reader is some kind of wolf/dog-ish mutant but no tail/ears described, reader has hair, reader is in heat, unprotected piv, creampie, logan has a pain kink (duh)

a/n: y’all i wrote this because i sometimes do feel like a bitch in heat, so this is self-indulgent as it always is. a tiny bit rushed so it’s not the best but i think it’s alright. if i forgot tags or warnings lmk!!

Today marks the day that you've officially been a part of the X-Men for six months. Your first mission feels like an eternity ago, perhaps because you're so busy every day, no day quite like the previous one. Being an X-Man means two things to you: dangerous missions and physics classes.

Oh, and of course, the massive crush you have on Logan. He doesn't know, how could he, when you cover up your feelings with snarky comments and distant behaviour? Logan doesn’t question why your anger seems to be directed at him the most, he just thinks you hate him more than you hate the average person. It’s partly true, you hate him for the way he makes you feel. More than that, you hate the fact that it's a full moon tonight.

It's after school hours, and you're preparing yourself for spending the night in the forest. You grade the physics homework, take a shower, change to more comfortable clothes and eventually sneak out of your room, trying to avoid anyone asking questions. It’s evening and the sun is setting early, so you decide it safer to leave the mansion now, just in case.

You greet students downstairs, and thankfully no one decides to chat more than that. You make it out to the courtyard without anyone interrupting you. You hop the fence and head towards the entrance to the forest, but your heightened senses pick up a familiar musky smell. You stop in your tracks and mutter a “fuck” under your breath before turning around. To no one’s surprise, you find Logan trying to follow you. He widens his eyes, but quickly regains his composure, his usual smirk creeping on his face. His gorgeous face…

“Were you following me?” you ask and cross your arms, glaring at Logan. He huffs a laugh and props a hand on his hip.

“Yeah. Was curious as to where you're sneaking out on a Tuesday” he says casually and raises an expectant brow, waiting for an explanation. You clench your jaw and look away, trying to figure out a plausible excuse.

“It’s a full moon tonight. I just wanted to watch the sky. In peace” you emphasize the last word. It’s getting darker by the second, and the minute the sun leaves the horizon, it's too late. Logan can't be near you tonight. You already feel the heat simmering on your skin despite the cool breeze.

Logan scrunches his eyebrows and looks at you, unconvinced. And yet, he only exhales and nods. “Alright, sweetheart. Just try not to get mauled by wolves, will ya?” he says with a smirk. If only he knew you were the wolf to look out for. You roll your eyes at him and mutter some curses under your breath before turning around and walking deeper into the woods.

It’s midnight and the sun has set. You're located deep in the forest, far from other people. The heat is getting to you now. Your muscles are twitching, your core is aching and it feels like your blood is boiling. You sit down and lean against a tree trunk, not caring about the dirt ruining your clothes, panting and trying to calm yourself down. You know that pleasuring yourself won't fix it, but it'll at least bring temporary relief. You slide your hand down your pants and under your panties and start massaging your clit. Pictures of Logan pop into your mind; images of him shirtless, sweaty, just after a workout… you can't help but imagine what he would look like on top of you. Or under. Or from the side.

“Logan…” you can't help but moan his name at the thought. Even imagining him is bringing you close to finishing. You move your fingers from your bud and curl them inside you, inside your already soaking pussy, and press your palm down on your bundle of nerves. You add another finger and start pumping slowly at first, but you lose your cool almost immediately. Your pace quickly becomes fast and hard, and with Logan's face and body plastered on the wall of your mind, you release on your fingers in record time. You mutter a "fuck" at how quickly you came because the ache comes back almost as fast as you finished. You lean your head against the tree and groan in annoyance, before bringing your fingers into your mouth to clean them. It hurts so much, it throbs and aches, so you bury your head in your knees and try to distract yourself from the pain that you can't fix yourself. You try to think about your next physics lesson, upcoming missions, and what you'll do on the weekend... and for a while, it works. Until you hear a twig crack and snap your head towards the sound.

You'd been so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't smelled Logan approaching. Now he's appearing through the trees, searching for you. And that musky, earthy scent of him is even stronger to you in your current state, and your nose twitches involuntarily. He sees you crouched on the ground, dishevelled and seemingly exhausted, and he quickly rushes to you. Worry etches his face as he kneels before you and places a hand on your knee. "Sweetheart, what happened? Are you alright?" he asks, searching your body for cuts or bruises. You swallow and look down at his large hand touching you.

"I'm fine, but you really shouldn't be here" you try to tell him, your voice shaky. He furrows his brows and gently strokes your knee, the worry still there. "Don't lie to me, Wolves. What's up?" he pushes, not listening to your dismissals anymore. You lightly shudder under his touch and your breath quickens. You try to calm yourself, but it's no use. "Logan, I'm serious. This is something I gotta deal with alone" you manage to say between shallow breaths. His hand stops stroking and slightly tightens its grip on you. "I'm not leaving 'til you tell me what's going on" he says with a stern voice. You can tell he means it. You swallow your pride and just decide to give him the truth.

"I'm in heat. You know, like an animal…" you mutter and look down, embarrassed to admit it. When he doesn't answer you, you carefully glance up. His eyes have gone wide and you hear him take a shaky breath. Oh fuck, did you make him uncomfortable? You turn your head to the side to avoid his face and you feel shame creeping on your cheeks.

"Hey, it's okay... I was just taken by surprise, I had no idea..." he explains after seeing you turn your head away. You turn your gaze towards him again, and he doesn't appear disgusted or uncomfortable, just a little... nervous. Logan takes a deep breath before speaking again: "Do you..." he clears his throat, "want me to help you?"

Your mouth falls agape at his words and your eyes widen. He can't mean what you think he is, right?

"How?" you ask him, eyes still blown wide. He rubs the back of his neck, unsure how to phrase it. "You know... take care of you," he says and looks at you, anxiously waiting for your reaction. You didn't think he'd actually suggest it, but now that he did, your body goes hot all over. You try to play cool even as you hear your heartbeat in your ears. "I couldn't possibly make you do that, Logan. It doesn't feel right" you answer with your remaining sensibility, but your urges and instincts strongly disagree. You look down at your knees, trying to hide the pleading in your eyes. Logan only scooches closer to you and takes your chin in his hand and tilts your head towards him.

"You're not making me, Wolves. I want to help you, wanna make you feel good. C'mon, let me take care of you" he assures you and holds eye contact, wanting to show you he means it. His words, his closeness, his tenderness... it's too much to refuse. You can't control your urges anymore.

You bite down on your lip to keep in any pathetic whines, but the way he looks at you is like an invitation to pounce on him. Before you can register what you're doing, you're pressing your lips to his. You only get a taste before you realize what you're doing and quickly pull away. "Shit. I'm sorry" you mutter and move away. You see his jaw clench, and you think you’ve upset him. The thought makes your heart drop.

Until he grabs your neck and smashes his lips on yours. You whimper at the sudden movement, but you quickly kiss him back. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. He groans against your mouth, before his tongue runs along your lower lip, asking for permission to enter. You part your lips instinctively and he doesn't waste a second shoving his tongue in your mouth. Your own tongue quickly joins in, until you're both devouring each other with such passion and hunger that it makes your head spin and core overheat. Logan sits down on the ground without parting his lips from yours and pulls you down with him, and you adjust your thighs to straddle him.

Neither Logan nor you thought this was how your first time would go, but neither of you could foresee this. All your sensibility, rationality and critical thinking were thrown out the window, and all you can think about is his large, muscular, perfect body under yours. In the heat of the moment, you start subconsciously grinding your core against his already stonehard length. His hands fly on your hips to guide you, and he groans against your mouth at the friction. You pull away only to catch your breath, still rocking against him, and your hands go to lace themselves in his brown hair. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, panting against his skin, but the need for more becomes too strong.

“Please, Logan… I need you inside me” you practically whine, teeth sinking into his neck in an attempt to muffle your pathetic whines and mewls. Logan groans at the sting of your teeth in his neck, and if you’d see his face, you’d notice his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Mmh, you’ll get what you need, sweet girl. I’ll take good care of you” Logan coos into your ear, lifting you up and placing you to lie back on the ground. He’d like to take his time, draw out your pleasure, but Logan can sense the urgency of your situation. You start quickly unbuttoning your pants, needing to get him inside before the painful throbbing of your pussy becomes too much to bear. Logan complies, starting to unbuckle his belt, although he’d very much like to see you naked, to see that skin he’s been dreaming about ever since he laid eyes on you. Another time, he thinks to himself.

You pull your pants off hastily, while your eyes are fixed on Logan’s bulge still hidden beneath the fabric. When you’re in just your panties, you start helping him, or at least you try to, but you’re just fumbling with the zipper because of the hurry you’re in. Logan can’t help but smirk to himself, but he makes no comment, knowing you’re more than just desperate. He pulls down his jeans along with his boxers, freeing has impressive and extremely hard length, the tip already leaking pre-cum. Your eyes widen at the sight, and you feel your walls clench around nothing. You’d like nothing more than to run your tongue over his prominent vein, or take his cock down your throat. That’ll have to wait for another time.

You pull Logan closer by hooking your legs around his waist, and he falls forward with a grunt, but quickly steadies himself on his forearms. You don’t even take off your drenched panties, you just pull them to the side, waiting for him to give you exactly what you want and need.

“You sure you want this, darlin’?” Logan asks you, giving you one more chance to change your name. You quickly nod your head, grabbing ahold of his dick and guiding it to your entrance.

“Words, baby” Logan tsks at you, wanting verbal confirmation. You mentally groan, feeling like if you opened your mouth you won’t be able to shut it. “Yes, fuck, I want it. Need you” you pathetically beg, still trying to pull him closer.

Logan straight up growls as he finally caves, despite that nagging feeling in the back of his head telling him this is wrong. That he’s taking advantage of a poor bitch in heat. He quickly realises the guilt is not enough to stop him. In one hard thrust, Logan sheathes himself inside you, and you gasp at the sudden but very welcome intrusion. He’s already panting heavily, trying to take it slow, as to not hurt you. Too bad you’re not having it.

“Please move, Logan…” you whine, trying to rock into his shaft. Logan’s large palm quickly moves to pin your hip down, and before you can protest, he pulls out almost all the way, before slamming into you. You cry out in pleasure, your hands flying up to claw at his shoulders. Logan buries his face in your neck, as he repeats the motions, going slow but incredibly deep inside you, you can feel him in your tummy. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, he can’t help but groan, trying to muffle his noises against your skin. He moves his arms to wrap underneath you as he now picks up his pace, unable to go slow when it comes to you. You moan at the increased speed, your sharp nails scratching down his arms, and to your surprise, he lets out a moan at the sting.

“Fuck, baby… gonna come before you if you keep that up” Logan grunts, but makes no effort to slow down. You start trying to meet his thrusts with your hips, but Logan is not having it. He holds you tighter, fucking you down on his cock. He frees one hand from underneath you, moving it between your bodies to rapidly draw circles your swollen clit. You whine at the added sensation, your back arching off the ground.

“I’m gonna- fuck!” you cry out, unable to finish your sentence as your orgasm suddenly crashes down on you with a brutal force. Your nerve endings are lit on fire, but in the best way, and your eyes roll to the back of your head as you’re struggling to stay grounded. Logan holds you through it, just whispering sweet nothings to you:

“That’s it, baby. I’ve gotcha.”

“Did so good for me…”

Logan helps brings you down from the high, and for the first time in days, that seemingly insatiable hunger that had been residing in the pit of your stomach is gone. But not for long.

“Logan, I want you to cum in me, please…” you whine, your weak thighs shaking as you try to pin him to your pussy. Logan groans, knowing he really shouldn’t. It’s reckless, irresponsible, but how can he refuse you when you’re being so pathetic and needy for him to fill you up?

Logan lifts you up from the ground with effortlessly, making you straddle his thighs. He holds you down on his cock as he starts thrusting up into you, now just chasing his own release. You whimper as he pierces you on his dick, but you take it, more than willingly. It doesn’t take long, until he’s coming with a strained groan, holding you down on him, his grip so tight it’ll bruise. You feel his warm spend coat your inner walls, filling you up to the brim as he pumps himself empty. You let out an almost obscene moan as you cum on his cock again, the remnants or your previous orgasm not having faded.

“Fuck, Wolves… I shouldn’t have done that” Logan murmurs into your ear but with a slight grin betraying his words, and you can only giggle in response. There was no regret in either of you, you’ll worry about plan B tomorrow. If you remember…

You sit on his lap for a few moments, letting him catch his breath. For only a split second, you’re aware of the fact that you’re in the middle of a forest, both of your clothes covered in dirt, and you’re pretty sure you feel a leaf in your hair. When you feel him soften in you, you look up from his neck, admiring his face for a second. Your lips curl into a small smile.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

#logan howlett #hugh jackman #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan smut #x men #wolverine smut #james logan howlett #logan wolverine #logan howlett smut #wolverine fanfiction #logan fanfiction

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capuccinodoll · 23 hours ago

Text

Honey love, dark eyes

Summary: At the Halloween party, you have fun and finally get Joel out of your head. Sure, at least for a few hours, as the night plays a trick on you. WC: 6.1k A/N: Hi! As the tag list has gotten so big (THANK U OMG!!!) and apparently doesn't work too well, I'm not going to use it anymore. From now on, I'll be posting updates through my updates blog! So make sure to follow and turn on notifications <3 love youuu

Saturday, 7 p.m. The evening air carried a quiet sharpness that pricked at the edges of your skin, cool enough to remind you that autumn was in full swing but not so bitter as to warrant more than your tights and boots. You stepped out, the white dress flowing lightly against your thighs, its flared sleeves brushing your arms as you moved. The dark brown corset at your waist felt like a reassuring hand, grounding you, while its lift brought a confidence that hummed softly under your skin. Your boots, stretched to your knees, a quiet defense against the chill creeping in with the fading sunlight.

The door clicked shut behind you, a sound that was at once final and fleeting. You barely had time to register the weight of the evening when the low rumble of Joel’s truck snuck into the quiet, its approach measured, deliberate. You turned, instinctively, just as he stepped out. His movements were unhurried, his gaze low, as though he hadn’t seen you—or as though he was choosing not to.

The passenger door opened next, and Sarah emerged like a burst of energy, her grin wide and unguarded. She spotted you immediately, her excitement spilling over as she called your name and hurried toward you, her arms flung wide. You caught her easily, her warmth a stark contrast to the crisp air.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice full of a curiosity that felt almost reverent. “You look beautiful.”

You smiled at her, taking in the mismatched charm of her outfit—fluffy bunny slippers peeking out beneath purple pajama pants patterned with white clouds, her coat barely concealing the dark blue long-sleeve shirt underneath.

“Thank you,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m going to a Halloween party.”

Sarah pulled back slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion. “But Halloween was last night. It’s November.”

You laughed softly, the sound slipping past your lips like something you hadn’t meant to reveal. “It’s never too late for a party, is it?”

Before Sarah could reply, Joel’s voice cut through the moment like a taut string snapping.

“Sarah. Home.” His tone was firm, unmistakable, though his face only lingered in the doorway for a second before disappearing inside.

Sarah ignored him with the practiced ease of someone who knew how far she could stretch the tether.

“I hope you saved me something good yesterday,” she said, turning back to you, her eyes alight with the thought of treats.

You smiled, brushing a loose strand of her hair aside. “I’m sure Brenda sent some sweets with your dad.”

“Did she make those cara—”

“Sarah.” Joel’s voice rose again, sharper this time, slicing through her sentence. His figure reappeared in the doorway, framed by the warm light spilling out behind him. His gaze landed on her first, then shifted briefly to you, his frown deepening as if your presence was an unwelcome interruption.

“Home,” he said again, the word heavier this time, a command that carried no room for negotiation.

Sarah turned toward him, her annoyance barely concealed.

“In a second!” she called back, her voice tinged with exasperation. Then, with a glance at you, she rolled her eyes dramatically. You couldn’t help but grin, mirroring her expression in a conspiratorial gesture that only seemed to deepen Joel’s scowl.

“NOW,” he barked, his patience finally unraveling. His presence filled the doorway like a storm cloud, and Sarah, sighing, gave in.

“Go,” you told her gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. Your voice was quiet, steady, though something in your chest tightened as you spoke. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

She nodded, the mischief in her smile dimmed slightly by the weight of her father’s insistence. As she retreated, her steps slow and deliberate, you stayed where you were, watching until the door closed behind her. The ache was subtle but sharp.

You shook the thought from your mind, forcing yourself to let go of the tension Joel's mood had wrapped around you. He wasn’t going to ruin this night—not this one. You tightened your grip on your small purse and started walking toward Travis’s house. Your boots clicked against the pavement with a rhythm that felt too steady for the fluttering nerves you carried.

There was a faint nervousness bubbling under your excitement, a ridiculous thing, really, given that you’d seen Travis just that morning. He’d picked you up to go shopping, laughing at your indecision as you flitted from one idea to the next, caught between wanting something outrageous and something simple. You hadn’t known what to wear for tonight. All you knew was that you wanted to feel good. Pretty, yes. Sexy, definitely. Attractive, for sure. Something about the promise of the evening—the energy it held—made you crave a night where you didn’t have to think too hard, didn’t have to manage the weight of anything heavy. Just a night of effortless fun in good company.

Travis was exactly the kind of company you needed. Relaxed, thoughtful in that easy way, funny without trying too hard. He knew how to take care of you without making it feel like a burden. When you’d asked for his opinion on a costume, exasperated after hours of fruitless searching, he’d picked up the white dress with an almost boyish confidence. “Victorian pirate,” he’d said with a grin, as if the idea had struck him in the moment. “Or something like that.”

You’d agreed without much thought. The dress was beautiful, and you already had the perfect corset at home to pair it with. It hugged you in all the right places, cinching your waist while lifting your chest just enough to make you feel like the women in those romantic paintings you loved—the ones with soft, curved bodies draped in gauzy fabrics, their skin glowing and inviting. And tonight, you did. The tights and knee-high boots you’d added were practical for the cool night, but they didn’t detract from the overall effect. If anything, they completed it. On the other hand, the corset hugged you the way you imagined the painter’s brush might.

By the time you reached Travis’s door, you felt confident, maybe even a little giddy. You rang the doorbell, the sound breaking the quiet night, and it wasn’t long before the door swung open. Travis stood there, framed by the soft light spilling from his hallway. He looked... well, like something you wouldn’t hesitate to sink your teeth into.

The suit, perfectly tailored, a sharp black with a red tie that caught the light against the pale blue of his shirt. The clear raincoat gave him an edge, its plastic sheen catching and refracting the soft glow from the house behind him. His hair was combed back, deliberate and smooth, and the clench of his jaw softened when he smiled at you.

“What do you think?” he asked, lifting a hand to reveal a plastic axe held loosely in his grip. “I’m Patrick Bateman.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere easy and warm.

“Of course you’re Patrick Bateman,” you said, your smile widening as you stepped inside. Your hand brushed his abdomen lightly as you passed, a touch that felt both casual and charged.

The compliment landed, making Travis pause just long enough to tuck the axe into the pocket of his raincoat. He moved toward you, closing the space between you with an ease that always felt natural. His hand settled at your waist, the leather of your corset soft beneath his fingers.

“Stop it,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in close. “Telling me that and looking this good? Stop it, or I’ll cancel the party and keep you here all night.”

His breath skimmed the edge of your ear, his lips brushing your jawline just enough to leave your skin prickling with anticipation.

“One compliment and you’re ready to throw the whole night away?” you teased, though the slight rasp in your voice betrayed how his closeness was affecting you. You felt his breath near your ear, the briefest graze of his nose against your skin, his lips brushing your jaw. Your pulse quickened. “You’re an easy target, Dunn.”

He chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “Only for you,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. There was something unguarded in his eyes, something that made the moment feel fragile in a way that was achingly sweet. “But don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

You laughed, leaning into the playful intimacy of it all. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

His lips found yours then, the kiss gentle at first, like he was testing the waters. You leaned in instinctively, wanting more, but before you could deepen it, he pulled away. You bit back a groan of frustration as he grinned, oblivious.

“We’d better go, beautiful,” he said, brushing a hand down your arm as if to soothe you. “People are waiting.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a smile. With Travis, things were always easy—except, maybe, when you wanted just a little more.

2 a.m. The cab door slammed shut with more force than you intended, the sound reverberating in the quiet street. The driver turned sharply, scowling.

“I-I’m sorry,” you muttered, your words tumbling over each other.

Travis, a few steps ahead, laughed without looking back, his shoulders shaking slightly. His keys jingled as he fumbled to unlock the door to his townhouse. The sound dragged on endlessly, the alcohol in your veins making the small delay feel monumental. You stood beside him, shifting your weight from one aching foot to the other, the dull throb only partially numbed by the buzz in your head.

“Almost got it,” Travis mumbled, his focus unwavering despite your impatient sighs. Finally, the lock clicked, and he pushed the door open with a triumphant grin.

You followed him inside, the warmth of his home enveloping you like a soft blanket. Without ceremony, you dropped onto his couch, sinking into its cushions with a relieved groan. Your head lolled back, your body both exhausted and energized, the kind of tension only a night like this could create.

The evening had been perfect—better than perfect, really. For the first time in months, you’d felt free, truly free, as though the weight of everything that had been haunting you had dissolved into the dark, wine-colored sky.

The party had been at Renzo’s house, one of Travis’s oldest friends. The place was stunning, a sprawling Mediterranean-style villa that practically glowed against the night. Its white stone façade, crowned with red tiles, looked like it had been plucked from a postcard, while spooky Halloween details added just the right touch of whimsy. Lanterns swayed gently on the porch, casting flickering shadows across life-sized skeletons perched on wicker chairs.

Inside, the atmosphere was even more enchanting. The main room featured a long wooden table draped in black lace, adorned with candelabras dripping wax, decorative skulls, and bouquets of dried flowers that looked both macabre and elegant. Ceramic plates with dark patterns and gold accents glinted in the candlelight, completing the eerie tableau. Guests milled about in costumes that ranged from impressive to ridiculous, every outfit telling a story.

You’d met a handful of Travis’s friends, all nice and welcoming. And by the end of the night, Renzo handed out an award for the best costume, which went to his brother Eric for his incredible The Mask ensemble. The details were so perfect, from the prosthetic teeth to the vivid green makeup, that no one could deny it was well-deserved—except Travis, who jokingly accused him of rigging the vote.

The drinks flowed freely, and you’d had more than enough. By past midnight, your feet ached from dancing, but you didn’t care. The music pulsed, and so did you, your body pressed close to Travis’s. His hands rested on your waist, his touch grounding and electric all at once. For the first time in weeks, your thoughts didn’t drift to the things that usually kept you awake at night. Those dark eyes that haunted you in quiet moments, the ache that twisted your chest when you remembered what you’d tried to forget—they were nowhere to be found.

Now, on Travis’s couch, you laughed uncontrollably as he struggled to string together a coherent sentence. His head rested lightly against your shoulder, and the sound of his voice, slurred and boyish, made your stomach ache with affection.

“Whatever, you get what i mean” he said finally, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “God, I shouldn't have had that last drink.”

“Oh, you’re terrible,” you teased, reaching for his tie and pulling him toward you until his eyes met yours. “But I had a beautiful night. Please, let’s make it last.”

Something shifted in his expression—softened, deepened. He straightened, cupping your face as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was different from anything you’d shared before. It wasn’t cautious or measured, the way Travis usually was. This was eager, unrestrained, his mouth moving against yours like he’d been holding himself back for far too long.

His hands found your legs, lifting them over his lap as he leaned into you. You fell back against the cushions, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your breath hitch. His lips left yours to trail along your neck, leaving a path of heat that made your chest rise and fall unevenly.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, undoing the careful style he’d worn all evening. He groaned softly at the contact, his face lifting to meet yours again as he kissed you harder, his desire palpable and infectious.

Your hands moved down to his belt, fumbling with the buckle in a blur of anticipation and urgency. The sound of the clasp coming undone was like a victory bell ringing in your ears.

But then, suddenly, he froze.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice strained as he pulled away, turning his face to the side. “Shit, I’m gonna be sick.”

You blinked, startled, as he scrambled off the couch and hurried toward the stairs.

For a moment, you just sat there, propped up on your elbows, your breath coming in uneven bursts. The absurdity of the situation hit you like a wave, and despite yourself, you let out a laugh.

The moment you stood up, your feet wobbled beneath you, betraying the steadiness you were trying to project. The stairs seemed endless, each step doubling before your eyes as if the staircase were playing tricks on you. You gripped the banister tightly, willing yourself not to topple over. The vodka shots coursing through your veins made everything feel both distant and intensely vivid, the sensation disorienting but oddly comforting.

When you finally reached the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar, the light spilling out in soft, pale streaks. Inside, Travis was hunched over the toilet, his body curled into itself, his face ghostly pale.

“Oh,” you said softly, unsure what else to offer in the way of comfort. You moved closer, your hand instinctively finding the back of his neck, your fingers brushing the damp hair sticking to his skin. His vulnerability struck something tender in you.

The sour smell hit you immediately, sharp and invasive, making your stomach churn in protest. But you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on Travis, on the fragility of the moment.

He groaned softly as his body shuddered, expelling the last traces of that ill-fated drink—the electric blue cocktail he’d downed with so much confidence earlier. You grimaced at the sight but stayed, stroking his back in slow, soothing circles until the worst had passed.

When he leaned back against the tiled wall, his face glistening with sweat, you reached out to flush the toilet, closing the lid with a gentle finality.

“God,” he croaked, his voice thin and hoarse. “I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”

You laughed lightly, kneeling in front of him, your head tilting as you studied his expression. There was a defeated sort of charm in the way he looked at you, his eyes half-lidded, his usual confidence dimmed by the night’s chaos.

“Not at all,” you replied, your words softened by the alcohol still fogging your mind. Your hand came to rest on his knee, a quiet reassurance. “Tonight’s been perfect.”

Travis groaned, letting his head loll back against the wall. “My reputation’s in shambles. Now my pretty neighbor thinks I’m a mess.”

You laughed again, louder this time, your inhibitions dulled enough to find his self-pity endearing. “You think I’m pretty?”

His eyes stayed closed, but his lips curved into a smile, lazy and unguarded. “Are you kidding? No wonder Joel Miller hates me.”

Your laugh faltered, the name cutting through the haze of the night like a blade. You blinked slowly, leaning your head against his knee, letting out a sigh that felt too heavy for the moment.

“Oh, man,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you have to bring him up?”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Travis said quickly, his hand falling clumsily to your back. “Now I’ve really screwed up, haven’t I? I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I pre—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice quiet but firm. You lifted your head to meet his gaze, his curious eyes watching you closely now. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better,” he said, offering a small, sheepish smile.

You pushed yourself to your feet, leaning against the sink for balance. He followed your movements, standing slowly and steadying himself with a hand against the wall. Without a word, you leaned your head against his arm, closing your eyes as you listened to the soft rhythm of his breathing.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, suspended in the quiet warmth of the moment, but eventually, Travis stirred. He touched your shoulder gently, his other hand extended to help you up.

Downstairs, you collapsed onto the couch again, the effort of descending the stairs leaving you slightly breathless. Travis returned with a glass of water, holding it out with a knowing look.

“Drink,” he said simply.

You obeyed reluctantly, grimacing as you took a few sips. “I’m going to have a huge hangover tomorrow,” you muttered, setting the glass on the coffee table.

“Me too,” Travis admitted, lying down beside you with a heavy sigh.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s only three in the morning?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief. “God, I’m old.”

Travis laughed, his grin lopsided and a little drunk. “I swear I thought it was, like, like five in the morning.”

You chuckled, but the weight of the night was catching up with you. Your eyes drifted shut, and the world faded into a soft blur.

When you forced them open again, sometime later, Travis was fast asleep beside you, his breathing slow and even. You sat up, careful not to disturb him, and gently shook his forearm.

“Hey,” you whispered. “I’m going home.”

He mumbled something incoherent, his eyes fluttering but refusing to open.

“L-let me walk you home,” he slurred, his head tilting to the side as sleep reclaimed him.

You smiled at the sight of him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“See ya,” you whispered, the words hanging in the air as you let yourself out.

The cool night air greeted you with a sharpness that cut through the haze of alcohol still coursing through your system. It startled you, a shiver running up your spine as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. You were still drunk, but the world felt steadier now, your feet moving carefully across the pavement as you crossed the quiet street.

In your mind, you conjured the image of your warm bed waiting for you, the soft embrace of your pajamas, and maybe, if you could muster the energy, the luxury of a hot shower. The thought made your body ache for rest, but then you noticed the soreness in your face—a dull reminder of the unrelenting smile you’d worn since you’d said goodbye to Travis.

You were happy. Light. Effervescent, even. The kind of happiness that made you feel untouchable, like nothing could weigh you down.

That feeling lingered as you approached your house, though it faltered slightly when you passed by the Millers’ place. Your eyes were drawn, almost involuntarily, to the living room window. A soft, warm light glowed behind the half-transparent curtains, the kind that could only come from a solitary lamp left on too late. You slowed your steps, your gaze lingering as the sharp memory of Joel’s voice from earlier that evening surfaced.

Authoritative. Abrupt. Unbearable.

The way he’d called Sarah home felt unnecessary, almost punitive. Why had he insisted so forcefully? He didn’t usually mind her spending time with you, so why now? And what if things between you and Joel had soured to the point where he forbade Sarah from seeing you altogether? The thought stung, a sharp contrast to the Joel you used to know—the one who would never have done something like that. You hated that you couldn’t anticipate him anymore. And lately, it seemed like everything about him had shifted, like you were seeing a stranger instead of the man you’d once—

“Are you okay?”

The voice, low and steady, cut through your thoughts, making you jump. You looked up sharply, your heart skipping as your eyes adjusted to the dark porch. Joel was sitting there, barely visible except for the faint gleam of the streetlights reflecting in his eyes like stars as he watched you, his expression unreadable, the faintest hint of concern etched into his features.

You didn’t respond right away. Your brain was scrambling, trying to piece together an answer while simultaneously processing the sight of him. He stood then, stepping into the light just enough for you to see him more clearly—the broad set of his shoulders, the slight furrow in his brow,

“What... what are you doing here?” you managed finally, your voice wavering slightly.

“Here?” he repeated, the corners of his mouth twitching in what could have been a smile. “I live here. What are you doing here?”

“I live next door,” you shot back, your tone almost defensive. You tilted your head, studying him more closely. “I meant out here. What are you doing outside? It’s late.”

Joel hesitated, his hand brushing the back of his neck in a way that told you he wasn’t going to give you a straight answer. And of course he wouldn't tell you that he'd spent the evening on his couch watching TV, alone, or that he’d been restless all evening.

“It’s Saturday,” he said finally, his voice calm, almost teasing. “Well, Sunday now.”

After having dinner with Sarah, she'd retreated to her room—furious with him for cutting her time with you short—he’d spent the better part of the night sitting on his couch, half-watching some mindless TV show, his attention divided between the screen and the window. Waiting. Then, just as he was beginning to close his eyes, a sharp knock woke him up; the cab door. But of course, he didn't get to see the yellow car because when he got to the window, he only got to make out your body coming through Travis' door, cab long gone.

When you disappeared inside Travis house, something inside him twisted. Restlessness turned into something heavier, something he couldn’t name, and the next thing he knew, he was on the porch with a beer in his hand, staring out into the night like the answer might appear if he stayed long enough.

You nodded absently, but your eyes betrayed you, roaming over him without restraint. It had been a while since you’d let yourself really look at him. Lately, every glance had been fleeting, clouded with irritation or anger. But now, in the quiet glow of the streetlights, there was no denying it.

He was beautiful. Infuriatingly, achingly beautiful.

Your stomach twisted with the realization, the way it always did when you thought about him for too long. You could try to distract yourself with Travis, with his boyish charm and kind eyes, but it wasn't enough.

Travis didn’t have those dark, fathomless eyes that seemed to hold every one of your secrets. He didn’t have that nose you loved so much or the lips you’d tasted once and could never forget. His voice wasn’t rough and silken all at once, nor did it carry the weight of every word like Joel’s did.

You hated how much you liked him, how much you wanted him. It was uncomfortable, unbearable, because there was nothing you could do about it. Joel was untouchable now, a door that had been closed and locked a month ago.

“I hate you, Joel,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. They weren’t loud, but they were steady, deliberate.

His smile faded, replaced by a quiet, thoughtful expression. He nodded slightly, as if weighing your words.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice level, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled faintly, almost amused by the softness in his tone. You shifted your weight, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you care about it?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice dipping lower with honesty. “But I know it’s not true.”

"Why do you always say that?" you demanded, voice thick with frustration, your arms crossed so tightly against your chest it felt like you might bruise your own ribs. The alcohol in your bloodstream turned every word into a dare, every thought into an accusation. "'I know it's not true. I know you're lying. I know you don't mean it'. What, are you like this omniscient, all-knowing shit—blah, blah, blah?. Didn't it ever occur to you that maybe you don't know anything at all?"

Joel’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable but intent. His hands stayed buried in his pockets, steady while you felt like you were spinning out of control.

"Lately? Yeah," he said finally, his voice low. "I don’t know anything."

The simplicity of his confession, the quiet honesty of it, made you snort in disbelief. You turned your head to the side, looking anywhere but at him, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your thoughts from spilling out unchecked. When you looked back, his eyes weren’t on your face anymore. They’d dropped lower, lingering somewhere around your waist. Probably on your corset, you realized. Suddenly, the fabric felt suffocating. Not painfully tight, but enough to make you aware of every breath you took.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, tone sharp, defensive. And when he didn’t answer, you pressed harder. “What do you want, Joel?”

“Me?” he asked, his voice calm, almost indifferent.

You nodded, daring him to answer.

“I don’t know.” His lips tilted in a faint smirk. “You’re the one standing here in my doorway. Weren’t you just peeking in my window?”

Your mouth fell open. “I wasn’t peeping, dumbass,” you said, fumbling over the words, heat rushing to your face. “I was—”

"Yes, you were," he interrupted smoothly, a trace of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t smug, not really, but it wasn’t innocent either.

God, it was infuriating.

"Ugh," you groaned, the sound dragged out like it could physically push him away. Your arms dropped to your sides, and you turned your face skyward, exasperated. "Were you always this much of an asshole?"

Joel held back a laugh, his head shaking slightly as he raised his eyebrows at you, his silence infuriatingly steady.

"Okay," he said finally. "You’re drunk."

"Yeah, Einstein," you shot back, your voice sharp and your eyes wide as you threw your hands in the air in mock applause. "You’re finally right about something! Everyone, let’s hear it for Joel!"

You clapped for him, slow and exaggerated, addressing an invisible audience. Joel glanced down, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face before he hid it.

That didn’t stop the memory from rising, unbidden: Clara, her hand slipping into his at the barbecue, her laugh bright and flirtatious, her eyes shining with self-satisfaction. It had turned your stomach then, and now the bitterness came rushing back in full force.

"Do you think what you’re doing is right, Joel?" you asked, your tone sharper than before, slicing through the fragile quiet between you.

His brows knit together, confused, and he tilted his head slightly as if to ask what you meant.

"Do you think you’re accomplishing anything by sleeping with the women in this neighborhood?" you continued, your words rushing out faster now. "I mean, first you sleep with me—oh, the worst mistake of your life—then you sleep with Clara. And what about Sienna? What does she think of all this? You’re a selfish, irresponsible man, Joel Miller, so irresponsible." The words kept spilling, your voice trembling now, laced with both anger and something softer, something that felt like pain. "And as if that wasn’t enough, you’ve ruined us. Completely. And I hate you for that, Joel. I hate you because you’re not the man I thought you were. And i love you so much I—"

Your gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring the edges of your vision and leaving your cheeks hot.

You hated how raw it all felt. How exposed. And worse, how the alcohol that had loosened your tongue was no longer numbing enough to shield you from the reality of what you’d just said.

Before you could stop him, Joel’s hands came to rest gently on your arms. The warmth of his touch made your stomach flip, and it took everything in you to pull away.

“No,” you said firmly, shaking him off and turning on your heel. But you barely managed two steps before your foot caught awkwardly in front of the other, sending you stumbling.

You yelped as your palm scraped against the ground, but Joel caught your other arm before you could fully collapse. The heat of embarrassment rushed to your face as you stood quickly, brushing off your dress and refusing to look at him.

You marched toward your door with renewed determination, ignoring the sting in your palm and the sound of his voice calling after you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading.

But you didn’t stop. Your trembling fingers fumbled with the key, eyes fixed on the lock as if opening the door quickly enough could make him—and everything you’d just said—disappear.

The key slid into the lock on your first try, a stroke of luck you hadn’t expected. You stumbled inside, not bothering to close the door behind you. Maybe it was unconscious, or maybe some buried, foolish part of you wanted him to follow. Whatever the reason, Joel did, shutting the door softly as he stepped in, his footsteps trailing after your clumsy, rushed ascent up the stairs. His hand found your lower back more than once, steadying you whenever your feet betrayed you and your balance faltered.

When you reached your room, his presence pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. Your chest felt tight, emotions boiling over with an intensity you couldn’t contain. The exhaustion—of everything—clawed at your insides, raw and relentless.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, spinning to face him, your palms colliding with his chest in a sharp slap. The sound echoed between you, loud and angry. You hit him again, this time harder, though he barely moved, only stepping back an inch. “Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a complete asshole, and I hate you. I hate you so much.” Your fists clenched, pounding against him now, the blows strong but harmless.

Joel didn’t resist. He let your fists land where they would, but then his hands rose, gentle and deliberate, catching your wrists mid-punch. The pressure of his fingers around your forearms was firm but not threatening, as if he was trying to guide the violence out of you without a word.

His stillness broke you more than anything could, and the weight of his quiet left you reeling, unsure of what to say next. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why was he standing there, letting you fall apart?

“Say something!” you cried, your voice cracking, desperate and raw.

But he didn’t. His silence stretched between you, maddening and unbearable.

Your vision blurred as tears spilled over, hot and heavy, the release leaving you shaking. Your sobs filled the room, a sound so guttural it startled even you.

“Why did you have to do this to me?” you demanded, your fists still pressed against his chest, though they no longer moved. Your voice broke entirely now, trembling as you added, “Why do you keep hurting me, Joel, why are you acting like this? What did I do to deserve this from you?”

Joel’s breath hitched, his shoulders sinking as if under the weight of your words. His eyes, glassy and red, shone in the dim light. “I-I’m sorry, I'm sorry” he whispered, his voice rough and uneven. “I’m so sorry. Please… please forgive me. I love you, baby, I love you, I've al—”

“No, you don’t.” You shook your head, your voice trembling as his hands left your wrists and wrapped around you instead, pulling you closer. “You don’t.”

But you didn’t push him away. His arms were warm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself fall into them. The pain dulled, just slightly, under his touch. You hated him for it. You hated yourself more for letting it happen.

“Yes, I do,” Joel said, his voice thick with emotion.

You wanted to look up, to see his face, to know if the tears in his voice matched the ones burning in your eyes. But you couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek.

Gently, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed. He set you down softly, his hands brushing against your arms as he pulled away. You sank back into the pillows, your gaze distant, your sobs quieting into sniffles.

Joel knelt at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to unlace your boots. He didn’t look at you, his focus entirely on the task, but his face betrayed him. His eyes were rimmed red, his cheeks damp, his expression taut with pain.

Once the boots were gone, you lay back fully, staring blankly at the ceiling as the room swayed gently around you. Your head throbbed, and your chest ached, but the tears had slowed, leaving behind only exhaustion.

The mattress shifted behind you as Joel settled in beside you. He kept his distance, but you could feel the heat of him near you, the tension in the air, a palpable thing you didn’t know how to navigate. You could still hear his breathing, steady but strained.

When his fingers brushed your waist, you stiffened.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice breaking softly. “Let me take that off. It can’t be comfortable, right?”

"No," you answered, and as the corset loosened, you felt a wave of relief rush through you, a softness you hadn’t even realized you needed.

Joel moved the corset off your body in one smooth motion, dropping it carelessly to the floor. Then, he returned to his position, inches away, and for a few minutes, there was nothing but silence between you again.

You closed your eyes, the weight of the night pressing against you, the exhaustion dragging you into a dreamless sleep. But just before you drifted off, you heard your own voice, quiet and pleading.

“Please go home, Joel,” you whispered. “I want to be alone."

He didn’t argue, although you could hear him doubting. Then, you felt him shift behind you, his hand brushing your arm briefly in a gesture that felt almost like goodbye.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice so low it was nearly inaudible.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you exhaled deeply, letting the tears come again, though they felt emptier now, less urgent.

Next door, Joel stepped into his house, the quiet suffocating him as he sank into the couch. The air felt too thick, the walls too close. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to keep himself from falling apart, but it was no use. The despair was overwhelming, a mix of regret, shame, and a self-loathing so profound it left him hollow. And he couldn't help thinking that maybe, it was too late after all. No action or word from him could undo the pain he had seen in your eyes that night.

In the quiet of his own mind, he hated himself more than you ever could.

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phone4pills · 2 days ago

Text

MAKE A WISH Chris x waitress!Reader

not proof read, long ass, don’t try if you’re lactose intolerant, london slander, send me asks about this pairing

The lone boy entered the diner, the doorbell above the sticker-loaded door ringing upon his arrival. He’d seen the bright ‘open’ sign above it on his way down the street. It was a particularly cool evening and he could’ve used a milkshake.

Finding a seat in one of the empty booths, he pulled his hands out of the pockets of his cargo trousers, opened the menu and instantly found the Shakes section. Listed were the flavours, each one as appealing as the last to Chris, who had quite the sweet tooth.

S’mores, Cherry Vanilla, Strawberry Shortcake, Oreo Cheesecake and Banana Split.

He couldn’t help but lick his bottom lip, already salivating at the thought of the S’mores shake in the huge glass, topped with whipped cream and stacked with delicious treats. Chocolate and marshmallows, as well as graham crackers and maybe even a couple sprinkles. Gosh, he was hungry.

“You know staring at the menu isn’t going to do much for your hunger. Trust me, used to do it all the time. Never worked.” His eyes peered up to be met with a distinct pair of large, pretty eyes staring back down at his under raised eyebrows. “Really?” He laughed, placing the menu flat on the table and turning his full attention to her. She nodded, pulling her notepad out of the back pocket of the light wash jeans that she had on. Her torso was clothed in a red shirt with the word ‘LONDON’ in large, pink letters on the front and her neck upwards was adorned with jewellery.

“London. You ever been?” Chris asked, eyeing the lettering on her baby-tee with a curious gaze. The girl looked down at the word painted across her chest for a split second, as though she had forgotten it was on her shirt. “Oh, yes. London, Kentucky.” His head tilted slightly before he nodded. “Right, right.”

“So, what can I get for ya…” The end of her sentence hung in the air and at that point Chris realised he hadn’t really introduced himself. He quickly told her his name and picked up the menu to relocate what he wanted. “I’d like a S’mores milkshake.” The girl scribbled down the order with immense pace and her head lifted again, redirecting her sight to Chris. “Anything else?”

He shook his head, closing the menu and placing it back in the holder. “No. That’ll be it.” Despite her confusion, the waitress shrugged her shoulders and offered him once last glance before departing on the words, “Suit yourself.”

Ten minutes fled by, all of which Chris spent scrolling through his camera roll of that day, attempting to decide which of the pictures he would post on his instagram. His brothers had texted him, wondering where he’d gone off to. He read their message, unable to find the care to respond. They knew he was alive with a phone, that was enough.

She returned with the gigantic shake in hand, carrying it with a delicate ease that drew Chris’ eye. He licked his lips when the girl placed the sweet treat on the table in front of him. She leaned on the booth across from him, cleaning down her hand on the pink apron that clung to her waist. “I’m y/n by the way, you forgot to ask.”

A heat rose to the boy’s cheek faster than a cheetah pouncing on its prey. She giggled, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it, usually people don’t ask. Just thought it would come in handy if m’gonna keep talking your ears off.” Chris nodded, taking a sip of the drink through the thick, glass straw. He found sweet and savoury flavours pouring into the canvas between his lips like warm paints from the palettes of a marvellous artist. His blue eyes lit up, only getting delighted in contrast to the dark curls that fell over his forehead, caressing his brows that were almost as dark.

She grinned, already used to this kind of reaction. One glance around was all it took for her to take a seat across from him, taking a quick, self-approved break from her job to talk to the cute boy she’d met. “So Chris, anything special that brings you here?” He nodded, swallowing the thick shake in his mouth, savouring the flavour that dripped down his throat like a spiky fountain. “S’my birthday today.” Her eyes widened, wondering why he was all alone.

“You celebrated with anyone today?” She hoped he’d say yes, even give a nod. She’d have hated to spend her birthday alone, and Chris seemed like a fun guy to be around, surely he couldn’t have spent his special day without anyone. “Yeah, with my two brothers. We’re triplets.”

“That is so cool. Are you the youngest?” She leaned closer. As if she weren’t already intrigued by Chris, now she had an even better reason to be absolutely fascinated. He gave her a nod, licking the whipped cream off the top of the shake. “How did you know?” She chuckled, using her thumb to wipe the whipped cream off his nose.

[Person change]

In that very moment, time seemed to slow as you locked eyes. You could feel Chris’ breaths on your face, that was only inches from his. You peered down at his lips, pink and plush as they were, you knew kissing them was the last thing you could do freely. You knew nothing about him. Was he even single? He couldn’t be with a pretty face like that. Was he into girls? Was he into you? You cleared your throat, quickly shuffling back into your seat. “Usually kids order the S’mores shake.”

Chris took a deep breath, as though he’d felt the heat of the moment too and needed to come back down from whatever cloud the two of you were riding. “Are you callin’ me a kid?” You quickly shook your head, explaining that you only felt a bubbly, youthful energy around the boy. His cheeks were still blush-covered, as though he was a watercolour painting with a layer of pink tinting his face. “You know what, I should get back to work. Take your time with that milkshake, we’re open all night.”

Chris nodded, eyes panning down your figure as you made your way back towards the counter. He hated to see you go, but he loved to watch you leave. Mindlessly sipping away, Chris barely realised how much darker the sky had gotten outside. He just wanted to have a moment to himself. Being an adult was more complicated than he’d expected, even for someone like him who was lucky enough to have fans all over the world to support him and his brothers.

He thought about you. They way you were around his age and working a night job. He thought about how that could’ve been him, how that is the life of so many people his age. And he spent his night partying and having fun without a care in his mind. Without a doubt or lick of worry about how much it would cost him or how tired he’d be the next morning. And Chris was ever so grateful.

The boy was so lost in thought, he didn’t even realise the crackles in the distance, getting closer and closer. It was only the familiar giggle that snapped his from his thoughts and he turned around to find you tiptoeing in his direction, balancing a chocolate cake with candles and sparklers. Intricate assortments of sprinkles and icing swirls decorate the exterior of the homemade dessert. No way. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

You finally reached the table, placing down the large plate in front of him and the smile that adorned his face was brighter than ever. Brighter than all the candle and sparks taking place on top of the cake. “Happy birthday, Chris.”

He wanted to cry. That entire time, from the point at which you placed down the cake to the moment you sat across from him, telling him it blow out all of the candles, nothing touched him like the smile that played on your lips when you said “Make a wish!” And you made him promise not to tell anyone. You fed him little pieces, laughing as he tried to catch all of the dessert that toppled off the fork. And he didn’t think his special day could get better. But you made that possible. You made it real.

After a long night, Chris finally received the bill. He’d expected it to have a read a longer list, but it was simple.

RECEIPT

s’ᴍᴏʀᴇs ᴍɪʟᴋsʜᴀᴋᴇ… $7.29

Total cost…. $7.29

Chris thought there had to be some mistake. Surely the cake and the extra service would cost him a little more. Plus, he wanted to see her one more time. Her smile was like a composition of melodies and rhythms formulated throughout time. Passed from generation to generation, surviving century after another as though the joyous expression possessed the sought after power of immortality. As though each pearly tooth was are token of the past, a timeless treasure worth more than humanely possible to discover in the limited space which is the imagination. As though each smile line, each crease and curve was the product of every face, married together by Mother Nature in the creation of another life, another soul. And so despite her ever so distinguishable and so difficult to miss spite for it, he loved her smile as an astronomer loves his stars. He loved her smile as a philosopher loved his literature. He loved her smile as a he loved all of her.

And he was set on calling her over again until he turned over the little slip of paper to read a note.

‘ 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘉𝘰𝘺. (𝟾𝟻𝟽) *** **** ’

Tag list: @hearts4werka @pvssychicken @sturnslcver @sophand4n4 @sofieeeeex @lovingregulusblack @h3arts4harry @aalixsturns

AHHHHH, this shit took weeks of effort (and Ariana grande songs). But we’re here! I reallyyy hope you guys f with this because it’s long. Anyways this is how Chris and waitress!Reader meet. Their story begins here. There will be more posted in the AU and I have more Chris AUs in my MASTERLIST. Thanks so so so much if you made it here after all of that reading, it genuinely means a lot. Please consider reposting.

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covenha · 2 days ago

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Synopsis: perv!roommate!yeosang can't stop thinking ungodly things about his best friend. Pairings: Perv!bff!yeosang x fem reader Genre: smut, mdni Warnings: smut (duh), yeosang in grey sweatpants bc that should be a warning WC: 746 a/n: this is filth that has been backlogged into my brain the minute that yeosang posted *that* black and white photo on ig so you know what's up. this is purely fiction so the this does not portray his character irl in any way shape or form. this is my first time writing smut so if it's poorly written or sounds like it came from those weird alpha tiktok shorts i am so sorry. its yet another self-indulgent fic so lmk how it is. as always, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated and my inbox is open for any requests!

just imagine pervy bff!Yeosang, you guys have been roommates for a few months now as the both of you just started college together and thought that living in an apartment together was better than living in some dingy university dorm room with strangers. he thought the idea was fine then, but he didn’t realize just how hard it was living with someone he had a massive crush on.

you guys have always been comfortable with each other. you guys wore your more… questionable loungewear around each other. but you not wearing bras around him was a new thing. when you asked if it was cool to not wear bras around the apartment since they were uncomfortable to wear all day, yeosang agreed immediately stating that he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable in your living space. but he couldn’t help but get turned on.

the bustling city’s humid weather was a hellscape compared to the cooler temperatures you both were accustomed to back in your seaside town. this meant that when the sun was at its highest, the apartment you guys shared was like a microwave. and this also meant that you would wear lighter clothing. those thinner tank tops that showcased your chest so well, those crop tops that showed off your midriff, and those fucking pajama shorts that did nothing to cover your legs. sometimes he manages to get a glimpse of your cotton panties peeking through. All of these things adding up would damn near drive yeosang to insanity.

the sight of you wearing clothes that left nearly nothing to the imagination sent blood rushing straight to his dick. he’s lost count of how many times he’s had to rub one out quickly in his room to the thought of you. it was starting to get out of hand if he was being honest, he might start shooting blanks and get an electrolyte imbalance.

and the dreams were the worst part. he really thought that phase was over. the awkward wet dreams he’d have at night with some unknown female living out his sexual fantasies. but he was wrong. and they’ve come back stronger and more vivid than ever. and what’s worse is, you are always the star of these dreams.

on some nights he’d have you face down, ass up, your hands held behind your back as he fucked you to oblivion on your bed with your plushies facing the wall. on other nights you’re riding his dick whining about how deep he is inside you that you can feel him in your stomach. and other times he has you splayed on the kitchen counter as he eats you out for so long you start shaking violently and squirting on his pretty face.

on this particular night he has you on his bed, your neck marred with red splotches of his love bites. you whine about it being too much, and i mean who could blame you? he had been going at it for 3 rounds already and he didn’t show any signs of stopping. with your thighs on his shoulders, he was practically folding you in half and the aches of his passionate love making were starting to seep into your poor body. but yeosang persisted, mumbling something about how he was almost there. and it truly felt like he was.

your spongy spot had been abused beyond belief and your whines of his name were the only things coming out of your mouth at this point.

“Sangi….”

“Yeosang!”

and he comes so hard in one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had in his life.

“Dude, get up!”

he’s groggy as he hears your voice. he’s laying on his front, face plopped down on his pillow. he groans as he wakes up from your shaking.

“We’re gonna be late for the bus, Sang. You have like 20 minutes to get ready.” you shake him some more to snap him out of his sleepy state.

he just hums in a sound of agreement before he breathes a sigh of relief as you walk out of his room and close the door. he can feel the spurts of come in his sweatpants sticking uncomfortably around his now soft dick. his grey sweatpants were stained a dark grey in the groin area. he came so much that he felt it dripping down his leg when he stood up. man, how was he supposed to survive 4 more years of this torture?

#ateez #ateez yeosang #ateez smut #ateez au #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez blurbs #ateez hours #ateez hard hours #ateez drabbles #ateez scenarios #kang yeosang #yeosang smut #yeosang au #yeosang imagines #yeosang x reader #yeosang blurbs #yeosang hard hours

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monstersandgirls-webcomic · 22 hours ago

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I'm not sure if this was intentional on your part, but i like how Lili hasn't been getting as horny around her wife as she used to, and getting used to the "strange feeling" being true love! Ngl i still want to see them banging lol but i just thought it was a cool little detail ^^

Also i just realised Isaac's name is supposed to be a play on him having one eye, like "eye-saac" 💀

It’s actually because webtoons was getting annoying and I was kind of tired of getting backlash over having some lustful lesbians so I toned it down. But I’m bringing it back lol. And you’ll get that sex talk eventually

And WHAT I DIDNT EVEN CONSIDER THAT 😭

#ask

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respectthepetty · 3 days ago

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Petty, I have a wild ass Jack and Joker theory, and I need to know what you think because we often end up in the clown car together, lol.

There's been a lot of talk/fears about Joke (and Toi Ting), now that we know character death is on the table - I'm not worried Joke will die (I am terrified they will gut us with Toi Ting but oh I hope not). I'm not saying that Joke isn't about to feel so responsible for what has happened that he's gonna get reckless with his life, because I absolutely think he will.

I think he's absolutely about to do some very stupid shit that could be his life in real danger as penance.

But I've been thinking for a while - since your initial posts about Hope and Save and their names - that Save is going to die. And now that I just skimmed a post that basically said that Joke and Save are the same character in different fonts and Save's guilt in episode 10, I'm absolutely positive.

Save is going to die.

Hope will live, because he has too. Without hope, we have nothing. (I also have a tangential theory that Save will die to save Hope, so...)

Thoughts?

Why not a third secret option? Why can’t everyone live? Since the show killed Jennie’s character, and the man who tried to run away with his few dollar bills died too, let’s just believe everyone remaining will survive! Even more, if Boss survives, then everyone BETTER live because no shitty father should survive when the possibility of a child dying is on the table. So I'm going to aim high because

Fortune Favors the Monkey King

Move over, Kitty! I'm driving this clown car straight to the opera house.

Because this is a Chinese opera.

We already know there is a Chinese influence in this story, as @veemark pointed out about the meal Joke ate with Jack and his grandma.

So with that in mind, in the fourth episode, when Nang punished the men for hurting her people, she drew the "09" stick (but she said nine-zero), which meant the men had to perform the Chinese opera of the Monkey King, which people in the tags thought was sooooo ridiculous!

In that same episode, Jack received his fortune, which was number 9 and stated, "When the fool changes black to white, the fate of the forgiver will change"

Now, skip to episode 9 when Joke gets "The Fool" card and changes the fate of Jack, the person who forgave him, so Jack's fortune was right.

Now, in episode 9, we also get the iconic team name "The Four Little Pigs"

And this is where the light bulb turned on because this is Journey to the West.

Journey to the West is an epic Chinese story that is 100 chapters long about a group of heroes having to complete a certain amount of tasks to achieve enlightenment.

The main character is Tang Sanzang who is basically a saint who wants to bring good to all the land and who everyone is in love with and wants to marry. We are introduced to him in chapter 9 of the story. He is the heart.

The first person he meets on his journey is the Monkey King, aka Sun Wukong, who was so great at being the best trickster that he became overconfident and ended up getting put in heavenly jail for 500 years. The first chapters of the story are actually about him. He is foolish, but he is also the mastermind.

He has a daughter, Yuebei Xing. She has her own story, Journey to the South. She is a badass. She fights monsters and lives to tell the tale.

The Monkey King is easily the most powerful of the bunch, but Tang Sanzang doesn't like the Monkey King's methods because they are immoral, so there is a gold ring involved that keeps him in check.

Or maybe it's this ring.

I think it's the second ring because a goddess, who keeps helping them along the way, helps them with the ring too. She is also cool.

Along the journey, they meet Zhu Wuneng, aka Pig. He is a smart fighter but he is greedy and selfish so he keeps taking shit he isn't supposed to, which constantly gets them in trouble. He is human nature (the world).

There is Sha Wujing aka Sandy, who was once a god, but shattered a crystal and ended up banished to earth to be a mortal. He is conformity without thought (the moon).

And finally, there is Bai Long Ma, who is a horse that they ride for transportation. He is human will (the star).

There is also a princess somewhere in there who must be saved from a marriage.

The group meets obstacles along the way, and lots of crazy shit goes down, but after 14 YEARS they finally come to the end of their journey.

And on their journey to achieve enlightenment they meet a squire whose loved one is kidnapped with the possibility of murder and another squire who is murdered and his wife is pissed about it because she did everything to make sure he wouldn't be harmed.

Now, if you gasped because you think Hope (or Save) will die, well . . . the number 14 fortune was Hope's.

The fortune was given in episode four which is the same episode Jack got his fortune, but it seemed like Hope's fortune played out in the same episode when he found Joke right across the hall staying with Jack.

But the thing is, in the Chinese story, regardless of which squire it is, they don't just need the Monkey King; they need the Monkey King's help.

So the Monkey King goes to the underworld to get the loved one back and succeeds (both times). But he still needs to save our saint!

Remember, the group has to do a certain number of deeds to bring peace to the land, so the group goes in to save their leader, and the ONLY reason they make it out is because all of the people they have helped along the way (especially the people the Monkey King has helped) return the favor and save them.

By saving others, they saved themselves.

So . . . I don't think anyone else is dying. However, it's been YEARS since I read a very condensed version of this story in Asian Rhetorics, and @journeytothewestresearch's blog helped me piece some of what I forgot together.

So I could be wrong, and everyone dies.

But I don't think so.

*fingers crossed that fortune favors the bold Monkey King*

#jack and joker #u steal my heart #journey to the west #I might have to read it again #I know a lot of stuff happened #but I'm holding out hope #I think this is the story being told #but I could be very wrong

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jack-morrison · 2 days ago

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Love how Falon'Din is seen amongst the Evanuris, at least from Solas' perspective.

Solas in Veilguard has talked positively of literally all of the Evanuris (even counting the backhanded comment towards Elgar'nan) EXCEPT for Falon'Din. Hell, even Elgar'nan seems to clash with him (judging from this codex).

He got his ass beat by the others, too.

Anyway, I need a soap opera drama about the Evanuris, and I need more content of failwife Falon'Din.

#he just seems like a more shitty impulsive version of Elgar'nan and I'm here for it #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #evanuris #falon'din #solas #elgar'nan #mythal #dirthamen #sylaise #june #andruil #ghilan'nain #fen'harel #Solas and Elgar'nan forgot his ass during their argument lmaoooo #literally dropped every other Evanuris' name in that fight except him #I'm obsessed with the idea of him being such a fucking loser #Dirthamen was the cool kid who unfortunately hung out with a potential school shooter (Falon'Din)#was talking about him on Discord and now I bring my thoughts here uwu

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espresso1patronum · 9 hours ago

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i'd die for you, baby

f1 racer megumi fushiguro! x f!reader

synopsis: you and megumi had been dating for nearly an year, and he was everything you had ever wished for in a boyfriend—kind, supportive, and endlessly sweet. on top of that, he was one of the best f1 racers in the world, renowned for his incredible skill and charm. however, as his fame skyrocketed, so did your fears of losing him. his schedule was jam-packed with races, interviews, and promotional events, leaving little time for the two of you. despite his efforts to carve out moments together, it often felt like you were competing for his attention against the demands of his career. you couldn’t shake the feeling that the distance between you was growing, clouded by misunderstandings and the pressures of his lifestyle. just when you thought you had a handle on things, a series of miscommunications and unexpected events unfolded, threatening to unravel everything you’d built together.

cw: mdni, afab!reader, aged up characters, fluff, ANGST with comfort ending, cursing, JEALOUS and angry gumi, megumi is REALLYYY possessive and protective, smut!, nsfw content, pussy eating, dominant af megumi, megumi is freakyyy hehe

wc: 9.4k -gimme a chance :(

a/n: this is gonna be cute, i swear.

divider cred: @cafekitsune tysm<3

you hadn't seen your boyfriend in days, and the concern for him had started to grow. but what could you do? he was one of the top f1 racers in the world, constantly on the move, always focused on the next race.

sometimes, it still seemed unreal that megumi fushiguro—the same enigmatic, effortlessly cool man—was your boyfriend. you were just a regular girl, and here he was, a living legend, the epitome of calm, collected mystery. how had this even happened? how had he fallen for you? those were the questions that often lingered in your mind, no matter how much he insisted that you stop overthinking. he was the best at everything, but somehow, he had chosen you.

you dialed your boyfriend’s number, only for it to go straight to voicemail. then it hit you—he must be tied up with a sponsor deal today. he had a busy schedule, and you knew these commitments often meant no time for calls or texts.

you remember the first time you met him like it was yesterday. your brother had dragged you to one of his races and even managed to get the after party tickets. you were sipping on a drink, trying to blend into the crowd of flashy celebrities and sponsors when you first saw him—megumi fushiguro. he stood at the far end of the room, surrounded by people, but even in that sea of faces, he somehow stood out. you’d never seen someone so effortlessly cool, so... handsome. his dark hair was tousled just right, and his sharp, mysterious eyes scanned the room with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken.

and that's how you met him. he was known for being aloof and rude with people, but when you had asked him for a picture, you saw a faint smile on his face and he agreed. somehow, you found yourself talking to him for hours, and by the end of the night, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—you’d met the kind of guy you only read about in books. little did you know, that chance encounter would change everything.

you had just returned from college, exhaustion weighing you down, and you practically collapsed onto your unmade bed, letting out a heavy sigh. your mind was still buzzing from the day’s classes, but before you could settle into the comfort of your messy room, your phone rang. the name on the screen made your heart skip a beat—megumi.

you quickly answered, trying to push away the feeling of longing that always rushed over you when you heard his voice. "love, are you alright? are you eating well? you called earlier, so i got concerned." his words were soft but laced with genuine worry.

for a split second, you wanted to laugh—or maybe cry. how could he possibly be concerned about you? he had been the one running himself ragged, hopping from one race to the next, barely getting a moment to breathe. and yet here he was, acting like you were the one who needed to be taken care of.

you bit your lip, trying to keep the frustration at bay. "gumi, how are you? you’ve been going back and forth for the last two weeks. i barely get a chance to hear from you, and now you're worried about me?"

there was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and then you could almost hear him chuckling, though it was tinged with exhaustion. "i’m fine," he said, his voice steady but with a hint of something vulnerable underneath. "i just worry about you. i don’t want you to forget to take care of yourself when i’m not there."

you almost wanted to slap him for being so selfless, so completely megumi. but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. he was always worried about you, even when he had every right to be focused on himself.

"you're impossible," you muttered, but your heart was softening. "i’m fine. just tired. but i’ll be alright."

there was a long pause before he spoke again, his voice lower, more serious now. "i’ll make it up to you when i’m back. i promise."

"gumi, i miss you. when will you be back?" you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them. it had been so long since you’d seen him, and the emptiness in your chest had only grown with each passing day. you had gotten used to the calls, the texts, but it wasn’t the same as having him there beside you.

he chuckled softly on the other end of the line, and for a moment, you could almost picture that small, half-smile of his. "i don't know, baby," he said. "but i promise, it'll be pretty soon."

you sighed, the sound filled with both longing and a little bit of frustration. "i just… i need you here," you admitted, not caring if it sounded too vulnerable. it was true. you missed him more than you wanted to admit, and every day without him felt like an eternity.

"i know, love," he said, his voice softening. "i miss you too. but i’ll be back before you know it, okay? just a little longer."

the next day was pretty typical. you went through your usual routine—attending your classes, zoning out during lectures, and checking your phone more often than you should have, hoping for a message from megumi. just as you were gathering your things, preparing to leave, one of your friends pulled you aside.

“hey, someone’s waiting for you in the parking lot,” she said with a sly smile, her eyebrows waggling in that way that made you curious and a little suspicious. “a special delivery, maybe?”

you frowned, wondering who could possibly be waiting for you, but you didn’t have time to ask further. you thanked her and made your way out.

as you walked to the parking lot, your mind raced with possibilities, but nothing could have prepared you for what you saw when you turned the corner.

there, parked under the fading afternoon sun, was a sleek, shiny black ferrari—a car you knew all too well. your heart skipped a beat as you saw him leaning casually against it, looking like he had just stepped out of a magazine cover.

megumi.

he looked up as you approached, a small, knowing smile spreading across his face. it was that smile, the one that always made your heart flutter, the one that meant he had a surprise up his sleeve. before you could even process what was happening, your legs were moving on their own, and you were running toward him.

he caught you easily, lifting you off the ground in an embrace that felt like a weight you didn’t even know you were carrying was finally lifted. you wrapped your arms around him, inhaling the familiar scent of him, feeling the warmth of his presence that you had missed so much.

"surprise?" he murmured into your ear.

you laughed, feeling a mix of shock and pure happiness. "what are you doing here? i didn’t expect you for days," you said, pulling back just enough to look at him, still trying to process the sudden appearance of your boyfriend.

"well," he began, his fingers brushing through your hair as he set you down gently, "i couldn’t stay away any longer. i thought i'd surprise you. you looked like you needed one."

you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face as you stood there, feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

"let’s go on a date," he said suddenly, his voice light and playful, but there was something in his eyes that made you think he was serious.

before you could say anything, he reached for your bag, effortlessly lifting it and tossing it into the backseat of the ferrari. then, with a small nod, he opened the car door for you, waiting for you to get in.

"like, right now?" you asked, surprised and a little breathless. you hadn’t even thought about anything beyond his unexpected appearance.

he gave a casual shrug, his usual cool demeanor in place. “yes. unless that’s a problem for you,” he teased, as he glanced down at you.

you blinked, your surprise melting into a soft laugh. a date with him? now? how could you say no to that? you shook your head, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. "no, no problem at all. let’s go."

as megumi slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, he glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. he leaned over and gently tugged the seatbelt across your lap, his fingers brushing against your skin as he did. It was a simple touch, but one that made your heart flutter all the same.

"where’d you wanna go?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

you couldn’t help the cute little smile that spread across your face as you looked at him. “umm, anywhere... with you," you said sweetly, your voice carrying the honesty of how you truly felt.

megumi’s eyes softened, and for a split second, you saw that rare vulnerability in him. your smile—that smile—always did this to him. it was like it had the power to completely melt him, to make him forget everything except the fact that he was with you. his lips curved into a smile that was a little more than just a playful expression—it was genuine, and it was full of affection.

for a moment, the car was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the rush of wind outside. then, megumi’s voice broke the silence, low and almost... hesitant.

"you know," he said, his gaze still focused on the road ahead, though his hands tightened slightly on the wheel. "i’ve missed you so much. these last few days without you... i couldn’t even sleep."

his words caught you off guard, and your heart softened in your chest. you knew how demanding his schedule was, how much he had to sacrifice for his career, but hearing him admit how much he’d missed you, how much he struggled without you—it meant more than you could put into words.

you reached over, placing your hand gently on his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "i missed you too, gumi," you said softly. he turned his head toward you for a brief moment, his eyes meeting yours, and you could see it—the way his entire expression softened just for you, like he was holding onto this moment with everything he had. for him, you were the purest thing in his world, the one constant in the whirlwind of his life.

you decided to go to an icecream parlor. "what flavor did you get?" you asked megumi while taking a spoonful of your icecream and savouring it.

he glanced at his cup and replied, "mint choco. what about you, baby?"

"i got strawberry!" you exclaimed bouncing a little with excitement. megumi chuckled softly, the kind of smile only you could bring out of him. "idiot," he murmured.

"want a taste?" his voice was low, teasing, as he dipped the spoon into the ice cream, the creamy swirl catching the light. he brought it to his lips, tasting it slowly before pulling you toward him. his mouth met yours in a kiss, the sweet chill of the dessert mixing with the warmth of his touch.

you gasped as his lips curved into a smile against yours, the sweetness of the ice cream still lingering between you. the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine as he deepened the kiss, the world outside of this moment fading into nothing. his hand slowly trailed down your thigh, sending a shiver of anticipation through you. you gasped as you felt his tongue slip into your mouth, his kiss deep and possessive. you were lost in the moment, responding to him with equal passion and surrendering completely to his touch.

megumi's phone rang, piercing the air and bringing your intimate moment to an abrupt halt. "fuck," he muttered a curse under his breath, clearly annoyed at the interruption. you spoke up, reminding him that it could be urgent. "mmh- gumi, it could be important." but he brushed it off, his attention still fixed on you.

"nothing's more important than you, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. but the persistent ringing eventually got the better of him, and he reluctantly picked up the phone, his gaze still fixed on you.

it was gojo, his manager, on the other end of the line. megumi picked up the call, his expression frustrated. "yeah- uh huh. tomorrow? ok, fine," he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he hung up.

you looked at him, concern etched on your face. "what happened, gumi?" you asked, your eyes fixed on him.

megumi's hand still lingered on your cheek, his touch gentle and soothing. "got a race tomorrow, baby," he replied, his exhaustion apparent.

"what? you're just back, and they're making you race again?" you asked.

megumi sighed, his weariness apparent in the weary slope of his shoulders. "i know, but it's important for the season," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

you looked at him, your eyes filled with worry. "but you're not even rested properly," you said, your voice laced with concern.

megumi shrugged, his gaze fixing on you. "i'll be fine," he said, a reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

you knew he wasn't fine. after all, how could he be? all he was doing for the past two weeks was races, interviews, press conferences, sponsors and what not! he was very successful, yes, but this only came in the way of your relationship. it had happened before, ofcourse. but this time seemed a little too much.

you leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, your pretty plump lips lightly brushing his skin. megumi couldn't help but smile. he adored these little moments with you, when you showed your tenderness and reminded him of how much he cared for you.

every little thing you did had an effect on him. your mere presence was enough to make him smile, and seeing you in this caring and loving state made his heart race in his chest. he wanted to spend all his time with only you. you were the only one he thought about during his restless days and nights. you were the only drivin force that encouraged him to keep going and trying.

megumi was notorious for being aloof and rude to the people who surrounded him, because he was often misunderstood. his good looks had earned him hordes of fangirls, but none of them truly knew who he was. you, however, were different. you were the only girl who saw through his so-called tough exterior and loved him for who he was, flaws and all. and because of that, he loved you more than anything.

the next day arrived—the day of his race. you couldn't shake the anticipation, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you made your way to the track. you slipped into the locker room, your heartbeat quickening. the air was thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation, but none of that mattered when you saw him step out.

megumi appeared like a vision in the doorway, dressed in his red and black racing suit. the colors clung to his athletic frame, accentuating every sharp line and smooth curve. in his hand, he held his helmet, the sleek visor reflecting the harsh overhead lights. for a moment, everything around you seemed to blur. the world narrowed down to just him—magnificent, confident, untouchable.

your breath caught in your throat. Is it even legal to look this good? you thought, unable to tear your eyes away. it was almost criminal, the way his presence filled the room, his aura commanding attention without uttering a single word.

he looked at you, his lips curling into a grin as he took in the sight of you standing there, frozen in admiration. "y/n, you're here," he said, his voice warm with a hint of surprise, though it was clear he wasn’t exactly shocked to see his girlfriend.

you blinked, momentarily speechless, before you blurted out without thinking, “yes, and omg, I think I’m falling for you again, gumi.” the words hung in the air, a little too loud, a little too honest.

the chuckle that followed made your stomach do a little flip. “falling for me again, huh?” he teased, his eyes dancing with amusement.

before you could even form a response, his hands were on your waist, pulling you effortlessly closer. his touch was warm, strong, and it sent a jolt straight through you, making you freeze in place. his gaze dropped to your lips for just a moment, then back to your eyes.

"you like what you see, baby?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper.

your cheeks heated up in response, his closeness sending shivers down your spine. "you can't say things like that while holding me like this!" you protested, trying to hide the effect he had on you.

"oh, you like this?" he asked. and damn, did that make you feel things.

you blushed, a slight pink creeping up your cheeks.

why were you so adorable? he thought.

just then, his manager gojo burst into the room, interrupting your intimate moment. he immediately took notice of your close embrace. he smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"ahh, lovebirds!" he teased.

megumi rolled his eyes at gojo's comment and grumbled, "shut up and get out."

gojo chuckled, still not leaving. "just reminding you, get your ass ready in five," he said, winking at you before he finally closed the door, leaving you alone with Megumi once again.

you knelt down in front of him, your hands steady as you carefully tied his shoe laces.

but then, as you tightened the knot on his laces, your gaze drifted upward, and that's when you noticed it: a cast wrapped around his left leg. it was subtle, barely noticeable beneath the fabric of his pants, but it was there. your heart skipped a beat.

“gumi, what is this?” you asked, your voice laced with concern, your eyes tracing the cast as if it might somehow explain itself. he froze for a split second, his expression flickering with something unreadable before he quickly regained his usual easygoing demeanor. his smile was a little too smooth, too reassuring, but you weren't fooled.

“it’s nothing, baby, really. nothing to worry about,” he said, the words coming out too quickly, like he was trying to brush it off before you could press further. you raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "are you sure? you never told me you got hurt, did you—"

before you could finish, he cut you off, his voice a little sharper than usual. "yes, i’m fine. i just couldn’t tell you because I was really busy, alright? i’ll tell you if i get hurt again, i promise."

but you weren’t ready to let it go. you frowned, looking up at him with concern in your eyes. “what happened?”

he hesitated for a brief moment, and in that pause, you saw a flicker of something—regret? guilt?—before he sighed and looked away. “i—i just slipped on the stairs,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as if the explanation was something he’d rather not say out loud.

you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest. stairs? that didn’t sound right, not for someone like him, someone who was always so careful, so composed. it wasn’t like him to let something like that slide. but he was already reaching for his helmet, the cool, silver surface catching the light as he lifted it into his hand, clearly signaling the conversation was over.

“i need to go, baby,” he said softly, his voice carrying a gentle urgency. his hand cupped your cheek for a brief moment, his thumb brushing over your skin in that tender, familiar way. then, without another word, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

you found yourself in the exclusive bio section of the stands, surrounded by the hum of excitement and the palpable energy of the crowd. from here, the entire stadium stretched out before you—massive, overwhelming, and alive with anticipation. the sound of the crowd was deafening, a constant roar that sent shivers down your spine. you hadn’t realized just how big this event was until now. it wasn’t just a race; it was a spectacle, a culmination of everything megumi had been working for.

for the past two weeks, he had been pushing himself relentlessly, practicing, fine-tuning every part of his routine. you could hear it in his voice when he’d call you—tired, drained, but always determined. the pressure of coming first, of being the best was heavy, but he never showed it. not to you. not until now.

the tension in the air thickened as the stadium lights dimmed slightly, and the commentators' voices boomed over the loudspeakers, amplified by the vastness of the arena. you heard a familiar name ring out—megumi fushiguro—and just like that, the crowd erupted into deafening cheers, a wave of sound crashing over you.

“megumi fushiguro!” the commentator's voice was loud, clear, and electric, his excitement rising to match the crowd’s. "one of the most consistent drivers this season, and he's definitely a favorite to win today!"

you could hear the way the announcer dragged the name out with that signature flair, the way they pronounced it with such reverence and energy that it felt like the entire world was watching. megumi fushiguro. it sounded different when they said it—more like a title, a legacy in the making.

your heart skipped a beat as the crowd’s roar hit its peak, a mix of excitement, adrenaline, and the collective hope of everyone in this stadium. this wasn’t just a race—it was the race, the one he’d been working toward for so long.

you glanced down at the pit, catching a glimpse of him—dressed in his red and black suit, his face a mask of focus, as he climbed into his car. the helmet gleamed under the lights, but you could still see the determination in his posture, the way he moved with precision, as if every motion had been practiced to perfection. the weight of all those expectations, of everything riding on this one moment, seemed to settle on his shoulders, but he carried it with ease.

as the final seconds of the countdown ticked away, megumi’s gaze swept over the vip section, his eyes scanning the crowd. for a moment, everything seemed to slow down, as if the world held its breath. then, his eyes landed on you.

a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, barely visible under his helmet. but then, to your surprise, he did something you never thought he’d do—he lifted his hands in front of his chest and made a heart. right there, in front of thousands of people, in the heat of the moment, megumi fushiguro—the calm, composed, always-in-control driver—was making a heart with his hands just for you.

your heart fluttered in your chest, a mix of warmth and disbelief rushing through you. you knew him too well. megumi, the guy who would never be caught doing something so cheesy or public. but for you? he’d make that heart. he’d do whatever it took to let you know, even without saying the words, that you were on his mind.

a soft laugh bubbled in your throat, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your fingers instinctively touching your lips as if to seal the moment. it was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. you knew—deep down—that no matter how tough or reserved he appeared, when it came to you, he’d break his own rules.

the crowd around you was still buzzing, oblivious to the quiet exchange between the two of you. but it didn’t matter. in that instant, you felt like you were the only one in the stadium, connected to him in a way no one else could understand.

as he turned back to focus on the race ahead, his posture straightened, his usual intensity returning. but a small piece of his heart was still with you, tucked away behind that mask of determination. you knew it, and somehow, he knew you knew it.

three, two, one, go! the gunshot echoed across the track, and the racers shot forward like arrows released from a bow. the roar of engines filled the air, harmonizing with the cheers of the crowd. among the vibrant sea of cars, megumi surged ahead at the front, steering his sleek red bull rb19 with precision and skill. the sun glinted off the polished metal, casting dazzling reflections as he navigated the first straightaway with remarkable speed.

the commentators voice boomed through the speakers, “we see the great megumi fushiguro from japan leading the rbr team as he pulls the car into a great curve!” the tires squealed against the asphalt, gripping the track as megumi expertly controlled the drift, leaning into the turn with the confidence of a seasoned pro.

you watched from the sidelines, your heart racing in sync with the roar of the engines. you bit your lip, nerves gnawing at you. this win meant everything—if megumi clinched the victory today, he would break into the top three drivers in the world, a dream he had chased relentlessly. the stakes were high, and the pressure was palpable.

as he exited the curve, megumi glanced in his rearview mirror, assessing the competition closing in behind him. the other drivers were fierce, but the felt the weight of every heartbeat, the way you supported him and you cheering him on propelled him forward. he couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. the championship was within reach, and he was determined to seize it.

as the final lap approached, adrenaline surged through your veins. you clenched your fists, your thoughts racing alongside him. you believed in him, and he needed to believe in himself. megumi had worked too hard to let anything distract him now. the finish line loomed ahead, and with one last push, he entered the final turn, the tires screeching as he navigated it flawlessly.

the finish line was in sight. you held your breath, watching as megumi accelerated out of the curve, his car darting forward like a bolt of lightning. this was it. the moment of truth. would he achieve his dream? would he secure a place among the world’s elite?

with the roar of the crowd reaching a fever pitch, megumi crossed the finish line, the checkered flag waving triumphantly in the air. he did it! the world watched as he celebrated his hard-fought victory, a smile breaking through the intensity of the race, knowing that he had not just raced to the finish, but had also secured his place in history.

you jumped up and squealed in excitement. he wasn't an ordinary racer. he was the season's best. perhaps even one of the top racers of the decade. you could feel it now. the amount of both love and hate he'd be recieving after this. the tight packed schedules waiting for him. fuck. you were supposed to feel good and proud about this. you were, but how could you celebrate properly if you knew that him winning this meant no time for the both of you. sometimes his lifestyle was a bit too much for you. am i demanding too much of attention and love from him? you wondered.

the commentator’s voice boomed through the loudspeakers, “megumi fushiguro takes the win!” you ran towards the racecourse, your heart pounding. the moment you reached him, megumi yanked off his helmet, and in one swift motion, pulled you into his arms.

before you could even catch your breath, he lifted you off the ground in a tight embrace.

"i'm so proud of you, gumi," you whispered into his ear. "you won this."

a soft chuckle vibrated in his chest as he set you back on your feet, but his eyes never left yours, warm and sincere. “no," he said, his voice steady despite the exhaustion evident in his body. "i didn’t win this. we won this together. i could’ve never done this without you."

your heart skipped a beat at his words. you gently pressed a kiss against his cheek. his cheeks flushed slightly as he looked away. "stop being so damn adorable," he murmured as you chuckled at his flustered state.

just then he was called for the conference. "i"ll be back, alright?" he said as you nodded.

the camera zoomed in as the interviewer grinned, holding the mic out toward megumi, who had just finished a whirlwind victory lap.

“so, how was the race?” the interviewer asked, his voice sharp with curiosity.

megumi let out a slow, tired sigh, his fingers still curled around the edge of his helmet. “pretty electric,” he replied. “it was fun, honestly. the other racers did amazing as well. everyone pushed themselves to the limit.”

the interviewer nodded, clearly impressed by megumi’s calm demeanor, before pressing on with another question. “yeah, what about you?” he leaned in slightly, his voice taking on a more personal tone. “even after your accident a week ago, you drove like nothing happened. how’s your left leg now? it was a big hit, wasn’t it?”

what accident? you thought.

he shrugged, his voice low but steady. “it was a big hit. i won’t lie, there were moments last week where i didn’t know if i'd even be able to race today. but… well,” he shifted on his feet, cracking a small smile, “it’s nothing a little determination and a lot of rest couldn’t fix. and honestly, once I got behind the wheel, i didn’t think about it at all.”

the interviewer raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “so you’re saying you didn’t feel any pain out there?”

megumi’s lips quirked, just barely. “pain’s just another obstacle. if i let it control me, i wouldn’t be racing at all. so i focused on the road, the cars, and—”

he went on.

your mind went blank. how could he lie about being injured? why did he lie to you? why did he say that he tripped down the stairs when he clearly suffered a major injury from an accident? why did he not inform you about this?

the interviewer gave a final cheerful wave, his voice ringing out as he called, “okay then, we’ll catch you later, superstar!” megumi returned the gesture with a small, easy smile before turning to walk back toward you.

but the moment he approached, he froze. his eyes widened when he saw the tears silently streaming down your face. his breath hitched, a flicker of panic crossing his features.

“baby-” he started, but he was cut off as you turned sharply, not letting him finish. he quickly stepped forward, concern flooding his expression. “wait, what happened—?”

you yanked your hand away from his as his fingers brushed against your arm. the gesture was sharp, defensive, and his confusion deepened. “how could you?” your voice trembled.

megumi blinked, clearly struggling to process. “what—?” he started again, his voice quiet, trying to reach you.

“how could you lie to me about your injury?” you stared at him, your tears betraying the pain you felt. “you promised me, gumi… you promised you’d be honest.”

“you could’ve told me about this big injury,” you whispered, the tears threatening to spill over. “i would've come. i would've—"

"i didn’t want you to worry about me, that’s why,” he interrupted, his voice strained and exhausted. he could see the hurt in your eyes, but the words just kept spilling out, the frustration he’d been holding in finally breaking free.

“but still—” your voice quivered with emotion, desperate to make him understand. “i care about you a lot. i’m your girlfriend. you could’ve told me. you were tired and—”

you were cut off when his voice, sharp and raw, filled the space between you. “don’t you see it? you’re always too worried about me. you always blabber about me this, me that. i’ll take care of myself alone for some time, alright? just stop nagging me all the time!”

the words hit you like a physical blow. your breath caught in your throat, and before you knew it, hot tears were streaming down your precious little face—uncontrolled, like a waterfall. how could he say that? how could he hurt you like that?

for a moment, megumi stood frozen, the weight of his own words slowly sinking in. he watched as your tears fell, his own chest tightening, realizing too late the damage he’d just done.

his voice cracked with regret. “i’m really sorry, baby… i don’t know why i said all that—”

but you shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping you as you wiped your eyes. “forget it,” you said, the coldness in your voice so unlike anything he’d ever heard from you. the distance between you both felt so vast now, more than just physical.

without another word, you turned and began walking away, your steps slow but resolute. every part of you wanted to look back, to see if he was following, but you didn’t. the lump in your throat was too big, and you couldn’t trust yourself not to break down entirely if you turned around.

megumi stood there, his mind racing, but his feet glued to the ground. he wanted to reach for you, to say something, anything that would make it better. but he knew, deep down, that it was too late for words now. not after what he’d said.

you did not talk to him for the next few days. as much as your heart ached and wanted to hear his voice, you just had to keep ignoring him. he felt MISERABLE. he could not bear the pain anymore. the pain that he had inflicted on you. he had seen your precious little self crying because of him. he had hurt you. he hated himself for that. though he did call and text you, you'd always reply dryly. no "gumi", or "baby". you just replied with a simple "hello" and "bye megumi". this was driving him insane.

you were in your bedroom listening to your favourite song while reading a book. oh, did you want to cuddle into his chest right now. you wanted him bad. but ofcourse, you were stubborn as hell.

you had a date that evening. not with megumi, ofcourse. your senior kashimo, had invited you to a carnival fest. you didn't turn him down. he was a good friend of yours.

you were getting ready for your date when you heard a knock on your door. you sighed, already knowing who it was. it was megumi. he stood there, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a note in the other, and your favorite chocolates tucked under his arm.

“what?” you asked, trying to hide your irritation.

“baby, please, let me come in,” he said, his voice softening as you nodded and stepped aside to let him in. you didn’t care that you were wearing the mini skirt and crop top he had gifted you, the very outfit you had chosen for your date with someone else.

“are you going somewhere pretty?” he asked, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“yeah, on a date,” you replied, a casualness to your tone that belied the tension simmering beneath the surface.

His eyes widened in disbelief. “on a date?”

“it’s just a friendly date with my senior, kashimo,” you said, trying to brush off the weight of his reaction.

he scoffed, disbelief evident in his voice. “the same guy who proposed to you last year?”

you nodded, refusing to back down. “yes, but he’s just a friend. he knows I have a boyfriend.”

megumi clenched his fists at his sides, anger flashing in his eyes. “fine, but make sure he doesn’t cross the line.”

“whatever,” you replied, the nonchalance in your voice betraying the chaos of emotions in your heart.

“whatever?” he couldn’t let that slide. “you think it’s just that easy? you’re wearing my clothes, going out with a guy who clearly wants more. this isn’t just a friendly date!”

you sighed, feeling the fight slowly drain out of you. “you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“i’m making it harder?” he took a step closer, his frustration giving way to vulnerability. “i thought you understood how much you mean to me. i thought you knew i cared.”

"tsk..." he mumbled. "just promise me you'll take care alright?" he said. you wanted to give in to him then and there. but you couldn't.

“sure, but it’s really not a big deal. i’ll be fine.” you said.

"just let me worry a little," he said smiling faintly. "i'll always worry about you."

he cared for you a lot. though you didn't say anything about what had happened between you guys the last time, he knew that you were pretty mad. he cared for you enough to give you your space, though it was very hard for him to do so.

the ferris wheel ride was surprisingly fun, and kashimo was a pretty chill guy to be stuck in a cage with. "you’re looking really pretty today, y/n," he said, eyes twinkling in the low light.

there it was. you were certain that he did not have feelings for you anymore. but him saying all this made you rethink things. maybe megumi was right and this not being just a "friendly date" for kashimo.

you blinked, caught off guard for a second. "thanks," you smiled back.

you hated that you couldn't stop thinking about megumi. why did you have to be so stubborn at the first place anyways? he was giving you an apology but you wouldn't take it. it was because you were deeply hurt. not because he didn't care for you, but because he had being a fucking jerk. an idiot who said things to his girlfriend without any regard. though he did not mean any of it, he shouldn't have let his frustration get the best of him. you were concerned for him and he yelled at you for that. you were pretty hurt.

little did you know that megumi was stalking you both. like a fucking creep. yes, he was embarrassed, but he couldn't let you out of his sight, not when you were hanging out with a guy who had feelings for you.

megumi was spying on you and kashimo as you sat there, waiting for your ice cream.

kashimo was standing a little too close—close enough that his hand brushed against your shoulder as he shifted to adjust his position. the touch was quick, almost accidental, but the heat from it lingered on your skin. you seemed quite oblivious to what just happened.

“about your boyfriend, y/n, i—” kashimo began, still really close to you.

you frowned, glancing up at him, confused. “what about him?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral, but something about the way he said it made your stomach churn.

kashimo smirked, leaning in even further as he spoke, his voice low but laced with something... almost smug. “he did amazing at the race last week.”

you nodded, a little stiff, not sure where this was going. “yeah,” you said, keeping your response short, hoping he’d drop it. but he wasn’t done.

“so... I was wondering, y/n,” he began again, his voice suddenly more hesitant, like he was testing the waters. “if you ever feel lonely… or, i don’t know, if your boyfriend is busy, you could always call me. i’m your trusty senior, after all.”

you blinked, momentarily speechless. what was he getting at? your gut twisted, but you kept your face neutral, hoping it was just some misguided attempt at humor. “um, okay? but why?”

kashimo’s smirk widened, and his next words made your heart race, but not in that way. “because… i might still have feelings for you.”

you froze.

for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. the audacity. the sheer nerve of this guy. you swallowed hard, shaking your head as if trying to shake the whole situation off. "excuse me? is that why you called me out here? to tell me that?" the words left your mouth before you could stop them, anger creeping into your voice.

kashimo’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something almost predatory in his gaze now. he took a small step closer, like he was trying to trap you in this conversation. “no, y/n. i’m here to let you know that i’m here for you. you know, with megumi being so famous now, who knows what he’s up to, if you get what i’m saying.”

the insinuation made your blood boil. you crossed your arms tightly, a scoff escaping your lips. “no, i don’t get it,” you said, your voice cold now, the tightness in your chest growing with each word. “and i thought i already made it clear to you that i don’t have feelings for you. i have a boyfriend.”

you took a deep breath, glaring up at him, not backing down an inch. “and don’t you dare talk shit about him.”

something dark flashed in kashimo’s eyes. his smile faltered, just for a second, before it turned into something far more dangerous. he clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tightening, and for a moment, you thought he might snap.

“you have that much nerve to reject me twice? who do you think you are?” his voice was low, seething now, and before you could even react, his hand shot out and grabbed your arm, yanking you toward him with surprising force.

you gasped, your heart slamming into your chest as you tried to pull away. but kashimo’s grip only tightened. his breath was hot against your ear, and the tension in the air made everything feel suffocating.

“let go of me!” you shouted, struggling to break free. but the more you fought, the stronger his grip became, and your mind raced with panic.

megumi watched in absolute fury as kashimo yanked you toward him, his grip too tight. you were totally helpless.

without thinking, he rushed forward as his feet pounded the pavement. in one swift motion, megumi’s fist collided with kashimo’s face with a sickening crack. the force of the punch sent the man stumbling back, his body jerking violently from the impact. kashimo barely had time to react, his head snapping to the side as he grunted in surprise.

megumi stood there, chest heaving with raw anger, his eyes burning with a fiery rage. “how dare you touch my girlfriend, you fucking lowlife?” he seethed through clenched teeth, his voice low but seething with a dangerous intensity. “oh, megumi fushiguro,” kashimo scoffed, still holding his bruised jaw. “i wasn’t doing anything—just having a little chat with y/n.”

megumi’s glare deepened, his fists still clenched at his sides. his anger wasn’t just for kashimo’s audacity—it was for the way you’d looked moments before. helpless. vulnerable. he’d failed you before, but this time, he wasn’t going to let anything slide. “i don’t care what you were doing,” megumi snarled. “you touch her again, and i’ll make sure you regret it.”

you stood there, shaken, still processing everything that had just happened. megumi’s expression softened just slightly, but his gaze was still intense. without a word, he walked toward you, his movements deliberate, and before you could say anything, he bent down and scooped you up into his arms, lifting you off your feet in one smooth motion.

you gasped, wide-eyed in surprise. “gumi! what are you doing?”

he didn’t answer immediately, his grip on you firm and protective as he cradled you against his chest. he moved without hesitation, heading straight for his car. you could feel the warmth of his body enveloping you, his jacket brushing against your skin as he carried you effortlessly.

“gumi, seriously,” you began, your voice a little shaky. “put me down.”

he didn’t respond, his eyes never leaving the path ahead as he reached his car. he opened the passenger door with one hand and carefully placed you inside. as soon as you were settled, he pulled his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders, the thick fabric enveloping you in warmth. the scent of him—cedarwood, faintly of rain—clung to the fabric, and for a moment, everything felt surreal.

"i— i’m really sorry, baby," megumi’s voice cracked slightly, making you freeze in your spot, every word pulling at your chest. "for everything i said that day. i never meant any of it. i was just… tired and frustrated, and i—i said all that shit. i'm really, really sorry." his eyes finally met yours, and you saw the guilt in them, raw and unguarded. it made your stomach twist. "you have every right to be worried about me. please forgive me, y/n. i’m an idiot… but an idiot who loves you."

his words fell into the space between you two, and for a long moment, everything was still. your heart was pounding in your chest, and yet, your mind felt foggy.

and that feeling, the ache in your chest, it was all too much.

tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. you bit your lip, trying to hold them back, but it was impossible. the way his voice had cracked, the raw vulnerability in his confession, the way he was standing there, waiting for you to forgive him, it shattered everything. every wall you had built up around your heart, every ounce of doubt you’d been holding onto, crumbled in an instant.

you tried to find the right words, but everything seemed to blur together in the rush of emotion. "i-i’m scared, gumi," you whispered, voice breaking. you could feel the tears finally falling, hot against your cheeks. "hicc- i’m scared that one day you won’t love me anymore. that... that all this won’t matter. and i’ll be left alone, with nothing but the pieces of something broken."

his expression softened immediately, and before you could stop it, a sob ripped through your chest. you hated how weak you sounded, but the hurt, the fear, everything that had built up inside you over the past few days, it came crashing down all at once.

megumi’s face morphed into one of pure desperation, and within seconds, he was right there in front of you, cupping your face in his hands, his touch warm and tender, like he was trying to anchor you to him.

“no,” he whispered fiercely, his thumbs brushing away your tears, which were way too precious for him, his voice cracking as he said the words. “no, you’re not alone. you’re not alone, y/n. you never will be. i love you. i love you, so much. i— i’ve been so fucking stupid, but i’m not going anywhere. i swear. i’m so sorry, baby.”

you felt the warmth of his hands, the sincerity in his voice, and it was as if the weight in your chest had suddenly lightened. you didn’t know what to say, but somehow, you didn’t need to. you leaned into his touch, your body trembling as you buried your face against his chest, clutching the front of his shirt like your life depended on it.

megumi’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as if he never wanted to let you go. "i'm so sorry, y/n," he murmured again, his voice thick with emotion. "i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. please... please forgive me."

the tears didn’t stop. they kept coming, but they felt different now. not out of anger or frustration, but because you knew deep down that megumi’s words were real. his love for you was real. and even when he didn’t know how to handle everything, even when he was struggling with his own demons, you knew he would always come back to you. always.

you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, and through the haze of tears, you whispered, “i forgive you, gumi. but you have to promise me something... promise me you’ll talk to me. that we’ll face things together.”

megumi’s eyes softened, his lips trembling slightly as he nodded. “i promise,” he said, voice rough, but sincere. “i’ll do whatever it takes. i swear on everything. i love you, y/n. i won’t screw this up again. i'd die for you, baby. you're my fucking everything.”

you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips, even as your heart still raced in your chest. he had a way of saying things that made you believe in him, even when the world around you felt like it was falling apart.

“i love you too, megumi,” you whispered, the words heavy with meaning.

the air inside the ferrari crackled with tension, and megumi could barely hold himself back any longer. his eyes flickered toward you for a brief moment, before he slammed the door shut and rushed around to the driver’s side. the engine roared to life as his fingers gripped the steering wheel with a mix of frustration and desire.

he didn’t even wait for you to say anything. his foot pressed down on the gas, and the car shot forward with a deafening growl. you squealed, the sudden acceleration pressing you back into your seat as the world outside blurred into streaks of light.

“you’re driving me crazy, princess,” megumi muttered under his breath, but you heard it clearly over the engine’s roar. you turned to look at him, your heart racing, but before you could even react, he flashed you a wicked grin and revved the engine again, sending the car hurtling down the street.

the sound of the engine was a constant growl beneath you, as megumi expertly weaved through the empty lanes, his focus entirely on the road, but you could feel the intensity coming off of him in waves. the speed was exhilarating, the wind in your hair, the thrill of the ride a stark contrast to the weight of the silence between you.

but it didn’t last long. megumi’s gaze flicked over to you again, and this time, there was something more in it. something raw. something dark.

“you like this, don’t you?” he said, voice low. you laughed nervously, your fingers gripping the seat as you felt the car tear through the night, the engine screaming as megumi pushed it faster. yes, he had to be a fucking f1 racer.

“gumi! slow down!” you cried out, though there was a trace of excitement in your voice that didn’t quite match the panic. “you’re insane!”

he glanced over at you again, his lips quirking up at the corners as his eyes glinted with something dangerous. “you have no idea how much you’re driving me crazy, y/n,” he said, his voice smooth but dripping with intensity.

the car sped through the streets, the city lights flickering past in a blur, but it was megumi's presence that was consuming every thought in your mind. every part of you was suddenly hyperaware of him—the way his jaw was clenched, the way his hands gripped the wheel as if he was holding onto the last thread of control. god, he looked soo fucking hot right now. his breath was shallow, his eyes flickering to you every few seconds, each glance more intense than the last.

"where are we going?" you asked breathlessly, feeling both thrill and unease stirring inside you.

he seemed pretty unbothered, his voice casual. "my place," he said, voice low, and the way he said it made something tighten in your chest.

finally, he pulled into the driveway of his house, the engine purring softly as he slammed the car into park, the sudden stop making your heart thud in your chest. before you could even catch your breath, megumi was already out of the car, moving so fast you barely had time to process what was happening. he opened your door and lifted you out in one fluid motion, his hands gripping your waist with an urgency that made your pulse spike.

you gasped, half in shock and half in excitement, as megumi’s lips curled into a smile. “told you you’d be crazy for me,” he murmured, his voice husky and low. you swore you were already wet from just that.

before you could even register what was happening, megumi had opened the door and had pinned you to the wall. his lips found your neck, and as he pressed sloppy kisses down the sensitive skin, you couldn’t help but moan, the sound echoing in the living room. “gumi!” you gasped, your heart pounding as he found that sweet spot beneath your ear, his kisses igniting a fire within you.

with a swift, unexpected motion, megumi lifted you effortlessly into the air, your body feeling weightless in his arms. his hands traveled down to your thighs, sending sparks of electricity coursing through you as he positioned you on the couch with a gentle yet assertive push. the plush cushions welcomed you, but before you could fully register the moment, a gasp escaped your lips.

he knelt down before you, he tugged on the hem of your mini skirt, pulling it down slowly. megumi smirked as he hooked his fingers in your lacy panties. with a swift tug, he ripped them away, baring your glistening folds to his hungry gaze.

"already wet for me, princess?" he asked and you moaned louder as he slipped his fingers into your already wet pussy.

"the voices you're making right now baby, are unholy, and they're doing things to me," he whispered as his fingers continued to work the magic.

"nngh-" you squealed as he pinched your hard nipples through the fabric of your crop top. "use your words, baby," megumi said, while he kissed the inside of your thighs, so dangerously close to your core.

"fuck! a-all for you, gumi," you moaned out desperately.

"good girl," he chuckled as he spread apart your thighs and squeezed them, pressing your knees closer to you.

this was the first time you were doing something so freaky with megumi. you had been intimate before, but he never crossed the line. today, there was this fire burning in him that he couldn't control himself quite like before.

"has anyone seen you bare before?" he practically growled as you shook your head.

"n-no i think this is my first time-" you said as he pinched your sore nipples again.

"you sure baby? no one else? i'm the first?" he asked as he bit your inner thigh as you yelped.

"y-yeah, i swear."

"that's my girl," he said as you could feel the slick arousal dripping again.

his mouth and tongue began to work and in seconds, you were a moaning mess under him.

megumi's tongue slithered between your folds, and your hole squelched out your sweet arousal, puddling down on his couch.

you grabbed at his disheveled hair and relaxed yourself against his mouth again, feeling his groan vibrate against your clit.

he grabbed your thighs harder as he violated your folds with his tongue, his pace faster. "i-i gumi, i c-can't," you cried.

"be my princess and stop complaining will ya?" he growled and slobbered over your folds like a hungry beast. you threw your head back at the sensation of his tongue flattening down your slit to suck at your hole. "fuck, you taste so good, baby," he licked his lips.

you choked as you moaned pathetically, tears escaping your eyes as you tried to squeeze them shut. this was music to his ears, your cute moans making his cock throb and harden as he sucked you filthily.

you shuddered as he swallowed your sweet release and licked his lips. megumi smiled and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. his demeanor very different from what you had seen just now.

"you okay, baby?" he asked as you nodded and he patted your head. "good."

he pulled your skirt up and readjusted your top and put a blanket over your shoulders. "you can clean up baby," he said in such a calm tone that you were doubting if this was the same man who was eating you out a minute ago.

your cheeks were bright red as he chuckled at your flustered state. "go, i'll be waiting for you here," he said as he playfully flicked your forehead with his index finger.

this was your man. the love of your life. you knew it and he knew it too. no matter the fame and recognition he got as he climbed further up the charts aa the best racer, he'd love you unconditionally. he was yours and you were his. it didn’t matter how many people shouted his name from the stands, didn’t matter how many accolades he earned. as long as you were with him, everything else could fade into the background. forever. that was all you ever needed. forever. with him. always.

#jjk megumi #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi smut #megumi x you #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #megumi fushiguro smut #jjk x you #jjk #megumi fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jujustsu kaisen smut #jujutsu megumi

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cmdrfupa · 1 day ago

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Mother knows

1.04k words

I’m trying something out. Working my way into a Gojo piece. Spoilers ahead. Thank you for reading!

The garden had always been a place of quiet reflection, but tonight it felt heavier, weighted by the unspoken tension in the air.

Gojo’s mother sat with the poise of someone used to bearing burdens, her spine straight, her hands clasped delicately in her lap. You sat beside her, mirroring her posture, though your fingers betrayed you, nervously tracing patterns on the hem of your sleeve.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t necessary. This was the first time meeting your husband’s mother in person but there was a mutual understanding in the silence, an unspoken acknowledgment of the storm looming on the horizon.

Finally, she broke the quiet. “I used to come here with him when he was just toddling,” she said, her voice carrying a wistfulness that felt foreign coming from someone as composed as her. “He would sit right there on the grass, picking flowers, and tell me which ones I had to keep alive forever. ‘You can do it, Mom,’ he’d say. ‘You’re a Gojo too.’”

A soft laugh escaped her, but it faded quickly, replaced by a pensive look. “I always wondered if he knew, even then, how much weight the name Gojo carries. How much the world would demand of him.”

You glanced at her, her words striking a chord within you. “He must’ve known, even if he didn’t understand it yet,” you replied, your voice low. “It’s part of him. But that doesn’t mean it’s fair. Not to him, not to you.”

She turned her head slightly to look at you, her gaze sharp yet searching, as if trying to unravel the layers of your own thoughts. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

You hesitated, the question catching you off guard. Finally, you nodded. “Terrified,” you admitted. “Not because I doubt him. I know what he’s capable of. But even Satoru has limits. And this fight... Sukuna... it feels different.”

Her eyes softened at your confession, and she reached over, placing a hand on yours. Her touch was cool but steady, grounding you in the moment. “It’s different because it’s not just about the fight,” she said quietly. “It’s about what happens after. What happens if he wins and loses a piece of himself in the process. Or worse.” Her voice faltered, just for a moment, before she composed herself again. “It’s about the things we can’t control. The things that even Satoru can’t control.”

You tightened your grip on her hand, drawing strength from the shared vulnerability. “You’re right,” you said. “No matter how scared I am, I refuse to let him see it. He’s always carrying so much—he doesn’t need to carry my fear too.”

His Mother looked out at the tranquil ripple of the pond nearby. “When he wrote home and told the high council of the family he’d found someone to marry, I felt an inkling of relief for the first time since he was born.”

She studied you for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smile. It wasn’t a smile of amusement but one of approval, of recognition. “I see it, you know. The way his eyes soften when he looks at you. The way he jokes a little louder, stands a little taller when you’re around or even speaks of you. He may never say it outright, but you’ve given him something no one in this clan ever could—a reason to keep fighting that isn’t just about duty or power. You’ve reminded him what it means to live.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and luminous, like the first stars appearing in the dusk. You can’t help but glance down, feeling the full weight of what she’s saying.

“We never had much a connection. He was sent off for schooling the moment the world said so. Training and duties for a child.” She shook her head ever so gently. “But I knew he was going to do what was best.”

She looked back out to the pond. “He might be strong but you are stronger. You saw what he had to deal with and what he had to become and stuck by his side through it all.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I think I get it from him,” you said, your tone light but your words genuine.

Her smile widened just a fraction, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of pride in her expression—not just for Satoru, but for you. “You had it before you met him. You’re just the first person he felt comfortable being malleable around.”

The moment hung between you, a shared understanding settling into place, when a familiar voice broke the quiet.

“Did I just catch my mom smiling? To someone who isn’t me? This has to be a historic moment.”

Satoru stood at the edge of the garden, his hands in his pockets and his signature cocky grin plastered across his face. The sight of him, so casual and carefree, was both a comfort and a stark reminder of what lay ahead.

His mother’s composure returned in an instant, though her tone held a trace of humor as she responded. “Don’t flatter yourself, Satoru. It’s not that rare.”

“Sure it isn’t,” he quipped, striding over to join you. He dropped onto the bench beside you, leaning back with a languid ease that belied the tension in the air. Leaning in to kiss your cheek then his mother’s. “So, what’s the topic? My amazing childhood? My stunning good looks?”

“Your stunning arrogance,” you shot back, unable to resist the jab.

He smirked, but there was a warmth in his gaze as he looked between you and his mother. “I leave you two alone for five minutes, and suddenly you’re ganging up on me. Guess I should be flattered.”

Despite his teasing, there was a flicker of something deeper in his expression—gratitude, maybe, or relief. He might not say it out loud, but you knew he appreciated this moment, this connection between the two people genuinely cared for him the most. No abilities, no strength. Just his existence.

As the three of you sat together, the weight of the coming battle didn’t disappear, but it felt a little lighter.

For now, that was enough

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x you #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x reader

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seongwars · 3 days ago

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strangers by nature | ii

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 6.4K Warnings: mingi being a mean brat, puppy antics, swearing, hints of infidelity, slight angst

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A hollow laugh escaped Mingi as he sped through the empty streets, the night blurring around him. The bitter sound echoed in the car, mirroring the anger swirling inside him. He could still see the look on your face, that fierce, unyielding defiance in your eyes as you’d confronted him without a trace of hesitation.

"Maybe you should have fought harder against your parents instead of just rolling over every time they threw you a command. Including this marriage.”

You hadn’t raised your voice, hadn’t even looked angry. But the certainty in your words had cut deeper than anything he could remember. You’d said it so effortlessly, without a shred of remorse or regret, like you hadn’t given his ego a second thought.

And it infuriated him.

Mingi was accustomed to people bending to his will, not challenging it. His life had always been cushioned by entitlement; his family’s wealth and influence ensured that. People smiled, nodded, and let him have his way—whether it was his colleagues, teachers, or anyone who understood the weight of the Song name. When he wanted something, he got it; when he didn't want something, someone else made it disappear. Life was simple, easy. Predictable.

He’d assumed you’d be no different. The arrangement your parents had orchestrated was supposed to be convenient, uncomplicated. You’d go along with it quietly, play your part, and leave him to live as he pleased.

But he’d been wrong. Terribly, wrong.

From the moment you entered his life, you were a force to be reckoned with—unyielding and resolute, unafraid to show how little you cared for the life planned for you.

News of your attempted escape had reached him before he even saw you. You’d made it as far as the airport, ticket in hand, your heart set on a life free from the restraints of duty. But then, your parents intervened, having anticipated your plans. They’d sent the authorities to intercept you at the gate, dragging you back home just as freedom was within reach.

You argued, you bargained, and you did everything short of bolting a second time as they walked you into that boardroom on your wedding day. Mingi had been there, watching as you approached, and even in that moment, you’d made it clear through your narrowed gaze and rigid posture that you were entering this marriage under protest.

Though you resisted the marriage and all it represented, you held a deep sense of empathy for him, understanding that he too was bound by this fate. Your efforts to extend an olive branch and build some semblance of a friendship, only served as a reminder of how deeply entangled your lives had become against his will.

And Mingi always made it clear that no matter how much you tried to extend kindness or bridge the distance, he was set on tearing it down.

When your parents organized a small birthday dinner for you, Mingi didn’t even bother to show. He didn’t call, didn’t text—he simply forgot. The sting of his absence felt like a gut punch, even if it was hardly surprising. His indifference when you mentioned it later was almost worse.

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” he shrugged, barely glancing up from his phone, his tone cool, unaffected. The casual dismissal in his voice, the complete lack of apology, was almost worse than his absence itself.

The implication was clear: your birthday, and by extension, you, were not significant enough to be remembered.

It wasn’t until later, when meeting your cousin Jongho for lunch, that the truth hit even harder. Apparently, he’d heard from a friend of a friend that Ahri had posted on social media about her “spontaneous Tokyo getaway” with Mingi, complete with photos of their cozy seats on a private plane and playful captions flaunting their lavish trip.

Then, there was the night San hosted his charity art auction, one of the biggest events of the year. It was the kind of evening meant to bring people together for a good cause, filled with artists and patrons, all of them dedicated to supporting the community.

But Mingi had a different idea in mind. He arrived with Ahri, both of them looking effortlessly stunning and either blissfully unaware or fully conscious of the painful message they conveyed. Your in-laws were mortified, apologizing to you profusely, trying to smooth over the spectacle their son had created.

“When will you grow up and stop making a mockery of our family?” Mr. Song fumed through gritted teeth.

"I thought we had a deal," Mingi replied coldly. "All I had to do was agree to this arrangement, and I could still have Ahri and live my life however I wanted."

Mr. Song’s face tightened with rage, his voice a low growl as he struggled to keep it down.

“What I meant, Mingi, was for you to show some tact! Not to flaunt Ahri around and humiliate your spouse in front of everyone. It’s childish, and it reflects poorly on you. The least you can do is respect Y/N!”

“Respect Y/N?” Mingi scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. “Respecting her would mean pretending it’s something real. But we all know why this is happening—more money and more power for you. None of this has anything to do with me or what I want.”

“You may resent it, but you are benefiting from it all the same. And that means you owe Y/N some basic decency, if nothing else.”

“This arrangement took my choices away. It trapped me in a life I never wanted. And now you’re telling me to be grateful for it? To pretend that this marriage means something to me?”

“When will you stop being selfish and think about others for once? Consider that Y/N never asked for this either.”

As if disregarding you in private wasn’t enough, Mingi took every chance to publicly humiliate you, constantly reminding you of your place—always on the outside, looking in.

The situation reached a boiling point at last year’s Gold Gala when he arrived completely drunk, blatantly reinforcing that your feelings and the event's social grace meant nothing to him.

As he staggered through the hall, his laugh rang out too loudly, drawing stares from guests who exchanged uncomfortable glances. His gestures grew more careless and exaggerated with every passing moment, completely oblivious to the hurt on your face, tainting one of the most important nights of your life.

“No, I’m not much into charity—though I guess marrying Ms. Choi counts.”

“I’m not here to support her, she begged me to be here. Begged me to care. Pathetic, right?”

By the time you arrived home, the tension was suffocating. You could still feel the embarrassment, lingering on you like a second skin you couldn’t escape.

“Don’t kid yourself into thinking this arrangement means anything. You're nobody to me.”

"Of course I know that!” The words flew out before you could stop yourself, raw and jagged. “All I asked was for you to be there because this event meant everything to me. Everything!"

"I thought we could at least be civil, Mingi.”

“Civil?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with disdain. "You’re so desperate to play house, to fool yourself into thinking I’ll somehow feel something for you? By begging for it?"

His gaze was cold, dismissive, as if you were nothing more than a stranger who had intruded into his life, uninvited.

Your jaw dropped at the sheer audacity of his words. Who was this pompous prick, standing here acting as if you’d imposed your existence on him? The last thread holding your patience snapped, and before you knew it, a dry, humorless laugh escaped you.

“Feel something?” you spat, unable to hold back the fury building in your chest.

“Don’t delude yourself into thinking you’re a catch either. Think whatever you want,” you shot back, your voice sharp and unwavering, “but I’m not the one who needs someone else to validate my worth!”

He blinked, momentarily stunned, his expression shifting as he tried to brush off your words with a sneer. But you could tell that something you’d said had struck a nerve.

“You’ve never cared about anything, Mingi. You don’t even know what it means to care about someone or something—because you’ve always had everything handed to you. There’s nothing that’s ever been meaningful to you because you’ve never had to fight for it!”

It infuriated Mingi—the way you exposed all the things he hated most about himself, holding a mirror up to the person he tried so hard to ignore. And that was something he couldn’t allow. He needed to keep you at a distance, to shut you down.

Because if he didn't, he feared you might penetrate his defenses entirely—and he couldn't risk that.

As he sat in the warm, soapy water, Mingi’s tiny paws barely poked out from beneath a cloud of bubbles. He lifted a paw, watching droplets fall into the water, creating soft ripples that lapped against his sides. It was surreal. He had once scoffed at the very idea of being anything less than in control, of ever letting himself be so openly…helpless.

Everything looked bigger, more intimidating from down here and he felt smaller, more than he ever had.

Your gentle laughter pulled him back as you poured a bit more soap into the bath, sending a fresh wave of bubbles his way. You dipped your hand into the water, playfully scooping up the suds and sprinkling them over his head.

He wiggled, instinctively shaking his head as the bubbles landed, but they clung stubbornly to his nose and ears, making him sneeze. The tiny sneeze seemed to amuse you even more, your laughter ringing out, warm and unguarded.

“We’ll find something for you to eat after this. Do you like chicken?” you cooed, your voice warm and sweet as you continued fussing over him. “That reminds me, we need to stop by the pet store.”

Mingi blinked up at you, the sound of your voice oddly comforting, even as it filled him with a peculiar ache he didn’t quite know what to do with. Here you were, utterly unaware that this tiny, scruffy puppy was your own husband, yet you treated him with a care and tenderness he felt he didn't deserve.

“I should probably think of a name for you,” you murmured thoughtfully, rinsing away the last bits of sudsy bubbles.

His little face scrunched up as he shook his head, sending droplets flying. You grabbed the softest towel, bundling him up so that only his nose and eyes peeked out. Placing him on the bathroom counter, you noticed how his tiny body almost disappeared within the towel’s folds, leaving just a pair of adoring eyes staring up at you.

“You’re so tiny, you might get blown away!” you teased, testing the warmth of the hair dryer on your wrist. His expression turned into the cutest scowl imaginable, as if he was about to bark out a protest.

I’m not little! Mingi gritted, scrunching his tiny brows and squirming as if to show you he was tougher than he looked. He let out a bark, to prove you wrong.

“Alright, sorry, I didn’t mean it,” you giggled.

You began to gently dry him, moving the warm air over his fur. His eyelids started to droop, each puff of warm air lulling him into a sleepy daze.

“Pom Pom’s a cute name. What do you think?” you mused with a laugh, scratching him behind his tiny ear. Mingi managed to huff out a small whimper in protest in an attempt to communicate that you certainly were not to call him by that name.

“Fine, fine. How about…Maro? You’re white and fluffy like a marshmallow?” You tilted your head, smiling as you gently tapped the tip of his nose.

Mingi grumbled, feeling his pride melt under the sheer humiliation, but he went along with the name. Despite his desire to resist, he couldn’t deny the comfort of being doted on—even if it meant accepting his temporary fate as your “Maro.”

Mingi stirred awake, feeling an unfamiliar warmth against his tiny body, the soft texture of grass beneath him. Blinking his eyes open, he was met with a new world—everything was…bigger. The trees stretched toward the sky, and the distant hum of city life felt overwhelming. Disoriented, he tried to make sense of his surroundings, his mind struggling to adjust to this small, delicate form.

Everything smelled sharper, richer: the earthy scent of wet grass, a faint whiff of antiseptic, and…something achingly familiar, pulling him forward as if his paws moved on their own accord.

Guided by the scent, he scrambled over roots and pushed through damp bushes, his little body squeezing through the brambles. As he finally emerged on the other side, he froze. Just a few feet away, sitting alone on a bench, was the source of the familiar scent—Y/N?

His wife sat there, hands clasped tightly, her gaze distant and tired, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. But just as he took another small step forward, her eyes lifted and fell upon him. Her expression brightened, and the faintest hint of a smile warmed her face as she crouched down, reaching out to him.

“Puppy!” she gasped with an excitement that Mingi could feel down to his little paws. She beckoned him closer, and he trotted toward her, heart racing, wondering if somehow, even in this form, she could recognize him.

You held him close as you left the hospital, your hand gently supporting his back as he rested against your chest. Once you reached the car, you eased into the driver’s seat and settled him in your lap, feeling his soft fur beneath your fingers as you stroked him reassuringly.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you scrolled through your contacts until you reached your mother-in-law’s number. Taking a steadying breath, you hit the call button, hoping she’d understand your exit.

"Hello? Everything alright, Y/N?"

“I just wanted to let you know I’m heading home,” you replied, keeping your tone light. “There are a few things I need to take care of, but I’ll make sure to call later to check in.”

There was a brief pause on her end before she answered, “Of course, dear. Take your time, I’ll talk to you later.”

As you ended the call, Mingi blinked up at you, feeling strangely vulnerable in your arms. Being held and cherished like this was both comforting and overwhelming, a rare moment of intimacy that left him feeling exposed. The realization that someone could care for him so deeply stirred something inside him—a reminder of just how unfamiliar this feeling was, and how unsettling it felt to let someone in.

“Ready to go home?”

On the drive back, you hummed a quiet tune, the same one you always sang absentmindedly when you thought no one was listening. As he nestled into your lap, he felt himself relax, leaving behind a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in ages.

The bell above the pet store door jingled as you stepped inside, your eyes scanning aisles lined with every kind of pet accessory imaginable.

You wandered the aisles in a daze as Mingi, in his puppy form, bounced excitedly, his tiny tail whipping back and forth with unrestrained enthusiasm. His instincts urged him to sniff and mouth every item you tossed into the cart—toys, treats, leashes, a bed, and a sweater.

For a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of disbelief—shopping for puppy supplies while your husband’s life was hanging by a thread was surreal.

“Your puppy’s really cute.”

You turned to see a man holding onto the leash of a doberman that looked every bit as sharp as its owner. The dog sat obediently by his side, dark eyes focused and alert, muscles taut beneath its sleek coat. The man’s presence was striking, especially with his stoic demeanor that made him appear almost statuesque.

“Thanks!” you nodded, smiling. “He’s really sweet, even if he’s got a bit of an attitude.” Your eyes drifted to the gentle way his hand stroked between the doberman’s ears.

“You look like you know what you’re doing, though.”

The man chuckled. “Thanks, he’s actually my first dog. I adopted him when his previous owner passed away. His name is Hetmon.”

Your expression softened. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” you replied sympathetically, kneeling down to greet him.

“Can I say hi?” you asked, extending your hand for Hetmon to sniff.

The doberman’s wet nose pressed against your palm, and he let out a soft huff before nuzzling his head into your hand. You laughed, scratching him behind his ear, marveling at his calm and steady temperament.

Now, hold on! Mingi’s eyes snapped up as he watched you fawning over this stranger’s dog. His little heart thudded, an unfamiliar surge of irritation bubbling up inside him.

Why are you smiling like that? Why are you speaking to another man? Get away from him!

He let out a little growl, then puffed up his tiny chest and erupted into a string of yappy barks, standing tall on his hind legs in the cart. His little nose scrunched up as he tried to look intimidating, but it was more endearing than anything else. You glanced over, bemused, as he glowered with all the fierceness his tiny form could muster.

“I think your puppy is upset,” the man pointed out with a chuckle.

“Aww, don’t worry, Maro,” you cooed, “you’re still my favorite.”

You scooped him up, planting a kiss right between his ears, which sent his little tail wagging against his will. You set him down gently on the floor, letting him meet Hetmon face-to-face. Mingi’s bravado wavered slightly as he looked up at the towering Doberman, but he squared his tiny shoulders, refusing to back down.

“Is Hetmon good with other dogs?” you asked, watching them carefully.

“Oh, yeah. He’s a total softie,” the man reassured you. “He may look tough, but he loves making new friends.”

As if on cue, Hetmon dipped into a playful bow. Mingi froze, watching the giant dog before him as he lowered his head in an exaggerated invitation to play. For a moment, the puppy tried to keep his air of superiority, giving a tiny huff as if he wasn’t the least bit interested.

But then he gave a low, friendly woof and Mingi’s puppy instincts kicked in. He took a tentative step forward, then another, his own tail starting to sway. Before he knew it, he pounced forward with his little paws outstretched, mimicking Hetmon’s play bow.

“Maro, you made a friend!” you cheered, watching in delight as the puppy bounced around with the older dog. Pulling out your phone, you couldn’t resist capturing the moment, captivated by the unlikely friendship forming before you.

“Looks like opposites attract,” Hetmon’s owner mused as he watched the two dogs circle each other, darting forward and bouncing back and forth.

“I’m Yeosang, by the way,” he added, turning to you with a friendly smile.

“Y/N,” you replied. “Nice to meet you. Do you live around here?”

“Yeah, actually, just a couple of streets over,” Yeosang said with a nod. He looked down at Hetmon, who was now reclining on his back, seemingly unfazed by the puppy climbing on him.

“What about you?”

You smiled, watching the scene with amusement. “Same. Maro’s also my first dog, so I’ve been figuring things out as I go.”

Yeosang’s expression softened, his smile encouraging. “I remember that feeling. It’s a little overwhelming at first, but you get the hang of it. If you ever need any advice or a friendly ear, just reach out. There’s a park nearby that’s dog-friendly. I usually go there in the mornings if you’d like to join sometime.”

“I’d really like that. Thanks.”

Yeosang's easygoing grin faltered as he felt a tug at his shoelace. He looked down to see the tiny pup gnawing determinedly, jaws snapping at the string.

How dare you speak to her so casually! She’s a married woman! Mingi seethed internally, giving the string another sharp tug. Why did it bother him so much to see Yeosang chatting with you? He hadn't cared much about you before, but seeing you smile at another man so naturally baffled him.

What is wrong with me? He let out a low growl—though intended to be intimidating—would have been menacing if he weren’t so tiny. Right now, all he wanted was for Yeosang to take a step back, to stop talking to you like you belonged to anyone else but him—even though he couldn't say why.

“Maro, what are you up to?” you laughed, crouching down to pick him up. You slipped your hands beneath his belly, lifting him gently. But Mingi wasn’t done making his point.

Nestled in your arms, Mingi twisted slightly, nudging your left hand insistently with his head. He pressed his nose right against your ring, his puppy eyes wide with urgency.

See this? She’s taken! He gave a little huff and looked back at Yeosang with the tiniest scowl he could manage.

Yeosang, oblivious to the true intentions behind the pup’s actions, chuckled softly. “Looks like he’s tired. Puppies need lots of sleep, you know.”

“Sounds like someone needs a nap,” you agreed, gently setting the little ball of jealousy back into the cart.

"Oh, before I go," Yeosang continued, reaching into his pocket, "here's my number."

Mingi’s ears perked up, and his tail stopped wagging immediately. If he could talk, he’d be grumbling a thousand complaints. But instead, he glared up at Yeosang, hoping his intense puppy stare would get his message across: Back off.

⋆

The last twenty-four hours had been nothing short of a whirlwind: the accident, waking up in a completely different form, and now trying to adjust to this strange new reality. He was still Mingi, still aware of his responsibilities and tasks, but now he had to figure out how to accomplish them…as a puppy.

He padded around the penthouse, his tiny paws making soft clicks on the polished floor as he aimlessly wandered, bored out of his mind now that you were both back from the pet store. The excitement of the outing had quickly worn off, and now all he could do was sulk in the silence of the house.

His little tail swished back and forth as he circled the living room, kitchen, your piano, and the second floor of the penthouse. Finally, his gaze landed on the door to his room. A mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes, and with a determined wag of his tail, he marched toward it.

You paced around the living room, contemplating how to propose your idea to your mother-in-law: staying overnight once a week with Mingi. The thought of him spending nights alone in the suite, surrounded only by machines, unsettled you. He wasn't exactly your biggest fan—he’d made it clear where his heart truly lay, and it wasn’t with you. Yet, the notion of someone always being there, watching over him, brought you a small measure of comfort amid the uncertainty.

As the worry gnawed at you, you knew you had to act. Taking a deep breath, you picked up the phone and dialed your mother-in-law.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me,” you said, doing your best to sound composed. “I just got back from running errands and wanted to propose something.”

Her voice carried that usual guarded curiosity. “What are you suggesting?”

You respected your mother-in-law’s loyalty to her family, even if her protectiveness sometimes blinded her to Mingi’s faults. She had always been gracious to you, maintaining a sense of decorum that made you feel welcome but not entirely at ease.

“I thought we could work out a schedule to stay overnight with Mingi at the hospital.”

There was a brief pause before she spoke, her voice carefully polite. “You’re very thoughtful, dear,” she began, “but…maybe it’s not necessary to stay all night. The nurses are attentive, and they promised to call us if anything changes.”

You glanced around the penthouse, searching for Maro, who had slipped away at some point. The quiet absence of the dog only added to the heavy silence, making the place feel even emptier.

“I have full confidence in his care team,” you replied, forcing each word into a polite, measured tone.

“But I think Mingi would feel more supported if someone were there with him, at least some of the time. I was thinking I could stay overnight once or twice a week? Just so he doesn’t feel…forgotten.”

Mrs. Song paused just a moment, enough for you to feel that familiar flicker of hope—maybe she’d feel the same worry, feel something for her son that went deeper than surface-level appearances.

But when she spoke, her words rang hollow. “Are you sure?” She hesitated, as if weighing how much emotion to offer before she could close herself off again. “I don’t want you to burn yourself out.”

“I’m sure. And I’ll take care of myself, I promise,” you replied, careful to keep any bitterness out of your voice.

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no one he’d be happier to see than you when he wakes up.”

You let the comment hang in the air, refraining from answering. The truth was far more complicated—it wasn’t about who Mingi wanted to see. It was about reminding him he wasn’t completely abandoned, despite how much he’d tried to push you away.

Murmuring a quick goodbye, you ended the call and let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, feeling a strange relief as the line clicked dead.

Standing in the quiet of the penthouse, you wondered how it was possible to care so deeply and feel so estranged at the same time. You exhaled slowly, taking a moment to let the frustration settle before setting off to find Maro, hoping the small presence of the dog might be the comfort you needed.

Mingi paused in front of the door, cocking his head and giving it a long, assessing look. The handle was far out of reach, far higher than any normal dog could ever hope to reach.

With a huff, he pressed his tiny front paws against the door, trying to push and pull with all his might. When that failed, he gave up entirely on the handle and decided on a new strategy: digging.

He squatted down, wiggling his little rear end before he thrust his paws forward in an exaggerated motion, trying to dig under the door. His tiny claws scrabbled uselessly at the polished floor, making little scratching noises that seemed comically futile against the sleek, smooth surface.

He stopped for a moment, eyes narrowing in concentration, before he gave it another go—this time, with more vigor, his body wriggling in earnest as though the door might just give way if he showed it enough determination.

“Maro? What are you doing?” you asked, catching sight of the fluffball nosing determinedly at Mingi’s bedroom door.

He froze, glancing back at you with wide, innocent eyes, but his resolve didn’t waver. He turned back to the door, his eyes narrowing as if silently pleading with it to just open.

You stifled a laugh at his antics. “Sorry, baby boy, but that room’s off limits.”

Your life with Mingi had been defined by boundaries—drawn lines, quiet distances, and spaces kept respectfully separate. Separate rooms, separate lives, and a marriage in name only. The closed door was a boundary, one you’d both agreed to uphold.

But it’s my room! He insisted with a bark of protest, his frustration evident. He didn’t want the carefully arranged, supposedly comfortable dog bed that sat innocently by the window. He wanted his own room, his own bed, and his own space.

“I don’t think Mingi would appreciate it if I let you in there,” you added wistfully.

Mingi could sense something in your voice—a sadness buried beneath your usual composed demeanor. His ears perked as he tilted his head, studying the way your shoulders slumped just slightly, the way your eyes lingered on the closed door before looking away.

In that moment, he recognized that despite the walls between you, you were still here, trying to make the best of a life shaped by distance.

Letting out a small, resigned huff, he slowly padded over to the dog bed by the window, casting one last longing look at the door. Then, in a dramatic display, he flopped onto his back with a sigh, his little paws stretching up into the air, his fluffy belly exposed, hoping it might coax even the smallest smile from you.

Mingi wasn’t thrilled about giving up his room, but he figured if he could cheer you up—even a little—it was worth it. Because he knew, perhaps more than he wanted to admit, how lonely it must be for you, living in a world of closed doors.

"Thanks so much for meeting us here!" you greeted Yeosang warmly, handing him a cup of hot chocolate. His eyes lit up with a grateful smile as he accepted it, glancing down at Hetmon, who was already bouncing in place with excitement.

“No worries at all! I did say I’d be happy to answer any questions about dogs,” Yeosang replied, his gaze shifting to Maro, who sat at your feet, fixated on what would come next in your conversation.

You knelt down, scratching Maro gently behind his ears as the weight of your question settled in your chest. A tightness formed in your throat, and you hesitated, glancing up at Yeosang.

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something…a little more serious, if that’s okay.”

Yeosang’s face softened, his usual bright energy shifting to a gentle calm as he took in your expression. His caring demeanor radiated warmth, an almost tangible reassurance that everything would be alright.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice soft but encouraging. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

You unhooked Mingi from the leash, giving him a gentle nudge forward. “Go on, Maro,” you encouraged, motioning toward Hetmon, who was practically vibrating, his tail whipping the air behind him like a propeller.

"Hey, do you wanna play chase?" Hetmon asked eagerly, prancing in a tight circle around Mingi.

"We can also play fetch! My dad brought my favorite ball!"

But Mingi sat firmly in place, his tiny body angled away from Hetmon, focused entirely on your conversation with Yeosang. He narrowed his eyes, stubbornly ignoring the playful advances. As far as he was concerned, Yeosang’s angelic demeanor deserved the highest level of suspicion.

“No,” the puppy pouted, his voice stubborn and unmoving.

Undeterred, Hetmon scooted closer, nudging Mingi’s side with his nose. "Come on, just one game! I’ll even let you catch me!" He bounced in front of Mingi, crouching low in an exaggerated play bow, his tail wagging furiously.

Mingi huffed, his small body stiffening as he resisted the pull of Hetmon’s enthusiasm. He cast the doberman a sidelong glare that would’ve been intimidating—if he were anything bigger than a fluffball.

"No, I want to stay here," Mingi grumbled. "Your father is trying to hit on my wife."

Hetmon tilted his head, blinking with wide-eyed innocence. "That can’t be your wife; she’s not a dog. She’s your mom."

Mingi’s tiny temper flared, but he reminded himself he was dealing with someone with the mental equivalent of a toddler.

"Look, I don’t expect you to understand, but she’s my wife. If I tell you what happened, would you leave me alone?"

Hetmon sat back, pausing thoughtfully, his tail still wagging. "Okay, I’ll listen!”

Mingi sighed, rolling his eyes as if explaining was a chore. "Alright, so before I got...uh, transformed," he said, waving a paw at his small, fluffy body with obvious disdain,

"I was married to Y/N. Then I got into a car accident."

Hetmon’s eyes went wide with awe, tail wagging in anticipation. "So… you died and became a dog?"

"No!" Mingi barked, his chest puffed. "I was transformed into one because I did bad things.” The words came out quietly, almost like a confession, and he glanced away, embarrassed.

“I have three months to complete three tasks, or else I’m stuck like this… forever."

Hetmon tilted his head, his big eyes full of innocent curiosity as he tried to wrap his mind around Mingi’s words. He watched Mingi for a moment, then his tail gave a tentative wag.

“What do you have to do? Can I help?” Hetmon asked eagerly.

“My dad says we always have to help friends!”

Friends. The word stung more than Mingi expected, a sudden reminder of how few people he truly trusted or felt close to. Yunho was really his only friend, the one person he could count on without question.

He shifted uncomfortably, his thoughts drifting to the tight circle of people he called acquaintances: the other Choi’s, the son of Park Enterprises… all hand-picked connections meant to strengthen his family’s standing, but none of those relationships had ever felt genuine.

Had he done this on purpose? Had he pushed people away to keep himself safe, to avoid the risk of betrayal or disappointment? Maybe he’d chosen solitude to protect himself from the sting of being left behind—but he hadn’t expected it to feel so empty now, as he sat here realizing that even a dog like Hetmon was willing to reach out with kindness.

“Okay, well...I guess,” Mingi sighed.

You swallowed hard, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you fought to steady yourself. The sunlight hit your wedding ring, casting a soft glow over the diamonds—a gleaming, constant reminder of the life you were bound to. In a way, it felt more like a chain. Taking a deep breath, you chose your words carefully.

“My…husband was in a really bad car wreck the other night. He’s in a coma right now,” you said, the words thick and heavy, as if each one were being forced out.

The reality of it all settled in the air between you and Yeosang, and you could feel his compassion in the way he listened to you. His brow creased with concern as he took in your words, his quiet presence urging you to press on.

“I’ve made arrangements to spend at least one night a week at the hospital,” you continued, forcing yourself to look down at your cup rather than meet his eyes.

“It’s hard to explain, but I guess I don’t want him to be…alone, even if he can’t really tell.”

Your voice trailed off as a feeling of helplessness welled up within you. You wanted to believe that Mingi could somehow sense your presence, that maybe your being there would make even a small difference. But at the same time, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that your visits might mean more to you than they did to him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. That’s a lot to carry. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. But you’re doing your best to be there for him, even when it’s painful.”

You felt a slight relief in his understanding, in the way he didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling the weight of Yeosang’s empathy.

“I also don’t mean to impose but…would you mind letting Maro stay over just one night a week? Until I figure things out?” you asked sheepishly. “He’s still so little, and I don’t want him to feel abandoned while I’m gone.”

“Of course, Y/N, don't feel bad for asking!” Yeosang nodded enthusiastically.

“Maro will be in great hands, I promise. I know Hetmon would love having him over! It’ll be like…boys' night, and I can build a fort for them, we can eat snacks…”

Yeosang’s eyes sparkled with genuine excitement as he spoke, his infectious energy making you smile despite your concerns. He had a knack for making the most mundane plans sound like grand adventures, and his lighthearted spirit was always a comforting presence.

The unexpected kindness caught you off guard, causing your shoulders to relax.

“Really?” you murmured, struggling to believe that someone truly understood and wanted to help in such a straightforward yet meaningful way.

“You're dealing with so much right now. I'm glad to help, even if it's small.” For a moment, you felt a lump rise in your throat, the weight of his words grounding you in a world that often felt chaotic and uncertain.

“You don’t have to face all this on your own,” Yeosang added, his words carrying a depth that felt like a lifeline.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Hetmon barreling across the grassy field, with Maro bounding right behind him as they zig-zagged through the park. The sight of the two playing together made you smile.

“Hetmon, come have some water!” Yeosang called out.

The doberman’s ears perked up, and he shifted course, galloping toward his owner, excited for his water break. Maro, bounded after him, and hopped up onto your lap, nuzzling into your arms.

“Maro, guess what! You’re going to have a sleepover with Hetmon!” you announced, patting him gently. The words slipped out with casual enthusiasm, thinking it’d be fun for him to spend a night with someone who’s growing so fond of him.

What!?

Mingi’s gaze darted from you to Yeosang, then to Hetmon, who was still wagging his tail, blissfully unaware of the turmoil stirring inside him.

Despite his best efforts to stay aloof and independent, he had come to rely on your presence—the warmth, the comfort, and the steady sense of grounding you brought to his strange new world. The thought of being without that, even for just a night, filled him with something he was unwilling to admit to himself: fear.

<< i | iii >>

a/n: ughhh my taglist is ugly, I can't tag more than 5 blogs to a line now, so forgive me for the formatting

taglist: @syubseokie @koyagifs @sunnysidesins @thedistractedwriter @notevenheretbh1

@molberto @litolmochi @intowxnderland @yn-reincarnate @lemonkait00

@corgilover20 @randomgworlypop @taegi1016 @almondtofu006 @ateezaddict24

@desi2go @beabatiny @sangilov-r @roomsofangel @symmieangela

@dumplingsyum @etaerealboy @fairylover68 @foxinnie8

@yoonrixx @jean-swolo @silent-potato @jiwoongsblondehair @sanriomilk

@sanniesbum

#song mingi #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #arranged marriage au #ateez #mingi x you #ateez fic #mingi angst #ateez angst #enemies to lovers #strangers to lovers

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