#I know how they feel when they say “I feel like a woman” or “I feel like a man” or “I feel like a grand piano” (lol) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prael · 3 days ago

Text

Day 8: Perspective

(G)I-DLE Miyeon x male reader smut

words: 6,693 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

It's all a matter of perspective. From the outside looking in, things can appear vastly different than when viewed up close and personal.

Take, for instance: Miyeon.

Now, look, you're not saying the whole image is only perspective. You wouldn't dream of undermining the fact that the girl who looks like a princess in magazines, on TV and wherever else you might see her, does in fact look every bit as much of a princess in person. The long black hair, the perfect smooth skin, the way she smiles as though she has a wonderful secret she can't wait to tell. Everything about her is as regal and poised as you'd expect.

But that's not the whole story. It never is.

There's a depth to this woman. There's a nuance to her that doesn't translate to the photos. Something you feel more than you can describe.

And, boy, you can feel it.

"God, fuck, I'm close," Miyeon whispers, her words hot against your ear. Her voice is a breathy whisper, so different from the clear tones she uses on stage. She's not singing now—there's nothing practised or perfect in the way she breathes, the way she talks to you. It's natural, and that's what makes it perfect.

Those manicured nails, adored in acrylic and fake jewels burrow into the skin on your shoulders, holding you down as she grinds atop you. Her hips move with all the skill that they do when she's performing, but there's an aggression to it that you don't see when the music is playing. This is a different type of performance—a different rhythm.

Looking up at her as she rides, you would never deny the comparisons. She's beautiful in every sense of the word, and it's hard not to get lost in the sight. There's something about the way the dim light catches her skin. It's like a spotlight on her body, illuminating every curve and dip, and all the shadows in between. It's hard to look away, and when she moves, it's like the light dances on her sweat-stained skin.

Years ago, Miyeon was always the 'lay there and take it' type (and she was so very good at taking it), but these days, there is something raw and wild inside of her. Something that you're not sure what to call, or how it started, or even how to feel about it. All you know is that when the two of you are together, there's an energy in the air that's electric. Like a storm brewing, ready to strike.

It's in the way her eyes lock onto yours as she works her hips up and down your cock, her body trembling with every movement. Her breath is ragged, and she's gasping as if she's running out of oxygen. It's in the way her thighs squeeze around your hips, and her nails dig deeper into your skin. She's riding you like it's her only purpose, her only goal, and the world could be ending around her and she wouldn't stop.

"Cum with me, please," Miyeon begs. And it's truly a beg. It's not a demand or even a polite request. It's a desperate plea, and it's all you need to hear.

Your hands find her slender waist, gripping her, pulling her down hard against you. You thrust, slamming your hips up to meet hers. It's a clash of bodies, and you're not sure where you end and she begins. You share this moment, this sensation. It's as if you're one being, one creature of lust and desire, moving in perfect sync.

Her pussy clenches around you, and her moans fill the air, a song that's just for your ears. Her body shakes, and her eyes flutter shut, her head falling back. You can see her pulse pounding beneath the surface and her chest heaves. She's lost in the sensation, and you're right there with her. You spill into her, your cock throbbing inside as she milks every last drop from you. Her nails scratch down your chest, leaving red lines in their wake, but you barely feel the pain.

When she finally collapses, her body limp and spent, you can't help but pull her close. Her head falls onto your chest, and you wrap your arms around her. Her hair is damp with sweat, and she smells of sex and perfume. She's so light on your chest, but somehow, it's the most comforting weight.

"That was—" you begin, but she stops you.

"Perfect," she whispers.

You chuckle. "Yeah."

"And also the last time."

You don't move at first. You're still breathing heavily, and you can feel her heartbeat against your skin. You're sure she can feel yours, too. You're not sure you heard her right, and you can't bring yourself to respond.

"Did you hear me?" Miyeon asks, her tone suddenly serious.

You swallow hard, then say, "This shit again?"

She sits up, and you can feel the weight of her body leaving yours. You miss it instantly, the warmth of her skin against yours, the way she fit against you perfectly. But now, she's looking down at you, and her expression is hard to read. There's a mix of emotions there, and you can't tell which one is winning.

"Miyeon—" you begin, but she cuts you off.

"Don't," she says. "Don't try to make this something it's not."

"So what the fuck is this?"

She sighs, and you can see the sadness in her eyes. "It's convenient. We have history. We know each other well, but I can't do this anymore."

You're not sure how to respond. You've done this dance before, so many times that you've lost count. And yet, every time, it still stings. You wonder if she'll ever tire of this cycle, or if it's just a part of who she is.

"Look," she says, her voice softening. "I care about you. I do. But... I can't keep doing this."

"You say that every time," you reply, your voice a mix of frustration and resignation.

She looks away, and you can see the guilt in her expression. "I know," she says. "But this time, I mean it. I can't keep hurting you like this. It's not fair to you."

It's all a matter of perspective. From the outside looking in, the two of you might look like young adults in love. Sharing intimacy and vulnerability in the rawest sense. But from the inside looking out, you can't help but feel like you're trapped in a cycle you can't break. It's like a never-ending rollercoaster, with highs that leave you breathless and lows that leave you feeling empty.

"You know what?" you say, sitting up and looking her in the eye. "I'm done with this shit. Every time things seem to settle, you blow it up. What is it? Are you scared of being comfortable?"

"It's not about that," she says, her voice defensive. She slips back a little, drawing herself off your limp cock and resting between your legs on the bed, her thigh resting atop yours. "We're touring soon and I have to prepare. I don't want you to think you'll be able to come see me, or that we can continue to do this. It's over."

"Touring, huh?" you scoff. "That's the same excuse you used before. What about when you're back from touring? What then?" You shake your head. "You drop me a text at 2 am and ask me to come over?"

She looks at you, and for a moment, you think she might waver. But then she shakes her head. "No," she says, her voice firm. "This is it. It's over."

It starts in Seoul, you've spent the last few months seeing the posters everywhere. The subway, the billboards, the bus stops, and even the side of buildings. You can't escape them. The images are larger than life, with Miyeon in the centre. She's smiling, her teeth bright white and her eyes sparkling. She's beautiful, as she always is. Around her are the other members of (G)I-DLE, dressed in matching outfits, looking every bit as perfect as she is, and yet, they pale in comparison.

You can't look away from the images. They seem to follow you wherever you go, a constant reminder of what could have been. What could have been, but never will be. It's been a month since you last saw her, and yet you see her every day.

And it's not just the posters. It's the commercials, too. You'll be watching TV, minding your own business, and suddenly, there she is. Selling makeup or shampoo or some other product you have no interest in. But you can't turn away. You're drawn to her, even though you know it's only going to hurt.

You're in the supermarket, trying to get your groceries, when you see the magazine covers. There she is, looking perfect, as always. Her hair is styled, and her makeup is flawless. She's wearing a dress that clings to her curves, and her legs seem to go on forever. It's a far cry from the way she looks when she's with you, but you can't deny that she's still beautiful.

You pick up the magazine, flipping through the pages. There she is, in an interview. She's talking about her upcoming tour and her plans for the future. She's confident and charming, as always. You can't help but read the whole thing, even though you know it's not healthy.

And now, you're in line at the convenience store, picking up some ramen for dinner. You glance up at the TV in the corner, and there she is. Performing. She's on some music show, singing and dancing with the other members of (G)I-DLE. She's in perfect sync with the others, her movements fluid and graceful.

It's not just the public images that haunt you. It's the personal ones, too. The ones you took of her, of the two of you together. You have them all saved on your phone, a constant reminder of what you had. You try not to look at them, but sometimes you can't resist. It's normally what tides you over, between the time when she calls you and in the most innocent of voices, tells you that you should meet.

There are other girls, of course. Your attempts at getting over her by getting under someone else. But the thing is, every girl in Seoul seems to want to be just like Miyeon. You go out on a date with a cute girl, she'll be wearing Miyeon's makeup and her clothes. At a club, a girl will be wearing her perfume. She's everywhere, and you can't escape her. It's maddening.

So you buy one of them a drink. Try to forget about Miyeon for a night. Even when you're between another girl's legs and she's writhing, it's the thought of Miyeon's face that pushes you over the edge. You've even tried to avoid it. You've taken girls that look nothing like her, but it doesn't seem to matter. They're all just a distraction, a way to numb the pain.

And you can't help but feel like you're going to lose your mind.

It's a rainy day when you finally see her. You're walking home from work, huddled under your umbrella, when you spot her across the street. She's walking with her head down, trying to avoid the rain. You stop, and for a moment, you're frozen. You don't know what to do. Should you cross the street and talk to her? Should you pretend you haven't seen her?

Before you can decide, she looks up and sees you. There's a flash of recognition on her face, and then a smile. A real smile. You can't help but smile back.

But she keeps walking.

It's just two days out. The opening show of (G)I-DLE's world tour. You've managed to avoid it. You've had no interest in buying a ticket. It's not the music. You still listen to them, and they put on a great performance. It's more the idea of it. You don't want to be part of the crowd, just one face in a sea of fans.

You're drowning your sorrows over a few drinks at some hole in the wall. It's a familiar place. The mood is all youthful energy. It's a record bar, and it's one you're familiar with. You've lost count of the number of times you've waited here, with Miyeon's apartment around the corner, waiting for the text to tell you it's all clear. It's not why you're here, so maybe it's a strange choice, but the records on the wall, the music pumping through the speakers and the drinks in your belly makes it easier to forget.

A girl comes and sits beside you. She's cute, in a plain sort of way. She's not trying too hard. You've been watching her since she came in. She's with a group, but they've been playing darts, and she's come over to the bar by herself. She sits and orders a drink, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, not saying anything.

You can see her glancing at you out of the corner of your eye. You know she's interested. You know the game. You've played it before.

Maybe you could spend the evening talking to her, maybe even take her home. But the idea doesn't appeal to you. You're not in the mood. Not for her.

So opportunity passes. A man walks up, some business type in a suit. He sits on the other side of her, and the two strike up a conversation. You watch her laugh at his jokes, and he buys her a drink. There's a pang of jealousy, not over this girl in particular, but the fact that he can have this light-hearted fun without the baggage weighing over him.

He doesn't have a Miyeon-shaped hole in his head, but maybe that's just a matter of perspective.

You're not drunk. You're sure of that.

Maybe careless is the right word. You've had a few drinks, but not enough to impair your judgment. You're just a little loose, a little less concerned with the consequences of your actions. So you're pressing the button for the top floor of the apartment building you're in, and you're on your way up.

It's not an entirely conscious decision. It's more of a compulsion. You're not sure what you're going to do when you get there, but you can't help yourself. The elevator doors slide open, and you step out into the hallway.

It's late. The lights are dimmed, and the only sound is the hum of the air conditioning. You walk down the hallway, your footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. You stop in front of the door. Apartment 1801.

You knock. There's no answer. You knock again, and this time, you can hear movement inside.

Miyeon opens the door, and for a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. She's dressed in an oversized white shirt, and her hair is messy, as though she's been asleep.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she asks, her eyes narrowed.

"I don't know," you reply, and it's the truth. You really don't know what you're doing here. You just know that you needed to see her, to be near her. Even if it's just for a moment.

"This is a bad idea," she says, and she starts to close the door. But you reach out and stop her, your hand on the door frame. You're not sure what you're expecting. Maybe for her to yell at you, or tell you to go to hell.

But she doesn't. Instead, she just sighs, and she steps aside, letting you in.

Things are a bit of a mess inside, you can't blame her, she's about to spend months travelling from city to city. Her suitcases are sprawled all over, clothes are laid out on the sofa, and the coffee table is covered in books and papers.

"You can't keep doing this," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've got my tour starting, and we can't keep doing this. I'm leaving the country soon, so I can't keep... seeing you. You need to find someone else."

"I know," you reply, and you do. You know you can't keep doing this. You know you need to move on, to find someone else. But it's hard.

You step closer to her, and she doesn't move away. Your hands find her waist, and you pull her closer to you. She doesn't resist, and for a moment, the two of you are just standing there, breathing in each other's scent. And you can't help but think of all the times you've been in this exact position, with your hands on her waist and her body pressed against yours. You think of all the times you've kissed her, touched her, fucked her. All the times you've shared.

"I just came to say goodbye," you whisper, and you mean it. You don't expect anything from her. You're not even sure why you're here. You just know that you need to see her one last time before you say goodbye for good.

She looks up at you, and there's something in her eyes that you can't quite read. It's not anger or sadness. It's more like resignation.

"Goodbye, then," she says, and she kisses you.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative. But it quickly grows more intense. Your hands slide down to cup her ass, and you lift her. She wraps her legs around your waist, and the two of you stumble backwards until you hit the wall. Her hands are in your hair, pulling at the strands as she kisses you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

Beneath the shirt is only a pair of panties, tight against her ass. You run your hands over them, squeezing and groping, and she moans into your mouth. Her hips grind against yours, and you can feel her heat through the fabric of her panties. You want her, and you know she wants you, too.

"Fuck me one last time," she whispers in your ear, and you don't need to be told twice. Miyeon wraps her thighs high on your waist, making you crane your neck back a little to keep kissing her, but it means you can unbuckle your trousers and push them down. Your hands are back on her ass, pulling her panties to the side, and your fingers run through her lower lips. She's wet. She's already ready for you. She always has been, from the first time to this one.

She's so light that it makes it easy to step forward and turn, now it's her turn to be pinned against the wall. Holding Miyeon by that tight little ass, you lower her onto your cock and she fits so easily that she slides down the entire length. Her head is thrown back, and her mouth hangs open in pleasure.

There's a gasp, of both surprise and pleasure as you fill her. You can feel her walls stretching around you, accommodating your size. You give her a moment to get used to the feeling, and then you start to move. You pull out almost all the way, before sliding back in, and her moans fill the air. Her body is pressed tightly against yours, and you can feel her heartbeat racing.

Her shoulders are pressed square against the wall, it's enough to support her. Her legs are tight around your waist. Every time you pull back, you draw her hips away from the wall, only to drive her back against it with every thrust. She bounces between the hard surface and your cock. It's so forceful that you're worried you might break something, and that only drives you to fuck her harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin is loud in the apartment, and you're sure the neighbours can hear, but you don't care.

You're nailing Miyeon to the wall with the sort of rough recklessness that only comes at the end of a relationship. You have no more fucks left to give about the consequences, and you're making the most of your last hurrah.

Miyeon's moaning loudly, her voice rising in pitch with every thrust. You're hitting all the right spots, and you can tell she's close. You angle your hips in the way you know she likes, and she cries out, her body shaking as she comes undone around you. You keep going, fucking her through her orgasm, and it's not long before you're close to the edge too.

Miyeon's moans are in your ear, they're so familiar. The way her body moves with yours. It's a sensation that's been burned into your memory, and you can't imagine ever forgetting it. You feel her nails scratching at your shirt. It's not enough to break skin, but you'll feel it tomorrow, a dull ache in your back.

"Give me a night to remember," she whispers, her voice breathy and desperate. "Fuck me so hard that I can't forget."

You're stumbling towards the kitchen table now, and she's clinging to you as if her life depended on it. You set her down, planting her cute ass on the glass surface. You set her back with a gentle hand on her chest, lying her flat against the surface, her hair splayed out behind her. She's looking up at you with that regal stare, the one she gives in the magazines, but it's not the perfect image you've seen on the posters. No, Miyeon's flush, and she's all the better for it.

In the most loving way you can, you tell her, "I hate you."

"I hate you, too."

Your hands are on her thighs, pushing them apart, and she's so wet that you can see it glistening on her skin. You slide into her easily, and she cries out as you bottom out inside her. You start to move, but it's uncharacteristically slow. "Take off your shirt," you tell her.

Her hands are too shaky for the small buttons but she's trying her best, starting from the bottom and working up. Even with your controlled thrusts, Miyeon is distracted and her hands slip more than once. You don't help, you just keep your grip on her thighs and watch the show.

A few buttons later the shirt is falling open at her stomach. Slender and toned, but still soft. The years of performing have given her a body worth worshipping. Every little defined line is an accomplishment of its own, and you've been there to appreciate them. You plant a hand on her abs and push her down against the table. Her hands are still struggling with the buttons.

"Come on," you say. "You're taking forever."

"Fuck you," she gasps.

You can't help but chuckle, and then you pick up the pace, fucking her a little faster, a little harder. Her hands are shaking even more now, and you're not making it any easier for her. She struggles another one open, then another, and then her shirt is open, exposing her bare chest to you.

You're not in a hurry now. You're taking your time, enjoying the sight of her naked body. Her breasts are perfect teardrops, with small, pink nipples that are hard and begging to be touched. You take one in your hand, rolling it between your fingers, and she arches her back, pressing her chest into your touch. You pinch her nipple lightly, and she cries out, her hips bucking against yours.

You're still fucking her, still driving into her with long, deep strokes, and you can feel her body start to tense up as she gets closer and closer to her release. You want to make this last, but the thing about Miyeon is that she's just so easy to make cum.

She throws her hands above her head, showing herself in all her carnal glory, and her back arches off the table. Her mouth is open in a silent scream, and her eyes are screwed shut. It's beautiful, and it's also the reason you know you're not over her. Maybe you never will be. It's not just the physical attraction, it's something more, and you're not sure what it is, but it's there.

You take hold of her ankles, pulling her legs up so the underside of her thighs rests against your stomach, and her calves lie on your shoulders. Miyeon's ankles cross behind your neck, holding on tight while you keep fucking her.

Now every thrust is punctuated by a slap against her thighs, the sound is almost as beautiful as her moans.

It doesn't matter whether she loves you, or even cares about you, and you've long learned not to ask questions that you won't like the answer to. When you both need each other the most, you find a way back together. So maybe that's love. In a strange, fucked up sort of way.

There are tears in her eyes now, and you know that they're not from pain. There's a tremble in her body, and you can tell she's about to lose it. You want to take her through it, so you take a second to adjust the angle you're fucking her at, hitting that spot that drives her crazy. It's a simple change, a different hip placement, and suddenly, you're slamming against that spot, over and over, making sure every movement is perfect.

"Don't stop, I'm-" she tries, but her words trail off into incoherence. Her body spasms and her pussy clenches around you like a vice. She lets out a strangled moan, her limbs locked in place as she shakes and shudders, lost in pleasure.

You can only admire the spectacle of it all, she is a performer after all. Her body is a work of art, every curve, every line, designed just for your eyes. This is a sight you've had many times before, and each time it feels like the first, even when it's the last.

You can't allow it to end, it's a determined thought that you repeat over and over as you hold back your orgasm, instead opting to pick Miyeon up. You carry her just a few steps until you fall back onto the sofa. The show must go on.

Her legs spread wide around your hips. You let her sit back on your lap and slowly ride you, her hips moving lazily as she catches her breath. It's not fast enough to get either of you off, but it's enough to keep the fire burning. You're leaning back, just admiring the sight of her. She looks down at you with hooded eyes, biting her lip, lost in her pleasure. Your hands explore her body, roaming over her smooth skin, feeling her muscles flex as she moves. She leans back a little further, placing a hand against your knee to steady herself. That new angle hits a sweet spot inside her, and her eyes flutter shut, her lips parting slightly.

"You really want this to be the last time you ride me?" you ask. It's not much of an argument, but you don't want this to be over.

Her movements are languid, she rolls her hips sensually, the tempo steady as she grinds against you. "It's... for the best."

She sounds unconvincing, even to herself, and her voice trails off as she loses herself to the pleasure. She leans forward again, bracing herself with her hands on your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin. She picks up the pace, her hips rocking back and forth, riding you with purpose.

"That's it," you breathe, meeting her movements with your own, pushing deeper inside her. "Don't act like you aren't gonna miss this."

Her fingers dig into your shoulders even harder, and she rides you with renewed vigour, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth hanging open. You can tell she's getting close, her body trembling with the effort, her thighs quivering around you. Her perky little tits bounce their most seductive dance, drawing your hand towards one. You cup it so perfectly in your palm and Miyeon lets out the softest of whines.

"Miss it," Miyeon pants. "But we... we can't."

You take that as the cue, you grab her waist and thrust up into her tight, warm cunt. She cries out, and you do it again, and again, and again. You slam into her, your hips lifting off the sofa, fucking her hard and fast. She's panting now, her head thrown back, her hair a tangled mess. She's bouncing on your cock, her breasts shaking with every thrust. Her thighs clench around you, and she starts to cum, her walls convulsing around you. You keep fucking her, prolonging her pleasure, milking every last bit of bliss from her.

When she finally collapses on top of you, her body spent and exhausted, you roll her over and lay her out on the sofa. She's limp, barely able to move. Her eyes are unfocused, staring up at you with a dazed expression. She looks completely and utterly satisfied. It's almost a shame that she has a flight in a few hours.

With what little energy remains, she hooks one leg over the back of the sofa, presenting herself to you. You spread her legs wider and lower your head between them.

"It's not like anyone else can make you cum like I can," you say, running your tongue along her slit. She's hot and swollen from all the fucking, but she's dripping wet, and you lap up her juices eagerly.

"That's not the point," Miyeon groans right before she clasps her thighs around your head.

If the only way you could ever make your points was between Miyeon's legs, well that would be alright by you. But for now, you settle for latching onto her clit and sucking firmly, while she writhes beneath you, her back arching off the sofa. Miyeon tastes how only Miyeon can, and you lick, suck and slurp up every drop you can get.

You keep your hands busy, roaming her perfect skin, groping her ass, her thighs, and finally, when she's so close to the edge, slipping two fingers into her tight hole. The sensation is overwhelming. You can feel her walls tighten around your digits, squeezing them hard as you finger-fuck her. You twist and curl your fingers, finding that spot that drives her crazy, and her hips buck up to meet your hand, grinding against you.

The sensation is mind-numbing, but you refuse to yield. You keep licking and sucking, your fingers pounding in and out of her. She's a whimpering mess, her hands gripping the armrest of the sofa, her knuckles white. Her eyes are screwed shut, and she's biting her lip so hard you think she might draw blood. You can feel her walls clamp down around you, and you know she's close. You press on, doubling your efforts, determined to make her cum so hard that she forgets her name. You want to ruin her.

"Please don't stop," she begs. "Just keep doing that and I'm gonna-"

As if you'd stop now. You redouble your efforts, fucking her with your fingers, curling them just right, pressing against that spot that makes her toes curl. You feel a rush of wetness as she cums, her thighs clamping around your head, trapping you there. You don't stop, you keep finger-fucking her, extending her orgasm. Her body twitches and spasms, and you keep licking and sucking, drinking down every last drop of her pleasure.

When it's finally over, you look up to see Miyeon sprawled out on the sofa. "We can't keep doing this." Her chest heaving, and she's covered in sweat. She looks completely fucked out, and you love it. It's a moment to commit to memory whenever you happen across her image, so easily found these days. You want her to remember this too.

"One last one," you say, and she shakes her head, but you already know she'll give in. She always does. Because she needs this as much as you do. One more chance to enjoy each other. She doesn't resist when you guide her into position, flipping her over so she's on all fours, presenting her perfect ass to you. Miyeon reaches back, spreading her cheeks and inviting you in, while looking back at you from over her shoulder.

Miyeon doesn't moan, she squeals in delight when you sink inside of her. If it had felt good earlier, it's nothing compared to now. She's so slick and loose from previous orgasms that you slip into her with ease, filling her up completely. Your hands grip her hips, pulling her back onto you with every thrust, and she meets you eagerly, pushing back against you.

"Do you really think you're ready to give this up?" you ask, as you pound into her, your balls slapping against her clit with each thrust. "To never feel my cock inside you again?"

"Done it before," Miyeon responds through gritted teeth. She doesn't sound certain. You wrap a hand around her neck and pull her upright, holding her flush against you. With your other arm around her waist, you pin her against your chest while she desperately rolls her hips in search of stimulation.

"Yet you came right back, didn't you?" you whisper in her ear, before letting her go. Miyeon falls forward, catching herself on her forearms. Her hands grip the armrest and you plant a firm spank on her ass. "Always do."

Miyeon stops craning her neck to look back at you, faces forward and then says probably the last thing you would expect, "I have a boyfriend."

Your motions are seized, bringing the whole encounter to a sudden, crashing halt. You don't know what to say, so you just stay there, inside her.

"You weren't supposed to come here tonight," Miyeon mutters. "We weren't supposed to do this ever again."

"So... why did you?"

"Because I'm stupid. And I can't get enough of you. It's hard to say no when you show up with that look in your eyes."

She keeps talking, but you can't hear her. Your mind is racing. Jealousy stirs in the pit of your stomach, and the urge to claim what's yours takes over.

Your hands grip Miyeon's hips, pulling her back onto you roughly. She yelps, her body jolting as you slide deeper inside her. "Then tell me to stop and I will."

There's hesitation in her response. For just a brief moment, she hesitates, like she's actually considering it.

"Don't stop."

It's all you need. Your grip tightens, fingers digging into her flesh as you pull her back onto you again and again. Your hips snap forward with each thrust, burying yourself inside her completely.

You take hold of her hair, wrapping it around your fist, pulling her head back, exposing the elegant column of her neck, making her back arch. It's beautiful, like something straight out of a painting. She whimpers, a little mewl that's equal parts pain and pleasure, and the noise only spurs you on, driving you to fuck her harder, faster, your pace relentless.

"Don't stop!" she pleads, her voice ragged, desperate.

The room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the lewd squelch of your cock plunging into her wet cunt, and the creaking of the couch beneath you, all punctuated by her moans and cries, rising in pitch, her voice breaking. Each thrust seems to draw another sound from her, a symphony of ecstasy.

Her nails drag across the leather surface of the couch, as you drive into her petite frame with unrestrained abandon. You fuck her like a toy, like a tool built to extract pleasure from your cock, and she takes it because it's what she needs. What you both need. And maybe that's the root of your problem. The way you feed off each other. The way you're drawn together like magnets, no matter how hard you try to resist.

You reach under Miyeon with one hand, rubbing furious circles around her engorged clit, while the other wraps loosely around her throat. You apply pressure, not enough to cut off her air completely, just enough to make her aware of your power over her. The way she surrenders herself to you, trusting you to take her to heights of pleasure she's never experienced with anyone else, it's intoxicating.

And Miyeon knows it, the little tease. She uses it to her advantage. She uses you to fulfil her deepest desires, knowing full well that you'll oblige.

You should hate her for it. A rational person would.

You feel Miyeon tense up beneath you, her body stiffening as you relentlessly rub her clit, and you can feel her orgasm approaching, building deep within her core. She gasps, her breaths coming in shallow pants, her fingers scrabbling for purchase against the sofa. She pushes back against you, meeting your thrusts with equal fervour, her body desperate for release.

And you give it to her. Hard. Without relent. Your hand presses firmer against her clit, your other wrapped loosely around her neck, her delicate skin hot and sweaty against your palm, pulsing in time with her beating heart.

"Look at me," you grunt. Miyeon turns her head and it's all in those big beautiful brown eyes. Eyes you've gazed into so often. Eyes you've missed seeing these last few weeks. She's so close that you could lean forward and kiss her, but you resist, choosing to prolong her agony just a little longer. "Cum for me."

Miyeon obeys, surrendering herself completely. Her eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering shut as she crashes over the edge, her orgasm washing over her like a tidal wave. You don't let up, you keep pumping, driving her through it, keeping her flying high. Your fingers rub faster, harder against her sensitive nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. Her body shudders and shakes, her walls clamping down around you, milking you in waves. It's an incredible sensation, the way she squeezes you, and pulls you deeper into her depths, urging you to join her in ecstasy.

She's spilling down onto the sofa. Miyeon is rarely this messy, but it only happens when you really put her through the wringer, when she's so overwhelmed by pleasure that her body loses all control, giving itself over entirely to the blissful release.

She might be someone else's girlfriend now, but you're still going to fill her.

That thought pushes you past the breaking point. With a primal roar, you bury yourself inside her, bottoming out inside her depths, and you spill your seed deep within her core, coating her walls with your warmth, claiming her for yourself.

Miyeon falls limply to the cushions. She lies there, breathless, her chest heaving, her hair dishevelled. The sounds of her pleasure fade, replaced by the sounds of heavy breathing. Your chest rises and falls in rhythm with hers. You slump over her, supporting yourself on weak forearms so that you hover inches above her.

Her limp little body slips off you and onto the couch. Miyeon just lies there, panting, her chest heaving, her eyes closed. She's coated in sweat and her hair is plastered to her forehead. Her clothes are scattered all over the floor, and she lies in a pool of her own mess.

"You should leave," she whispers. You want to stay and argue the case, but you know that the ship has sailed. So you nod.

Miyeon doesn't watch you leave, she remains curled up on the sofa, with a mixture of your juices seeping out of her pussy and leaving a mess on the leather cushions. She waits until she hears the door click shut behind you to even move.

Once more for old time's sake. Once more for closure. It was fun while it lasted, but now it's over.

Though, you would argue, it’s all just a matter of perspective.

#Miyeon smut #(G)i-dle smut #male reader #kpop smut #m reader #Miyeon x reader #gidle smut #praelmas #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

604 notes · View notes

cheyisagirlkisser · 1 day ago

Text

Flowers (Headcannons)

Sevika x fem! reader

Warnings / content: 18+ content, brothel worker reader, brief mentions of casual sex with other brothel workers, soft sex, tribbing, Sevika’s daddy issues, afab reader.

A/N: This is short. I may do more with this trope but it depends on if you guys like this post, idk how I feel about it yet so…

୨ৎ Sevika who is one of the only clients of yours who gives aftercare. You’re not to used it, most of the guys you sleep with for money only pay you through Babbette and leave. Sevika holds you in her big arms, rubbing your back silently. It's not a comfortable silence, but rather a vulnerable one in which she is afraid to say she feels more.

୨ৎ Sevika who previously fucked brothel girls in the most detached ways possible, simply bending them over and leaving afterwards. She knew it was wrong, but sex was just a way to blow steam for her.

୨ৎ Sevika who fucks you like you're her wife, though. Smothering kisses all over your shoulder as she moves her hips, she is truly more intimate than any other client is. You're too used to men coming for a blow and leaving, but that isn't the case with Sevika.

୨ৎ Sevika who believes "love at first sight" is the stupidest shit she has ever heard of, but... you're beautiful, and you remind her of flowers. Flowers don't usually grow in the undercity, so she simply felt the need to gently pick your petals one by one and water your roots when she finished. You never question why this rather brash-looking woman is so soft for you, but if you did, she would simply tell you she likes "slow sex." If only you knew.

୨ৎ Sevika who stopped seeing her other girls a week after you. You filled her mind with visions of rose metals and soft waterlilies, and it didn't help that your perfume smells like a damn flower shop. She finds herself thinking about you only now, to the point that she doesn't care about blowing off steam. You and your sweet hums when she squeezes your waist, your skin so malleable under her touch.

୨ৎ Sevika who thinks about more than just the sex. Since you’re a brothel worker, she unfortunately doesn’t get much time with you besides that. Still, she thinks about the moments when it’s just quiet between the two of you. The moments leading up to it are stuck in her head like a loop, and she can’t help but think about the one time she got bold enough to hold your hand after sex. Much like a flower, you gave her a soft, warm smile. You squeezed her hand, and it made her heart burst.

୨ৎ Sevika who wonders why a sweet girl like you works at a brothel. Not that she would ever judge people for that, since she knows from her own experience how hard surviving is. You probably just need to pay your bills, put food in your mouth. She knows that. Still, she doesn’t like thinking about how tiring the job must be. Most women she knows who do the job don’t seem very happy on shifts, and yet you smile and laugh with her. Could it be that you feel what she feels?

୨ৎ Sevika who eventually stops coming to the brothel to sleep with you, rather finding herself stalling the sex unless you both wanna have sex, and at some point she pays just for sessions of talking to you. She likes getting to know you. She gets excited when you tell her how much you love cooking, and you inform her of your favorite flower. It’s one you have only seen once, but you hope to see it again someday.

୨ৎ Sevika who accidentally tells you she loves you during sex one day. You’re underneath her as she grinds her pussy against yours, and there aren’t any exaggerated moans like you fake with other customers—just soft, delicate gasps. You seem so caught up in your pleasure, like you’ve forgotten this is a job and not..something else that you haven’t acknowledged yet. Sevika is mesmerized by your facial expression, too. Your eyes like to find hers and make that connection, and you’ve leaned in for soft, intimate kisses multiple times just this round. Naturally, the words slip.

“I love you.”

୨ৎ Sevika who shouldn’t be surprised when you say it back, but is. She doesn’t have the best self-esteem. For the better part of her life, she dealt with her old man putting her down for everything he could. She got comments on her appearance: her nose, her lack of femininity. All of the things that you adore, thought she struggles to understand how. Still, she won’t refuse your love. She wants you to be hers.

୨ৎ Sevika who works her ass off for a single flower. Piltover goods are not cheap, and she was charged extra just because the vendor simply could. But the one flower she could afford is just as beautiful as you described it to her. And of course, it reminds her of you.

୨ৎ Sevika who asks you to actually be her girlfriend with the flower. It’s not much, and yet you tear up when it happens. She is given the softest hug in return, and all of the soreness in her back from working extra for the flower was suddenly gone. It was all worth it.

#sevika x fem!reader #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #arcane headcanon #lesbian #wlw ns/fw #by ioveartfilm #dividers by muruffin

334 notes · View notes

iwashie · 2 days ago

Text

Sevika Headcanons

She almost never touches you with her mechanical arm, she always holds you with her human arm or takes off the prosthesis. When you tow walk down the street, she leaves her mechanical arm on the opposite side of your body.

Doesn't care about age, height or weight

She loves you all, all your body, but she has a weak spot for your ass. It's the way it jingles when she slaps it or the way it sways when you walk...

She's a dom top, but when the day was rough, she maybe will let you take control, always holding and guiding your head

Calls you "girl, doll, my girl," or "woman" and loves when you call her "vika, baby," will go crazy when you tease her and calls her "mommy"

Trusts you and lets you wander around the bar and go out with friends, but always keep an eye in case some stupid man tries something

"Wear whatever you want, doll. I know how to fight"

Always has you sitting on her lap during night games at the bar, her human arm caressing your thighs, and loves seeing you dancing

Always kisses you holding your neck and waist, devouring your moans and leaving your breathless

Always go down on you, and she eats you out like she's been starving all day, shoving her face in your pussy and gulping your juice, always makes you cum a first time on her tongue or fingers

SHE ALWAYS KISSES YOU AFTER EATING YOU OUT

Likes cowgirl, reverse cowgirl or doggy, and always chokes you during it, points if you cry in pleasure

Is the bigger spoon, and also likes to crush on top of you.

She lets you tangle your limbs on hers when sleeping and always has she human hand around or waist or holding some parts of your body

Likes when you visit her on the office and let's you sleep on the couch

She, somehow, is always attracted to energetic people, so she'll always let a sigh out but will smile seeing you all energetic

She secretly likes to see you, Jinx and Isha acting like a family, the golden retriever trio tiring she out

She feels so warm and happy seeing you taking care of Isha and Jinx, imagining forming a family with you

Didn't correct Jinx when she said that you four were a family, duh

She learned how to handle her mechanical arm and other stuff but loves when you help her or ask how to do something to help her

Her mechanical arm always hurts her, so she loves it when you give a massage that turns out in a make-out session on her lap

You don't need to know how to fight, she'll do it for you, but loves to see you defending yourself

Always make sure you're okay, have enough sleep or food, but always forget about herself so fucking loves when you bring her food o let's her take a nap cuddling you

Don't tell you about her day, not to worry you, so always ask about your day. Always glares at Jinx when she tells the truth

Always responds to your requests, so Jix and Isha are always having breakfast and dinner with you two

Jinx cut her hair and kinda messed up, but you assured her that she's fine, hot as hell, the piercing idea was yours...

When she has leave firts she always kisses you goodbye and always gives in when you say "more 5 minutes, baby..."

She's definitely proposing to you, but is regretting asking Jinx for help...

@iwashie 2025 please do not translate, modify or republish my works

#iwashie work #iwashie writes #iwashie headcanons #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika x reader #sevika #arcane x reader

345 notes · View notes

joemama-2 · 1 day ago

Text

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.2k DON'T FORGET TO READ PREVIOUS CHAPTER tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter< next chapter

“You’re not serious.”

“Himari, please let’s not fight. I said I’d spend the 26th with you.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

She huffs, watching her boyfriend get his shower ready to go out and spend the day with another woman. Bitterness swirls in her stomach, anger threatening to be released if she wasn’t digging her nails into her palms. “You’re spending Christmas with some random bitch and a snot-nosed kid. How do you think that makes me fe—”

“Be quiet.” Satoru says, turning around to face her with a firm frown set in place. “I’ll tolerate you insulting me but don’t disrespect them, especially Koji.”

Himari freezes, her words catching in her throat as she registers the sharpness in Satoru’s voice. His usual laidback tone is gone, replaced with a seriousness that sends a chill down her spine. Her eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her expression. “Disrespect them?” she repeats, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re choosing them over me, Satoru. On Christmas. What am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to understand,” he replies, his tone softening but remaining firm. “Koji is my son. I’ve already missed enough of his life—I’m not going to miss any more.”

“And what about me? What about us?” Himari snaps, stepping closer to him. “We’ve been together for almost two years, and I’ve only just now found out about all this shit. How do you think that makes me feel? Like an afterthought? Like you don’t trust me?”

Satoru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knows she has a point, but he also knows this argument isn’t going anywhere productive. “Himari, this isn’t about trust. It’s about priorities. Koji needs me, and I’m not going to let him down. Not ever. I just need you to understand that, that’s all.”

“And what about my needs?” she presses, her voice breaking slightly. “Am I just supposed to sit here and wait for you to decide when I’m important enough to make time for?”

“You’re important to me,” Satoru says, his gaze meeting hers. “But Koji will always come first. That’s not going to change, Himari. If you can’t accept that…” He trails off, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

Himari’s jaw tightens, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You waltz into my life with all your charm and promises, and now you’re telling me I have to share you with some other family? What kind of relationship is this supposed to be? I did not sign up to be a fucking step-mother.”

Satoru steps closer, his expression softening slightly. “It’s the kind where I’m trying to do right by my son while still being with you. But I can’t do this if you’re going to make me choose.”

She stares at him, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “Maybe you already have,” she whispers before turning on her heel and storming out of the bathroom.

Satoru watches her leave, a heaviness settling in his chest. He doesn’t chase after her, instead turning back to the shower and letting the water run. For a moment, he just stands there, the steam fogging the mirror and blurring his reflection.

He’s made his choice, and he doesn’t regret it. But he knows the fallout isn’t over yet. He sighs as he steps in, closing the glass door. She’ll come around in a few hours when she’s all settled down, that’s how it always is—so he won’t dwell over it. Besides, he has more pressing matters to take into account.

Hearing the shower run in the bathroom, Himari has stomped over to the bedroom. Hands fishing the sheets in order to feel for his phone. After some seconds, she finds it. Already knowing the password, she angrily unlocks it and begins swiping and surfing through every app of his. “If you’re cheating on me, Satoru. I swear to god.” She mutters to herself, scowling down at the screen.

She doesn’t see anything, but she does click on his message with you. It all consists of just talks of the kid.

Himari scrolls through the thread of messages, her scowl deepening as she reads. The exchanges are polite, straightforward, and almost entirely about your son—pickup times, school updates, doctor appointments. Nothing incriminating, nothing emotional. Just... parental coordination.

But it still stings.

Her grip tightens on the phone as her eyes skim over a message from a few days ago, the last message between you two:

Y/N:

Thank you for picking him up and the food.

Satoru:

Of course, he’s my son. Just let me know if you need anything else.

Himari scoffs, tossing the phone onto the bed with a frustrated huff. “Let me know if you need anything else.” she repeats mockingly under her breath. "He’s bending over backward for her, and I’m just supposed to sit here like nothing’s wrong? Yeah fucking right.”

She paces the room, her mind racing. No matter how innocent the texts look, she can’t shake the feeling of being replaced. It doesn’t matter that Satoru insists he’s doing this for his son—his attention is divided, and she’s no longer at the center of his world. Her pacing comes to a halt as she glances back at the phone. A new idea begins to form, one she knows is petty but feels justified in her growing anger.

"If he won’t make me a priority," she mutters, picking up the phone again, "then I’ll remind him of what he stands to lose."

She opens the camera app and snaps a picture of herself, deliberately angling it to show her figure in the soft light of the bedroom. Attaching it to a blank text, she hovers over the send button. But something stops her. A hesitation, a flicker of doubt. She’s never had to fight for Satoru’s attention before—he’s always made her feel like she was the only one that mattered.

Until now.

With a frustrated growl, she deletes the photo and tosses the phone back onto the bed. Crossing her arms, she glares at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower still running behind it.

"If you want to play the perfect dad, fine," she mutters. "But don’t expect me to sit around and wait while you pretend I don’t exist."

Sitting down onto the bed, another form of thought pops in her head. Yanking the phone back into her hands, she presses his photo album. There must be something in here. And so, she scours and scours, zooming in on every picture in fear you’ll be in the background. However, she doesn’t find anything. Only pictures of that little brat who looks like his mirrored version. “Because of you…” she grits, hand tightening around the phone.

Continuing to scroll higher, she can tell she’s reaching earlier years. Still, the insecurity and fear plaguing her chest causes her to not stop—not until she gets to the very first photo in his album. Then she’ll for sure know he’s still hers. She’s in the year 2015, before she met Satoru. He looks younger, more boyish. She pushes down the endearing feelings she holds towards his younger self and scrolls up.

Until, she comes across a video.

The start of it has your face in it and she’s clicking. You’re sitting cross legged on the floor in some Christmas jammies, a Santa hat on your head with a big Christmas tree behind you. She can assume Satoru’s sitting across from you, hearing his voice say, “Okay, go!”

The entirety of the video is her holding back throwing his phone across the room. Seeing you two open each other's gifts, seeing you smile at her man, and seeing her man look at you holding the camera in such a soft way—a way she’s almost never experienced before.

She’s getting nauseous.

She almost throws up when she catches a glimpse of you two kissing, saying the words I love you so softly. She quickly clicks out and shuts the phone off when the sounds of low moaning fill the speakers.

Why does he even still have this? Does he look back on this?

She wants to claw her eyes and ears out of her body. Feeling utterly infuriated at her boyfriend for keeping practically a sextape of his ex even after all these years. You fucking assume, Satoru! Himari sits on the edge of the bed, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her mind is a storm of thoughts—jealousy, anger, and a pang of something else she refuses to name. Satoru’s insistence on prioritizing Koji and you feels like a betrayal, even if she knows deep down it’s not the same as him being unfaithful.

Still, she can’t shake the bitterness creeping into her heart.

She glances at his phone again, her jaw tightening. What does she have that I don’t? The question gnaws at her, even as she tries to shove it aside.

When the sound of the shower cuts off, Himari straightens her posture, her eyes narrowing. A brewing begins to form—not a vengeful one, but one that will force Satoru to confront the rift growing between them. Moments later, Satoru steps out of the bathroom, towel around his neck, his damp hair tousled and messy. He pauses when he sees her sitting there, her gaze piercing through him. “What’s with the look?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

She doesn’t answer right away, instead standing up and taking a slow step toward him. “Satoru,” she starts, her voice low but steady, “do you even realize how this feels for me? Watching you drop everything for her and that kid?”

He sighs, already bracing himself for another argument. “Himari, we’ve been over this. Koji is my son. I have responsibilities—”

“And what about your responsibilities to me?” she snaps, cutting him off. “I’m your girlfriend. I’ve been by your side for years. I’ve supported you, loved you, stood by you. But lately, it feels like I don’t even exist to you.”

Satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration etched into his features. “This isn’t about us, Himari. It’s about Koji. He’s my son. I missed years of his life because I didn’t even know he existed. I’m not going to waste more time by pretending he doesn’t matter.”

“And I don’t matter?” she fires back, her voice rising. “That’s what you’re saying, right? That I come second to some kid you barely even know?”

Satoru’s patience finally snaps. “He’s not some kid, Himari! He’s my blood, my responsibility. And if you can’t understand that, maybe you don’t belong in my life after all.”

The words hang in the air like a slap. Himari stares at him, stunned into silence, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to process what he just said. Satoru doesn’t wait for her response. He grabs his phone from the bed, slipping it into his pocket, and heads toward the door. “I’ll be back later,” he says flatly. “Don’t wait up.”

The door slams shut behind him, leaving Himari alone in the room, her anger boiling over into tears she refuses to let fall. In the silence, one thought echoes louder than the rest:

I won’t let her win. You wanted me to teach you, right? Then I’ll teach you.

Satoru’s already not having a good day. He could put most of the blame on his girlfriend, the other on his parents for questioning why he’s spending the holiday with you instead, and also the fact that there’s traffic.

Of course there’s traffic.

It’s a good thing, almost. It gives him some time to himself. It lets him calm his annoyance, the last thing he wants to do is ruin the day for his son. He’s also a little nervous to see you. He hasn’t seen or texted you since your small argument last time, and while he does feel bad, the other part of him still believes that what he did wasn’t wrong. Hopefully—maybe today or another day—he can settle that issue with you truly. There’s a lot of things he needs to settle with you, actually.

But just like they say one day at a time, one problem at a time.

His finger taps absentmindedly against his steering wheel as he surges his car forward before stopping again. Sighing, he checks the time. Cutting it a little close. He turns the music up and leans back, sighing heavily.

But the song on the radio is something upbeat, and it only serves to grate on his nerves. Satoru switches it off with a sharp jab of his finger. The silence that follows isn’t much better, though—it leaves too much room for his thoughts to wander again.

He wonders if you’ll bring up the argument as soon as he arrives. You’re not one to let things fester, not when Koji’s around, but he knows you’ve probably been stewing on it, the way you always do when it involves him. The guilt creeps in again, and he brushes it off like a pesky fly. He’s good at that—pushing things aside until they’re too big to ignore. That’s why you two are in this mess in the first place, isn’t it?

Well, it’s surely part of it.

The honk of a car behind him jolts him out of his thoughts. The traffic’s moving again, and Satoru presses on the gas, muttering a curse under his breath. He’s cutting it close, all right.

By the time he pulls up outside your place, his nerves are just frayed enough that he almost considers texting you to say he’s here instead of going to the door. But that feels… cowardly. He’s Satoru Gojo, for crying out loud. He can face you.

He steps out of the car, walking into the complex and up to your apartment. When he knocks on the door, it takes a moment before he hears the faint sound of footsteps approaching. The door swings open, and there you are, looking… tired. But not unhappy to see him, which is something. Adorned in an apron too, how cute.

“Hey,” you say, your voice softer than he expected.

“Hey,” he replies, trying for a smile that doesn’t feel forced. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. The warmth of your home envelops him immediately, and the faint sound of Koji’s laughter from the other room eases some of the tension in his chest.

“How’s he doing?” Satoru asks, his voice low as he glances toward the sound.

“He’s excited. Been asking about you all morning,” you say, crossing your arms but not looking at him directly.

Satoru shifts on his feet, his fingers tightening around the handle of the gift bag. “Yeah, well… I’m here now.”

You look at him then, your expression unreadable. “Yeah. You are.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Koji comes barreling into the room, his face lighting up when he sees his dad. “Papa!”

Satoru smiles, scooping up his son with ease as he walks into the living room, settling down onto the couch. The smell of delicious food fills his senses, eyes closing momentarily with a heavenly sigh. “Smells good, what’s your mother making?”

Koji grins, his arms wrapped tightly around Satoru’s neck. “She’s making roast chicken and cookies!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement. “And I helped with the cookies. But Mama said I ate too much of the dough.”

Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Sounds about right. You’ve got a sweet tooth like your old man.”

Koji’s giggle is infectious, and Satoru can’t help but feel a swell of warmth as he holds his son close. His gaze drifts toward the kitchen, where the faint sound of clinking dishes and soft humming filters through. For a moment, the tension from the past few days fades, replaced by the simple comfort of being here with his family.

“You’re late,” your voice cuts through the air, light but pointed. You step into the living room, wiping your hands on a towel as you glance at him. He notices the small smudge of flour on your cheek, but there’s a softness in your expression that Satoru clings to. His eyes move down your figure, ignoring the fluttering in his heart because you just look so damn cute in an apron. It feels domestic.

You’re wearing a comfortable dress underneath, hair down with gold jewelry. Satoru physically gulps and tears his eyes away when they linger too long on your smooth legs. “Like I said, traffic.” He replies effortlessly, flashing you a sheepish grin. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You inhale deeply, lips thinning but you concede with a simple nod. “Food’s almost ready. Koji, go wash your hands. And don’t forget to use soap this time.”

Koji pouts but hops off Satoru’s lap, darting toward the bathroom. The moment he’s out of earshot, the room grows quiet, the weight of unspoken words settling between you and Satoru. He leans back on the couch, watching you as you cross your arms and lean against the doorway. “You didn’t have to go all out today, you know,” he says, his tone softer than usual. “I could’ve helped you cook—”

You shrug, looking away for a moment as you cut him off. “It’s Christmas,” you reply. “I wanted it to be nice. For Koji.”

He nods, understanding what you’re not saying. “For Koji,” he echoes. There’s a pause before he adds, “And for you, too. You deserve something nice, Y/N.”

Your eyes flicker to his, searching for any hint of insincerity. But all you find is that familiar look—the one that’s both infuriating and disarming at the same time. “You can’t just say things like that and expect everything to be okay, Satoru,” you murmur, your voice barely audible.

“I know,” he says, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. “But I’m trying, okay? I know I’ve been pushing boundaries, and I’m sorry. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I don’t want to miss any more of this. Of him. Of you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. You hate when he says confusing things like this because it messes with your head, fooling yourself into thinking there’s something else there. Clearing your throat, you straighten out your light pink apron. “Don’t say things like that.”

The firmness in your tone causes Satoru to purse his lips. Standing up and walking over to you. “I don’t mean anything weird by it.”

“You may not think that, but other people have different opinions.”

“Are you still mad at me from before?”

That always ticks you off—asking such obvious questions with such an innocent face. You think he’s joking, just trying to poke at the bear. But his concerned eyes, brows lifted up—it tells a whole other story. You open your mouth to respond, but Koji’s cheerful shout from the bathroom interrupts.

“Mama! Papa! I’m ready!”

You glance toward the bathroom, then back at Satoru. The moment is gone, but the tension lingers. “Dinner’s in ten,” you say simply, turning on your heel to head back to the kitchen.

Satoru watches you go, a bittersweet mien playing on his godly face. He knows he’s got a long way to go—but for now, he’ll take whatever moments he can get. It’s Christmas, he wants to make the most out of it. And if that means faking it til he makes it, then so be it.

He’s not the only one faking.

You three are seated at the circular table in your kitchen. the warmth of the meal and the soft glow of fairy lights draped along the windows creating a cozy atmosphere. Koji chatters excitedly about his favorite Christmas movies as he eagerly digs into his plate, his small hands occasionally reaching for a cookie from the platter in the center. If Koji knew any better, he’d ask why his parents weren’t really talking to one another.

And unfortunately, he does know better.

“Mama? Papa? Why are you so quiet?”

Damn kids’ continent, but uncomfortable questions.

You freeze, the fork halfway to your mouth, glancing at Satoru across the table. His eyes briefly meet yours before flicking back to Koji, his usual confident demeanor faltering under the weight of the question. “Quiet? We’re not quiet, bud,” Satoru says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. “I’m just too busy stuffing my face to talk. This food is so good.”

Koji tilts his head, unconvinced. “But you always talk a lot, Papa. And Mama, you’re not smiling. I thought today was a happy day.”

Your grip on the fork tightens, the weight of Koji’s words hitting harder than you’d like to admit. Out of the mouths of babes, as they say. You force a small smile, though it feels paper-thin. “It is a happy day, sweetie. Mama’s just tired from all the cooking, that’s all.”

Koji frowns, his big, curious eyes shifting between you and Satoru. He’s far too perceptive for his age, and it’s moments like this that make it clear just how much he picks up on. Satoru clears his throat, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, how about this? After dinner, we’ll all watch a Christmas movie together. You can pick, Koji. And then, we can open the presents.”

Koji’s face lights up at the suggestion, but he’s not completely distracted. “Okay! But only if Mama picks, too. We all have to pick one!”

You manage a soft chuckle, finally taking a bite of your food to avoid answering immediately. Satoru’s gaze lingers on you, and you can feel the unspoken words sitting heavy between you both. “That sounds like a deal,” you say after swallowing. “But only if you promise to eat all your vegetables first.”

Koji scrunches his nose but nods. “Deal!”

The rest of the meal is filled with Koji’s chatter, and though you and Satoru exchange a few words here and there, the tension remains. It’s not lost on either of you that Koji’s cheerful energy is doing the heavy lifting to make this feel like the family dinner it should be. When the plates are cleared and Koji races to the couch to pick out the first movie, Satoru hesitates in the kitchen. He grabs a dish towel and starts drying the plates you’ve already washed, a small gesture that feels too intentional to be casual.

“You don’t have to help,” you murmur, not looking at him. “I got it.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. There’s a pause before he adds, “I would’ve helped cook too, sorry I came later.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his expression softer than you expected. “It’s okay,” you admit quietly. “It’s just dinner and opening gifts, I didn’t ask you to.”

His hand stills on the plate he’s holding. “I know,” he says, his voice low. “But it’s still an obligation of mine, you don’t have to do everything alone. I’m here now, remember?”

The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard. The truth to his words cause you to bite your lips, guilt sinking into your bones. It didn’t feel like one of those snide comments, but it had practically the same effect. And you know that he’s here, so he can handle some of your weight. However, it’s nonetheless hard to trust him with it, fearing it’ll be too heavy for him too. Before you can respond, Koji’s voice echoes from the living room.

“Mama! Papa! Hurry up, the movie’s starting!”

You sigh, drying your hands on a towel. “Let’s go before he starts it without us.” Satoru follows you to the couch, where Koji has already made a nest of blankets. As the movie begins, Koji snuggles between the two of you, his small hands clutching the remote. He giggles, snuggling closer to you both, dropping the remote to the table.

It’s not perfect, but for tonight, it’s enough. It has to be, it’s Christmas. Although you’re not doing too much this holiday, not that you ever do, it still means a lot to Koji. Because he finally has his dad to spend it with.

As the movie begins, Koji seems to have other plans. He grabs both of your hands—Satoru’s right and your left— bringing them in front of him and making them mash together. Immediately you tense up, just the slightest graze of Satoru’s long fingers having more of an effect on you than you anticipated.

You pull away, Satoru’s hand lingers before he soon gets the hint.

Koji frowns, head swiveling between his two parents. “Mama, Papa, you’re supposed to hold hands! That’s what families do,” Koji says, his little brows furrowing in frustration. His pout deepens, clearly displeased with your reaction.

You give him a soft smile, hoping to smooth things over. “We are a family, Koji. We don’t need to hold hands to prove that,” you say gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“But it’s Christmas!” he protests, his small hands still clutching yours and Satoru’s as if he could force them together by sheer will. “Santa says families should be happy and together on Christmas! That’s what they do in the movies.”

Satoru chuckles lightly, though there’s a hint of something conflicted in his expression as he looks at Koji. “Santa sounds like a pretty smart guy,” he murmurs, his gaze briefly flicking to you before resting on Koji again. “But sometimes families have their own way of being happy, bud. It doesn’t always look the same.”

Koji seems to consider this, his lips pursed in thought. “Okay… but can we all hold hands just for the movie?” His tone is pleading, his wide eyes impossible to say no to.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of Satoru’s gaze on you, before finally relenting with a quiet sigh. “I….Alright, just for the movie,” you say, letting Koji place your hand back in Satoru’s.

Satoru’s fingers brush against yours again, warm and steady, and for a moment, neither of you moves. The contact feels heavier than it should, but Koji’s delighted giggle pulls your focus back to him.

“See? Now it’s perfect!” he exclaims, snuggling back into the blankets with a satisfied grin. He holds your conjoined hands.

Satoru hums softly, unintentionally giving your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before turning his attention to the screen. The movie plays on, Koji’s laughter filling the room. And while the air between you and Satoru remains thick with unspoken words, for this moment, you let yourself stay in the quiet warmth of your son’s happiness.

The warmth of Koji’s small hands on top of yours is grounding, even as the tension between you and Satoru buzzes just beneath the surface. You glance at him briefly, finding his expression softer than usual. He’s watching Koji, a faint smile tugging at his lips, but when he catches your gaze, something knowing lingers in his eyes.

You look back at the screen, ignoring the familiarity Satoru’s large hand brings you. It’s familiar but different at the same time. It feels a bit more calloused, proof of his own events he’s faced in his life during the time you were separated.

And to him, your hand feels just as it always did. Warm, soft, and so perfectly fitting. It’s like two puzzle pieces, or a key to a lock. For a second, he compares how it feels to Himari before mentally chastising himself. That’s probably a fucked up thing to do. But he’s already done a lot of that in his life. His thumb runs smoothly across your knuckles, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

You want to pull away, but your son is a reminder to keep up the act.

The movie plays on, filling the silence with cheerful music and laughter, but you can hardly focus. Satoru’s hand is still resting lightly against yours, his thumb brushing against your rugged muscle every so often, whether intentionally or not. It sends a twinge of something—nostalgia, maybe?—through your chest. You shift slightly, trying to focus on the screen, but Koji’s contented sigh draws your attention back to him. He’s nestled between the two of you, his little face illuminated by the glow of the TV, looking completely at peace.

“Are you happy, Koji?” you ask softly, the words slipping out before you can think them through.

Koji nods emphatically, his grin widening. “Yeah! This is the best Christmas ever!”

Satoru chuckles, his voice low and warm. “That’s a pretty big claim, Koji. We haven’t even opened the presents yet. What makes it the best?”

“Because I have Mama and Papa,” Koji says simply, looking between the two of you with wide, earnest eyes. “I don’t need presents or anything. Just you two.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and you feel Satoru’s hand tighten a bit around yours. You don’t pull twitch away this time, letting the moment settle over you like the soft glow of the fairy lights. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been emotional this entire week already, or the fact that Koji is just so happy, but you’re feeling yourself choke up.

For a brief second, the weight of everything—the arguments, the hurt, the uncertainty—fades into the background. It’s just the three of you, here and now, and maybe that’s enough. “Merry Christmas, Koji,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Hiding a trembling lip against his white tresses. Your eyes close, forcing your tears to stay exactly put where they are.

“Merry Christmas,” Satoru echoes, his voice unusually tender. He peers over at you from the corner of his eye, a guy-wrenching twisting at his stomach when he sees your expression. He wants to wipe away the crinkle between your eyebrows with his free hand, but he decides against it—probably not the best thing to do right now. He can only offer you a firmer hand on top of yours, cradling it like it’s a diamond. It’s like a warm quilt, it feels oddly comforting.

Again, you’re getting nostalgic. Maybe that’s another reason why you feel like crying right now—knowing you only have this fleeting moment. Koji’s smile widens, his hands squeezing one last time before settling back into his blanket cocoon.

The hours pass, having watched multiple movies already. Koji’s on the edge of falling asleep before you carefully wake him up that it’s midnight. He practically jumps right back into action, all former sleepiness gone and relaxes with utter excitement. “Presents! We can open the presents!” He scrambles to the tree, already beginning to pick at the ones he wants to open.

You smile softly, watching Koji bounce around with excitement, the energy from the day still shining brightly in his eyes. He’s so full of joy, so eager to unwrap the surprises you and Satoru managed to get for him. The sight warms your heart, even as a quiet tension lingers in the room.

Satoru, still leaning back against the couch, watches Koji with a mix of amusement and something more—something heavier. His lips twitch, as if trying to hold back a smile, but the look in his eyes when he glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Alright, baby,” you say softly, standing up from your spot. “Let’s open them, but remember, one at a time.”

Koji nods, his little hands already tearing into the first present like a whirlwind. He pulls out a small toy car and holds it up triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Look, Mama! Look, Papa! It’s just like the one I saw at the store!”

Satoru chuckles and ruffles his hair. “That’s a good one, Koji. I’m jealous. What else ya got?”

You can’t help but smile at the exchange, even as you reach down to grab the next present for Koji. But something still nags at you. The way Satoru looks at Koji, it’s so…heartwarming. It’s a look given only to his child, one a father could only give out. You feel both touched and warm at the same time.

Tonight is about Koji, about making sure he feels loved and special. And while you and Satoru are at odds, you both are doing one hell of a job of making sure that it comes true.

As Koji continues to unwrap gifts, the room fills with laughter and the sound of crinkling wrapping paper. Your heart swells watching him, but in the back of your mind, the remnants of the earlier tension refuse to fully fade. The space between you and Satoru feels both distant and strangely intimate all at once.

After maybe an hour, after admiring each gift right after opening it, Koji finishes opening his presents. You both settle back into the couch, Koji nestled between you, holding onto his new toys. There’s figurines—mainly Spider-Man or Avengers based—toy cars or motorcycles, a little rocket ship, hot wheels, a Nerf Gun, new clothes, he really got it all this year. Of course, most of the contribution was from Satoru. The silence stretches, but it feels softer now. The tension, although still there, feels more like a quiet hum in the background, overshadowed by Koji’s happiness.

“Thank you, Mama,” Koji says sleepily, his little voice thick with the exhaustion of the day. “And thank you, Papa.”

Satoru leans in, placing a gentle kiss on the top of Koji’s head. “You’re welcome, bud. Merry Christmas.” He smiles, watching his son begin to put his Spider-Man on top of the motorcycle, sparing a glance back at the tree. It’s then his smile falters.

“Oh, you forgot two, Koji.”

“Hm?” His son looks up, seeing the two gifts all the way at the back of the tree. Getting so distracted with all his other gifts, he must’ve forgotten about those two. He sets his toys to the side and crawls back onto the floor to reach for the gift bags. Reading the tags, he looks over at you. “Oh, Mama. These are from your friend.”

When Koji stands up and hands you one of the presents, you’re suddenly reminded. Oh. In a way, you did also forget that Suguru got you and Koji something—just so wrapped up in watching Koji rip apart each of his gifts. You smile faintly, thumbs running over the intricate snowflake patterns.

“Friend?” Satoru asks, his voice bringing you back to reality.

Head turning over, you realize that his face has contorted—scrunched up slightly when he holds onto Koji’s gift, reading the name of the receiver. “Suguru?” His eyes meet yours, filled with a tint of disapproval. “When did he get you two something?”

You almost lie, feeling a random burst of gultuness hit you. But it’s gone as soon as it comes. Because Satoru’s voice sounds curlis in a sense, but also suspicious. It makes you feel a little irritated, holding back a light scoff. So what Suguru got you and Koji something? “He came over to drop it off.”

Maybe that wasn’t the best answer to give. Now Satoru’s body has faced you fully, eyebrow raising like he’s trying to put two and two together. But there’s nothing to put together. “And when was this?”

“A few days ago,” you reply back, firming your intonation.

Satoru’s gaze narrows ever so slightly, and you can feel the shift in the air between you both. The tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface all evening suddenly intensifies. “A few days ago…” Satoru repeats, his tone now more deliberate.

“Is there a problem?” You ask, mirroring his reaction.

Satoru bites the inside of his cheek, very obviously holding back on something for the sake of his son and the holiday. Shaking his head and giving Koji’s gift back to him. “Nope, no problem.”

You can’t help yourself as you huff under your breath, focusing back on your son as he opens the gift. He gasps, yanking the tissue paper out and revealing a bright, shiny new Spider-Man action figure. His eyes widen with delight as he holds it up to you and Satoru, showing off the intricate details of the toy. "Look, Mama! Look, Papa! It's just like the new one I saw on TV!" He beams, completely oblivious to the lingering tension in the room. “It talks and makes noises and lights up!”

You chuckle softly, finding his excitement endearing. "It's perfect, Koji. You’re going to have so much fun with that."

Satoru, however, seems distracted. He’s still watching you closely, his expression unreadable, though there’s a faint edge to his demeanor. You can tell he's trying to keep his composure, but his mind is clearly elsewhere.

Koji has almost entirely disregarded his previous gifts to play with his new gift, his attention fully focused on the toy in his hands.

Satoru clears his throat, the subtle sound pulling you back from your thoughts. "So, Suguru came by to drop off gifts...?" His voice carries a tone that’s almost too casual, but you don’t miss the hint of something more in his eyes.

You hold his gaze, the irritation bubbling up again. "Yes, he did. He’s been kind to us." You can’t help the defensiveness that creeps into your voice. "Is that a problem?"

Satoru doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he glances over at Koji, who’s happily occupied with his toy. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair before meeting your eyes again. "No, I didn’t say that. I just... I just didn’t know he was so involved."

You feel a knot form in your stomach. The subtle way he’s questioning you, the way his posture tenses every time Suguru’s name comes up—he’s feeling something, and you’re not sure how to read it. Before you can respond, Koji looks up from his toys, his voice full of innocent curiosity. “Is something wrong, Papa? Mama?”

You both turn your attention to him, but the tension doesn’t fully dissipate. You force a smile, trying to keep things light. "No, Koji. Everything’s fine." You reach over to ruffle his hair. "Are you enjoying your presents?"

Koji nods enthusiastically, his smile wide. "Best Christmas ever!" he exclaims. He looks down at your gift. “Open yours, Mama. I wanna see what your friend got you.”

You hesitate, still trying to steady your emotions after the tension with Satoru. “Alright, sweetheart,” you say, holding your gift upright in your lap. Gently peeling away the wrapping, revealing a small, wooden box. The delicate craftsmanship catches your attention immediately.

Koji’s eyes widen in anticipation. “What’s inside, Mama? What is it?”

You open the box, revealing a small silver pendant shaped like a star, its surface engraved with intricate patterns. It’s beautiful—elegant and simple, a perfect fit for you. You trace your fingers over the smooth edges, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you smile at the thoughtful gesture. It comes with a thin silver chain, a small note underneath it. When you pull it out, it reads:

“For the one who shines the brightest, even in the darkest of times.”

Your heart skips a beat as you read the words. It’s simple, yet so deeply personal. You trace the note with your fingertips, a mixture of warmth and something else stirring in your chest. You always mocked Suguru in the past for being so corny with his words, you never expected to be on the receiving end of them. And you never expected to blush from it either.

“Isn’t it pretty, Mama?” Koji asks, his voice filled with genuine excitement. “I think it’s sparkly like the stars!”

You nod. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart. I’m sure it’ll look lovely on me,” You slide the pendant into your hand, clutching it for a moment longer before carefully setting it back inside. But, despite your best efforts to keep things together, you can feel the tension building again. Satoru’s look that he fails to hide is getting more on your nerves by the second. He’s acting like he has some right to be upset if his friend is giving you something. He’s acting like it’s a bigger deal than it actually is.

“Are you gonna wear it?” Koji asks, his eyes shining with curiosity. “Papa, won’t Mama look pretty with it?”

You peer over. “Of course, Mama will look pretty with it,” he says with a half-smile that’s forced. “She’s always beautiful, no matter what she wears.”

You scoff this time. What a load of shit.

Koji squeals, clearly pleased with the answer. “Right, Mama? You’re the prettiest!”

You smile back, feeling warmth in your chest, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, sweetheart,” you mutter softly, trying to keep things light.

It’s extremely late now. Koji has passed out in his room with the figurine Suguru got him. Satoru and you have cleaned up in complete silence, the awkward tension intensifying even more now that Koji isn’t here to mend that. There’s only the sound of the soft hum of the dishwasher as it runs. You wipe down the counter, your movements mechanical, each action making the silence stretch longer and longer between you. Satoru stands by the sink, wiping down the wet surface around it with a towel, his back to you. But you can feel his presence in the room like a weight pressing down on the air.

Neither of you says anything, the unspoken words piling up between you both. You can feel the tension crawling beneath your skin, just like before, but now there’s no Koji to distract you, no innocent question to break the silence. Just you and Satoru, both avoiding the inevitable conversation that looms in the background. Until he finally has the balls to do something. “He didn’t tell me he was getting you guys something.”

You pause, staring down at the clean surface. “Why would he have to tell you? It’s just a present.” Your hand moves again, moving onto the corner of the granite.

Satoru bites his tongue, willing himself not to snark back. He turns his body around, eyes digging holes into the back of your head. “I mean, it’s a little strange.”

“How?”

“Because Koji is my son, you’re my ex.”

“So that suddenly means I’m incapable of receiving presents from other men now?” You whirl around, hands on your hips. “What did you say again? Oh, right. ‘Stop getting mad at little things’.”

Satoru flinches, his jaw tightening at your words. For a moment, he’s caught off guard, not expecting you to snap back so quickly. But he doesn’t back down. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His voice is low, tight, as if he’s trying to keep his composure. “I just don’t like how...how weird that feels.”

You roll your eyes. “Right, weird, huh?”

“I’m not trying to argue, okay?”

“I’m not arguing either,” you quip back. “But you have no right to act like this is ‘weird’ when it’s not. You have no right to be even curious about who’s giving Koji and I gifts.”

“No right?” He huffs back at you, lip curling up. “I think I have all the right, Y/N. First off, he’s my son. Second off, we used to date. And third off, that’s my best friend. What kind of best friend—”

“Then maybe you should take that up with him.” You cut him off, chin tilting up. It’s getting harder by the second to keep things calm and composed. But Satoru shoving his fat nose into something that doesn’t involve him is testing every bit of patience you have. “I can get a gift from whoever I want, that’s none of your concern.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow as you speak, his grip on the towel tightening, the vein in his neck twitching with barely restrained frustration. “None of my concern, huh?” His voice lowers, the words coming out sharp. “That’s funny, because it seems like everything I do, say, or feel ends up being your concern, whether you want it to be or not.”

You step closer, your heart racing as the anger rises in your chest, pushing against the barriers you’ve built. “Satoru, I’m done pretending like everything we do is some sort of tangled mess that you have the right to control. You’re not my boyfriend anymore, and Koji isn’t the reason I have to explain every little thing to you.”

“I’m not saying you have to.”

“Then just shut the hell up about it already.”

Silence follows.

The room feels colder now, the weight of your words settling heavily in the space between you. Satoru doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenched tightly as he stares at you, his chest rising and falling as if he’s weighing the next words carefully. He’s frustrated, no doubt, but something else lingers beneath it—something deeper, something that neither of you has dared to address.

You stand there, both of you frozen, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher and the quiet rhythm of your breathing. It feels as though time has stopped, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. Then, slowly, Satoru takes a breath and places the towel down on the counter, running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice much softer now, but still tinged with frustration. “I get it. It’s not my place anymore.”

Your lips purse, feeling slightly caught off guard by his quick reluctance to further escalate things. But that’s a good thing, right? Swallowing down anything else, you nod stiffly. Eyes moving down to focus on anything else but him. Your hands awkwardly fiddle together.

But he never looks away from you. Mind reeling about what to say or do next, fearing that he did in fact make a big deal out of nothing. It’s just presents, that’s it. But the quiet voice in his head nags at him more and more. But why didn’t Suguru say anything? Isn’t it at least some common courtesy to tell your best friend you’re getting his son and ex a gift? Even a simple text would have sufficed.

But he didn’t do any of that. So Satoru’s brain feels like he tried to hide it—for a reason? He doesn’t know. Maybe he forgot? Still, he doesn’t like the knot that forms in his gut.

A calming breath is taken to reset his system, shaking his head. Not tonight, not tonight. His fingers reach into the pocket of his coat, feeling a small, square box. He waits for a few seconds, unsure if he should continue on. Nonetheless, he does. Pulling out the little thing, presenting it in front of him.

He clears his throat, you look back over at him. Head tilting slightly at the sight of the wrapped box with a tiny red bow. “…what is that?”

“My gift to you.” He murmurs out, holding it to you.

Your eyes widen, mouth parting. No words come out, feeling a multitude of varying emotions. It all ends with you reaching out for the box, shaking it a little. You hear a small clanking. Asking a stupid question like what is it will just keep your wary feelings alive. So, you carefully remove the light wrapping, slowly like you’re scared as to why you’ll see inside.

You’re not scared. Just more confused.

“A key?” You question, holding up the gold key in front of your face. It dangles as your vision focuses back on the man in front of you. “What is this for?”

Satoru watches you, his eyes a mix of uncertainty and something deeper, something more vulnerable. He shifts slightly, hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense as if bracing himself for your reaction. “To your new place.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. A new place? Your mind struggles to catch up, trying to make sense of the statement. “My new place?” you repeat, still not sure if you heard him correctly.

Satoru nods slowly, his eyes now focused on the key in your hand. “I’ve been looking for something for you. For Koji. A place where you both can be… comfortable. It’s. A nice neighborhood, enough room. There’s a school next by and there’s open spots left.” His voice is steady, but there’s a tinge of something vulnerable in the way he says it—like he’s giving you space to decide, but also hoping for something more.

A rush of conflicting emotions hits you. You look down at the key again, your fingers curling around it as you try to process what he’s saying. “You… got me a place?” You repeat, still in shock over the fact that he went out of his way to do so.

He shifts his weight, eyes still on the key. “Not just you. A place for you, Koji… and maybe even me, too. When I come to visit sometimes, there’s four bedrooms, one of them can be used as a spare.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Satoru has always been unpredictable, but this—this is different. It feels like he’s offering something more than just a space. It’s a possibility. A chance. But it also feels like an unspoken question, one that you’re not sure how to answer. “I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, looking at the key again. “Why now?”

Satoru steps closer, his expression softer than you’ve seen in a long time. “Because… I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I know I’ve messed things up too for us, and I’m not asking for anything. Just… I thought it might be a good way to start fresh. For you and Koji. And you guys mean a lot to me, I want you to live in a nice space. Not…not somewhere like this. The people look shady.”

You stand there, the weight of his words sinking in. The offer is unexpected, yet strangely comforting. It’s not just about the apartment or the key—it’s about something deeper, something that might hold the possibility of fixing whatever things were broken.

But then, a quiet part of you wonders: Do I want this?

You bite the inside of your cheek, clutching the key tighter in your hand now. You bite the inside of your cheek, clutching the key in your hand now. The smooth, cold metal feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding all the unanswered questions and unresolved feelings between you and Satoru. You glance up at him, his expression open yet guarded, as though he’s trying to brace himself for any answer you might give.

“Satoru...” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugs, though there’s an uneasy tension in his posture. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I just...I wanted to give you something. Something that’s yours.” His gaze flickers to the key in your hand. “No strings, no expectations. Just a place where you and Koji can feel safe. If you don’t want it, I’ll still keep it around if you someday change your mind.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep within you, but it also makes your heart ache. You swallow hard, your emotions swirling. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this first?” you ask, your tone softer now, though still tinged with confusion.

“Because I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured or think it was about me trying to fix everything all at once. It’s not like that. I just... I care about you. And about Koji. And besides, it’s Christmas.” He ends with a small smile, his right dimple peeking out.

His words hang in the air, filling the silence between you. For a small instant, you don’t respond, your mind racing. This gesture—it’s thoughtful, maybe even selfless—but it’s also overwhelming. You hold the key closer, feeling its edges press into your palm, grounding you in the midst of the emotional storm. Finally, you exhale, your voice steady but quiet. “I need some time to think about this. It’s... a lot.”

Satoru nods, his blue eyes softening. “Take all the time you need. It’s yours, no matter what you decide.” He pauses, glancing toward the door. “Well, I should probably get going.”

Adjusting his coat, he takes one step out the kitchen before you stop him with a hand to his arm. A ring of fire burns up his arm and to his ears, slowly making its way to his cheeks when he looks back down at you. “I…I got you something…too.”

His eyebrows raise, not having expected you to give him something in return. Letting go of his arm, you walk to a small cupboard, reaching in and pulling out a square shaped gift. It’s wrapped in light blue wrapping with a red bow. You hand it to him and he takes it, feeling around. He already has an idea of what it is.

“Open it when you get back.” You mutter, rubbing the back of your neck.

He stares quietly for a small time, a hint of a smile almost making its way onto his face again. It’s cute how shy you look right now. Some things never change, do they? He nods, murmuring back. “Okay, thank you.”

With one final hum from you, he heads back to the door. His stomach feeling lighter. You hesitate, watching him turn toward the hallway. “Satoru.”

He stops, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Your words are sincere, even if you’re still unsure about everything. “For thinking about us.”

A faint grin tugs at his lips, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “Always,” he says softly before walking away, leaving you standing there with the key in your hand and your thoughts spinning.

You remain rooted in place, the key dangling lightly in your grip as the door clicks shut behind him. The silence that follows feels deafening. The warmth of the holiday lights around the room does little to ease the cold weight settling in your chest. You sit down at the edge of the couch, staring at the key, your mind replaying Satoru’s words. No strings, no expectations. Just a place where you and Koji can feel safe.

It’s a generous gift, undeniably thoughtful, but it feels complicated—like every other thing in your relationship with Satoru. You know he means well, but the history between you makes it impossible to separate the gesture from the lingering emotions that bind you both. Your gaze shifts to the Christmas tree, now surrounded by Koji’s new toys. You can still picture his bright smile, hear his laughter from earlier in the evening. The thought of giving him a stable home, something truly yours, tugs at your heart. But then there’s the nagging voice in your head, reminding you of the tension tonight—the unspoken conflicts, the unresolved feelings, and the fragile line you and Satoru walk every time you see each other.

You sigh, leaning back against the couch, the key resting in your palm. Your eyes drift to the small silver pendant Suguru gave you earlier. It still sits on the coffee table, catching the warm glow of the Christmas lights. Another kind gesture. Another layer to the mess.

The soft patter of small feet interrupts your thoughts. Koji appears in the hallway, rubbing his eyes sleepily, his Spider-Man toy clutched tightly in one hand.

“Mama?” he mumbles, his voice groggy. “Why are you still up?”

You quickly set the key on the table, forcing a smile. “Just cleaning up, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”

He nods, yawning as he climbs onto your lap, resting his head against your chest. “Yes.”

“Did you have a good Christmas?”

“The best Christmas ever.”

You hold him close, brushing his messy hair away from his forehead. “That’s all that matters,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head. But even as you say it, your thoughts drift back to the key—and everything it represents.

Satoru has been staring at the gift—stil wrapped—for about fifteen minutes now. He’s conflicted. Unsure if he wants to know what you got him, or if it’ll bring on something unwanted. The gift sits untouched on the table before him, the wrapping paper shimmering faintly under the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Satoru leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, one hand tangled in his hair as he stares at it. His jaw tightens, then relaxes, his thoughts spiraling in circles.

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long he’s been sitting here, debating whether to open it.

He knows it’s just a gift. A simple, kind gesture. But with everything that’s happened tonight—the tension, the unspoken words, the unresolved feelings—this small box feels heavier than it should. What if it’s something that reminds him of how things used to be? Or worse, what if it’s just a polite, distant gift, a reminder of how far apart you’ve drifted?

He exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. “It’s just a damn gift, Satoru,” he mutters to himself. Yet he doesn’t move, his blue eyes fixed on the box as if it might spring to life and deliver answers to questions he’s too afraid to ask.

He huffs a reluctant laugh, his hand finally reaching for the gift. His fingers trace the edges of the paper before he carefully begins to unwrap it, the sound of tearing paper filling the quiet room. Beneath the wrapping is a small black box, simple and unassuming. He lifts the top up and it drops to the side.

His hands still in place, almost beginning to tremble. His breathing shallows, heart thumping quicker than before. Carefully—very carefully—he reaches in. Handling the object with utmost care, bringing it closer to his face.

Two faces stare back at him.

His son—undeniably younger, maybe around one year old. He’s being held in your lap, arms secure around his tiny stomach. He looks chubbier, cuter. Wearing a cute Christmas get up. Baby Santa. And when his eyes glaze over to you, he gulps.

You’re wearing an equally festive outfit. A bright red sweater adorned with little snowflakes and reindeer, a simple black skirt to go with it. Your face is glowing with a smile so genuine, it knocks the breath out of him. Your hair is a little messier, your cheeks flushed with warmth, probably from laughing too much. Koji’s tiny hand clutches at your sweater, and your other hand is raised in a peace sign as you lean closer to him for the photo.

Satoru’s fingers brush the surface of the photograph, his chest tightening as the memory pulls him under. It looks like a professional photo done, you must’ve gone all out that Christmas. Now, holding it in his hands, it feels like a physical snapshot of a life he had no chance of living in.

His thumb grazes the edge of the picture frame it’s nestled in. It’s a simple wooden frame, painted white, with the words Our First Christmas Together etched across the top in tiny gold letters.

He lets out a shaky exhale, his vision blurring slightly. He blinks rapidly, trying to push back the emotions clawing at his throat. It’s not just the photograph—it’s what it represents. A time when things were simpler. When the two of you were a family, before everything unraveled. When it was just you and Koji—no room for him.

The weight of the night presses on him again, harder this time. He feels foolish for hesitating to open the gift, for overthinking it, when you’d given him something so pure. Something so full of love. He pulls the frame in, swallowing hard as he leans back on the couch. He holds it close to his chest. His other hand runs through his hair, tugging slightly as he tries to steady himself. “Why’d you have to go and do this?” he whispers to no one, his voice breaking. He outwardly chuckles—bitter but affectionate. Warm tears sliding down his cheeks and resting atop the wooden frame. His lips press a small kiss to his baby son, and to you.

Because now, more than ever, he realizes how much he still misses you. And how much he regrets letting it all slip away when he was too young and stupid to think clearly.

That night when he heads to bed, he sleeps with the picture of his family next to him. Tucked in like it’s a physical being, and in a way, it is.

taglist is now closed

taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins

@sadmonke @bunheadusa @shartnart1 @lady-of-blossoms @itsinherited

@duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee

@devils-blackrose @a-girl-with-thoughts @bitchycloudstrawberry @tiffyisme3760 @iheartshopping

@chiara-hotel @uriahs-barn @celloccino @roronoazorosbxtchh @pseudophyllus

@ratedrrrr @m1gota @tojideckmuncher @yigaclvn @sukunaslve

@eiizabeth-torres @cherrythiccums0 @satorustorm @zoeyflower @username23345

@i0313z @gourdlorddgubes @partypoison00 @quinnyundertow @sorilyae

@redzscare @aldebrana @nycmagi @s4ikooo1 @dreaming-lis @gigiiiiislife

@boothillglazer @miss-dior @miakxn @rjreins

373 notes · View notes

summertimesadnessirl · 14 hours ago

Text

Sometimes I think it's like...

Cis people also put a lot of effort into passing.

Or we're encouraged to feel weird about not meeting gender based expectations socially?

I don't know if it's dysphoria, it's not fair to use that word.

I literally am cis and I have felt, in my life, all the time, that I'm not a "real" woman in some way. Not in a way where like, I feel cool and empowered by the idea of being without gender. I thought maybe that was it at one point. Like "maybe I'm trans. I get along better with male friends who aren't attracted to me and treat me like one of the guys. I get along well with trans people and I find some gender based expectations really hard." I don't think I am, because I can understand the idea of wanting to do drag or not talk about your gender online but when I think of people misgendering me when I am not doing those things it feels really bad.

But? Like? That feeling is taught to you when you're a kid. It never goes away. Your body isn't gender dimorphic enough. People don't treat you like they treat the other people of your gender. They are all confused by things you do. Things they do confuse you.

In my case I decided I'm just otherkin. I don't talk about it much. People take it the wrong way. I am not like the other people, even the other people with a lot of my mental health diagnoses, because I'm secretly not a human being like they are. My mom wanted a baby and came home for lunch because she was ovulating, and it was someone else who wasn't my father and they weren't human and they didn't want me but they impregnated her. They suck for leaving me. Whatever. It's fine for everyone to feel like I don't fit because they're another species and they let me live here in their community but we misunderstand each other all the time. I try not to creep them out if they aren't mean.

But like... why do you think all those "femininity coach" "feminine energy" people are radicalizing so many cis women? Why is that the title of "the feminine mystique?" Men definitely deal with that, too. Cis people don't stop being insecure about their gender identity just because they are cis.

So that's part of it.

But also like?

When you first meet a nb person specifically, you're like ???

Suddenly you realize how many things you say and do have a gendered component in your brain.

Like in animal crossing?

The og animal crossing gave you the choice of saying

"Isn't it cute?" Or "Isn't it cool?" To tell the game your gender.

Isn't that weird? Like?

I didn't realize that's what the question meant, because it didn't say, and then I kind of felt insane for like a week after. Like???

Cool and cute. If you think of it as a question like "each one of these means a gender" you know which they mean is which. But if you just objectively say "do you think your name is cool or cute?" Why would someone think that? Also how do I immediately know which is which when you tell me cool and cute are the two genders?

I was a kid. They didn't have stuff about gender all over the internet then.

This was brand new information.

It was like...

Baby's first non dualism.

Idk.

People don't realize how much of manners is based on the person's gender unless they actually think about it.

And the older people are, the more important manners are to them.

Probably if they are not evil, you can just tell them how to do manners for you and they will leave you alone. Which isn't a good solution but that's the problem for people who aren't evil.

Okay but can anyone articulate the mindset that leads older people to feel like they NEED to know people's gender identity all the time? Like what's going on there

25K notes · View notes

lemonlover1110 · 2 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 8] Bargain

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

*happy new year🫶

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

There’s been a mood shift in the room. You weren’t cheery before per say, but you definitely weren’t like this. It feels as if the place has shifted from a warm orange hue to cold blue.

Perhaps it was always like this and he didn’t notice. He’s come to see you in a different light after you announced that you didn’t care for the babies. He shouldn’t care if you want the babies or not, as long as you nurture them when they’re born– Yet, he can’t help but dwell on the thought.

“Are they kicking?” Sukuna asks, watching as you slowly eat the food that’s in front of you. Maybe things look more drastically different since his perspective of you has changed, but some things are absolutely different. You’re barely talking.

Sukuna is trying to make conversation with a woman for fuck’s sake. A woman is only good for having sex in his eyes, he shouldn’t be trying to make conversation.

“No.” You answer as you continue to quietly eat your dinner.

“You’re going to give birth soon, no?” He questions and you shrug. You’ve lost track of time. Winter has just begun… Or is it ending soon? Days all seem the same that you’ve lost track of time. You’re due sometime in the spring, that much you know. “Will you use your words?”

“How do you want me to respond? I don’t know, my dear king?” You respond and he furrows his brows. He doesn’t like the hint of attitude that comes with your words. But there’s something Sukuna knows: beggars can’t be choosers, therefore he won’t reprimand you for speaking to him like that.

“The servants are working on clothes for them.” Sukuna announces, and you don’t react in any way. It’s fine, he didn’t expect you to. Though he won’t lie and say that he isn’t looking at your face to see some sort of excitement at the mention of the babies. He doesn’t know why, but he wants you to get excited about them.

“I’m finished. May I go to sleep?” You question, as you try to get up from your seat– A true struggle lately considering your belly is huge.

“Since when do you care to ask for permission?” He replies, and he’s met with a cold glare.

“I’m your prisoner, am I not?” You respond, and Sukuna realizes that your recent behavior is all tied back to that.

You’ve been having nightmares lately, and it becomes hard for Sukuna to ignore. It’s every night, and he isn’t sure what to do. At first he would simply watch you as you helplessly tossed and turned, but lately they’ve gotten more intense. Sukuna can’t stand and watch.

He’s growing soft, he knows he is. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be holding you to his chest, hand caressing your back. He needs you to rest enough, and that’s not possible if your nightmares get the best of you. If you’re tossing and turning, calling out for help then you’re not resting.

He wants to know the root of the bad dreams, but he doesn’t care enough to look into the issue. He doesn’t mind this position though, holding you is like holding a little warm ball. He’d never say it outloud, but he’s cold; he won’t shiver or tremble, but he’s still cold.

“Sukuna.” He’s falling asleep, but your soft voice wakes him up. “What are you doing?”

“You have nightmares.” He informs you, as if you were unaware of your own dreams. Is this why you haven’t been waking lately? Has he been comforting you?

“I’m sorry.” You feel the odd need to apologize, something that irritates Sukuna’s ears. It ends up with him scolding you,

“You don’t ever apologize.” Which is quickly followed by another apology from you. He can’t win with you, and it’s fine. He won’t scold you again. Sukuna can’t help but ask, “What have you been dreaming about anyway?”

“Nothing.” You answer, which makes Sukuna put you back down on the futon. Of course you won’t open up so easily, but it frustrates him. His behavior is what dug him into this hole, he shouldn’t care.

“Do the babies cause you discomfort?” Sukuna questions, and you chuckle.

“When do they not?” You respond. “Falling asleep is a struggle, it’s no surprise I’m having nightmares.”

“Are you having nightmares related to them?” Sukuna questions, and you remain silent. While Sukuna would take that answer as a yes, he isn’t sure this time around. He isn’t great at picking up social cues, but he’s pretty damn sure that he’s on the receiving end of the silent treatment.

Sukuna takes a long time to think about this weird situation. He asked Uraume about this, but they didn’t have a good answer– Then he asked Hina, an answer that he quickly dismissed. He tries to recall what that answer was.

Then it dawns on him, “A woman dropped off a baby.”

“Your next meal, huh? Enjoy.” You respond, and Sukuna rolls his eyes. You’ve gotten bold, he’ll give you that.

“I don’t eat babies.” He answers. “Babies that are dropped off are raised as servants.”

No answer.

“You can ask Uraume if you want to visit him tomorrow.” Sukuna adds, and your interest is piqued.

“Him? It’s a boy?” You question, and Sukuna hums in response. You furrow your eyebrows, realizing that Sukuna is doing this for a reason. He wants you to look at a baby and think of the children that you grow inside of you. It’s not going to work though, there’s no way in hell that you’ll end up caring for his kids.

“Do you want to meet him or not?” Sukuna presses for an answer, wondering if Hina’s advice is any good. He might just kill her tomorrow if you refuse. Though, you adore Hina and he has to get on your good side so he might just spare her.

“Sure.”

“Uraume, why are you here?” You question when Sukuna's dear servant comes into your room. You rarely see them unless Sukuna is around. Sukuna is tending other business which means that you’re alone– Alone in the sense that he isn’t breathing down your neck, you’re still being watched by everyone else.

“King Sukuna told me you were meeting the baby. He wants me to take you there.” Uraume answers, and you sigh. He’s set on you meeting that baby, he so desperately wants you to change your mind. You can’t help but find it odd, he wants you to love the babies that you grow inside of you.

“Let’s go.” You respond. Uraume gives you a subtle nod before they turn around and leave the room. You follow behind, mentally preparing yourself to not fall for Sukuna’s dumb trick. Perhaps you should’ve turned him down last night, you're not the strongest when it comes to children.

You get to see a side of the palace that you’ve never come across. As you walk past everyone, you’re reminded that you hold some sort of power; a power that you forgot you held since Sukuna is constantly next to you. They bow down to you as you simply walk past them, as if you would actually do something to them.

Uraume leads you to the kitchen, where two women try to calm down the crying baby. Uraume is about to speak, but you shush them before they can say anything. You can read their next move, you don’t want the woman to stop simply to bow down to you.

“Let me hold him.” You tell the women, who have yet to realize who you are. They hand him over to you, desperate for a solution. The sound of a crying baby is absolutely not pleasant.

“Oh, look at you.” You gush at the boy who wails. He’s hungry with no way of feeding. “He’s too young for anything solid, huh?”

“Yes–” One of them speaks, until she realizes who you are. She bows down, and her colleague quickly follows suit. You nearly roll your eyes at the action, as if this wasn’t what you wanted when you asked Sukuna to marry you.

“Stand up.” You order, and they’re hesitant, but they do as you tell them. “What were you saying?”

The women look at each other, afraid of how to proceed. Regardless, they have to answer. “Yes, he’s too young for solids. We’ve never had a baby this young in our quarters, and we’re not sure how to proceed. We need a wet nurse but none of our servants are currently–”

“I’ll do it.” You cut her off as you stare down at the hungry baby. Oh, he looks so much like your Haru, you’d never forgive yourself if the baby died of hunger.

“My queen, that’s not appropriate. King Sukuna would be livid.” Uraume chimes in, though their words fall on deaf ears.

“Uraume, I’m going back to my room. I’ll tell Hina to give the baby back.” You tell them, bouncing the baby, hoping that the cries die down; you know it’s helpless, the baby won’t stop until he’s fed.

“My queen–” Uraume begins, but you begin to walk away. You’re smiling at the baby as he cries. Even when he’s crying, he looks so darn cute.

“Oh, how could someone abandon you? You’re so cute.” You tell him, as if you didn’t feel the same way about your babies– And you try not to think about it, but maybe Sukuna’s plan is working. There’s a twinge of guilt as you think about your refusal of loving your babies.

Maybe the stupid monster has a brain after all.

You lied, you were planning to hand back the baby boy as soon as you fed him, but he’s still in your arms. He looks at you with his beautiful brown wide eyes, and a smile on his face. You can’t let him go. You don’t doubt that he’ll be treated well, but he can have anything he needs right beside your side. Additionally, he makes great company.

“Oh, that stupid monster’s plan is working.” You mention as the baby yawns in your arms. You can’t fathom the thought of someone leaving this precious baby behind. Except, Sukuna’s sons will be nothing like this calm baby.

“Hina!” You call out, and the woman is in your room within seconds. She bows down her head, and waits for your order. You smile down at the baby in your arms as you tell her, “Get him a warm blanket.”

“King Sukuna–” She begins, but you cut her off before she can finish her sentence.

“Did I ask about Sukuna?” You question, and she shakes her head. “Then you’ll do as I say. Get him a blanket.”

“Of course.” She responds, nodding her head before walking away. It’s a risk she’s willing to take, even though there’s the possibility that Sukuna won’t be too happy. You were supposed to simply meet the baby, not get attached. There’s nothing she can do now, the matter is out of her hands.

“I hope his babies are as cute as you are.” You murmur as you bounce the baby in your arms. His little eyes are shutting on their own, and you stick out your bottom lip as your little pal begins to drift to sleep.

Hina comes back with a blanket, and you almost snatch it from her hands to cover him.

“When is the monster coming back?” You ask, knowing that Sukuna is going to force you to give him back. Sure, he suggested the idea but he won’t want you to keep the baby by your side. “Who’s going to feed him if Sukuna takes him from me?”

“I’ve ordered some servants to find a wet nurse, he’ll be fine.” Hina answers but you don’t like that answer. You’re not sure why though, it’s for his own good.

“Can I keep him with me forever?” You’re perhaps a little drastic. You’ve grown attached rather fast– Well, it’s not necessarily hard to grow attached when you’re lonely.

“My queen, you know that King Sukuna would never allow it.” Hina reminds you, and you can’t help but sigh. She’s not wrong. “Plus, you’re expecting two wonderful babies.”

“They’re not going to be like this…” You comment, and Hina can’t help but chuckle. Babies are babies, whether they’re Sukuna’s kids or not.

“My queen, you do realize that they’re going to be babies.” She responds as your eyes linger on the sleeping baby.

“They’ll pop out with four arms and a tummy mouth—“ You begin, wondering how his babies will end up looking. How much different will they look compared to the rest?

“My queen, you do realize that they’re half of you as well?” She reminds you, and you furrow your eyebrows. They’re also your babies… They will carry your blood whether you accept it or not. “They’re not just King Sukuna’s babies, but yours as well.”

“Of course.” You nod, staring down at the baby. She’s right, even if they come out with four arms and a tummy mouth, they’re still your own blood. Whether you love them or not, won’t change anything.

“He’s here.” Hina informs you as she hears the loud footsteps from far away. For some odd reason, you feel your breath get caught up in your chest, knowing that he’s approaching.

Hina bows down the moment the door to your room opens, only to not be acknowledged in any way by him. Sukuna’s eyes directly land on you, quickly going to the boy that you hold in your arms. He’s wrapped in a blanket that was made for your sons.

“Get out.” Sukuna says, and Hina stands up to do as he says. Though it’s not quick enough for him, because he proceeds to yell, “Get out!”

“Oh, you’ve woken him up.” You’re annoyed as you hear the crying baby. Just when he’s finally resting, he’s woken up by a screaming monster.

“Why were you feeding that baby?” Sukuna tries not to yell, knowing that he’ll just make matters worse by raising his voice. You’re shushing and bouncing the baby, trying to calm him down. Sukuna won’t be so accepting unless you tell him what he wants to hear.

You’ll tell him whatever he wants to hear.

“Your plan worked.” You tell him, standing up from your seat. The anger from Sukuna fades away, as curiosity overtakes him. “I’ll love your babies.”

His eyes widen, and he feels… Joyous? He’s happy. He likes the fact that his plan worked. Though he doubts that it’s going to be easy. You’re holding a baby in your arms, you must want something more.

“As long as you treat him like your own, I’ll love them.” You respond as you hand the baby to Sukuna. He glares down at the screaming child, wondering how the hell you’ve become so attached to this little human in a matter of hours.

“What?” Sukuna questions, refusing to hold the baby in his arms. You have to repeat yourself,

“Treat him as your own son, and I’ll be the mother you want me to be.”

#[bonds of fruition]#ryoumen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna x you #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna

386 notes · View notes

facefullofsadness · 2 days ago

Note

Okayy okayy listen ceo!jimin g!p like how would she treat fem!reader they're married too

they're like barely married in this but yk wtv, they're sweet and fuck a lot (I really forgot how to write it's kinda crazy)

OKAY HI I NEED TO KNOCK SOME OF THESE OUT TO GET BACK INTO THE SWING OF WRITING!!! ceo g!p jimin who's married to reader is actually such a softie for her wife. tell me why I envision the fifty shades of gray concept where you're her assistant at the start/you work for her and after some time you get closer and get together? idk it just seems right for rina.

I think that jimin has the absolute softest spot for y/n which actually makes them working together really counter-productive for the same reason. the way rina gets easily distracted when you're in the room, averting her gaze from whatever is in front of her and what her company would say is more important to instead look at you mesmerized, the woman who so obviously is actually more important. they wanna separate the two of you so work can actually get done but well, when the ceo says you're working in her office and that's final? you just have to concede.

at first it's pretty civil, working on documents together, her using the most gentle and calming voice to make sure you don't feel stressed or pressured, exchanging flirty glances and smiles, just for her to run her hand along your thigh as she intently studies marketing graphs, glasses on the bridge of her nose making her look more enticing than she needs to be. you try not to let it phase you but it's karina ykwim, eventually you're on her lap and pushing her back against her chair, her hands holding you by your hips and her lips on your neck, making involuntary noises escape your mouth.

her office is soundproofed and only has one way windows for this exact reason, yall just can't stop fucking! no one dares knock on miss yu's door when you're in her office, knowing it was more than likely her cock was deeply sheathed in your wet and clenching pussy, drilling in and out of you as you screamed into her neck. she's fucking you so aggressively and desperately into her desk, pinning you almost painfully into the hard wood as she thrusts her long dick in and out of your cunt, the juices spilling all over the surface and painting her pelvis with your combined wetness as it seeps down your slit.

she pounds into you with no remorse and pants pathetically into your ear as your throat hurts from the sheer amount of screaming you've done, her cock ruining your insides so perfectly that you can't think logically. moaning into your ear sweet nothings as she encourages you and tells you how good it feels to have her cock completely buried in that hot and juicy hole. fuck y/n you feel so fucking good, I'm gonna breed you, pump you full of our kids yeah? you'll let me do that right, sweetheart? ahhh shit, baby oh my god this pussy belongs to me, my wife's cunt is made for my cock... she continues to word vomit all up in your ear without even thinking as you mumble incomprehensibly just how delicious the feeling of her cock inside of you feels.

needless to say either you're fucking each other or you're disgustingly clingy, workplace or home. don't even mention the honeymoon... somehow though through all those distractions, you both manage to get the work done in no time so much to everyone's dismay, they can't really complain. jimin is the ceo after all, no one is gonna mess with her or her precious wife.

216 notes · View notes

66ejna · 1 day ago

Text

— husband!gojo's randomness.

୨୧ slight ooc, reader is a female, sfw, fluff, hcs (?), inspired by this fic.

husband!gojo, the guy who sneaks a kiss on your forehead before leaving for a mission, prioritizing your peaceful rest over a goodbye.

husband!gojo who always leave a "i love you more than yourself!" note before going to work, stick it on the fridge intentionally while you're sleeping. lets you know when he leaves for work early, just so you won’t feel panicked when he's not around (it's the opposite, really).

husband!gojo being a secretly sentimental husband - always keeping the cutesy letters you tend to give him when he's away rather than texting him.

husband!gojo who's keen on sprawling all around the bed, but demands for cuddles.

husband!gojo secretly sets up sweet gestures for his wife, ranging from heartfelt notes to surprise vacations. he claims it's all about her deserving it, yet it's clearly an excuse to show off.

husband!gojo, the type of husband to hold your hand with his, intertwine the fingers together, and put it inside his pocket as you guys walk under the beautiful night.

husband!gojo who purposely slips and calls you "princess" in front of others, especially in public gatherings/events.

husband!gojo who will make anything turns into a competition like turns daily chores into a playful rivalry.

despite his usual extravagant personality, husband!gojo takes his wife's concerns seriously. let it be work stress or personal issues, he may not always have the perfect response, but he's always there, ready to listen and comfort her.

husband!gojo who makes fun of you in the sweetest, most loving way, whether it's poking fun at how you look while drooling or your height, his eyes will always hold affection.

husband!gojo who knows that his lateness might also serve as a way to stir up reactions - especially yours. and when you're lightly mad at him, he'll claim he's searching for your heart, ridiculously. "i'm not joking around here, okay, i thought i will find your heart anywhere here."

husband!gojo, the husband who's into buying the plushie you longed for, without telling you that he actually knows you liked them. he's very attentive with everything you want.

husband!gojo, a husband figure who exudes confidence around others, but when it's just you two, he's the most caring and thoughtful version of himself. you could ramble on until his ears can't take it, but he'd stay by your side, no matter how much you yap.

every time someone flirts with you, husband!gojo casually says, "mine," with a small smile. letting them know that this woman is his.

husband!gojo, the type to makes sure you're always within his line of sight, even amidst a room full of strangers.

husband!gojo who messes with your hair in the morning, claiming it's "adorable" even though it's a mess.

husband!gojo whom brain is always flooded with nicknames ideas for you - constantly give you random ones like "my little snuggle nugget" for no reason at all.

295 notes · View notes

sapphiresaphics · 2 days ago

Text

“Caitlyn never apologizes for her actions so how do we know she’s remorseful of them?”

Well you see… when Caitlyn gets asked if she likes men or women by Vi, we never get an answer from Caitlyn there either. But then later in the episode we SEE her behaving differently and flirting with a woman. So that answers our question for us. We don’t need to hear her say “I’m a lesbian” or “I like girls” because the show SHOWS us that she likes girls.

Often times if you have a concern like this, it IS addressed in the show. Just not in blatantly obvious and vocal ways. You actually need to pay attention.

So like… yea, we don’t really hear Caitlyn say outright “I feel remorse for my actions” but there’s like a MOUNTAIN of evidence (Kirammountains worth haha) that show she feels this way. From her confrontational arguments with Ambessa, to her pointing a gun at singe, to her sneaking around tracking singe, to her betraying Ambessa, to her shouting “I know!” when confronted by Vi, to her saying to Jinx “hating you I’ve hated myself,” to her ultimately letting Vi free her sister thus proving to Vi that she’s letting her hatred for Jinx go, to her sad “are you still in this fight, Violet?” at the end of the show… using the context clues the characters provide through facial acting and body language we can TELL that she’s remorseful.

Imagine that!

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane spoilers #caitlyn kiramman #caitvi #violyn #vi arcane #arcane s2

195 notes · View notes

corkinavoid · 2 days ago

Text

For @ladydoptera, to 'Pomegranate Lips' by Derivakat,

DPxDC Get a Taste

"Password?"

Tim swallows. The eyes in the narrow window of the metal door are plenty familiar, dark violet with black makeup. But knowing who is on the other side doesn't help him in the slightest.

"Going ghost," he says, keeping his voice low. The window slides back shut with a snap - metal over metal, Tim's ears hurt - and then, there's a click, a snap, and the door opens.

A girl in a creatively ruined but still somehow stylish gothic lolita dress is standing in front of him. She looks taller than usual, and when Tim looks down, he knows why - those platforms must be at least four inches, how does she even walk in those?

"Welcome, McFly," Sam's dark red lips curve in a smirk that looks just a bit too smug on her. Also, to this day, Tim has no idea why she picked that nickname for him.

He steps inside, and the heavy door slams shut behind him, leaving them both in complete darkness. Or, Tim thought so until he looks a little closer and notices how Sam's violet eyes are faintly glowing - not enough to light the way, but enough to raise a few questions.

Questions that Tim is not going to ask.

Yet.

"Follow me," the girl says, her voice on the brink between annoyed and amused, and starts walking away through the narrow hall. Tim does his best to follow; his eyes are adjusting to the darkness, albeit slowly.

However, the walk doesn't last long - ten or so steps later Sam pushes another door, and-

The closest thing Tim can describe it as is a rave, of all things. Loud, rhythmic music that thrums through his whole body, strobes and bright green lights everywhere, and people, hundreds of them, dressed in all kinds of things. Tim freezes in the doorway, struggling to take in the sight.

A woman in a Victorian dress is dancing with what looks to be a werewolf in prison robes. A child just threw a one-eyed parrot at a man in a black tie suit. A knight of plated armor is waving a sword around, seemingly arguing with-

"Keep your mouth closed," Sam's finger taps his chin from below, and Tim shuts it back closed with a snap. Right, he's got no time to gawk, he is here on a mission. But, when he looks back to Sam, his mind comes to a screeching halt yet again.

"How'd you-" he starts, looking at how the girl's skin, usually pale and almost white, is glittering with small lines of blood red runes. They are not tattoos, or at least Tim doesn't think so because they move, like tiny snakes or vines over her skin.

"Nope, not answering," Sam clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, her perfectly sharp eyeliner getting a deep, dark red hint as well, "I don't owe you shit."

With that, she turns around and starts weaving through the crowd, leaving Tim no choice but to follow.

The music is nearly crushing his eardrums. The crowd should feel suffocating - Tim knows it usually does in places like these - but somehow it doesn't. What's more, it feels cold. So cold, in fact, that goosebumps run over Tim's skin.

However, just as he feels like they are completely lost in this freezing, neverending sea of faces and figures, Sam stops. Tim almost runs into her back, actually, but, just as he is about to ask her why, she steps to the side and gestures for Tim to go ahead.

And Tim... Tim can't move a muscle.

There's a corner booth in front of him, with red velvet seats and more than a few dozen drinks, empty and full, on the table in the middle. Some of the liquids are glowing toxic, unnatural colors, and in the back corner of his mind, Tim still remembers why he's here. He is investigating, right. Which includes meeting the owner of 'Afterlife' face to face, yeah. Something about a new drug on the streets of Gotham, probably.

Tim can't concentrate.

The guy lazily sitting at the table, with hair so white that it's nearly glowing and his pale skin shimmering with highlighter on his cheekbones, causes Tim's mind to completely bluescreen. Because the unbuttoned black suit with embroidered stars and an open white shirt underneath, the neon blue, faintly glowing cold eyes, and blood red lips stretched in a dangerous smile - that's thankfully is not directed at him - are all... Too much.

Not blood red, actually. It's a different color, but Tim can't remember the name.

He can barely remember his own name, to be honest.

"Oi, Danny," Sam snaps her fingers in the air, and the ethereal being blinks, tearing his unblinking gaze away from the man in a white suit sitting across from him to look at her. Then, his eyes slide to Tim, and, okay, he thought he was well past the gay panic stage of his life, but apparently not.

The guy - the god? because only divine fucking things have the right to look so otherworldly pretty, in Tim's opinion - tilts his head to the side slightly, a curious edge to him. And then he smiles, nice and a little sly, but Tim can't shake off the feeling of sharp danger that runs through his spine.

Pomegranate, that's the color.

Bite it once, and you will never leave the Underworld.

"Can I help you, little bird of crimson color?" The ethereal owner of the most mysterious place in Gotham asks without raising his voice, and yet Tim can hear him despite the loud music around.

...Maybe he doesn't mind never leaving, if he can get a taste.

~•~•~•~

When I put that song on for the first time, I was like, that's Sam. That's so Sam. But then I started writing, and things got weird, so it's both Sam and Danny now.

Tim is so gone, I'm sorry, RIP Tim. Funny thing is, he barely said a single word throughout the whole piece.

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #tim drake #sam manson #dead tired #tim x danny #cork prompts #cork game #i dont know how #but every time i get distracted i end up writing smitten tim #this is getting out of hand #i dont regret shit tho

283 notes · View notes

mikuluvu · 2 days ago

Text

A/n: i dont think there's any new Mouthwash x reader fanfictions... Like every time i would visit the tag its just the same fic- so here!!! PLS FEED ME MORE MOUTHWASH FIC I CANT BREATHE PROPERLY WITHOUT IT.

A/n: So, what if fem!reader just hugs the crew behind 'em?

Warnings: nuh uh

Captain Curly

Captain Curly is in the cockspit, hunched over the controls, he doesn't know what to do. His jaw is tight, and the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes.

Quietly, you step closer and wrap your arms around him from behind.

He freezes, his entire body stiff as a board. “What... are you doing?” His tone is gruff, but there’s a hint of uncertainty beneath it.

“It looked like you needed this,” you reply softly, resting your cheek against his back.

He lets out a long sigh, the kind that carries weeks of stress. “You’re a strange one, you know that?” Despite his words, he doesn’t push you away. Instead, he allows himself to relax, just a little... Everything can wait.

For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze fixed on the console in front of him. The hum of the ship fills the silence, and you wonder if you’ve overstepped?

“You know, Captain…” you murmur, your cheek pressed lightly against his back. “You’re really doing a great job looking for the crew... but you barely take care of yourself.”

He exhales sharply, the sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “I don’t have the luxury of thinking about myself,” he replies, his voice low and gruff. “Not when everyone is depending on me.”

Your arms tighten slightly around his waist, a small gesture of reassurance. “That’s exactly why you need to. If you fall apart, who’s going to keep things running? The crew needs you, Captain. But they need you healthy and strong.”

He goes quiet again, his head bowing forward. You can feel the tension in his body, the weight he’s been carrying for who knows how long. “Easier said than done,” he mutters finally.

“That’s why I’m here,” you say softly, your warmth against his back. “You don’t have to do it all alone, Curly. Let someone else carry the weight with you.”

For a moment, you think he might pull away, but instead, he relaxes ever so slightly in your hold. “You’re persistent,” he murmurs, his tone carrying a trace of something softer—gratitude, maybe.

“And you’re stubborn,” you tease gently, leaning your head against him. “So I guess we’re even.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, “Alright, fine. I’ll try to take better care of myself... for the crew.”

“And for you,” you add firmly.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but you feel his hand lightly brush yours where they rest around his waist. “Thanks,” he mutters, his voice softer now.

Jimmy

Jimmy is pacing in the cockpit, muttering to himself about the dwindling food supplies and how they’re going to ration out the next few days. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

You wait for him to pause before stepping up and slipping your arms around his waist.

“What the—!” He jumps, turning his head in surprise. When he realizes it’s you, his wide eyes soften into something resembling relief.

“You’re lucky I didn’t punch you,” he says with a breathless laugh, "Wow, punching a woman?" you snort, resting his hands over yours. He leans back into you, chuckling.

He chuckles, placing his hands lightly over yours. “Alright, you got me there.” He leans back slightly, letting himself relax in your hold.

(a/n: i did want to make him like... Mean, perv and all, but maybe you guys wouldnt like that- feel free to comment if you want a version of it)

Anya

Anya is standing infront of curly, checking up on him while humming under her breath. You come up behind her, gently draping your arms around her shoulders.

She tilts her head back, glancing at you with a curious smile. “Well, this is unexpected.”

When you don’t let go, she chuckles softly. “You’re braver than most. I don’t usually let people this close.” She leans into the hug slightly, her warmth and steady presence grounding you as much as you’re grounding her. She really likes it, it makes her shoulders relax... “Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

Swansea

Swansea is at the utility room, tools scattered everywhere as he mutters curses about faulty circuits. You approach silently and wrap your arms around his midsection.

“Bloody hell!” he yells, jerking up so fast he almost hits his head on a panel. He twists around, glaring at you. “What’s the big idea, sneakin’ up on me like that?”

When he sees your face, his irritation softens, though he tries to cover it up with a grumble. You and Swansea are like father daughter, he sighed “You scared me half to death, you know.”

You tighten the hug just slightly, and after a beat, he sighs in defeat. “Fine, fine. Just don’t make a habit of it, yeah?” But the faint smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.

"Sorry... Dad" you giggle, and he just get stunned... Out of all nickname you could pick for him... Dad? (He secretly likes it)

Daisuke

Daisuke is nervously sorting through tools in the corner, clearly trying to look busy. His hands tremble slightly, betraying his unease.

Without thinking, you walk up and hug him from behind.

He freezes entirely, his hands hovering mid-air. “Uh… wh-what are you doing?” His voice is high-pitched, flustered beyond belief.

“Giving you a hug,” you say simply.

His face turns red, and he stammers, “I—I mean, thanks, I guess? This is… new.” He doesn’t move, too overwhelmed to react, but he doesn’t pull away either.

"Am I making you uncomfrotable?" You asked, you were just about to let him go, "Huh- N-No! It's just... I didn't expect you to do this... Randomly.." he laughs nervously... "Just dont let go..."

A/n; Thx for reading! Reposting and liking is appreciated! Support me through my ko-fi

#curly x reader #daisuke x reader #swansea x reader #jimmy x reader #anya x reader #mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #captain curly mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing

212 notes · View notes

bluesturngold · 13 hours ago

Note

i think you genuinely don't understand how what you've posted looks to other trans women who have been in the trenches on this website for years, so let me try and break it down:

'man-hating trans feminists,' also called transmisandrists, transandrophobes, baeddels (based on a group of trans women on tumblr who were frequently harassed and whose interpersonal issues were publicized as the social group fell apart a few years ago — it is fucking unreal the term has come back into use as an insult for trans women who are vocal about transmisogyny), or the most heinous 'trans inclusive radical feminists' — which is frequently shortened to just calling trans women radical feminists or radfems indistinguishable from TERFs because the people using it are doing so with the goal of perpetuating harm against trans women — are not an issue and do not exist in any statistically significant number.

that the group exists at all is symptomatic of just how severe transmisogyny has gotten, and it reads as both naive and insulting to see a popular tumblr trans woman have the audacity to make a post chiding other trans women for — and again, this is the subtext we are reading into this based on the current state of the discourse, which you seem literally entirely unaware of — refusing to be quiet about the way we're mistreated in so-called trans friendly spaces, like among other LGBTQIA+ users on tumblr, but also well beyond just here.

the idea that any significant portion of feminists are irrational man-haters relies on extremely simple misogyny, painting women as unreasonable (read: hysterical, which at least in western cultures was at times enough to get women thrown in asylums for the rest of their lives) for having convictions rooted in our lived experiences under patriarchy which we refuse to articulate in terms that preserve the feelings of the guy saying 'not all men.'

i presume you know this and i promise i'm not trying to condescend because i like you and want you to develop a better understanding of what it's like for lots of trans women who aren't popular on this website, but for the sake of explaining thoroughly, 'not all men' is a reactionary talking point that maliciously attempts to reframe discussion of the systems of women's oppression around whether men as individuals are all misogynists or not, which is not relevant: even when a man's feelings are hurt by a jaded woman proclaiming all men are pigs and she's done with them, there is no systemic oppression that woman is furthering.

every popular argument for 'systemic misandry,' i.e. only men being drafted or fathers having worse outcomes in custody disputes is very clearly and historically based in discrimination against women, i.e. being innately physically and emotionally inferior and thus incapable of fighting in a war or being innately better suited to homemaking and child rearing on account of a mix of biological and cultural factors.

similarly, even when a jaded trans woman gets fed up and says she's tired of dealing with trans men and wishes trans women could have our own spaces, that is not transmisandry or transandrophobia as she has no systemic power over trans men: she is not the doctor or the insurance claims approver or the politician making his medical care difficult to navigate, she is not a cis man threatening him with corrective rape knowing the law will take his side, she is not the arbiter of societal beauty standards suggesting baldness is unattractive — nor is she exempt from any of these examples of transphobia, for that matter, because transphobes treat trans men as if they are women which means a lot of the stuff trans men deal with is rooted in transphobes also being misogynistic.

given we have so much overlapping oppression, it's crazy to me that instead of listening and learning when accused of transmisogyny there has been a campaign by a community of edgelord trans men on this site to brand trans women with the "man-hating feminist" stereotype as punishment for speaking up about mistreatment despite how vulnerable the trans women speaking up are.

this current transmisogyny problem on tumblr has been festering for years, with harassment campaigns here and there against trans feminine users they don't anticipate having the support network to handle it, but it most recently came to a head with the harassment campaign against youtuber and tumblr user patricia taxxon. one of the trans mascs who led it was a less popular youtuber who used his subscriber count to argue the power imbalance was actuallay tipped in her favor (which is totally detached from the reality of being an open and honest mentally ill trans feminine person with a ton of visibility online), and also posted openly about how he was doing kiwifarms lolcow-style harassment to another trans woman on tumblr, lilyorchard. he couched his behavior in mental illness by claiming he 'hyperfixates' on this sort of thing, which was just so dark for me to find out when i was looking into things. this isn't his video, but

^ there are few things that will make you question the ability of trans men and trans women to be in community together more than watching a trans masc youtuber and tumblr user 1. apparently successfully working to further the narrative that a bunch of trans women on tumblr are senseless man haters among an audience primarily consisting of young and less politically savvy trans people, 2. piling onto a trans feminine person who has a feature length film dissecting her life, and 3. drumming up harassment against another trans feminine person who admitted she's cautious around trans men because they navigate accepting trans spaces as men which can afford them privilege, which women tend to be wary of with men they don't know well.

also, vital to understanding the current moment: whenever rita got banned a lot of the people digging up her old posts and saying she deserved it for sexual harassment (making vore jokes about eating transphobes who were harassing her) were trans mascs who happened to be in the same sphere as some TERF blogs where her harassment started and decided to help out.

to be clear, i think trans solidarity is necessary, but i won't criticize the handful of transfeminist separatists on tumblr for disagreeing when there's a cadre of trans mascs and allies who keep hunting trans feminine people for sport (this is deliberate wording referencing a post a trans masc made about trans feminine people who were pointing out that transandrophobia allegations were being used in retaliation to keep them from discussing transmisogyny). i hope they'll mend their ways — even if not everyone will forgive them — or at least lose influence on other people who don't recognize they're malicious transmisogynists.

anyway back to your post:

reblogging the first part with an addition pivoting into denouncing bioessentialism comes across as a clumsy rhetorical maneuver trying to navigate the post away from the discourse, but bioessentialism being bad is such a popular belief in our tumblr sphere that it's hard to believe that's what you were originally trying to convey given the lack of context in the original post.

i also find it troubling how you articulated your point about bioessentialism, because i've never personally felt like a trans woman who's denouncing men is denouncing me, even as a trans feminine person who is early in my medical transition and still closeted, because i know jaded trans women who have gotten fed up such that they denounce men and am familiar with plenty of others in passing, they're a diverse group united by the ways they've been mistreated and aren't interested in mistreating other trans women.

not saying there aren't some trans women whose internalized transmisogyny makes them think of 'bricks' or other cruel things, but that was hot discourse a few years ago, and i don't think there's much overlap between them and trans women who hate men mentioned in the original post.

you picked a bad time to make a post suggesting trans women who view your posts on tumblr (the implicit target audience of that original post you made) are harming each other at a publicly recognizable scale when we have other intercommunity concerns. unfortunately it fits with the notion people have of your politics being underdeveloped and/or vibes based; if i remember correctly several trans feminine people i know or follow weren't huge fans of where you landed with the egg joke discussion given the size of your follower base and perceived ability to influence the discourse. i don't feel as strongly about that issue as i do this one, but the bright side is you can always learn and grow, and developing a deeper understanding of transmisogyny, transmisogynoir, and transfeminism is pretty rewarding

Punkitt please, I know this is the "how dare you piss on the poor" website but I can barely handle all these terfs and purposefully obstinate folks you're replying to

Sorry!!! Sometimes a bitch loves to argue. I would argue nearly all of them AREN'T terfs, tho: a lot of them are transgender women, which is literally why I made the post. My post was never about denying the harm of the patriarchy, it's about viewing masculinity as inherently evil and testosterone as some sort of evil poisoning hormone. It's not TERFs saying it, which I think is the issue. It's people who should know better than subscribe to ANY sort of bioessentialism. I mean why would you perpetuate the very dialogue that kept most of us in the closet?

1K notes · View notes

awrkive · 1 day ago

Note

angst + 14 + with jk make it HURT miss dee i trust you with my life 🙏🏻

14. "If you walk way from me, I don't want you coming back."

note: im genuinely so annoyed i cant keep my words bcs this drabble is 2.5k words but i promise the next ones are gonna be under 1k 😭

Two lines.

The first one is clear as day, and you’ve tried so hard to blind yourself from the other one that’s just barely there – barely because it’s faint but you’re not stupid and you know it is there. That it exists. That it’s crystal clear there are two. Fucking. Lines on the damned test.

Two lines.

It’s funny how a single plastic stick can ruin your life in a matter of minutes.

Your mother didn’t lie at all when she said that you’d know these things. That you will feel it when it’s there. A month ago you didn’t get your period and while you could have an irregular cycle sometimes, you had a bad feeling about this particular one; the fatigue didn’t feel usual, your hips and breasts are growing and it didn’t make sense. You hated key lime pie for most of your life but recently you feel like you could eat it for the rest of your days.

That was not fucking normal.

And when you vomited again this morning after waking up, you decided to take a test.

It was past 7pm when you got home from the drugstore, and thirty minutes had passed since then when you found out the result. There are three sticks in the strewn paper bag all over the sink – all of which shows you the same thing.

Two damn lines.

You’re pregnant and you don’t know what to feel about it.

But who are you lying to? You know exactly what you feel about it. You feel like utter shit. Absolute fucking shit and there’s a lodge in your throat that breaks into a sob when it finally dawns on you that holy fuck you’re fucking pregnant. There’s a baby growing in your womb and you can barely feed yourself waiting tables at a shitty restaurant downtown.

You cry.

Your shoulders shake as you sob silently in the lavatory of your tiny bathroom, the chipped edge of the mirror and the broken faucet reminding you once again that you are not ready for this. You’re only 23. You’re barely making ends meet. The gap year you took off school that was only supposed to be one year stretched into two because of financial issues and now… this? A kid? What would you do with a child? You aren’t ready. You just aren’t ready.

This was not supposed to happen.

You think that over again. This was not supposed to happen. It repeats in your head over and over again like a broken record until you break into yet again another sob.

You dig your fingers in the porcelain sink, let your body fall low as you cry until your throat hurt. Tears flowed until you felt numb inside. You wept until your body trembled, weak and unsteady, struggling to throw the sticks into the trash, wrapped as carefully as you could manage in your fragile state, afraid Jungkook might find them.

He comes home in two hours.

And for those two hours, you lie on the couch with tear-stained cheeks, thinking about what he would say; how he would react.

You wish you live in the timeline where this news could be good rather than bad. Wish this could’ve brought you to tears of joy instead of… this hollow ache in your chest trapping your airflow you could barely breathe.

But that timeline is non-existent. You’re living in the now. You’re a twenty-three-year-old woman living with your twenty-five-year-old boyfriend – and while both of you have jobs to sustain yourself in a rundown, shitty, sketchy apartment, having a kid is not ideal. It’s not in the picture. It never fit in the picture – not at all. You’ve never discussed this and you were mostly certain Jungkook would not receive this news with open arms and a wide grin.

The thought brought you to tears again until you fell asleep.

———

“Babe?”

Jungkook feels like a kid on Christmas day. He feels a bout of energy, and he wants nothing but to unleash it on you – and there are fun ways he can unleash it on you, alright – things that you both will enjoy on this cold January night.

He can’t help it. His grin only grows wider when he steps into the threshold of your house and the waft of home fills his nostrils. This part of town is shitty but you’ve done your best to make your apartment smell good. It’s that citrus… lavender… whatever the fuck candle you buy, Jungkook thinks.

Hah. He should’ve bought you one or two, huh? You fucking love those scented candles. You hoard the hell out of them even though they could be expensive. It’s worth it though… and with the bonus he’s holding in his wallet, why not?

The thought only makes him smile even more.

You’d love the news. You’d light up in that usual way you do when Jungkook does something remotely good. Anything that means he’s straying away from the destructive life he’s always led before he took your relationship seriously – you love it. And Jungkook admits he loves it, too. Loves doing good for you. Loves when he makes you happy.

He doesn’t believe in changing for other people because fuck that, this is his own life and he does whatever he wants with it – but you’re a part of it now, a great part, and Jungkook will be damned if he loses you. He certainly did before – and for all the dumb decisions he’s made in his twenty five years, that one was the worst.

“Baby?” he calls again when you give no answer. He’s sure you’re home by now, though, and so he crosses the distance to the threshold and living area, finding you in the couch cocooned like a burrito.

Chuckling, he steps closer and lets the cushion dip in his weight when he sits on it. You’d give him an earful if you see him letting his outside clothes touch your sheets but right now all he gives a fuck about is you hearing the news about his promotion at work. Granted, it’s not “promotion” per say, it’s just that he’s going up from being an apprentice to an actual tattoo artist at the shop. He can finally quit that job at that shit-paying convenience store and can focus fully on the shop which he actually likes doing. And he can finally get a more formal pay as well. It’s all for you.

When Jungkook rolls you to his side, he swiped away the hair that’s gotten all over your face. You stirred, but when you wake up, Jungkook frowns.

“What the fuck happened?”

Your eyes are puffy and red. Swollen. You look tired, drawn, exhausted. And Jungkook couldn’t have mistaken the tear stains on your cheeks for anything other than you've been crying.

“H-huh?” You say, obviously still not fully conscious.

“Were you crying?” Jungkook asks, concern growing heavy. He tries to think if you texted him today about something – but other than your usual texts of I love yous and I miss yous, there was nothing. So what could you have been possibly crying about?

It seems like you’ve snapped the haze of sleep off your mind because you quickly turn away from his touch, untangling yourself from the sheets and sitting upright.

“Nothing.”

Jungkook’s brows crease even more.

“What?”

“I said nothing!” You snapped, which surprised the both of you. Jungkook doesn’t have a clue what the fuck is going on – but then you turn around to look at him and you look so fragile and scared shitless and sad and broken that it just sends him into utter confusion when you stutter, “I’m– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jungkook says, a bit irritated now because he doesn’t like it when you skirt around what you feel. “What happened?”

He tries to ignore the fact that when he lifts his hand to put it on your thigh, you flinch and your muscles grow tense. As if you don’t want his touch.

“I was… I was watching a movie.” you say, lips tilting into a small smile Jungkook knows is fake.

Now he’s just perplexed. What the fuck is all this about? You’re flinching at his touch and you can’t even look him in the eye as you fake a smile at him.

He peels his hand away from you and stands up from the couch.

“Yeah?” He knows he has a temper. And it definitely shows when he continues to saracastically add, “Pretty fucking dramatic movie, huh?”

You stay quiet but you definitely have a physical reaction to his sharp tone.

Every single second that passes and you still don’t utter a single word, Jungkook begins to feel like this air is growing into tension.

And his defense mechanism gets the best of him.

“Alright, lay it on me,” he says with a leveled tone, staring at you coldly. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Jungkook thinks that must be it. There’s no way there’s another reason why you’re acting like this; looking at him in that solemn way.

Two years. Two years of trying to fix him and you’ve finally reached the rim of your dam. You finally realized he’s not worth your time, that you could have so much better, be with better men, have a better life with them than whatever the fuck you have and will ever have with him.

Jungkook’s always been aware of that. It’s not even self-deprecation, it’s just facts.

But fuck if it didn’t hurt to confront it this way.

“I’m pregnant.”

Two words.

Two words and it’s enough to make Jungkook’s head spin.

“What?” He asks again, because there’s no way you just said that.

“I’m pregnant.” you repeat again, this time louder. Jungkook sees you inhaling a sharp breath, and it’s clear to him when your eyes begin to tear up. “I’m pregnant, Jungkook.”

His mouth closes and opens like a fish in a tank. He goes from confused then disbelief then just… nothing.

“You’re… you’re pregnant.”

You obviously take his tone as something different, and Jungkook can’t blame you when you snap once again. “When you put your dick in me without a condom, that’s what usually happens, so yes, I am pregnant with your child, Jungkook.”

“You let me put my dick in you without a fucking condom,” Jungkook retorts, looking at you incredulously. “What the fuck, __? What– what happened with– are you not taking your pills?”

“Fuck you!” You roar, venomous and mostly hurt.

Jungkook knows you’re feeling more like the latter.

He knows that, and yet, he decides to press more.

“What did you fucking expect, babe? That I was gonna smile and laugh and carry and spin you around this fucking– this fucking tiny apartment?” Jungkook gestures around wildly, and he hates that when he looks at your face it's now contorted into tormented pain. Your shoulders shake as you sob silently. But his head is on a haywire and he feels like he can’t think straight. You. A baby. You two. A family. He runs a hand along his face. “We’re barely making ends meet. You wait tables while I only rely on commissions from my apprenticeship at the shop and earn shit at that convenience store five blocks away. We can barely afford the fucking AC and – and now you’re telling me you’re pregnant? What the fuck do we do with a fucking child, __?”

“I don’t know!” You say exasperatedly, abruptly standing up from the couch. You sniff as you rub away at your eyes – red from all the crying you must have done and been doing.

“So why the hell would you get mad at me for reacting this way?” Jungkook answers, because frankly, he doesn’t understand. And then he says the next words he thinks of, “Are you keeping it?”

He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth.

You usually look at him with so much adoration in your eyes – so genuine and loving that Jungkook gets confused sometimes – but now you look at him with nothing but pure distaste. Hatred. And even he was taken aback.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck the answer to that horrible question is. But whatever the hell I do, you decide if you want to be part of it or not – and with the way you’re acting right now, I’m assuming you want out,” you say, voice firm and full. Gone was the fragility, all Jungkook could see was a stone-cold person in front of him who didn’t give a fuck about whether or not he stays in her life. And your next words further prove that. “But there’s something I want you to know and make sure you remember this: if you walk away from me, right now, I don’t want you coming back. Ever. And I mean that. I mean that, Jungkook.”

Jungkook stands glued there in the middle of the living space, heart squeezed to fuck and his lungs tightening as he processes your words.

He follows your figure as you disappear in your bedroom, feeling like the room is suddenly spinning when you leave.

Jungkook lets himself fall on the sofa and for the first time in what felt like years, he cries.

#jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #p; drabbles #p; drabble requests

177 notes · View notes

buttercandy16 · 2 days ago

Text

Consequences to your Actions

PAIRING(s): Agatha Harkness x Reader, Rio Vidal x Reader

SUMMARY: A woman, betrayed by her wife, embarks on an affair with her boss, Agatha Harkness. Agatha's control leads to a divorce, but when the truth emerges, it’s too late—Agatha will do anything to keep her.

WARNING(s): Infidelity, Manipulation, Obsession, Implied Stalking, Betrayal, Deception, Abuse, Control, Gaslighting, Dub-Con, SMUT, and other Dark themes I forgot to mention.

A/N: The itching need to add Rio even if I'm only writing her as a minor character. Enjoy!

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Rio started coming home late. At first, she had excuses—work meetings that ran over, urgent deadlines at her law firm, impromptu drinks with colleagues. You didn’t think much of it at first; your own work at Harkness Industries was demanding enough, and you weren’t about to begrudge her the same kind of schedule.

But as the weeks went by, the excuses started to feel hollow. She became distant, absent even when she was physically there. When she kissed you, it was fleeting. When she held you, it felt like her arms were a cage keeping something unspoken inside.

And then there was her phone.

It started buzzing at odd hours—late at night, early in the morning. She was quick to silence it, brushing off your questions with tight-lipped explanations. “It’s just work,” she’d say, or, “You know how chaotic things get this time of year.”

You wanted to believe her. God, you needed to believe her. But the unease festered.

Your life began unraveling on a quiet Tuesday evening. You hadn’t expected it—betrayal rarely came with a warning. As you walked into the apartment, exhausted from work, Rio stood in the kitchen, fiddling with her phone. At first, it seemed innocent, just another moment of routine. But when you greeted her, she flinched, quickly locking the device and shoving it into her pocket.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice soft but tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing.” She gave you a nervous smile, brushing past to put the kettle on. “How was work?”

Her attempt to divert the conversation only made you more suspicious. It wasn’t like her to be evasive. Still, you brushed it off. Maybe you were overthinking things.

But the unease didn’t go away. In fact, it worsened as the days passed.

Late one night, unable to sleep, you saw Rio’s phone buzzing on the nightstand. The name flashing on the screen—"Unknown"—was strange enough. Stranger still was the message preview: “Can’t stop thinking about you. Last night…”

You froze, nausea twisting your stomach. Before you could react, Rio stirred, taking the phone in her hand and quickly silencing it.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled, clearly trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

“Who is this?” you demanded.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she stammered, her voice shaky. “That’s—she’s just a friend. It’s not like that.”

“A friend?” You couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped you. “Who texts their friends last night was amazing?”

She tried to defend herself, but the damage was done. You didn’t believe her. How could you? A message like that wasn’t innocent. Not when it left a dull ache pounding in your chest every time her phone buzzed. That pain, the uncertainty, stuck with you. It hung in the back of your mind at work, bled into your daily routines, and stole your ability to focus on anything else. You stopped going to bed with her. Stopped sharing your dreams or your fears because you weren’t sure if she deserved them anymore.

The seeds of doubt had taken root, and no amount of reassurance could pull them out.

At work, you found no reprieve. If anything, your performance began to suffer. Tasks that once came easily felt impossible to focus on. Meetings dragged on, your mind wandering to the phone calls and late nights that awaited you at home.

And that’s when Agatha Harkness began to notice you.

You’d always admired her from a distance—the way she commanded attention in every room she entered, the sharp confidence in her stride, the cool authority in her voice. As the CEO of Harkness Industries, she was untouchable, her presence as formidable as the empire she’d built.

The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor broke your spiral of thoughts.

“[Your Last Name],” Agatha said, her smooth, smoky voice cutting through the hum of the nearly empty office. You jumped slightly, not expecting her presence this late. Looking up, you saw her—impeccably dressed, her charcoal-gray suit tailored to fit her tall, sharp frame. Her silver jewelry gleamed in the pale fluorescent lighting. Her presence dominated the room, her piercing blue eyes narrowed on you.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, though the amusement in her tone betrayed her true intentions. Agatha didn’t ask questions unless she already knew the answers.

“Yes, Ms. Harkness,” you replied stiffly, quickly closing your laptop. “Just catching up on some work.”

She leaned against your desk, clearly not buying it. “You’ve been… off lately,” she said, her voice softening ever so slightly, though her usual smirk stayed in place. “If something’s wrong, you can always come to me, you know.”

You hesitated. There was something unnervingly genuine in her tone, but that wasn’t what threw you off. What unsettled you was the realization that her gaze wasn’t just observing you—it was studying you, drinking in every little tell, every weakness.

“Thanks, but it’s personal,” you muttered, reaching for your bag.

She raised an eyebrow, giving you an indulgent smile. “Personal, huh? Let me guess—relationship trouble?”

You froze, your hands stiffening on the strap of your bag. She tilted her head, and for a moment, her smirk softened into something like sympathy. But even then, her eyes glinted with a hunger you didn’t fully understand.

The question caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged, leaning against your desk with an air of casual confidence. “Call it intuition. But if there’s something you want to talk about…” She let the sentence trail off, her piercing blue eyes holding yours for a moment too long.

You shook your head, brushing her off with a polite smile. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

But Agatha wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

It started innocently enough. After that conversation, Agatha began to invite you out. Sometimes it was coffee before a morning meeting, other times drinks after hours in her office. At first, you felt awkward accepting her invitations. She was your boss, after all. But you were desperate for a distraction from the storm at home—and she always had a way of drawing you in, her words dripping with charisma.

She began offering casual advice or anecdotes from her life. Before you knew it, she wasn’t just a boss—she was a confidante.

You never meant to open up to her about Rio. It happened one particularly draining night when you were both finishing late meetings. Agatha poured you a drink, her glass already half-empty as she leaned back in her leather office chair.

“Darling, what’s eating at you?” she asked casually, swirling the whiskey in her glass. “You look… burdened.”

It was her words—so precise and unnervingly accurate—that broke something in you. “It’s my wife,” you admitted, staring into your glass. “I think she’s cheating on me.”

Agatha didn’t react immediately. She studied you, her expression unreadable. “Cheating?” she repeated, her tone deliberate. “Or do you know it for a fact?”

You hesitated, recounting the texts, the lies, the evasive behavior. Agatha nodded slowly, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Sounds like you already know the truth,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. And though you tried to shake it off, Agatha had a way of making the impossible seem logical. She fed into your doubts, her every comment precise and calculated. “She doesn’t deserve you. Not if she could betray you like that.”

Weeks passed, and Agatha grew bolder. She started showing up by your desk during breaks, brushing her hand across yours under the guise of sharing paperwork. She leaned a little too close when she whispered in your ear during meetings, and her compliments shifted from professional to deeply personal.

One night, she invited you to her penthouse.

The space was breathtaking: high ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and an unobstructed view of the city skyline. You felt out of place amidst the luxury, but Agatha made you feel welcome. She poured you wine, teasing you gently about your stiff posture.

“Relax, darling,” she said, her voice low. “This isn’t work. Consider it a treat for all your hard efforts.”

You tried to keep your guard up, but the wine and her proximity eroded your resolve. She was magnetic, her every gesture deliberate and sensual. When she leaned in to brush a strand of hair from your face, you didn’t pull back.

“You know,” Agatha whispered, her lips so close to yours that her breath brushed against your skin, while swirling a glass of Merlot in her other hand, “someone who cheats isn’t worth your time.”

The comment was blunt, almost cruel. You stiffened, staring into your own wineglass. “She says she didn’t cheat,” you said quietly, though even you didn’t sound convinced. “She’s been trying to prove herself, but…”

Agatha clicked her tongue, setting down her glass. Her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “But she broke your trust,” she said firmly. “That’s not something you can just fix. Trust isn’t some toy you can glue back together once it’s shattered.”

Her words stung because they echoed the feelings you’d been trying to ignore. And yet, there was a strange comfort in her conviction—in the way she made everything sound so clear-cut when your own thoughts were muddied.

Weeks turned into months, and Agatha grew bolder. She started calling you “darling” in private. Her hand lingered on your lower back when she guided you into her office. She’d brush your hair out of your face under the pretense of being “helpful,” though the look in her eyes told a different story.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice. She was beautiful—undeniably so—with an effortless allure that seemed to cloak her every movement. And more than that, she understood you. Agatha didn’t sugarcoat things the way Rio did; she told you what you needed to hear, even if it wasn’t pretty.

The first time it happened, you blamed the wine.

You’d stayed late again in her penthouse. She’d convinced you to let her cook dinner—a surprisingly simple but delicious pasta dish that you ate together at her marble-topped kitchen island. The wine flowed freely, and by the time you were sitting beside her on the couch, your head was spinning.

“You deserve better, you know,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and intimate.

You turned to her, your heart pounding as you realized how close she’d leaned in. “Agatha—”

She cut you off with a kiss, her lips soft but insistent against yours. You froze, your mind racing with a thousand reasons why this was wrong. But when she cupped your face, her thumb brushing against your jaw, reason melted away.

The world seemed to pause in that moment, her lips soft but firm against yours, her hand cradling the back of your neck with possessive ease.

Her kiss deepened, her hand sliding into your hair as she guided you closer. It was overwhelming—the heat of her body against yours, the hunger in her touch, the way she seemed to pour all her intensity into that single act.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, she studied you with a small, satisfied smile. “Tell me to stop,” she whispered, her fingers still tangled in your hair.

You didn’t.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” she murmured, her voice husky. Guilt churned in your chest, but as she pulled you closer, kissing you again, it melted into a warmth you hadn’t felt in months.

The affair began in earnest after that night. Agatha was relentless, her touch searing and possessive every time you were alone together. She made you feel things you hadn’t felt in years—desire, adoration, worship.

You knew it was wrong. Every time you returned to Rio, guilt clawed at you, threatening to choke you. But you couldn’t stop. Agatha was a drug, and you were hopelessly addicted.

Her hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body as if memorizing every inch of you. Agatha consumed you in ways you hadn’t thought possible, her touch igniting a fire that left you breathless and desperate for more. Her hands were everywhere—pinning you against the cool walls of her penthouse with an intensity that bordered on possessive. Her lips left trails of fire on your skin, her teeth grazing your collarbone as she pulled moans from your throat. She made you feel wanted, consumed, and for the first time in months, alive.

She whispered things in your ear that made your heart race and your cheeks burn, things you’d never heard from Rio.

“You’re mine,” she murmured one night, her voice rough with need as she pinned you against the wall of her penthouse. “No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else deserves you.”

For weeks, you lived a double life.

But the guilt never went away.

“Agatha, I can’t keep doing this,” you said one night, pulling away from her lips with more effort than you thought you could muster. “I feel like I’m drowning in this lie.”

She tilted her head, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “Then come up for air,” she murmured, her voice dripping with reassurance. “You know what you need to do, darling.”

When you still hesitated, her tone sharpened ever so slightly. “She doesn’t love you—not really. If she did, she wouldn’t hurt you like this. She wouldn’t make you feel this… empty.”

Her words were surgical, cutting away your last shreds of resistance. Before you could stop yourself, you found solace in her arms again.

When you tried to end it a second time, Agatha didn’t take it lightly.

“You think you can just walk away?” she said, her voice eerily calm as she cornered you in her office after hours. “After everything?”

Her eyes burned into yours, her intensity both terrifying and magnetic. “I know you feel guilty, but what you have with me? It’s real. It’s worth the risk.”

She leaned in, her lips grazing your ear. “And you want it, don’t you?”

Your heart pounded as her words sank in. She was right. No matter how much you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t stay away.

Eventually, she began to push harder.

“You need to leave her,” Agatha said one night, lying beside you in bed. Her fingertips ghosted along your arm, her lips brushing against your shoulder as she spoke. “She doesn’t deserve you, and we both know it.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

She cupped your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Yes, you can. I’ll be here, darling. You don’t need her.”

Her words echoed in your head long after you left her apartment. The divorce papers sat on the kitchen table for weeks before you finally signed them. Rio cried when she found out.

“You’re making a mistake,” she pleaded, clutching your hands. “I didn’t cheat. I swear to you.”

But Agatha’s voice drowned hers out: “She’s lying. She’ll only hurt you again.”

After the divorce, your relationship with Agatha became official. The media marveled at her whirlwind romance with a “mystery employee,” and you found yourself thrust into the public eye —lavish dinners, expensive gifts, and a wedding straight out of a magazine spread. And yet, something felt… off.

Rio didn’t disappear. She called, sent emails, even showed up at your doorstep one day, begging you to listen.

“She’s manipulating you,” Rio said, her voice trembling with desperation. “She planned this. She’s dangerous, and you can’t see it because she’s in your head.”

You slammed the door in her face, brushing away the small seed of doubt her words planted. Agatha loved you—didn’t she? She couldn’t have orchestrated everything.

It was a rainy night when you found the folder. Agatha had left for a business meeting, and in a moment of idle curiosity, you opened the drawer of her desk. Photos of you—some from months ago, others dating back to years before you’d even started working for her. Copies of emails supposedly from Rio, doctored to look incriminating.

Your stomach dropped as realization dawned.

She’d planned this. All of it. Agatha had orchestrated everything, from planting those damning messages to pulling you closer into her orbit.

“You’ve been busy,” Agatha’s voice startled you. She stood in the doorway of her home office, her eyes unreadable.

“How could you?” you demanded, clutching the folder. “You lied. You manipulated me. You destroyed my life—my marriage—all because you’re obsessed with me?”

Her expression didn’t falter. If anything, she looked amused. “I didn’t destroy your life,” she said calmly, stepping closer. “I saved you.”

“You ruined everything,” you spat, backing away.

She closed the distance between you in an instant, her hand grabbing your wrist in a vice grip. “I gave you everything,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Everything you have is because of me.”

Panic surged through you. “Agatha, you’re scaring me—”

She softened instantly, her hand loosening but not releasing you. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock tenderness. “You don’t need to be scared. I’d never hurt you.”

Her smile turned sharp. “But if you ever try to leave me, I can’t promise things won’t get… messy.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened, her nails digging into your skin just enough to make you wince. Her lips curled into a predatory smile, her eyes dark with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. “You think you can just walk away from me?” she purred, her voice low and dangerous. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve given you?”

You tried to pull away, but she was stronger than she looked. Her other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against her body. You could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her blouse, the hard press of her breasts against yours. “Agatha, let me go,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that made your stomach twist. “Oh, darling, you don’t really want me to let you go, do you?” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “You’ve always been mine. You just needed a little… persuasion.”

Her hand slid down your back, cupping your ass and squeezing hard. You gasped, your body betraying you as a jolt of heat shot through you. “Stop,” you whispered, but your voice lacked conviction.

Agatha’s lips found yours, her kiss fierce and demanding. She didn’t ask for permission; she took what she wanted, her tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You moaned despite yourself, your body responding to her touch even as your mind screamed at you to push her away.

She broke the kiss, her breath hot against your lips. “You’re mine,” she growled, her hands moving to the buttons of your blouse. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

You tried to protest, but she silenced you with another kiss, her fingers deftly undoing the buttons and pushing the fabric off your shoulders. Her hands roamed over your bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her lips trailing down your neck. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Her hands found your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them harden instantly. You gasped, your body arching into her touch. “Agatha,” you moaned, your resolve crumbling.

She smirked, her hands moving to the waistband of your skirt. “That’s it, darling,” she purred, pushing the fabric down your legs. “Let me take care of you.”

You stepped out of your skirt, your body trembling with anticipation. Agatha’s eyes raked over you, her gaze hungry and possessive. “Perfect,” she whispered, her hands sliding down your thighs. “You’re perfect.”

She dropped to her knees, her hands spreading your legs apart. You gasped as her tongue flicked against your clit, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “Agatha,” you moaned, your hands tangling in her hair.

She didn’t respond, her tongue working its magic as she devoured you. You could feel the heat building inside you, your body responding to her every touch. “Oh god,” you whimpered, your hips bucking against her mouth.

Agatha’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as she continued to pleasure you. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. “Come for me, darling,” she murmured, her voice muffled against your skin.

You cried out as the orgasm hit you, your body convulsing with pleasure. Agatha didn’t stop, her tongue lapping at you until you were trembling and weak. She stood up, a satisfied smirk on her lips. “That’s my girl,” she purred, pulling you into a kiss.

You could taste yourself on her lips, the taste of your own arousal on Agatha's lips sent a thrill through you, even as a small part of you recoiled at the intensity of the situation. But Agatha didn't give you time to overthink it. Her hands were on your body again, caressing and claiming every inch of skin as she backed you towards the bed.

You fell onto the plush comforter, Agatha's weight pinning you down a moment later. She straddled your hips, her eyes dark with lust as she looked down at you. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice rough with desire. "Say it."

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and excitement warring within you. But as Agatha ground her hips against yours, you felt yourself giving in. "I'm yours," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Agatha smiled, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Louder," she demanded, her hand wrapping around your throat. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you feel owned, possessed.

"I'm yours," you repeated, louder this time.

"I'm yours, Agatha."

Her grip tightened for a brief moment before she released you, her hand trailing down your body to your breasts. She cupped them roughly, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. "Good girl," she purred, leaning down to take one into her mouth.

You arched into her touch, moaning as her tongue swirled around the sensitive bud. Her other hand moved between your legs, fingers teasing your still-sensitive clit. "You're so wet for me," she murmured against your skin. "So responsive."

She continued her ministrations, alternating between your breasts and your core. Your body was on fire, every touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. You were panting, writhing beneath her, desperate for more.

"Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. Agatha seemed to understand, though. She withdrew her hand, leaving you bereft for a moment before she shifted her hips.

You felt the head of her strap on press against your entrance, and you gasped.

Agatha was large, larger than anyone you'd been with before. She paused, giving you a moment to adjust. "Breathe," she instructed, her voice calm and soothing despite the hunger in her eyes.

You did as she said, taking a deep breath as she slowly pushed inside you. The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but it wasn't long before your body relaxed, accommodating her size. She filled you completely, her hips pressed flush against yours.

"Fuck," Agatha groaned, her head falling forward. "You feel incredible."

She gave you a moment to adjust before she began to move. Slowly at first, her hips rolling against yours in a steady rhythm. But as your moans filled the room, she grew bolder, her thrusts becoming harder, faster.

Your hands clawed at her back, your nails digging into her skin as she pounded into you. The pleasure was overwhelming, every stroke of her cock sending shockwaves through your body. You could feel another orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Come for me," Agatha growled, her hips snapping against yours. "Come on my cock like the good little slut you are."

Her filthy words pushed you over the edge. You came with a scream, your body convulsing beneath hers. Agatha followed shortly after, watching you come undone was enough for her to find her own release.

She collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweat-slicked. For a moment, you lay there in silence, the only sound your ragged breaths filling the room.

But as the haze of pleasure began to dissipate, reality started to set in. Agatha had manipulated you, planned everything from the beginning. She had destroyed your marriage, ruined your life—all for her own twisted desires.

A lump formed in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Agatha must have sensed the change in you, because she pulled back, her gaze searching your face.

"Talk to me," she urged, her voice soft but insistent. "What's wrong?"

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You pushed at her chest, trying to make her release you. "Let me go," you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha's expression hardened. She didn't move, her body still pinning you to the bed. "No," she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You're mine now. I won't let you go."

Panic surged through you. You struggled against her, your heart pounding in your chest. "Please," you begged, your voice rising in pitch. "I can't do this. I can't be with you."

Agatha's grip tightened on your wrists, her face inches from yours. "You don't have a choice," she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger. "You're mine, and I always get what I want."

You felt the tears spill over, running down your cheeks and into your hair. You were trapped—trapped by Agatha's obsession, trapped by your own weakness. You had let yourself fall for her manipulations, for the thrill of being wanted so desperately.

Now, there was no escape.

Weeks turned into months, and you fell deeper into Agatha's grasp.

She isolated you from everyone—your friends, your family. If anyone tried to contact you, she intercepted their calls, their messages. She told them you were busy, that you needed space to focus on your new life with her.

And you let her.

Because what choice did you have? Agatha had all the power. She controlled every aspect of your life—where you went, what you did, who you saw. And if you tried to resist, she punished you.

At first, the punishments were subtle—a sharp look, a harsh word. But as time passed, they grew more severe. She would leave you locked in a room for hours, ignoring your pleas and sobs. She would confiscate your phone, your laptop—anything that could connect you to the outside world.

Once, when you tried to sneak out to meet Rio, Agatha found out. She dragged you back home by your hair, slamming you against the wall hard enough to leave bruises.

"You belong to me," she snarled, her face inches from yours. "I won't let you leave me."

That was the day you knew there was no escape. Not really. You were trapped in this gilded cage, a prisoner to Agatha's twisted desires.

And still, part of you craved her touch, her attention. Even as she hurt you, she made you feel alive. She made you believe that everything she did was out of love—that she needed you as much as you needed her.

It was a sick, twisted cycle—one that left you feeling lost, broken, and hopelessly addicted to the woman who had shattered your life.

You knew then that you were trapped. Rio had tried to warn you, but it was too late. Agatha had you in her web, and there was no escaping now.

The city lights glittered below as you stared out the window of her penthouse, feeling more like a prisoner than a partner. Somewhere deep down, you resolved to find a way out. But one look at Agatha’s cold, calculating smile told you that escape would come at a cost you weren’t sure you could pay.

_-_-_

Please don't forger to vote, reblog, and comment.

Happy New Year my Twisted Darlings!

#dark fanfiction #agatha all along #agathario #rio vidal #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfic #kathryn hahn #marvel #aubrey plaza #dark!agatha harkness #yandere #agatha coven of chaos #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #rio vidal x reader

211 notes · View notes

xotaemintol · 2 days ago

Text

MARK.LEE x F BLACK READER - SO ANXIOUS

“We can’t just keep talking ‘bout the last time…you were here, what we did…”

//This fictional oneshot includes the following: unprotected sex, fem pet names (good girl, pretty girl.) mentions of masturbation, oral sex, nipple play, tongue kissing, and mentions of getting caught. If you are a minor GO AWAY! But if you are triggered by any of these things please look away kindly, thank you.//

|5.4k wc| feedback is much appreciated>^< |

You sat on Donghyuck's couch feeling frustrated. He invited you over but went to bed in the middle of the movie, and because it was so late he recommended that you stay the night. So you sat on the couch sulking as you continued the movie you were supposed to finish with Hyuck.

"Y/N?" You flinched hearing Mark's voice in the darkness, immediately you grabbed the remote, nervously fumbling it around before pausing the movie and turning your head to him.

"I didn't know you were here, why are you sitting there by yourself?" He asked. You shifted around nervously and laughed a little.

"Uhm, Hyuck went to bed early." You responded, "We were supposed to be watching a movie but he kept dozing off." You explained.

Mark nodded, in the dimly lit living room you could just barely make out him stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. Standing there awkwardly.

"I didn't know you were here either, he didn't uhm..." You cleared your throat and sat up straight, "He didn't tell me." Mark nodded again and looked at the tv, then back at you.

“So uhm, what’re you watching?” He asked, you turned back to the tv and raised your eyebrows. “Oh!” You exclaimed, “Uh, Don’t Buy The Seller. It’s about this woman who buys a used dryer or something from this guy but it doesn’t work…”

You paused for a moment. It’s been so long since you’ve been alone with Mark. Ever since a slight mishap four months ago, you’ve been so awkward around him. Although he seems to be mostly comfortable, it’s obvious that your reaction to what happened still has him on eggshells.

With a slight hesitation you looked back at him and asked; “Do you wanna…watch it with me?” In an anxious manner he responded: “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Now as Mark sat beside you with his hands sweating and his heart pounding, you both sat facing forward—watching the movie in complete silence. It was like you were both afraid to move. The remnants of that night still fresh in your mind.

You can still see it so clearly in your head. The way he held you against his body, ignoring the sounds of your friends playfully cheering as they egged you both on—he slowly leaned in and you followed. Sat on his lap with your hands pressed softly against his chest, and gripping his shirt when your lips finally touched.

It was just a short kiss. It only lasted about seven seconds, no more and no less. But, it was so intimate, and intense, and passionate. Your mind felt so clouded afterwards and you couldn’t even continue playing the game.

“Awww! Are you really forfeiting?!” Chenle teased. If not for their teasing, that kiss wouldn’t have happened—a good and a bad thing. When you looked at Mark you felt like your whole body was going to burst into flames. Of course you went home early that night.

In Marks mind, as he sits beside you all he can think about is how much you must regret that day. Watching you frantically put on your jacket and shoes as you ordered a cab home made him feel so stupid. It was his fault for accepting the dare. If he’d just said no then he would have only had to take a shot. But when you looked at him and laughed as you teased him about being scared, he felt like he was finally winning.

If only he could go back in time and force himself to say no or deny Chenle’s insane dare. Then he wouldn’t be sitting next to you feeling so anxious.

Neither of you had moved an inch or said a word, it only made the tension worse. You couldn’t tell if it was hot or if you were only imaging things. You couldn’t stay like this, you felt like you were going to suffocate.

You opened your mouth to speak, slowly turning to him—but Mark was going the same thing. Before you could get a word out he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

You looked at Mark with a confused expression. What did he have to be sorry about? The tension? The silence? The heat? The kiss? Why would he apologize? It’s not even like him, he always goes completely silent before apologizing first. That’s not his thing.

“For kissing you…I shouldn’t have, I should’ve said no.” Slowly, the confused expression on your face turned into a look of amusement.

You grinned a little and cocked your head to the side.

“Why would you be sorry about that?”

He had no reason to feel that way. You wanted to kiss him, you made it known the moment Chenle gave him the dare. You were literally shaking in your seat waiting for Mark to say yes, if anything—you felt it was your fault for teasing him when he looked like he was going to back out.

“I mean, for making you uncomfortable. If I knew you didn’t feel that way then I wouldn’t have-“ You stopped him, snickering as you asked; “Uncomfortable? Did I look uncomfortable?”

He paused, now looking at you with a blank expression. It’s obvious Mark remembers that night differently from you, so you ask him.

“Do you remember how that night went?” Slowly shaking his head he licks his lips and says; “I’ll be honest, it’s kinda like, not a blur but like patchy? Like I can remember it, but I can only remember you leaving and then you being super nervous around me afterwards.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, the movie still playing in the background.

“I told you to kiss me, I even made fun of you for almost saying no to the dare. If anything, I should be saying sorry.”

Realization hit him like a bus. His eyes slowly widened and he let out a nervous laugh, covering his mouth as he said; “Really?” With a smile on his face.

“I mean, I just can’t remember you saying that. Like I remember you teasing me about it, but I don’t remember you telling me to you know, kiss you.”

The awkward tension had finally fallen off your shoulders, but it was quickly replaced with one much more intense—enjoyable, but heavy and sexual.

Even like this Mark is so charming. His anxious stammering and his facial expressions are just as swaying as always. How could you not want him?

“How could you forget that? What were you thinking about while I was on your lap?” You asked, Mark immediately looked away from you and shook his head. Chuckling to himself.

“Nothing…” You raised your eyebrows at his suspicion response and asked again. “Pfft. I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because what?” You pressed.

Mark paused. His thoughts were getting the better of him. How could he admit his filthy thoughts out loud? How can he possibly tell you how in that single moment every fantasy he’d had, every time he’d shamefully touched himself, fucked his fist, and said your name—played in his mind and drowned out the sound of your voice?

“I uhm…I don’t remember.” He lied.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, for some reason, you wanted to know what it was that turned that night into a jigsaw puzzle in his mind. So, you mustered up all the courage you had and channeled your most confident self.

But with a shaky voice you asked; “Should we recreate it then?” Mark laughed, his voice cracking as he said loudly; “What?!” So unbelievably anxious.

“To jog your memory, obviously there’s a lot you don’t remember. Should we refresh your mind?”

He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Sitting beside you with his tongue pressed against his cheek and his legs spread, he leaned his head back against the couch and let out a short puff of air. Trying to regulate his body.

“Y-Yeah…” Mark looked at you, his head resting on the couch as he said in a soft and slightly desperate tone: “Help me remember it…”

You felt like you were going to melt. Slowly, you stood up knocking the soft blanket that covered your legs onto the floor. You stood in front of him, preparing yourself mentally for what was about to happen. You wouldn’t dream of backing out now.

“Are you sure you want to do this though?” Mark wrapped his hand around the back of your thigh, pulling your body between his legs as he looked up at you with his eyebrows knotted together and his face red.

“If I weren’t I wouldn’t have asked.”

You tried to seem confident, but as you inhale deeply and placed your knee on the couch beside his waist you felt your whole body begin to tremble in excitement.

“Let me help you…” Mark grabbed your hand and sat back further on the couch. Allowing your legs to fold on the sides of his hips as you slowly sat down.

The second you were seated on his lap you both felt flashes of heat wash over your bodies. You could feel the heat from his thighs through both of your thin pajama pants, and you were praying he couldn’t feel the heat radiating from your pussy.

“So…we were just like this…” You spoke slowly and licked your lips. Your brain felt so scattered as you spoke.

“Mhm, yeah?”

Marks voice was so smooth and soft, you almost rolled your eyes in pleasure at the sound of his soft hum.

“And…your hands…” You grabbed his hands and carefully placed one on your hip and the other on your back.

You shuddered as he adjusted them a little, moving one to your lower back and the other to the middle—right in the little curve.

“…Your hands were right there.” He nodded and licked his lips, moving his hips back just a little; trying to create space between your butt and his crotch.

Before you’d even sat on his lap he felt himself getting hard, but now with his hands on your body and you on his lap he knew it was only a matter of milliseconds before you felt his dick pressing against you.

“And my hands were here.” You placed your hands on his chest and lightly gripped his shirt.

You both freeze. Looking at each other as that kiss replayed in both your minds, just like before he slowly leaned in and you followed. Forgetting the purpose of all of this as your nose bumped against his.

“I think I remember now…” He said in a low and gentle tone. You felt like you could hardly speak, breathlessly you ask him what.

“I was thinking…” There was no need for him to hide it now. He was fully erect and the heat from between your legs was so noticeable, you couldn’t hide it if you tried. His brain was on autopilot and the only thing working was the part that thought of you.

“You look so pretty on my lap.” Your stomach felt like it was doing flips, between your legs there was a strong pulsating feeling accompanied by a warm wetness that was beginning to spread.

There was nothing left to say. Finally, Mark closed the space between you. Settling the aching desire to feel his lips on yours.

Just like last time he kisses you slowly, his soft lips melting into yours before his tongue slips into your mouth. The feeling of it against your own makes you feel so dizzy. You could kiss him forever and eight years.

He held you closer and moved his hands to your hips, pressing them down into his own. It doesn’t take a sign for you to get the hint. Pressed down onto his erection you begin slowly moving your hips, moaning quietly into his mouth as the friction causes you to feel more needy and sensitive than before.

“You’re so fucking pretty…” Mark muttered against your lips as he pulled away. Your body felt weak, your hands just barely grip his shirt as you move your hips in a circular motion.

Mark pulled away but only to move onto your neck and shoulders, kissing them through your thin shirt. He was so excited. He’d dreamt about this for so long now.

“Can I take it off?” You looked down at him and he looked back up at you, the fire in his eyes and the feeling between your legs paired perfectly.

You nodded your head and relaxed your body a little, letting him bunch your shirt up and throw it to the side, revealing your bra. Oh how he’d pictured you on his lap, in nothing but a bra. He couldn’t believe that it was coming to fruition.

“Fuck, you’re so damn gorgeous.” He kissed the middle of your chest, then your shoulders, and then the top of your breasts. His hands slipping to your back and poking at the clasp of your bra. He didn’t even had to ask.

“Take it off.” And you didn’t have to tell him twice.

Mark fumbled with the clasp of your bra for a second or two, struggling to get it off he laughed nervously and looked at you.

“Sorry, I uhm, I’m so nervous...” You giggled and stopped him. “You’re nervous?” He nodded.

“But, I’m ready. I’ve been waiting for you for so long, you don’t know how badly I’ve wanted this.” You offered him a comforting smile and kissed him passionately.

“Take your time…there’s no need to rush.” He exhaled deeply, his chest filed with excitement as he nodded his head and slowly unhooked your bra.

Mark waited. Holding his breath as the straps loosened and fell from your shoulders just a little. He thought he’d evaporate if he moved too quickly, so he slowly peeled them away. Moving them down to your arms slowly as his eyes focused on your breasts.

Fully exposed you sat on his lap trembling in excitement, pure greed and desire clouding your mind as he groped one of your breasts, rolling one nipple between his finger and thumb while slowly and carefully sucking the other.

Your back arched and you closed your eyes. Cursing softly as your hips shuttered.

“Fuck…Mark…”

He’d been waiting longer than you could ever imagine to hear you moan his name like that. His dick was throbbing, aching to be touched but all he wanted to do was touch you. Please you, make your body react, hear your voice and do all the things he’s imagined.

As he switched his mouth to the other nipple you shivered as his saliva dried on the other, creating a cooling sensation as he gave the other the same treatment. Groping the other with his full hand as he looked up at you to watch your expressions. Wanting to see your face scrunched up in pleasure just like he did in his dreams.

Although it felt good, you wanted more. The feeling of grinding against him wasn’t enough anymore.

“W-Wait…” You placed your hand on his shoulder and Mark stopped, letting go of your breasts as he breathlessly waited for you to say what you wanted.

“Can I touch you?”

“Touch me?”

You moved back just a little, sitting more on his thighs as you placed your hand on the bulge in his grey pajama pants. Mark shuddered and bit his lip.

“Can I suck it?” He let out a short laugh, in pure disbelief as he nodded his head. “I-I mean, if you want to, do anything you want.”

You got off his lap and onto your knees in front of him. The sight of you in front of him like this made his whole body feel like it was static.

Helping you remove his pants he lifted his hips and placed his hands beside yours as you tugged on them. As they drop to his ankles you look at him with hungry eyes and he returned it. He wanted to eat you alive.

You raised up more and he helped you remove his boxers. The air hitting his dick made him quietly whimper. Laying against his stomach it leaked a small puddle of sticky precum, the clear substance leaving a small trail behind as you take it in your hands and bring it up to your mouth.

He had nothing to say, watching with full eyes as you got closer.

Your soft lip place a kiss on the head of his dick, kissing the slightly enlarged and pink slit as you watched his face.

Mark’s nose scrunched up as he licked his drying lips and tried to relax.

“Why do you look so nervous?” You teased. Mark could hardly make the words out, saying simply; “You’re just so…you make me feel so excited.” He admitted.

“Do I?” Just as he opened his mouth to respond you swiped your tongue across the slit of his cock. Causing him to let out a choked moan. “F-Fuck.” His voice cracked as you laughed softly in a teasing manner.

You repeated this action, collecting the mostly flavorless substance on your tongue. When you finally felt ready you took just the head into your mouth.

Mark stiffened up. Holding his breath he sat tongue tied and on edge, his whole body overcome with pleasure.

“T-Take you…oh my god.” He threw his head back and fell silent as you swirled your tongue around and took his dick just a little deeper. His stomach felt tight and tingly, his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows and tries his hardest not to break so fast.

“Take-Take your time…please.” He said, more for his sake than your own at this point.

You closed your eyes and relaxed your jaw, placing your tongue on top of your bottom teeth as you took him even deeper, the feeling his the tip of his dick hitting the roof of your mouth made you feel so horny.

You’d imagined this for so long. The feeling his the vein of his cock rubbing against your tongue, how heavy it felt in your mouth as you slowly bobbed your head—stroking what you couldn’t get into your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re doing so good baby…so fucking good.” Placing his hand on the back of your head, avoiding pushing your head down Mark’s hips buckled unintentionally. “L-Look at me baby, let me look at your pretty eyes.”

With drool dripping from your mouth and pooling around the base of his cock you opened your eyes and looked into his. He melted right away and closed his eyes.

“So fucking pretty…such a good job…such a good…good job.”

As good as it felt this wasn’t Mark’s plan. Sure he’s imagined you sucking his dick before, but that could wait. What he really wanted was to please you.

“W-Wait wait wait…wait baby, wait.”

You stop completely, his cock coming out of your mouth with a soft popping sound—a line of your saliva and his precum connecting between your mouth and his dick.

“Let me touch you, I wanna make you feel good.”

Kicking his pants and underwear off his feet he helped you up to your feet and stood up, giving you a short peck on the lips before helping you lay down on the couch.

“Just like that, good girl.” You bit your lip and smiled uncontrollably at his praise.

Mark joined you on the couch, mounting you carefully to kiss you again. This felt so much different than it did on his lap, you felt more exposed but it felt so good.

“Can I taste you baby?” Your mind felt like it was buffering. With hazy eyes you nodded your head. “Yeah? You want me to make you feel good?”

Kissing his way down to the band of your pants, Mark kept his eyes on you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” Slowly, he pushed your pants down, your underwear caught underneath the bunched up hand of your pants come down with them. “How many times…” He kissed your thigh, “I imagined the pretty faces youd make while I’m eating you out.”

Mark littered your thighs in kisses, leaving your pants and underwear at your calf’s.

“I wanna make you feel so good, you deserve it so much baby.” Your body was trembling. Even in a moment like this Mark can’t wait a second to vocalize his emotions.

Finally, he removes the last bit of your clothes completely. Feeling shy you looked away and closed your eyes, but this wasn’t going to fly with Mark so he reached up and grabbed your hand.

“It’s okay baby, look at me.” He waited before doing anything else. Letting you get a good look at his face, allowing you to look into his eyes for a second and relax before he proceeded. “Just relax, okay?” You nodded your head slowly and inhaled deeply.

“I promise, I’ll take care of you, okay? I’m gonna make sure you feel good.”

After making sure you were comfortable Mark raised legs and instructed you to place them on his shoulders, leaving him in between your thighs and face to face with your pussy.

“You’re just so beautiful baby.” Mark started with a few kisses, testing the waters to make sure you were fully comfortable before dragging his tongue up your slit.

Your body tensed and your toes curled.

“Relax for me, just lay back.”

Mark’s tongue glides up your pussy one more time, collecting your love on his tastebuds before he closes his eyes and begins focusing his tongue on your clit. His mouth practically clings to you as he moves from your clit for just a second, licking up the juices that drip from you as he moves his hand down to his dick.

He couldn’t help himself. The taste of you and the sound of your voice made him feel so desperate. As he slowly stroked his cock he went back to your clit and traced small hearts onto it.

Your legs shook beside his head, fueling his desire to please you even more than before. He moved his hand from his dick and used his elbow to prop himself up as he slipped his other hand between your bodies.

Slowly and carefully he stroked your entrance with his middle finger, using your love as lubricant so he wouldn’t hurt you as he slipped it inside.

“Oh my god! M-Mark!” He grinned against your pussy, chuckling softly as a wet sound comes from his mouth. He pulled away for just a second, saying; “You sound so good like this.”

Mark curled his finger upward, rocking his wrist back and forth as he drew small circles on your clip—applying just a little pressure on the bundle of nerves.

His hand was already getting soaked, dripping down his wrist and onto the couch; it would definitely leave a stain that Hyuck would likely ask about later but Mark couldn’t care less.

“N-No…oh fuck…I-I, I’m gonna…I fuck.” You strung together whatever words you could manage out, trying to warn Mark about the feeling in your stomach. But he didn’t stop for a second.

Instead, he slipped another finger inside and went a little faster. Drawing out a loud moan from you that he was sure his sleeping roommate would hear. He could feel your velvety walls convulsing around his two digits, making him put more focus into stimulating your clit.

“Mark! Mark! Mark I-I- fuck! Feels so g-good!” He looked up at you, watching you writher around as he went a little faster.

Your voice broke before you went completely silent. The only thing to be heard was a small build up of liquid that began gushing out, wetting the lower half of his face, his arm, and even his bicep.

The knot in your stomach had tightened and snapped before you could even warn him. Your body jerked as you pushed his head away, but instead of stopping he kept going for a second longer. Enjoying the sound of your whimpers as you told him it was too much.

Chuckling, he finally let up and sat on his knees between your legs as your body jerked and shook from the orgasm ripping through you.

“Breathe for me baby,” Mark said, he placed his hand in your stomach and watched you with a smirk on his wet face. “In…and out…” You followed and closed your eyes. “Just like that, good girl. You’re so good at listening.”

He leaned down and kissed you, the taste of yourself on his tongue as he slips it inside of your mouth. You weren’t even close to being done yet, not without feeling him inside of you.

“Mark,” You whined as you pushed your hips towards his. “Fuck me, please?”

Mark bit his lip and sat up, cursing softly as he looked around. He didn’t have a condom. Of course he wouldn’t, he’s in the living room.

“Let me go grab-“ You stopped him as he started to get up, placing your hand on his forearm you looked up at him with glittering eyes as you said in a coaxing tone he couldn’t deny; “It’s okay, please just fuck me.”

He never thought he’d be doing this. But here he is, denying what he knows is right as he lined his dick up with your entrance. Allowing you to brace yourself as he began to grind against your already sensitive pussy.

“You sure baby? I don’t think I’ll be able to pull out…” You nodded and opened your arms, wanting to wrap them around his shoulders. You looked so damn pretty.

“Shit…” Mark cursed and slowly pushed himself inside of you, slipping inside so easily.

Your wet heat pulls him inside, engulfing him with a softness that he could only dream of. Your walls pulse around his dick as he whimpered, eyes almost watering as he bit his bottom lip so hard it might bleed. The feeling was almost too intense.

The way you called out his name and dug your nails into his shoulders made him want to cry. He’s never felt so good. His hand could never, ever compare to the feeling of you.

“I-I’m gonna put it all the way in…” Mark spoke slowly, but his words were still messy. All you could offer as a response was a nod.

Laying underneath him as his dick stretched you out, filling you up so deliciously as he began panting above you.

Mark was so careful. Being as slow as he possibly could, letting you feel every inch, every vein, and every throb of his cock. And when you looked and felt ready, he began moving. He pulled his hips back just a little and then moved them forward again.

“S-So deep…” Your voice faded out as his slow and long strokes turned your brain off.

“Does…Does it feel good baby?” He asked, sounding so lewd and smug. “You feel how deep I am?” You nodded your head, arching your back as you gasped for air.

The feeling was so passionate, you were already sensitive but with him pressed against every spot inside of you it felt like you were going to float away and he had just barely gotten started.

“F-Faster…”You looked up at Mark, you didn’t have to beg. His broken expression told you that. “Please, go faster.”

“Faster,” Mark changed his pace, stroking a little longer and a little faster. “Like this baby? Hm?” Your eyes rolled back and you slapped your hand against the arm of the couch. “You want…fuck…you want me to go faster? Huh?”

As Mark sped up you grew louder. Gripping the armrest as your body went weak. You felt like you were chasing after your every breathe. It was like that one request pushed him to the edge.

“J-Just like that!” You yelled out. Moaning so loud as if Donghyuck wasn’t just one room over.

“Just like that just like that fuck Mark! Mark! Mark! fuck yes like yes like that like that right there.” Your words jumbled together as he began fucking you a little harder.

Your praise and broken sentence made Mark feel like he was going crazy. Letting out a mixture between a croak and a whine he pushed your legs back and placed his hand over your mouth, knowing that if he didn’t Donghyuck would catch you before you could finish.

“You feel so fucking so so so fucking good you’re so so so so pretty so fucking pretty, such a pretty pussy, is it mine? Hm? Is this pretty pussy all mine?”

You cried out into the palm of his hand and threw your head back, shaking your head as you shouted yes into his hand. Chanting that it was his as he muffled your screams.

“I knoooww, I know baby, it’s so good? Huh? It’s good? Just nod your head for me, just nod that pretty head for me baby.”

Mark slowed just, allowing you to savor every stroke.

“M’gonna uncover your mouth…b-but…you gotta stay quiet, ‘Kay? Just for a second, you can do that…r-right? You’re a good girl, such a good girl…you can stay quiet for me, right?”

You shake your head, looking up at him with your eyebrows knotted. Mark chuckled and stopped completely. His dick throbs and his body jerks, feeling increasingly horny as he kissed you.

“Donghyuck is gonna catch us.” He said breathlessly, you tried to regulate your breathing—responding in slurred words: “Let him.” Mark grinned and kissed your forehead, as he leaned back on his legs and ran his hand through his sweaty hair he shook his head at you.

“You’re so cute like this, be as loud as you want then. Don’t worry about anything but feeling good for me, okay? All you have to do is enjoy yourself.” You nodded your head and weakly smiled at him.

Mark gave you just one more second before starting again, this time instead of starting off slow, he started off with quick and sharp thrusts. Slamming his hips into yours harshly. You couldn’t even make a sound, one small yelp of pleasure forcing its way out of your throat before you went silent once again.

Melting into the couch as your toes curled and your eyes rolled back.

“Ooouuu, there it is…like that baby?” You couldn’t even nod your head, laying there helplessly as Mark fucked your every thought away.

“I know…I know…” You let out a quiet sob, trying your hardest to find something to grab onto. “Shit…I’m so close…”

As Mark’s stomach tightened he reached down and began rubbing your clit. Trying his hardest to make you finish before he did.

“Ma-Mark!” You gasped for air and dropped your legs, reaching down to grab his hand. You tried to beg, pleading with him to slow down as an intense feeling washed over you. Your whole body tensed up and your eyes closed tightly.

You felt like you were going to explode.

Mark could feel your walls tighten around him, clamping down on him uncontrollably. He tried to hold back, his fingers moving messily as he began panting. Moaning loudly as he let out strings of curses.

“F-Fuck fuck fuck…” Feeling the pressure in his stomach build he considered pulling out early, but the risk was so worth the feeling of you finishing around him.

“I-I…I- oh my god!” You lightly hit his chest as you came for the second time.

“S-Shit…” Hurriedly Mark pulled out and began stroking his cock, his face twisted with pleasure as he pleased himself above your body.

“So pretty s’pretty fuck…” He whined. Mark held his breath, tensing up as his cum spurted out onto your stomach. The thick, white and slightly creamy substance dripping down your sides, pooling on your sweaty skin.

Mark sat back and you laid there, both of you take a second to collect yourselves. Just looking at each other before laughing.

“Uhm, I guess my memory is refreshed now.” You rolled your eyes playfully and laughed at Mark’s corny joke. “Sorry, let me get you a towe-oh!” He paused as you swiped your finger through his cum and licked it up.

“Let’s get cleaned up before Hyuck catches us.”

169 notes · View notes