#I love all the things that make people tilt their heads

[writerpeach]

Provocation

ITZY Shin Yuna x m!reader

15k words

“That’s not true,” Yuna argues, arms folded as if this is the most ludicrous thing she's had to explain. "Despite what everyone thinks, I don't sleep around. Maybe a few guys on the weekends, but during the week? I like to have a one-guy policy."

You don't believe her one bit—but you'll play along. "Just one guy? That's it?"

Yuna shrugs her shoulders. "Of course. One guy at a time. One guy on Monday—maybe Tuesday. And Wednesday. That's it."

"That's three, Yuna," you laugh, shifting in your seat to face her a bit more. She takes a sip of her drink, stirring it around before bringing it back up to her pouty, red lips—the ones that cause nothing but trouble.

"Exactly. A different guy each day of the week. I don't think that's a lot. If anything, Yeji gets around way more than me."

Now you know she's lying.

The way you can tell is when her lips move. That's the telltale sign. When a word slips out between them, you always know the words will be objectively false. 

Because this is Shin Yuna, the girl who flaunts every facet of her beauty like it's her job. This is the girl who wears skirts short enough to flash the entire bar a glimpse of her perfect little ass. The one who always leaves the house wearing a bra on purpose, her top always sheer enough to show the shape of her perky breasts. The same girl who would give head to a random guy just because he asked for a stick of gum.

"Yeji? Are we talking about the same girl?" you question, doubting that girl would even have a quarter the sex that Yuna has in one night. Yeji's definitely attractive, but reserved and soft spoken—nothing like the track record Yuna has.

"Hey, don't get it twisted," Yuna protests, nearly spilling some drink when she sets her glass down. "Yeji isn't some innocent church girl. She's a lot hornier than people think. Almost too much. As much as she acts all pure and sweet and innocent, she's a freak."

You'd say you believe her, except it's Yuna—so it's not probable in the slightest. "Right. She's totally a freak and you're an absolute saint."

"Glad we're on the same page." Yuna grins, stealing your drink to take a sip without even asking, leaving those red lips staining the rim of the glass. "She's more insatiable than me."

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, Yuna.” 

Yuna ignores you entirely. "I mean it—that girl is probably getting dicked down as we speak. Or if she isn't, then she's got a new vibrator that's getting the job done, watching some of the most depraved porn out there. That girl is obsessed."

"Obsessed with dick or obsessed with porn?"

"Both. You can't imagine some of the toys she has hidden."

Yuna keeps speaking, but she could say anything at this point, and you know there wouldn’t be an ounce of truth in it. She's gotten more than a couple drinks deep now. And her tight skirt rides up, each not-so-subtle movement revealing more thigh as she shifts, not even the slightest concerned who can see underneath.

"If she's a freak, what the hell does that make you, then?" you ask in all earnest, trying to change the subject, because Yuna clearly can't be trusted around alcohol. This girl and oversharing go together far too well.

"Me? Oh, I'm the best fuck of your life—the one who will choke on your cock like a goddamn whore and let you blow your load all over my pretty face." 

You don’t even look at her when you reply. "Forget I ever asked." 

"But you did ask. And now you're going to take me home so I can demonstrate exactly what I do to those poor, pathetic boys every weekend."

"Absolutely not. I don't recall making an invitation."

"Do I need one? Doesn't feel like it," Yuna asks, with a quick tilt of her head. "Doesn't daddy wanna spend all night fucking this tight little pussy?"

You nearly vomit hearing Yuna's poor attempt at seduction. "Stop it. Please, for the love of god, don't ever call me that again."

She simply laughs it off, leaning close as she rests a hand on your thigh, those nimble little fingers giving a good squeeze, when it wanders just a little too high. 

"Come on," she insists. "The second you’ve got your cock inside me, you know there won't be any pulling out. Daddy won't be able to control himself."

"I'm leaving you here. Take a cab if you have to," you warn, standing up from the barstool without even the slightest look back in her direction.

Yuna sighs. “Okay, fine,” she says as she grabs your wrist, keeping you from going very far. "I won't call you that anymore. Just take me home and fuck my brains out. Please?"

That voice, the desperation, it's hard to resist. Not to mention the pleading look, those big, round eyes staring, and when your focus falls down her shirt, barely even a shirt, the curves on this girl she dares to flaunt in your face. Yuna wants you to know that you'd be a fool to turn her down.

"What's in it for me? Aren't there plenty of guys lining up for a chance to fuck you here?" 

"This place is boring—and none of them can handle me." 

You're not even sure you can handle this girl and her attitude, but when Yuna stares like that, this longing look that begs for attention—it's difficult to say no. "Are you saying that just because you want a ride home?"

"It's a reason, yes." She can't hold back the smile, no matter how hard she tries. "You take me home, and then I'll suck your cock until your legs give out. Won't you help this poor, helpless little slut?"

Against your better judgment, there’s this temptation you can’t ignore. A devil resting on your shoulder, and on the other side, also a devil in the form of Shin Yuna herself. You can’t refuse that smile, those batting eyelashes, or those eyes without a hint of innocence in them. You’re already a lost cause. 

Yuna can’t help but smirk, seeing her prey lured in with such ease as she grabs her coat, one hand slipping in yours, and not even needing a response when the both of you know where this is heading. "No more daddy—that's a promise."

You don’t believe that for a second, but you also don't care one bit as you head out, Yuna clinging to your arm on the way to the parking lot. 

And this might be your biggest mistake yet. 

Neither of you even make it out of the parking garage to your apartment. Yuna has you backed up against the cold, concrete wall, in a dark corner that she swears doesn't have a camera—but even if it does, who fucking cares when the sight of her on her knees takes precedence, getting your cock wet between her lips as fast as possible.

And the sound of her greedy slurps echo off those same walls, somehow a thousand times louder than usual. 

"You know my apartment is right up there," you manage to say in between gasping breaths. Yuna's barely listening, staring straight into your eyes, with her cheeks hollowed to no end and every inch of your cock taken down so easily. She spits over your length a few more times, spreading it along your hard shaft before her lips swallow you whole, not breaking her gaze once for even a single breath. 

With another loud, sloppy suck with those red lips around the tip of your shaft, that's the only time she answers, a small pop filling the air when she backs off, stroking you slowly with her fist.

"That's two floors up. Why wait, when I can just suck your cock here? That elevator takes ages." she argues innocently, running her tongue underneath that most sensitive area of your shaft. "Unless you really want me to stop—"

"N-no. Fuck, no. Don't you fucking dare." 

"That's what I thought,” Yuna replies, and she has no intention to, burying her nose in your abdomen with every last inch consumed by her warm throat. And her wet mouth gets so noisy, so starved, these desperate slurps that could probably be heard all the way to the top floor of the parking garage. 

It's so completely Yuna: her lack of restraint, the enthusiasm as she bobs her head in a blur without any sign of a gag reflex. The way her lips tighten around your shaft and stay there for an eternity without pulling off even for a second, like she needs your cock down her throat for survival. It’s goddamn relentless. 

“God, Yuna, this fucking mouth—" you curse under your breath and place a hand on her head for guidance, wondering how the fuck Yuna manages to take so much at once while looking so beautiful at the same time. It's her lips wrapped around every inch, the way she stares into you, her lipstick all smeared along the base of your shaft with a fresh layer of spit glistening along the length of it. "Why the hell is your mouth so good at this?” 

It's a compliment that's only going to feed that inflated ego, as if that's even possible at this point. But you can't hold back the praise, when her lips feel this incredible, wrapped so tight with all the warm, wet suction you can handle, taking you back into the deep end of her throat like nothing. 

"I’ve told you…” Yuna starts with this smug little grin as she draws out every reaction she can out of your features with a messy kiss to your swollen cockhead. "Suck enough dick, and you have it down to a science. Nobody gives head better than me. Not Yeji, not a single person you've met."

Can’t say you find any fault with that, for once. The rare occasion when Yuna speaks the truth, with how good her mouth feels on you, slurping away to get these groans spilling that reinforces her point. How could anybody come close? 

“Don’t let it get to your head.” 

“Too late,” she says, with her playful little chuckle when you escape from the heat of her mouth. She continues to pump her fingers along every spit-soaked inch that sets you on edge, slowing down only so she can drag it out, savor the look of desperation etched across your face. Then she’s right back down, lips flush to your base in no time. 

“Shit, those fucking lips feel so good. Who knew you had any other skill other than being an obnoxious fucking brat.” 

Yuna doesn't even fight you for that one, giving your length a sloppy kiss, before sliding her mouth down to latch around your balls and suck hard. A tight fist strokes quicker than before, twisting so perfectly while her mouth is occupied, a motion that makes you completely unable to hold back the strangled noises that she gets off on. 

It all feels too good, with her full attention devoted to your aching cock that throbs in her fingers, these lewd slurps of your sensitive balls that drive you towards the edge faster when her mouth gets all hot and wet around you.

“F-fuck, fuck, Yuna—“ 

It’s so clear, the sheer enjoyment written across Yuna's features when she pops off your balls with a loud, wet pop. and then gets your cock right back in her mouth where it belongs.

There’s no stopping her this time—not when she gets a good grip on your thighs for support, so she can slobber on your cock with reckless abandon. A fucking shameless display, saliva dripping down her chin, a messy string that connects from her lip to the tip of your swollen cockhead while she takes you straight into the back of her throat, again, and again, not taking a breath unless she absolutely needs to. 

And then she’s jerking your cock right in front of her face. 

“Almost ready to cum for me, aren’t you? Don't you wanna fucking finish all over my pretty face? Don't you like how nice it looks when I'm covered in your thick load?"

Fuck, do you ever—and it doesn't help when Yuna tightens her grip and gives these rapid strokes that have your head spinning. All you can do is watch as she furiously jerks your cock straight towards her gorgeous face, tongue out so eagerly as she awaits every bit you're ready to release.

When it hits, the first explosive burst shoots across her forehead, streaking right over her hair. The rest follows, finding a place splattering all across her face. All over those open pouty lips—hot, sticky spurts that Yuna catches with her tongue as each shot paints a different spot of her features, the excess dribbling down her chin. 

Yuna laughs through it, trying not to close her eyes so she can watch you unload all over her features, a mess that has no end in sight. More hits her cheek, a nice shot across her nose as your cock pulsates in her tight fist, and the hot spurts continue to paint her in white streaks across her flawless face. A final few bursts land across her open mouth, a taste that gets her smiling so wide through a cum-stained mess.

"Fucking christ, Yuna," you exhale, out of breath as the high lingers.

Yuna lets your throbbing cock rest gently against her cheek, your orgasm slow to subside. Even when every last drop is wrung from the tip, she refuses to take her mouth off you, sucking your shaft clean with a few long slurps and flicks of her tongue that make you nearly collapse. 

"Just look at all that fucking cum. I'm covered in it, like a good little slut should be," she marvels, staring at the exhaustion plastered across your face. "Bet that felt good, huh? God, there's like a week's worth of cum here. All milked out of your thick fucking cock."

And Yuna has never looked better. 

"H-hold on, I'll get something to clean that up—"

Yuna gets to her feet, stepping in to shut down the idea before you can finish. "No need. I'll keep it on until we get to your apartment. Plus, I look the prettiest when I'm dripping with your cum."

It's insane—the words this girl will casually throw out in public, and how she wants to spend the entire elevator ride looking like that. Even if it's late enough that hardly anybody uses this elevator, there's always a chance you could run into someone who lives here. But saying no to this girl was never an option, already heading back the direction of the elevator without giving much a chance to argue, much less a chance to slip your pants back on.

Shin Yuna is quite possibly the worst influence—and yet, here you are.

Once she's all cleaned up, it's just pure unadulterated lust, from both ends as you find a spot on the couch to crash into with Yuna straddling you. Not an ounce of innocence in the kiss. Nothing but hot breath and moans, not even a second to break for air. The alcohol, the ride back here, the blowjob in the goddamn parking garage, you can't even contain yourself anymore. You let this girl get to you in the best of ways and give into this sinful temptation with an absolute desire to ruin her.

Yuna groans as you plant these rough, messy kisses along her neck—god, she tastes so good, like strawberries and sin and everything you're addicted to. She writhes under you, fingers tangled through your hair and you're not leaving your lips off her for a single second. 

"Keep doing that, please, f-fuck," Yuna pleads, and you flip her around effortlessly to do so, her tight little body flat on her back underneath you. You leave these marks all down her neck—sucking hard on that sensitive skin so easy to bruise, and sinking your teeth in at every opportunity. All these whimpers fill your ears and the louder they are, the harder you bite, the rougher your kisses grow.

This relentless assault leaves her breathless, an abrupt change from the usual confidence and arrogance that defines her. Right here, under you like this, Yuna makes it so easy to have her body entirely at your mercy—even more when you strip her shirt off and toss it aside, revealing those breasts fully to the chilly air. You barely have time to admire the sight of them before your mouth moves to devour the newly exposed flesh.

"You have no idea all the things I want to do to you, Yuna," you growl as you take a nipple between your lips, a sharp suck and a light nibble that makes her squirm even harder against the couch cushions.

"Like what? Tell me everything you want to do to me, d-daddy—"

You glare up, eyeing her intently and there's this sudden moment of silence while you refuse to get your mouth back onto her tits. 

"S-sorry, it just slipped," she says with this unabashed laughter, her apology as believable as anything else that escapes from those pretty lips. "Every guy I fuck loves hearing that. Force of habit."

"Don't make me leave you on this couch alone, Shin Yuna. Because I'll fucking do it, no hesitation."

"You'll never hear it again, I promise. Never, ever—now come on, back to what you were doing."

You raise a suspicious brow for a moment, but then it's back to your ravenous mouth focusing all over her chest, kissing up all over when you alternate between them. She loves it too—every hot and heavy kiss, every time you lick right at her most sensitive spots, latching onto her stiff nipples and sucking so hard. Yuna grips tightly at the back of your head, her fingers deep in those locks while you devour her tits and enjoy the softness of them against your face, skin flushed when you switch to the other breast.

And god, this sound that escapes her throat—when you travel down her body and kiss her abdomen, these soft little kisses that make her sigh harder and squirm more, getting lower and lower until the fabric of her skirt blocks your progression. It's this whimper from her lips when you swipe your tongue right above her belly button, a slow drag that tastes as much of her as possible.

"Skirt on or off? Your pick." You kiss at the top of her thighs, waiting eagerly for an answer as you toy around with the zipper.

"Whatever d—" she stops herself halfway. "You want. Whatever you want. On. Just fuck me with it on—can't wait, need you between my thighs already."

Can't say you're disappointed in the decision—pushing her skirt up her thighs to reveal that pretty purple lace that contrasts her pale thighs. But before you have the chance to put her out of her misery, you get a little more comfortable, stripping down to nothing but your boxers while Yuna bites her bottom lip and watches in silence. She keeps staring, wide eyes filled with anticipation as she catches the slightest glimpse of the way you're hard for her already.

"See something you like?" you ask her, Yuna shifting underneath with her skirt neatly bunched up her waist. 

"No, not a single thing," she answers, unable to hide her laughter for a second.

"Good, then I guess I can just go jerk off in my room or something," you tease, about to remove yourself from the couch until her hands lock tight around your shoulders, keeping you planted there.

"Shut the fuck up and eat me out. Can't wait a second more, ruin me with that amazing tongue of yours."

"Not even a please?"

"Absolutely not," Yuna insists, growing more impatient by the second. But it's a good thing you're generous—and more than raring to get between her thighs as much as she needs you to. 

She can hardly contain the noise when you grab the waistband of her panties and drag them down those long legs, Yuna lifting up just slightly to help guide them off. And when they slide past her feet, you don't hesitate one bit, spreading her thighs apart just to admire the sight—exposing her glistening wet cunt in all its glory.

"See something you like?" Yuna echoes your own question right back, flashing a smirk which only fades when you respond with a brief flick of your tongue. 

"Yeah, a perfect place to dump a huge load of cum," you remark back, licking a long stripe up her wet slit before ending in a gentle suck of her clit. "God, you're so fucking wet, Yuna. Dripping like crazy down here."

"Who's fucking fault is that?" 

"Not mine. You're the one who begged me to take you home because you were too scared to find a stranger in the bar to fuck."

The first few long licks do the rest of the talking for you as you bury your head deep between her spread thighs, tongue exploring her deliciously wet pussy. So sweet on your lips the more you taste, a suck of her clit every now and again, these unimpeded moans that can’t help spring free from her lips. 

"F-fuck, oh my fucking—first off, I did not beg. Second, don't pretend like you wouldn't fuck me if I found someone better," Yuna manages to get out mid-way through an absolutely filthy groan, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to push your face against her pussy.

"You're saying you could find someone better than me? In that shitty little dive bar?"

"S-shut up. Your ego's fucking broken," she argues between her desperate moans. You roll your eyes at her and get back to work—watching the way Yuna attempts to cover up her mouth with the palm of her hand. 

"Is that why you're struggling so much not to moan for me? You think any of those drunk idiots at the bar could do what I do to this pretty little pussy?" You're so determined to see her at a loss for words, lapping away at her clit, but that's all this girl brings out of you. It's difficult to play the nice guy when all her lips do is incite a response out of you like this. 

"You talk t-too much. Shut up and eat my cunt, so I can cum on your face already."

That you can do—more than happily. With a hand against her abdomen, Yuna's being pinned to the cushions as your tongue lashes away at her delicious folds to really lap up all her sweetness. It's addictive, the way you suck and lick away, from her swollen clit, right down to the bottom of her glistening wet slit, this intense groan tearing right through her as she locks eyes to watch you devour her cunt.

"Forgot how fucking good you taste—god, you taste fucking amazing.” 

“You forgot? Nobody forgets how good I taste. Not when you're addicted to eating my pussy as much as you are—"

That's a ridiculous enough statement to ignore, but you also can't bear the idea of stopping what you're doing, with your tongue exploring in slow, steady laps of every delicious morsel. Not when the sweet taste of Yuna fills your mouth and threatens to drown out everything else you feel, because she's so damn wet. It's the way your head is trapped between her thighs, keeping you right where she wants, smothering your face with her dripping cunt and forcing your tongue as deep as it can possibly reach. 

"Fucking shit—your mouth, that's so good, god. Fuck, fuck, y-you're gonna make me fucking cum! Don't stop—"

Like you could ever. Not when you have Yuna writhing against the cushions, watching the way her features contort into absolute bliss with just a harsh suck of her clit. 

Her mouth hangs open, head thrown back and the lewd, whiny little moans that you're so familiar with come right out. There's a rhythm of breathing that follows—heavy and erratic the more you try to break this girl. She struggles to even control herself when all she's reduced to is a soaking mess in front of your eyes, grinding against your face, needing to cum more than her next breath.

And that's the perfect opportunity to deny her what she wants so desperately. A split-second pause, watching the lust transform into absolute desperation. 

"N-no, please," she protests, urgency in her voice the second she feels your tongue stop. 

"Something wrong?"

"You ass—don't fucking stop. I said not to stop!" 

That's enough incentive to get back to it, fingers plunging right inside that wet heat to give your mouth a much-needed rest. Which only gives you these drawn-out moans, and fuck—there's not a single thing tighter than Yuna. Two fingers sink in with such ease, so wet, so warm, just taking whatever you'll give her at this rate. Nice and slow at first, so you can admire her reaction as you curl them inside, reaching spots that make her back arch right off the couch. 

"P-please, I'm so fucking close, fuck—"

Now she's begging, needing release at a level that's quite rare to see from Yuna. You pick up the pace, plunging those digits deep inside her sopping wet walls, hitting that same spot that makes her hips jolt so violently. 

"Is this what you needed? Come on, I know you're right fucking there. Fucking cum, Yuna. Cum like the needy little slut you are." 

You're not sure if it's the words that do her in, or the merciless assault of your fingers—both together is what gets the job done, the constant wet squelch that echoes with every furious plunge deep into her slick warmth. It's unmistakable when her cunt gushes around your thrusting fingers—spraying all over your hand, the couch, and god knows what else is just destroyed at this point. 

Yuna turns into a relentless, gushing mess, until she grabs your wrist to keep those fingers moving, filling the air with an even more delicious series of sobs.

Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it when her body spasms the more you pump into this sensitive little cunt. Your fingers are so drenched, with the juices that spill like a fountain, these choked moans that escape with every thrust. And when that begging for more turns into pleading to stop, you're not interested in withdrawal, not until you wring a second orgasm out, a third, however many it takes for her to finally tap out. 

"S-stop, you're gonna fucking kill me, stop—god, it's just too much," she cries out, every ounce of strength left in her failing. Only do you pull out when Yuna forces your arm away, thighs still quivering in the aftermath as you get a good look of the damage done. Flat on her back, she can hardly move on her own. A mess all along her creamy thighs, along the couch, and who knows where else. 

"My poor couch."

"Your poor couch? What about my poor fucking pussy? Look at what you fucking did, I came like five fucking times—"

Even in the aftermath of an intense, messy climax, Yuna can’t help being Yuna.

"I didn't hear any complaints when you were squirting all over me,” you say, and bring your wet fingers to your lips to suck the delicious taste off. 

"Because your fucking fingers felt so fucking good, you asshole—" Yuna's so worn out, completely unable to do anything but just revel in the mess she's made.  

"You're welcome."

"That wasn't a thank you—oh my fucking god, look at my skirt, you fuck," Yuna groans, eyes shifting to the state bunched up above her waist. 

"This is your fault, don't even start."

"Because you fucking made me ruin it, this is like a $300 skirt!"

"My condolences," you say, without a hint of guilt, the damage to her skirt not even the least of your concerns. Especially when you unzip it to slide it right down her slim figure—revealing every inch of her gorgeous body naked for you to drink in. "Excuse me, princess. However can I make it up to you?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she snaps, and even in her weakened state she's not any easier to deal with. "I'm too tired to ride you right now, so you're just going to have to fuck me until my legs don't work." 

"Still not hearing a please," you remind her, slipping out of your boxers at last, your stiff cock finally freed after seeing Yuna's naked frame laid out so perfectly.

"You can take your please and shove it right up your fucking ass. I'm not saying it."

"Fucking brat," you curse, grabbing her waist to position Yuna right where you want her. "I'll do all the damn work then—you're not going anywhere but into this couch."

"Good, about fucking time."

When she's finally done complaining, her gaze falls back to your rock hard cock aimed at her soaking entrance. You shift forward, a hand on her slender waist for support, the head of your shaft nudging her wet cunt.

"Come on then, I haven't got all night—are you gonna fuck me, or just stare?"

"Yes you do. What the fuck else are you gonna do? Go fuck somebody else you won't even remember the next morning?" Angling yourself just right, you don’t waste a second longer to slide inside, right up to the hilt—feeling that tight, heavenly cunt consume every inch.

"My fucking god, Yuna—"

She's never felt more incredible, or so goddamn tight, impossibly wet, warm—every sensation just overwhelming, getting used to it all over like it's the first time inside her. A feeling that doesn't disappear, even before you move one bit, with these beautiful legs spread wide apart as they'll go.

"Forgot how tight my little pussy was, huh?" she taunts, loving the groans that it pulls from your mouth. "You haven't changed at all. Still have that same cute little face you get when you've got your cock inside me. My pussy just ruins every other girl for you, doesn't it?"

"Too tight, god—why are you so fucking tight? Greedy slut gets pounded by twelve guys a week and still this tight? Fuck—"

"Less talking and more fucking. Move your hips—fuck me like the filthy little whore I am, come on."

Your only response is to get your hands right on both sides of Yuna's tiny waist, sliding outside with just the tip of your cock remaining, before slamming your entire shaft to fill her again. The first thrusts alone have her clutching the couch cushions to brace for more, each one a little rougher, a little deeper, the walls of her cunt clenching so hard the more of your throbbing shaft fills her. 

"Don’t hold back. I wanna feel every inch of that thick fucking cock in my wet little cunt," Yuna breathes out with this demand in her voice. "Come on, harder—ruin my poor little pussy, f-fuck."

"That's the fucking plan." All this tension you've built up between each other has reached its boiling point, the frustration, the annoyance, all coming out here and now. Because once Yuna is under you like this, everything changes, your hips pulling back only to shove in again, a relentless rhythm on repeat. 

"Better be. Why do you even need other girls when my perfect little pussy is always here waiting for your cock? You already have a pretty fucktoy to use, don't you—"

"Yuna, stop fucking talking already," you groan with no patience for anymore of her rambling. "Your schedule is a little booked up right now, in case you haven't noticed."

That's when your thrusts hit without holding back, hard enough to get a reprieve from that bratty attitude—watching her pretty features contort as you keep drilling inside that intoxicating heat. Not letting up once, the sound of her slick pussy soaking every inch of your shaft with every slam fills the room, barely audible over the sound of her loud moans. And that tightness, god—it’s unfathomable, unforgettable, each delicious clench driving your hips so you’ll feel more of it. 

"Then I'll fucking clear my schedule. As long as you promise to fuck me like this—I'll put you in my calendar every fucking day."

That's not exactly the solution, and you can't imagine being with Yuna day in and day out, even if that comes with the prospect of having access to this pretty, warm little wet hole whenever you feel like. No, not worth the hassle—maybe for a weekend, but beyond that you'd go insane.

"Once a week is enough. Maybe twice if you can keep your fucking attitude in check."

"You love my attitude. Just like the rest of this body that you can't keep your hands off."

She has a point—a painfully accurate one, but not one that you're willing to admit when you keep trying to silence Yuna with these violent slams that have your balls ready to unload sooner rather than later. Her tight cunt drives you absolutely wild, almost distracting enough from that infuriating mouth of hers.

But even more distracting is the look in her face while you fuck her, and you can't resist staring with every thrust as she continues to keep those legs parted just for you. That's until they wrap tightly around your waist, the heels of her bare feet digging into your lower back, forcing you deeper into this perfect tight body.

"What the fuck are you—"

Yuna's light giggle interrupts your question, the look in her eyes almost enough of an answer on its own. "Just making sure you're not thinking about pulling out. Want every drop you have. Fucking dump it in me."

"God, will you shut up," you groan, face burying into the crook of Yuna's neck, unable to take another second of her mouth running while your hips keep up this unforgiving pace. This tightness, this wetness, it's more than you can handle, using her cunt to fuck every bit of annoyance building inside from what feels like forever. 

"I'll shut up when you cum inside me. It's been way too fucking long since you finished inside me, since I've heard you moan when your balls empty. Does every girl you fuck let you finish like this? Bet none of them do."

You're not even interested in playing this game with her, not when she has you so close already, your pistoning hips driven by such immense desire to flood Yuna's dripping cunt. She's even clenching harder than usual with those slim legs locked so tight, a grip you can't possibly slip from no matter how much you tried. Not that you even would. 

Thrust after merciless thrust, you keep your lips sealed to her neck, sucking so hard like it's the only thing to keep you anchored. All you can do is keep moaning in her ear, keep hammering her greedy little cunt, faster and faster—

"I'm about to fucking cum, Y-Yuna—"

The words leave your mouth right before you've reached your limit. Your mind's elsewhere, not even in control, as your balls tighten and every muscle in your body tenses. Not even a word on her end, like Yuna was waiting for this moment the entire night. There's just hot breath on her neck, your cock pounding so hard into this soaked pussy, every pump taking you further past the point of no return—until that first surge shoots deep inside her wet walls.

A hot, sticky load floods right into her pussy in a violent throb of bursts, pumping one spurt after the other deep as possible. Yuna wraps her legs tighter with each, keeping you buried completely while everything unloads inside her. Everything goes blank, losing track of how many shots fill her tight cunt, a complete blur while your hips move on repeat, fucking it all deeper into her slick warmth. 

"F-fuck, there's so much," Yuna groans, struggling to find the words, feeling every ounce of your hot load spill inside, threatening to overflow before you even finish.

You just continue to drive into her without mercy, until your body begins to give out, sweat dripping all along her pale frame underneath. By the time you're done, you’ve collapsed into the comfort of Yuna's neck, planting gentle kisses along the marks you've left behind while you ride out the high. She stays quiet for a moment—no taunting, no attitude, letting your still throbbing cock rest inside her with your thick load slowly seeping out.

It's the most deserved orgasm you've had in a while, you think. Putting up with Yuna—just to unload everything you have inside, where it belongs. All her annoying remarks, that shameless, filthy fucking mouth all seem to fade into obscurity after everything. For a few seconds, there's bliss. A quiet bliss. 

Bliss that doesn't last very long at all. 

"Did that feel good? Emptying your big, heavy balls inside me?" Yuna asks you, resting her long arms around your body. It's almost calming, the light scratches down your back that lull you into a state of relaxation. Something you didn't think was possible with this girl.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out against her neck, struggling to catch your breath as you linger in the warmth of her tight pussy that can’t stop clenching for more. "I came inside you, now get off me—"

"Never, you're still fucking hard. My legs still work, and I haven't even gotten to ride you yet," she reminds you, staring straight into your eyes with her legs staying perfectly in place. "That load was just an appetizer—daddy." 

You groan—louder than ever before, but not in pleasure.

"What the fuck did I tell you about calling me that?"

Yuna shifts beneath, legs relaxing enough to release the hold—allowing you to slide your cock free from the overwhelming heat.

"What's the matter, a nice, thick creampie in my tight cunt isn't enough for me to call you whatever I please?"

You're ignoring her, in as many ways as you can when you move your gaze between her thighs to admire the sight—the beautiful mess that's dripping from her pussy, so full of your hot cum. "Go home, Yuna. If that's what's you're going to keep doing, then we're fucking done here." 

"You're no fun. It's after midnight, you're not going to send a little innocent girl like me out alone like this, are you?"

Again, you ignore her, standing up from the couch in complete disarray and making a path to the bathroom instead. "I need a shower, but you can sleep on this couch you've defiled for all I care. Please be gone in the morning."

It's a bit heartless, you know, but Yuna brings out this part in you that rarely sees the light of day, when she refuses to listen. Even more so when her footsteps follow closely behind, her petite naked frame and that mess between her legs still dripping without any ounce of shame.

"God, you're such a mood killer," Yuna sighs, grabbing your wrist to pull your attention her way. "I'll stop fucking teasing you. I'll stop calling you daddy, you big fucking baby. Just let me shower with you. Please? I won't even talk. I promise."

That's a hard one to trust, given her track record. But she sounds far too exhausted to even try any tricks, pleading so hard to convince you to let her share your bed tonight. And it's hard to turn down that pout, those bright, widened eyes that stare you into submission.

"Fine. Not a single word in the shower. And if you call me that even once, Yuna, I'm never shoving my cock in you ever again. Do you understand?"

"Of course. Swear it on my life. Promise. Never ever ever—that's it."

And just like that, this look in her eyes when she steps inside the shower after you suggests she'll live up to that word. You'll see. If anything, seeing her naked under the hot steam is enough to commit to whatever terms you've created. A selfish, yet regrettable decision.

A nice, relaxing shower where this brat doesn't utter a single sound, not a single dirty comment—that's better than anything in your wildest dreams.

Things move to the bedroom, as they usually do with Yuna. The two of you are completely devoid of any clothing, because modesty with her around simply doesn't exist. She slides into the spot beside you, resting her head on your chest, delicate fingers in a relaxed grip around the length of your shaft. And you’re happy to do nothing but watch the smile on her face while she gives these magical strokes, not nearly enough pleasure to take things any further. 

"Whenever you're ready to put this big thing back inside me, let me know," Yuna says as casually as possible—as casual as someone can get while palming their hand around your cock.

But you're hesitant to leave this moment—her body curled so perfectly against yours, to the point where you can almost tolerate her. Almost. That being the important thing in all this.

"I already filled you twice today. Not enough for one night?"

"Never enough," she insists, giving a firm squeeze that makes you reluctantly agree. "Plus, you haven't filled my ass, and we both know what a huge fan I am of that.” 

"Obsessed is more the right word. You might be more into me fucking your ass than I am, and that's saying something. Like, I could live inside there."

She giggles, her delicate little fingers tracing down your shaft while she keeps stroking. "Can you blame me when I have an ass like this? You should be the one begging me instead of the other way around." 

"I'd never beg you for anything, Yuna. You're a pretty girl with a nice ass who spreads their legs on command, I don't need much more than that from you."

Yuna responds with a tug at your balls, almost painful in nature to get a point across. "Tell me that again when you want to bury your face in my ass. See if that's true then. Let's see how long you last without getting to eat my ass."

"Okay, okay—point taken."

"Not everybody gets to tongue my ass. It's a privilege."

"So lucky, my life is complete now that Shin Yuna allows me the honor of worshiping her ass." 

That makes her squeeze your cock all too hard in this agonizingly slow stroke. "My ass is fucking amazing. The only word for it, and it deserves some appreciation. I don't even let anyone else but you fuck me there."

"Why do I not believe that?"

Yuna drops a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your chest. "You don't have to believe it. I'll let half a dozen guys all have turns fucking me at once—until they cum inside me or on my face. Nobody but you gets the luxury of pounding my ass though."

“I’m touched.” 

"You should be. Every guy I fuck should be on their knees, begging me for the slightest chance to worship my body, especially my ass." 

Nobody has confidence like Yuna does, even if it's wildly inflated. As much as her very presence annoys you, it’s hard to say you could survive long without that tight ass. Whether it’s bouncing on your cock, your face, or just existing in front of your hips to have a handprint against it. That doesn't mean you'd ever drop to your knees and grovel for her, but there's no denying how much power that ass has.

"Nobody has a better ass than you, Yuna. Not even Yeji. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She laughs—this sinister laugh, while squeezing your cock in her tight little hand, nodding all excitedly in agreement. You know it's going to go to her head, but the alternative is much worse. "Good, now can you just jerk me off in peace?"

“Fine,” she says, with a defeated sigh. “If that's what you want. I won't make another sound. You can just relax. Pretend I'm not here. I'll just keep jerking off this nice, thick cock until you cum again." 

"Now you're getting it."

You close your eyes and appreciate the silence, knowing this might be the only time when Yuna doesn't find some excuse to run her mouth. Her hands keep busy, and god, are her hands just heaven when she's so slow and focused. The one time she doesn't say a fucking word, just pumping your cock until you're ready to explode all over her.

You don't even remember falling asleep. The last thing you remember is Yuna straddling you, riding with all the energy in the world despite her earlier exhaustion. Hair draped over her face as she bounced up and down, hips so frantic and needy, groaning while you slipped a finger to toy with her ass. And then it's all a blur. Sweet, uninterrupted slumber, and that's how you ended up like this.

But now, Yuna isn't anywhere to be seen. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. So, rather reluctantly, you rise from the comfort of your bed, grab a fresh pair of boxers, a clean shirt, and stumble right into the kitchen for some semblance of routine. 

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, a normally welcome start to the day. This time it's different—it's burnt. Far from the rich aroma of a good cup, the one you've brewed on your expensive coffee machine you imported just months ago. Something's amiss.

There's the culprit. Yuna is standing there, fiddling around with the machine like the controls are in a different language. She's dressed at least, kind of, barefoot in what appears to be your shirt, white and loose fitting, barely covering her delicious bare ass when she's bent over trying to figure out the buttons.

"Morning," Yuna says over her shoulder, as if completely oblivious to the damage she's caused. "Think your coffee machine is broken."

"Did you break it?"

She takes a good hard look at the machine, as if in disbelief, before turning back around. "No, not a chance. It was like this when I got here."

"Yuna, did you break my fucking coffee machine?" you ask again, in dire need of the very thing she's about to deprive you of. 

"What did I just say? It's not broken. Look, if you press this button it comes out with this weird looking water and if you do this—fuck."

This is unbelievable. As if you needed another reason to kick her out the second you're awake, because you know first hand that Yuna should never be allowed in a kitchen. Any kitchen. Not after the burnt chocolate incident. 

"Let me handle this. Before you destroy my kitchen too."

"Hey, rude—I was just trying to be helpful. But you have some weird fucking coffee maker that you need a PhD in three different languages to understand."

She takes a step back, sighing in defeat as you take over and deal with the chaos left behind. "This is why I don't have company in the morning. A pretty girl comes over and immediately tries to burn my entire place to the ground."

There's this surprised gasp that escapes from her lips as you start everything over from scratch, dumping out whatever awful concoction that was brewing earlier.

"Wait, pretty? You think I'm pretty?"

"That's what you're focusing on right now? You really are insufferable," you mutter, with Yuna's eyes fixating on you while she just beams at the compliment. A few adjustments here and there, a fresh pour of water, and the aroma of fresh coffee starts to linger, slowly clearing up the disaster zone Yuna has left behind.

"You didn't answer my question." 

You have nothing in you but an eye roll.

"Yes. You're very pretty," you finally relent, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet above. "I could do worse than waking up to that in my bed. With my ruined coffee machine."

"Hey, it's not ruined, you jerk. It's working now, isn't it?" 

For now. Not the point you want to argue about right now, because you need caffeine in your system more than you ever have. At least you can enjoy a proper cup on the balcony with Yuna, even if that means putting up with her presence. Which maybe isn't as bad as you once thought, given the eye candy alone makes it slightly tolerable. 

Days pass. Uneventful, mostly, without anything much but the occasional lewd text from Yuna at random points throughout the day. Which you'll admit, is preferable to her showing up at your place unannounced, because you think getting off to the nudes she sends without having to hear her whining in person is a much better alternative. 

It's the weekend, and you don't have anything planned that doesn't involve sleeping it all away. An hour at the gym, maybe. Catching up on laundry, cooking yourself a nice dinner—trying that new bottle of wine that's been sitting in your cabinet untouched for months.

But you’ll never get to any of that. 

"Guess who?" 

That’s all Yuna says before forcing her way into the apartment, like she's already expecting to be let in without a second thought. This bright, happy smile on her lips, strutting into the living room in a small little crop top, and these ridiculous white shorts that are tighter than they have any right to be. "I know you missed me. So I'm here to return your shirt. I washed it. Or the dry cleaning people washed it. Doesn't matter."

"Thanks. Just leave it on the counter, and then you can leave."

Yuna frowns, far more offended by this suggestion than any other you've laid out for her. "But you missed me, haven't you? So I'm going to stay for a couple of days, and you're just going to have to suck it up."

So much for peace and quiet. 

“Absolutely the hell not. Don't you have your own apartment to wreck? You're not staying here."

"Why not?" she asks, tossing your shirt on the counter, just like you said. But just as quickly, she takes a seat on the couch and makes herself entirely too comfortable. "My place is a fucking mess, and I'd rather have some company. Plus, you have that really nice bed that's a thousand times more comfortable than anything I own." 

"You're not staying," you reiterate. "Why are you even here? Did you just get done with a dick appointment, so you're coming here now? This isn't a hotel."

Yuna stretches out on the couch, not bothered in the slightest. "No. I haven't been fucked in three days. How crazy is that? We need to catch up, so I figured I would stay with you—"

"We? Try again. I'm sure there's a gangbang going down somewhere, or an orgy you can crash. I am not letting you stay."

"What, is having me in your life such a terrible fate that you'll die if you don't have a moment's peace? A hot girl on your couch and the first thing you think of is getting rid of her?"

"That's exactly right. I have things to do today. important things. Things that don't involve babysitting you."

Yuna cocks her head at you, wide-eyed. "What could you possibly have to do today that's more important than this ass? Huh? Name one thing."

This girl is the definition of exhausting. Trying to tear your attention away from her brazen attitude is harder than it should be, with her figure slumped against the back of the sofa—arms spread wide and long legs extended so invitingly. That top riding higher and higher each time she so much as breathes, offering a full view of her toned abdomen. You can't find the strength or motivation to fight this, when Yuna looks the way she does. And you're certainly no stranger to sleeping with her.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. There are a thousand things more important than giving you attention. Now get off my couch and go find someone else to annoy."

The demand only earns a childish scoff, Yuna folding her arms across her chest. "Oh come on—look, I'll be good. I'll sleep on the couch, I'll cook you breakfast and dinner and clean whatever the hell I mess up. I won't bother you. Promise."

"You're not stepping foot in my kitchen after you almost broke my coffee maker."

"Almost. Keyword, almost," Yuna adds, barely getting to the end of her sentence before standing up and making her way across the living room to your side. "If I can't cook or clean or do anything, how do you suggest I pay you back for letting me stay here, hmm?"

You clench your fists so hard while exhaling, staring daggers into this psuedo-innocent expression that doesn't have any weight behind it. Knowing damn well what those gears turning in her head have planned. 

"Don’t worry, you're not staying here. So there's no need to pay me back." A simple rejection doesn't seem to deter her. It never does. 

She’s no stranger to the word no, but it doesn’t stop her from taking another step forward. And another one, closing the distance between, almost as a test to see how far she can go before the resistance starts. Then she steps back. Only to spin around, those tempting hips and ass pressing right into the crotch of your sweatpants, using the armchair nearby like support to push a little harder. 

And when she's looking like that, the way Yuna throws that devilish look over her bare shoulder while wiggling her ass is such an easy sell, a perfect visual that causes blood to rush down towards your cock. "If you prefer, I could just pull them right off…"

Somewhere deep inside, you want this—to give up this charade and indulge yourself in every inch of her. In that ass you have memorized to every detail, in that perfect fucking cunt that's yours to taste anytime you please. But the second you give in, there's no turning back.

Because you can't keep pretending that you can control yourself around this girl. Every shred of composure you try to have is fleeting when Yuna's there offering herself up on a platter.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had someone spank my ass? Two weeks? Maybe even three. Nobody hits harder than those big, strong hands. Nobody can put me in my place like you do. And I've been such a bad, bad girl.” 

Staring at the view presented before you, your knees feel a little weak. The things you want to do to this bratty little tease are practically limitless, sending your imagination racing when you follow the curve of her hips. Because maybe it’s about time she got what she deserves. All those handprints, her sensitive flesh just bruised by your palm, the sight of her bent over and spanked relentlessly—maybe her punishment is your reward. 

It's inevitable at this point. And the worst part is, Yuna knows this all too well.

"What are you waiting for? Spank my ass, make it yours. Make it hurt so good. Please."

That please is what does you in. Because you can picture it now, feeling the supple skin of her ass bounce under every smack of your hand, and that high pitched yelp tearing through her throat the second you really put power behind each strike.

It doesn't help those goddamn skintight shorts that hug her ass, a perfect invitation to have your way. 

You sigh under your breath. Because you’ll fold like always, giving in to those desperate pleas. If only to satisfy the lust that builds for Yuna’s tight body. The way your cock will feel buried inside her ass, while you get so rough fucking her. Until she can barely stand on her own two feet anymore.

Fuck. She knows she's already won.

"Fine. You fucking brat. But not here, not on the couch. I'll need a drink for this."

With a final look at her—looking like sin and sex on two legs, you drag her towards the kitchen to look for the strongest thing you have, looking past the bottle of wine that will have to wait. Yuna waits silently by the counter, with that same knowing look in her eye. A look that has no chance to fade even once you pop open a bottle of something to help wash the regret down.

"God, you're going to regret wearing those shorts," you tell her, not bothering with a glass and taking a huge swig straight from the bottle. And then another. 

"I don’t regret a single thing in my life. Now where's mine?" Yuna asks, pout on her lips as she ignores the fact that those shorts are coming off the first chance you get. 

"You're annoying enough sober—you don't get shit until I've had enough to tolerate you." 

She giggles. Which at this point is more infuriating than cute. "So never?" 

Yuna watches the bottle return to your lips for another long sip. You don't even deny that—instead, your eyes are glued to her shapely figure while you wait for the alcohol to kick in. 

"Give me your belt.” 

You slam the bottle down and stare straight ahead at the puzzled look on Yuna's face—but there's no objection. Instead, she complies and unfastens the clasp before sliding the white leather strip right out and handing it over without asking a thing. 

And that's when you do the honors. Unfastening the front button of those ridiculous shorts and tugging the zipper down. Her shorts are so impossibly tight that even after all that, they still take a little extra strength to tug down past the full curve of her ass. But you do manage to peel them down, staring at the tiny scrap of blue cotton and lace that hardly covers a damn thing—what those shorts are concealing beneath, this small string nestled just between her smooth, bare asscheeks. 

“Surprised you even wore panties at all today.” 

“I wore them so you’d rip them off me. It’s no fun if I don’t make you earn it first.”

That cocky little smirk doesn’t falter—not until you grab her ass like it belongs to you, fingers digging in deep, rough enough to make her squirm. Yuna wants to be manhandled, you know that already, so you squeeze harder, spread her wide and knead every inch, marveling at how much of her there is to take.

Her thong barely counts as anything, just a bright blue string that disappears between her cheeks. It's the only thing standing between you and burying deep inside.

"Fuck, I can't wait to feel your hands hurting this ass so fucking hard," Yuna groans, rolling her hips back into your grip. 

You don't respond—because now you've got your teeth hooked into the flimsy fabric of her thong. One swift tug downward snaps the thin fabric and tears right through so you can get right to that incredible ass of hers. No sooner have the scraps of her panties fallen to the kitchen floor before you've got a solid grip on each bare cheek, sinking your teeth in just enough to mark her pale flesh.

Laughing under your breath as you run fingertips across those creamy cheeks, you shake your head in disbelief. "You think I'm going to be using my hands?" you ask while picking up her discarded belt, an almost forgotten strip of leather until this exact moment.

Yuna looks back over her shoulder with the biggest grin.

"We're doing this my way.” 

Dropping your sweatpants right around your ankles for some relief, she can't help but stare at your bulge. And a smile perks up on her lips the instant she catches sight of the leather belt in your tight fist. Surprisingly, Yuna stays silent, even as you test the belt out between the palm of your hand, the crack of leather echoing around the kitchen. "You wanna get spanked? Then you're gonna get spanked. Bad girls don't get a say in this."

"Can't wait," she responds, not obedient, but almost daring as her hands clutch tight to the kitchen counter to brace for the first impact. Neither can you. 

"Eyes forward then, slut," you demand, running the leather down her skin, tracing along every curve until she has no choice but to face away. Before any warning, the satisfying crack of leather connects right against her bare ass, ripping a startled yelp from those bratty lips. A strike so forceful it jolts her body forward and leaves a light imprint on her delicate flesh. 

It puts a smile on your face when you get the same reaction. Another sharp crack cuts through the silence, right against the flesh of her ass with even much force. Another welt, another moan, as this bright red mark begins to form as the color spreads across her flesh. "M-more, please—that stings so fucking good. F-fuck, more."

The next smack sends her hips slamming back into the counter, another strangled noise coming from her mouth right as you hit her harder without thinking. “If it's too much, speak up." 

But the noise she makes is barely coherent. All you can see is the look of excitement on her face as you deliver more stinging slaps to her same cheek, over and over until you've had enough—only switching to the other for an identical treatment and marking the unblemished skin just the same.

"N-never. I love the pain, love the feeling of this belt on my ass—please keep going." Even with the crack in her voice, the smack of leather against bare skin overshadows her cries while you up the ante and show no mercy. 

Over and over with these slaps all over her cheeks, fueled by frustration with Yuna yelping each time you send the belt flying into that sore, marked skin. But she still grinds her hips back at you for more, eager for any ounce of pleasure, and every ounce of pain that comes alongside.

The entire time Yuna stays bent over, loud gasps and pathetic whines for another while these harsh spanks rain down so she can feel the sting that lingers right after. Hard enough to leave her speechless and biting back to not beg you for even worse. She grips the countertop like she'll simply fall over if she doesn't. And after a well-timed hit, you force a break that she doesn't ask for—a moment to collect herself and catch her bearings. A moment to admire the redness that's not going away anytime soon.

"Still want more?" you ask her with a tug at her hair, the belt grazing her tender skin. 

"M-more. Give me everything you fucking have," she can barely breathe out between whimpers, gripping even tighter onto the kitchen counter, so that your next hit to that reddened ass leaves behind an unmistakable imprint on those plump cheeks. "Fucking make it hurt, don't treat me like I can't take it. Harder."

You can certainly oblige her. Harder is exactly what you'll do—each vicious snap of the belt a little more relentless, no pauses between several loud cracks against that aching flesh, causing the most delectable noise as Yuna gasps every single time. Even as you step back, inspecting the artwork you've left on her backside, Yuna is far from satisfied. "I said to fucking make it hurt. But you're holding back on me, stop doing that."

Oh, let her fucking complain. Even with a burning sting on her ass, Yuna can't help but provoke you a bit further, with your grip in her hair tightening. But those slaps only come faster—each vicious hit with the leather cracks over her raw ass, moans muffled as her cheek gets pressed right up against the cold countertop. 

The belt swings wide again, hitting both cheeks at once and making them jiggle, the redness across Yuna's round little ass making a stark contrast against the pure, porcelain skin. And she hears it first before feeling it. 

Another cry of ecstasy that escapes her throat right as the belt brings about more stinging slaps, until you let the folded length of her own belt linger in the air, so she doesn't even know when the next swing will happen. You love nothing more than watching her body tense up—every single nerve on edge knowing another hard smack will come her way the second she even breathes, her reddened ass ready to receive whatever you have left in store for it.

"Like doesn't begin to describe it. I'm fucking crazy for it," she gasps out, when the belt stays far enough away that you give her some sense of relief—until it brushes over the sore, sensitive skin, making the softest touch seem worse than an outright strike. Then it cracks over her cheeks in succession, her thighs clenching together as she takes it. 

"My god, nobody has an ass like this, Shin Yuna. Nobody. Especially now with all these pretty little marks, and those noises you make when I spank you, I could listen to those all fucking day."

You put the belt down and stroke over the red welts from where you may have gone just a little too far, not that Yuna would ever object. She glances back over her shoulder with the biggest smile, even through the tears staining her cheeks.

"That’s as much as you deserve, you desperate little slut.” 

Up her body you wander, pulling her upright and stripping her of that small crop top so your hands have better access. Then straight into the clasp of her bra, cupping her tits once you’ve freed them, kneading with a little force the way you know Yuna loves. 

"I can handle so much more than this, I swear. I could take so much more," Yuna insists with another cute sniffle. The problem is, you know she can. All you have to do is glance between her thighs, and the mess on the tiles tells you enough. 

"I know you can," you breathe in her ear, hand trailing up around her throat until your fingers close tightly around it. Yuna lets out this short and sweet moan in your grasp when you apply more pressure. “But you got what you want. Now it’s my fucking turn.” 

Yuna drips at the thought. There's no sense in resisting her, no point in pretending this wasn't inevitable from the moment she had herself bent over with those tight fucking shorts. You'll give into everything she wants despite pretending to do the opposite. 

"What's that fucking word you keep calling me?" you ask her, the grip around her neck making her thighs clench even harder this time. "Go on."

"D-daddy. That's it. But you said never to—"

"Doesn't apply here. One time, this one time, use it. Use it while I'm shoving my cock in your needy little asshole, understand?"

"Yes—I fucking understand. Y-yes, daddy. Just this once."

A quick release of her throat so Yuna can turn her body in your direction, the tears in those alluring eyes yet to dry up. Your free hand palms over her ass once again, getting a nice, possessive squeeze as a reward for everything she's endured already.

"My ass fucking hurts," she says, laughing it off between shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle. "G-god, this belt fucking hurt more than your hand ever could."

"Are you complaining or bragging?" you ask as your lips meet, hot breath against one another as her slender fingers grasp against the hem of your shirt, up and off within seconds so she can slide her fingers up and down your bare chest. 

"What do you think?" 

Your boxers come off last, not even hitting the ground before Yuna is stroking your stiff cock with this playful expression on her features. Then it's in her grip the entire time you walk her down the hallway and into the bedroom. As expected, she can't keep her hands off of you for more than a second, right up to when the bed frame hits the back of her knees and the only option is falling back onto the mattress.

"God, Yuna, the things I'm going to do to you—the ways I'll ruin you." With her legs spread wide, and thighs glistening with arousal, you get to indulge in the view while Yuna plays with her clit in lazy, drawn-out circles.

“Need you in my ass, daddy—need it now. Isn't that clear?" Oh, how unexpected that she’s going to abuse the permission of that one single word. 

"I can assure you the feeling is mutual," you insist, and join her on the edge of the mattress, taking her hips and flipping her over until she's lying right on her stomach with that sore, marked ass up on display, raised up off the mattress.

She props herself up on her elbows so she’s in position, right in the center of the bed. The sight is perfection—this shameless, insatiable fucktoy, sprawled across your bed with her legs parted, knees sunk into the bed, ready and waiting for you. 

Just as she opens her mouth to say something, you bury your face into those pillowy cheeks, the tip of your tongue swirling against her tight fucking asshole.

"F-fuuuck, it's been so long since I've had your tongue in my ass, daddy," Yuna moans, your spit lubricating her puckered hole all over, the softness of her cheeks pressing deep against your face as she tries to grind back. You shove your tongue deeper, tasting, savoring everything—eating her ass like it's the only reason you let her stay here tonight. The reason why you even opened the front door.

There's nothing better than the unfiltered moans while you plunge your tongue deep into the depths of her asshole, face first against it and greedy, spreading her wide apart while you slip in, those cries of pleasure getting higher. 

You taste—no, you devour her, tongue exploring, thrusting in and out of that tight little ring that clenches around each swipe. This delicious tongue-fuck that gets better the more desperate Yuna sounds, writhing around your sheets and pushing back, all in hopes to keep your mouth where it belongs. 

"This ass belongs to me," you remind her, a harsh slap on the still reddened flesh to make the pleasure even better. 

Yuna spreads her cheeks wider so you can plunge as deep as possible, so you can hear her delicious moans as your spit covers her glistening hole. One long, sloppy lick in and out, tongue so deep in her asshole that all she can do is whimper helplessly for more. 

"D-don't act like you didn't miss this," she says, still as cocky as ever through a breathless groan of satisfaction. Your tongue teases one last time, a thumb replacing it to press into the ring of muscle that's already relaxed, seeing how easy it is to sink into.

She’s more than ready, but you need one more taste before grabbing the lube so you can slide a wet digit right inside the puckered hole of Yuna's ass—fingering her the same way you've done countless times already. 

She's tight, of course, that’s a given, but even as a finger curls inside, this grip around your finger won’t begin to compare once your cock is in the same place. Two fingers is the limit, plunging them deep enough to stretch Yuna just enough so your cock will slide right in. "Only I get to fucking pound your asshole, yeah?"

"O-oh fuck, it's only you, daddy. Nobody else, nobody but you, I promise—your cock in my ass, right where it belongs. J-just you." 

Your fingers finally pop out, and instead the slick, swollen head of your cock is pushing into the tightest, most inviting hole—one long, deep thrust right up until the base, so her asshole can swallow every last inch in a single motion. 

Yuna clutches the sheets so tight, arching her back to push that ass up into the air. She's so tight that you can't even fathom it, this delicious clench around everything stuffed to the hilt—and there's nothing like this. Nobody gets this privilege, you believe. Nobody gets to indulge in the luxury of fucking Yuna's perfect, tight little asshole. Not a single person but you gets to make her moan quite this way. 

"Stop wasting time and fuck my ass. Pound me, p-please. Don't make me fucking beg." 

So much for savoring any of it. You sink your fingers right into her ridiculous hips, gripping her harder than usual to drag her backwards onto your cock. Hard enough to force this groan out of her—so needy and pathetic in the midst when your hips meet her bare ass. A brief moment to take it all in, before sliding almost entirely back and rocking forward with full force. 

"Oh my fucking god—my ass feels so full, shit—"

She's barely breathing between words, and you don't intend on helping her out in that regard at all when you're too busy staring at her red, tender cheeks, loving how they jiggle with every rock of your hips.

“Did you expect anything else?" you ask while giving her a good, harsh slap to that same spot where red is still clear as can be. With such a good view, it's impossible to do anything other than drive deep and begin pounding her mercilessly. "A pathetic fucking slut like you deserves nothing but a rough fuck. And that's what you're gonna get." 

Yuna does little but spew moans and throw her head back when your cock buries deep in her ass. This tightness never gets old, your hips on a mission to bury in her and hit all the places Yuna loves, enough to get her drooling all over your pillows. But her asshole—as snug, warm, and irresistible as it is, you can’t fathom how hard she squeezes every time you drill forward, showing no signs of restraint.

"S-so good," she lets out through short gasps, her face buried in the pillows and her teeth biting your sheets hard. “Love when you treat me like a fucking toy, daddy—"

"Yuna, that's exactly what you are," you tell her while you're so deep in her ass it's almost overwhelming. "So tight, I'll never stop pounding you, fuck. Tightest little hole I've ever fucked."

Yuna glances over her shoulder, while you get a good, tight grip on her hair and tug so she clenches harder, with every stroke balls fucking deep—as rough as you think she needs it. Even as the sound of your cock reaming her ass echoes throughout the entire room, nothing could possibly be enough. 

Your unrelenting, deep thrusts into Yuna's asshole cause the whole damn bed to creak from the violent force of your strokes, pulling her hair harder for that extra roughness she loves. 

No break, not the slightest pause until you absolutely have to—because you could do this all day and not grow tired of the way Yuna moans or how her cheeks bounce when you slam into them. Those cheeks that you get a tight handful of—palms full, and dig your fingers in for some leverage while your thrusts turn animalistic, barely in control at this point. 

But Yuna can take it, you can see it in that fucked out expression. The pleasure written all over her features while her mouth falls open as you show her no mercy—spreading her ass just so you can marvel at your cock hammering in and out, stretched out so wide around you.

"So good, g-god, so deep, love how deep your cock goes," Yuna can barely get out, like it takes all the energy out of her. You know you're not anywhere near wearing her out, not while watching your dick destroy her asshole.

"Not enough?" 

“N-not even fucking close. Give me all you've got, come on," she pleads for in this broken, muffled whine with her face shoved so far against your sheets she can barely breathe. 

Another deep thrust, enough force behind that slams the bed against the wall, loud enough to compete with the sound of her ass slapping against your hips. And when you draw back again, you grab her delicate little wrists, pulling her arms behind her back and using them as leverage—so Yuna can't do anything at all but let her asshole get wrecked.

"More, more—keep fucking pounding my tight ass, come on. D-don't stop, daddy. You know I'm fucking addicted to this fat cock," Yuna pleads so pathetically, immobile and helpless, taking whatever comes next with her arms hostage and your cock impaling her to the hilt.

Your hips do exactly that. Fucking her ass in quick strokes until all she does is cry out for you to destroy her, and then some. Yuna takes everything, the groans and yelps when you give no chance for recovery, the thrusts so deep and noises more depraved by the second. Her wrists pinned by the small of her back so she doesn't even have the chance of touching her swollen clit.

"That cock in my ass feels so fucking amazing. Oh my fucking god, fuck me, fuck my asshole as deep as possible."

When you yank her body back, your hands stay locked around her wrists with enough force for her to gasp. But you’re too busy pummeling her ass to even get a word out—too focused on that impossible tightness wrapped around your cock, the  perfect grip around every inch like it's trying to force you to cum.

"Better get used to this, slut. My cock is going to keep wrecking your tight little ass over and over again for the next two days. And maybe even longer if you really deserve it."

Her wrists go free, only for your hands to find her delicious hips again, slamming back in and using all the momentum to crash into Yuna as hard as your body can muster—until she's pinned flat onto your mattress, trapped right under you without a single break between the thrusts that hit at a different angle. 

With your legs spread on either side of her, your torso stays flat against her naked back, keeping your weight right down over her small frame. The bed shakes each time you enter the deepest parts of her ass, every single stroke her greedy hole swallows up and demands even more than you can possibly offer. 

"That's it, j-just like that. Just keep fucking my ass, love the way that you ruin it—"

"Yuna—" You bring a harsh smack down across her reddened, sore cheek to really punctuate each thrust. "You think I wouldn’t when your ass is squeezing my cock so fucking good?"

Every bit of movement between the two of you happens right where your skin is pressed against hers—sweat on her body indistinguishable from the sweat on yours. Hands around her hips so you can keep a nice, possessive grip while you relentlessly drive forward to pound her body into your mattress, no chance of lasting much longer now. Not with the way you're drilling her, no chance at all.

And yet, you can't tear your eyes away from how her ass looks getting pounded, bouncing every time your hips make contact with the reddened cheeks of her ass.

"If you fuck me any harder, you might actually break this bed," Yuna gasps out, laughter still coming to her lips despite how ruined and breathless she is. That sounds like a good option, if you can’t help it, no matter how rough you need to be with her. Yuna is beyond that—insatiable and incapable of getting satisfied for very long at all, the way most people would. 

But that doesn't mean you won't give your all for this performance. So you get back on your knees, getting each hand full of Yuna's plump ass, sinking your fingertips as much as humanly possible to watch your cock destroy this perfect girl. 

"Then I'll keep going, until we've destroyed my entire goddamn bedroom. That's how much I love pounding your ass."

She just giggles until a moan replaces it, lost in all these noises. You won't stop, not if your legs give out from exhaustion. Every hard and deep thrust has your eyes fixed upon where your hips meet those decadent cheeks. With Yuna face down on her stomach, there’s no better view to watch how well your cock stretches her hole open. 

"You're getting there, I can feel it," she taunts. You hate that you can’t even see her face, but you know she’s grinning. Smug little brat. "Go ahead, fill this tight, little asshole. Use it until you cum."

And she just gets you so riled up, that it's inevitable, as soon as those words leave Yuna's mouth. "I cannot believe I went this long without my cock inside you. When you say it out loud, it just sounds—"

"Crazy? Come on. I know it drove you crazy. The only time you're actually fucking happy is when this big dick is buried in my ass. Not just inside some random girl who's not me, or a warm mouth who's not mine."

God, do you hate when she's right. Hate it with every fiber of your being, but you don't even have time to think about anything else, because these soft cheeks you're palming so hard is the thing that's about to break you first. That same voice that you can't stand on most days, is what helps you unravel—what brings you to that delirious edge and drives your hips with full force for these last few deep thrusts that rattle the bed. 

You start to lose full control, snapping your hips a little too fast, once, twice—before finally bottoming out with her name on your lips and erupting deep inside her ass. It's unstoppable, filling her with your thick, messy release in each deep throb when your cock pumps Yuna full, her asshole accepting it with each final burst of tightness.

"There you go, fucking cum in my ass," Yuna moans out as those harsh clenches milk everything out of you. You ride that high for as long as possible, each furious thrust pumping your seed deep inside, each hammering her body into the mattress—again and again until your balls have nothing left. 

Even after then, your hips don’t cease, fucking the rest of your load deeper inside her tight, filled hole. You can already see your release trickling out, her ass stuffed too full and overflowing with your cum already. "F-fuck, there's so fucking much, it's so thick—oh my god, daddy came so much…” 

Yuna sighs out into the silence, while you're left holding those sore cheeks to catch your breath. Both of you struggling to recover. 

"That's like, several days worth of cum in your ass," you say, dragging your spent cock out of her to get a good look, holding her cheeks spread apart as it flows in a thick mess between her thighs. Your fingers slide right into that gaping, ruined asshole, pushing back whatever cum threatens to drip out.

"Jesus, Yuna. Look at how much is spilling out. Was worried I actually broke you there for a moment when you're this tight."

"Nope. Still perfect. And it's still not enough," Yuna says, insatiable as ever. Only then do you start to peel yourself off of her, her worn-out body a complete sweat-covered mess.

“Too bad. You fucking drained me dry, you greedy slut."

Yuna laughs, and when she rolls over on her back to face you, she's the image of perfection: hair matted all against her forehead with sweat, makeup a bit smeared, her lips and cheeks redder than usual—ruined but still absolutely stunning.

“Like you could ever run out. Not when I'm around…” 

Yuna shifts right in front of you until she's directly in front of your gaze and kneeling between your legs. She smiles up at you and her mouth gets right back on your throbbing, sensitive cockhead. Each obscene slurp makes it a little harder to convince yourself that she shouldn't be staying for the weekend, because you might not ever let her leave. While not a day goes by without you hating her guts, not a day goes by without wanting to pin her up against a wall and fuck her senseless.

Her mouth slides deep, cleaning off everything, and her lips, her tongue running against the slit, and the cute expression the whole time, god—this girl is going to be the death of you.

She drags her tongue in slow, gentle swipes around the head, sucking every single drop clean and looking for more. There's not a single bit of reluctance—her wet mouth eagerly cleaning up your shaft in long strokes. Then she slides both hands around your hips and shoves you back, knocking you off balance until you hit the mattress. Yuna doesn’t give you a second to recover, already between your legs again. 

Now you're the helpless one, that hot little mouth working to fit the entire thick length down her throat. You don't even care about the overstimulation, not with this view of Yuna bobbing her head, those lips sealed tight. 

"Fuck, you’re crazy—“ you let out, running fingers through her messy hair, while Yuna ignores you and devours your spent cock, balls deep down her throat until she gags the slightest bit.

"You love it, though. Because it means you’re gonna fuck me harder now.” 

Maybe you do regret ever opening the door for her and letting her inside your apartment to ruin her. Or maybe you're the one ruined instead. You're not entirely sure at this point. 

"You're gonna have to wait, not everything is at full capacity yet." Yuna cocks her head to the side, stopping her full strokes so she can crawl up and get comfortable on top of you, until you're face to face, inches apart. 

"Daddy got too worn out pounding my ass? Is that my fault?"

All you have the energy for is to brush away strands of her disheveled hair out of the way, so you can stare at her gorgeous face. "Yes. And you can stop calling me that. One time thing, remember?"

Yuna giggles. "No—one time won't be enough. You know I like saying it."

You can’t even hide the sigh that escapes. But you should have known better, you suppose, for letting the floodgates open and allowing her that one time. Now you'll never hear the end of it, and it's going to be rolling off her lips the next time she begs you to fuck her again.

"You'll never listen to anything I say ever, will you?"

You already know the answer to that. But you’ll still indulge in her lips, this unexpected soft kiss after all the roughness. After all the debauchery of tonight, it’s what you both need. 

"Definitely not," Yuna replies, eyes wide and bright. “You’re just gonna have to find a way to shut me up—daddy."

You hate that word with a passion, you'd hate it if you were to hear anyone else say it to you—but for some reason, hearing that coming from those pouty lips, you hate even more that you might grow to love it the same amount. "You get to stay the weekend, and not a minute longer. Got it?"

There's this knowing glint in her eyes, all too confident that you'll break and think otherwise. "Don't be so sure about that. After one more night, you'll be begging me to stay an entire month. Begging me."

A roll of your eyes, and a laugh that’s far too loud escapes, because in truth, she's most certainly right. It's this push and pull between wanting her far away and wanting her around more than ever.

"Yuna, don't push your fucking luck," you warn, the last remnants of trying to distract from the truth.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think? I've pushed far past my limit. Might as well just start moving my things here."

That's a step too far. You'll fuck her brains out as many times as she needs, you'll even allow her to sleep in your bed for as many nights as she wants. This is already too domestic for your liking, but the thought of her staying here without giving you a moment's break? You'd rather perish.

"Absolutely fucking not. Don't even joke about that, Yuna."

"I was kidding," she insists, playing with the locks of your hair, not bothered at all by the agony on your face. "I'm here to get dicked down, that's it. I don't need to take over your whole apartment just to make sure my asshole is stretched." 

"Jesus, Yuna. Why the fuck are you so—"

"Insatiable? Hot? Good at deepthroating you until you explode down my throat? Because it's fun to see you get so flustered, daddy." 

Another one slips past her lips. You're just going to have to live with it at this point, she's so obsessed getting a reaction out of you, and you make it so easy for her. "Fuck off, I do not get flustered. And you need to stop saying that."

"No fucking chance. I'm going to call you that every single time you pound me. I'm going to scream it while you shove my face into your pillows and fuck the shit out of me, while you fold me up and choke me, get me on my knees and gag me until I'm drooling—"

"Yuna, I am not fucking you for at least another hour. Maybe even two."

"That's fine. We don't have to fuck at all, because my ass still fucking hurts,” she says, letting out a noise somewhere near a giggle and a sigh all at once. “I'm going to feel those welts you left on me forever, that belt made my ass so fucking sore that I'm surprised I can even walk. Just thinking about it makes me fucking drip—“

"Could you be any bigger of a slut than you already are?" 

Yuna shakes her head, this soft smile as if your insults only spur her on, as they seem to do. "Never. Not even if I tried." 

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Amazing! Now the opposite: compleatly silent reader. Like they dont make any noise at all and scare the fuck out of everyone.

"AAAAAHH! Shit! How long have you been here?!"

"About two hours?"

"Damn... put some bells on your boots or something"

Dead Silent

Pairing: Poly 141 x Silent!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, humor, mild jump-scare style reactions, slow burn polyamory, established team dynamics, reader is very stealthy (like Ghost x10), mild swearing

Author’s Note: This one was so fun to write! I loved flipping the trope from makes noise constantly to makes zero noise and freaks everyone out. The boys are baffled, scared, and absolutely head-over-boots for you. I might continue this later on so we’ll see! Stay tuned!!

Summary: You’re the quietest thing the team’s ever seen—an operative so silent you sneak up on Ghost. But even without words, you’ve got all four of them wrapped around your finger.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

"AAAAAHH! Shit!"

Soap nearly launched the mug across the mess hall. Kyle yelped beside him, clutching his chest.

You stared blankly, standing directly behind them, tray in hand. No expression. No noise. Just... there.

Gaz took a deep breath. "How long have you been there?"

You blinked slowly.

"About two hours," came the calm response from behind you. Price. The only one seemingly unbothered.

"Two hours?" Soap hissed, eyes wide. "Mate, put some bloody bells on your boots or something."

You sat down without a word, not a single clink from your tray. Not even the scrape of your chair.

Ghost entered just in time to see the aftermath—Soap still twitching, Gaz mumbling to himself, Price sipping tea like nothing happened.

"They jump again?" he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged.

"You're worse than me," Ghost muttered, almost... impressed.

No one ever heard you coming. Not during drills. Not during breakfast. Not during missions.

Price called it a gift.

Ghost called it "creepier than death itself."

Soap called it "a bloody health hazard."

Even when the team tried to track you on missions, you vanished. You never spoke unless absolutely necessary, and even then, your voice was soft—so soft it made people wonder if they'd imagined it.

One night, during a late recon op, the four men sat around a campfire, chatting low while waiting on a signal.

"She's not even real," Soap whispered, glancing into the woods. "She’s a myth. A rumor. She’s the wind."

"She’s behind you," Gaz said flatly.

Soap whipped around. You were crouched five feet away.

"FUCK—!"

"Didn’t mean to scare you," you murmured, voice as calm and deadpan as ever.

"Didn’t mean—!" Soap clutched his heart. "One day you’re gonna give me a cardiac arrest and I’m gonna thank you for it, aren’t I?"

You tilted your head. "Maybe."

That was the moment Soap knew he was screwed.

Ghost, who prided himself on being the stealthiest of the 141, found himself constantly surprised by your presence. You moved through the base like fog—silent, sudden, and impossible to grasp. But what really got him? You never interrupted. You just... waited. Watched. Listened. It unnerved him at first. Then it fascinated him.

Gaz couldn’t get over the calm in your silence. You didn’t fill the space with noise. You just were. When you did speak to him, it felt like a privilege. A gift. Like the universe had chosen him to receive one of your rare, quiet words.

Price? He watched you like a cat watches a laser dot. Curious. Amused. Then thoughtful. Then entranced. You didn’t need noise to lead. You moved through the world on your own rules. And damn if he didn’t admire it.

The four of them didn’t realize they’d fallen for you until the day you disappeared during a raid.

No sound.

No sign.

Just gone.

Panic wasn’t often in their vocabulary—but it was that day.

Price paced. Ghost scanned rooftops. Soap radioed so much it started glitching. Gaz swore under his breath, loading and reloading a mag without thinking.

Then, as the sun dipped low, you appeared.

Not a sound.

Just walking out of the smoke.

Holding the USB drive they needed.

Covered in ash, completely calm.

"Mission complete," you said softly, handing it to Price.

He didn’t speak. Just grabbed you and pulled you into his arms like he wasn’t going to let you go again.

That night, all four of them hovered. Offering water. Bandages. Blankets. Touches that lingered just a little too long.

"Stay," Soap said, barely more than a whisper.

You nodded once.

Later, curled between all of them in a tangled mess of limbs, you didn’t say a word.

You didn’t need to.

And in the silence, they heard everything.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[kxsagi]

HII i loved the “rizz? what is that?” post so i was thinking if it were the other way around, like the reader saying a suggestive pick-up line but they don't really know the double meaning and think it's something innocent ( I hope I explained it well... )

“𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐝”

a/n: YESSS i gotchu bae

ft. isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru

isagi yoichi

“yoichi… if i were a watermelon, would you spit or swallow my seeds? 😄🍉”

isagi nearly dies. he literally chokes on AIR. 

he jolts, grabs the table, and stares at you like you just said the word “orgy” in front of his mom. “wait. WHAT?” 

you just smile like it’s a hallmark commercial. “i saw it on pinterest! i thought it was, like… romantic and unique!” 

yoichi’s whole soul is leaving his body. he’s making mental deals with god. 

“baby. baby. are you serious? do you know what you just asked me?” 

you blink. “if you’d spit or swallow… my watermelon seeds?” 

“… you’re so cute. and so scary.” 

he’s genuinely sweating. googles it while you’re not looking to make sure it’s not that dirty and then cries harder when it is. 

writes it down in his notes app under: “things she says that accidentally send me into heat.” 

kaiser michael

you’re cuddling in bed, scrolling on your phone when you turn and say, “mihya… are you a drill? because you’ve been filling my holes in all day 🥰” 

kaiser freezes. just STOPS functioning. he looks like he’s buffering. 

“what did you just say to me?” 

“you know, like emotional holes! the gaps in my life? you're healing me~ 💗” 

he sits up like he's in a courtroom. “sweetheart. i’m begging you to never say that in public.” 

you’re like “wait why? is it weird?” 

he snorts so hard he almost pulls a muscle. “you basically said i’ve been going jackhammer mode on you 24/7.” 

“JACK–??” 

“no no no don’t backtrack now. it’s canon. i’m a drill. i’m the drill of your life.” 

starts flexing his biceps every time you walk into the room like “you ready for construction time, princess?” 

you can’t live this one down. not ever. 

itoshi rin

“rin… are you a light switch? because every time I see you, you turn me on ����” 

rin stops moving entirely. he’s halfway through opening the spice drawer and just… goes still. 

his eyes shift to you slowly. his soul already leaving his body. “… what?” 

“you know. like… you light up my world or whatever 💡🧡” 

he just stares. blinking hard. he’s trying to decide if he’s dreaming or if you actually just said the one thing that makes his cold little heart short-circuit. 

“you just said i turn you on.” 

you hum. “because you’re sweet and nice and warm like a light switch!!” 

“light switches aren’t warm. also, that means… something else.” 

“… like what.” 

he doesn't answer. he just drags a hand down his face and walks out of the room in pure emotional panic. 

he spends the next 30 minutes reading a psychology forum on whether you said it on purpose or if you're just a menace wrapped in sunshine. 

spoiler: he thinks you're both. and he's obsessed with you. 

itoshi sae

“sae, are you a good parking spot? because you’re hard to find… and i wanna put it in you 😚” 

sae spits out his drink. 

he blinks. once. twice. then stares at you. 

“… what did you say?” 

“you’re a good parking spot!” you repeat, smiling, “you know, rare. and everyone wants to find you.” 

“and put it in me?” 

“uh huh!! the car, duh!” 

he looks at you like you just committed treason. “you do realize people say ‘put it in’ in an entirely different context, right?” 

you freeze. “like… sex?” 

he nods solemnly. “exactly like that.” 

you shriek and fall backward off the couch while sae is just sipping his tea with the SMUGGEST grin ever. 

he’ll bring it up forever. at the most inappropriate times. 

“this place is crowded. might not be able to put it in.” 

you scream every time. 

nagi seishiro

“sei… do you like starbursts? because i’m gonna let you unwrap me 😋” 

nagi tilts his head. he’s laying on your lap and you just said the most sexually charged sentence known to man with the innocent tone of a cartoon bunny. 

“unwrap you… like a snack?” 

“yeah! like a candy 🥰” 

“you know you just told me to take your clothes off, right?” 

you blink. “wait. NO. THAT’S NOT– wait, IS THAT WHAT IT MEANS??” 

he rolls over to hide his grin. “too late, now i’m imagining it.” 

“sei–” 

“can’t unhear it. you said it. it’s law.” 

he starts looking up starburst-flavored body lotions. 

texts reo: “she said i can unwrap her. i think this is what love is.” 

mikage reo

“reo, if you were a vegetable… you’d be a cute-cumber! 🥒” 

he freezes. deadass mid-moisturizer. “… you said what?” 

“cute-cumber!!” 

“you said that to my face. in my skincare room. with GOD watching.” 

you pause. “wait… did it mean something else?” 

he goes to the urban dictionary. you read it. you gasp. “THAT’S ILLEGAL.” 

reo is dying laughing. “you thought you were being sweet. meanwhile, i just had a full-blown spiritual crisis.” 

starts writing it on sticky notes and putting them on the fridge. 

you walk into the kitchen: “stop putting ‘cute-cumber’ post-its next to your protein powder.” 

“i’m a man of pride.” 

shidou ryusei

“ryu… are you made of cake? because i wanna eat you from the inside out 😋🍰” 

shidou short-circuits. he yells. “HUHHHH??” so loud it scares the neighbor’s cat. 

he starts pacing. throws his shirt off. flops onto the couch like he’s in a romcom-induced coma. 

“no way. NO WAY YOU JUST SAID THAT.” 

you blink. “what? it’s a compliment! because you’re sweet!” 

he sits up. “baby…you just said you wanna devour me carnally.” 

“CARNALLY??” 

“YEAH!! like you want me for dessert in a porno.” 

you throw the popsicle stick at him. “I THOUGHT IT WAS ABOUT CAKE!!” 

he’s cracking up. recording this whole conversation for future blackmail. 

posts a story captioned: “she wants me like cake. i’m so back.” 

bachira meguru

“meguru… are you a campfire? because you’re hot and I want s’more 🏕️” 

bachira makes the most dramatic gasp. hands to his chest. “you wanna WHAT??” 

“have s’more of you!! like s’mores!! because you’re so warm and toasty and–” 

“NOPE. TOO LATE. i’m now imagining us naked in a tent.” 

“MEGURU STOP 😭” 

he immediately gets all giggly and chaotic, poking your cheek with a marshmallow. “you said it. i’m hot. and you want more of me. that means i’m the main course.” 

he starts calling you “campfire girl” and buys you a plush s’more with googly eyes on it. 

whispers “you want s’more, huh?” every time he pulls you into a hug. 

you live in a never-ending loop of regret. he lives in bliss. everyone else suffers. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[arixella]

Imagine the monster trio (or Law) with the reader one day, they went to move their hand or reach for something, and she flinches (of course, she knows they love her and will never hurt her) in the first thing they ask her was "who hurt you?"

When reader flinches and their partner immediately says "who hurt you?" ft. monster trio + Law

wc: 930 a/n: none

Monkey D. Luffy

-You flinch when he throws an arm out to point excitedly at something.

-“Huh?” He tilts his head, confused at first… and then he sees your face.

-Smile fades. Eyes go so serious. Way more serious than you’re used to.

-“...Who hurt you?”

-His voice isn’t loud — not Luffy loud. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

-He grabs your hand so gently it’s almost not Luffy at all. “You’re safe with me, okay?”

-That’s all he says in the moment. But later?

-He brings it up again. “I don’t like that you’re scared. I’m your captain. I’m supposed to protect you.”

-The next time someone so much as raises their voice at you?

-“Don’t talk to her like that. Or I’ll punch you into the ocean.”

-If he ever finds the person who hurt you, they’re gonna learn what Gear Fifth looks like up close.

-Clings to you more after that — lots of cuddles, hand-holding, head-in-your-lap moments.

-Says things like, “I love you. You’re mine. I got you,” with total, unshakable certainty.

Roronoa Zoro

-You flinch. Barely. He was just reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear, but your body moved like it was muscle memory.

-He stops instantly — hand suspended in mid-air, eye narrowing with sharp precision.

-“...Who hurt you?”

-Voice like a blade being unsheathed. Low, deadly calm. Not a demand. A promise.

-Zoro doesn’t do softness well, but the second he sees that flicker of fear, he switches.

-He steps back just enough to give you space — but never takes his eyes off you.

-“You know I’d never lay a hand on you like that... right?”

-Later, when you talk, he listens. Every word. Every silence. And then he gets quiet. Still. Dangerous.

-The kind of quiet that means someone’s going to regret ever putting hands on you.

-He doesn’t say it, but you know he’s going to make sure it never happens again.

-Afterward, he’s more mindful — not coddling, but protective in small ways. Walking between you and others. Always watching.

Sanji Vinsmoke

-It happens so fast — he’s reaching to grab a jar from behind you, and you flinch.

-His hand drops like it burned him. Golden eyes wide, flickering with panic.

-“Mon chéri… who hurt you?”

-Not accusatory — heartbroken. Like the very idea cracks something inside him.

-He’s immediately checking you over — gently, carefully, like you’re made of glass.

-“I would never… I mean—! I’d never lay a finger on you, you know that, don’t you?”

-You nod, and he gives you a shaky smile, but he’s not really smiling.

-If he finds out who it was? They’ll be lucky if he doesn’t go full Germa.

-Sanji may be a gentleman, but when it comes to someone hurting the woman he loves?

-"I’ll make sure they never see the light of day again.”

-Afterwards, he’s extra attentive — constant soft touches, verbal affirmations, cooking your favorites every day.

-You can feel how much it’s eating at him, but he just keeps loving you louder.

Trafalgar Law

-You flinch when he brushes past you to grab something — the reaction so quick, so ingrained, it makes his heart stop.

-He freezes. Doesn’t even breathe for a second.

-Then, in that dead calm voice:

-“Who hurt you?”

It’s not emotionless. It’s too focused. Too sharp. You know that tone — that’s the voice of a man already making plans.

-“I need to know. So I can deal with it.”

-He’s not trying to scare you, but Law is all razor edges when it comes to people he loves.

-“You don’t have to tell me now. Or ever. But I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

-He gives you space, but watches you like a hawk for days. Weeks.

-Anytime someone gets too close, his hand is already on sword.

-If he ever finds out who it was? Oh, they’re not just going to suffer — they’ll vanish. Quietly. Permanently.

-Around you, though? He softens. Always announces his presence. Doesn’t touch without asking.

-He becomes incredibly intentional — the small touches, the eye contact, the way he always checks in with,

-“You okay?” even when you’re just standing beside him.

-You never flinch again — not around him. Not around his crew. Not with your captain.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[streamsofmoon]

18+ | vi x f!reader

synopsis: vi's perspective to the pizza delivery guy before the delivery.

a/n: i'm happy that you all enjoyed the pizza delivery guy fic and at your request, here is a part two!

part 1

vi has noticed how the pizza delivery guy looks at you. how his eyes linger longer than they should when he's passing off the order. how he tries so hard to make you laugh, taking your polite giggles as success.

it used to irk vi before; she's quite protective of you. some might even say possessive would be the right word. you're hers to have and to hold, to kiss and to fuck, to love until the end of eternity. no one in their right mind would ever threaten that.

but then it got interesting.

"what's this?" vi asks, showing a napkin that has a phone number on it. there's also a name but vi can't be fucked to care about it. you had just ordered from that pizza place and of course, pizza delivery guy had been the one to bring it.

you're busy chewing on a mouthful of cheesy goodness, cheeks adorably bunched up, as you make a questioning noise. then you’re swallowing, looking at the number with a tilt of your head.

"oh, that's odd," you say before taking another bite of your slice. "i'm guessing it's from the delivery guy."

vi scowls. "yeah, no shit," she murmurs, balling up the napkin with a little more strength than necessary. "that's bold of him. what did he think was gonna happen?"

"that i'd call him?" you reply innocently, licking pizza sauce off your fingers. "he doesn't know i'm taken. you're usually hiding in the back or coming home from work when the pizza arrives. so he's probably taking his shot." you shrug, a mischievous smile curving your lips. "why, you threatened?"

vi snorts loudly, instantly rolling her eyes as she shoves some pizza into her mouth. she doesn't say anything else, though, which prompts you to crawl into her lap. which vi immediately makes space for as she sets her plate to the side.

"you know you're my one and only, right?" you say softly, looking at her with adoring eyes. "as if i'd ever fall for anyone else when i have you looking at me."

"i know," vi murmurs, greasy hands going to squeeze at your waist. "you're just as obsessed with me as i am with you."

"exactly," you whisper, leaning to plant a kiss against her mouth. a kiss that turns deep with her tongue licking into your mouth, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you moan into it.

that solidifies vi's slightly shaken resolve; something that shouldn't have been shaken in the first place.

but the thing is that you're so amazing; you're everyone's dream girl. you're beautiful and fantastic, you've got a heart of gold. you make vi love every single day because she knows that you exist. the fact that other people are attracted to you isn't a shock, but other people know to stay away from you. because she's always there by your side, sending off warnings to anyone who dare come close.

this is the first time someone has broken through her barrier, and it genuinely stings.

the barrier needs to be rebuilt again—stronger this time.

so vi orders pizza again a week later, knowing the pizza delivery guy will show up without fail. then she times thirty minutes and begins the plan that's been simmering in her head for days.

you're in the living room, curled up on the couch as you scroll through your phone. something's firmly captured your attention, allowing vi to descend on you without alerting you. there's barely any time to yelp when vi grabs your phone, tosses it on a cushion, and gets flat on your back.

"vi—?" you try, cutely puzzled, but a gasp escapes you when skilled fingers slide your panties to the side. "oh..." your mouth drops open, a tiny moan at the back of your throat as vi presses two fingers in.

vi groans at your warmth, slightly wet, as she uses her thumb to tease at your clit. your hips jump at the touch, your thighs parting wider for vi to slip between them. "good girl," she praises sweetly. "always ready to open up for me. already getting so wet from my touch."

"fuck," you whimper, slowly starting to roll your hips into the push and pull of vi's thrusts. "yes, a-always for you..."

"that's my baby," vi coos, her thrusts getting sharper and meaner. every thrust creating a shlick and squlech to show just how soaked your cunt has become.

she makes you cum once and fucks you through until you're cumming again, back arched and thighs trembling. you're crying when she expertly pushes you into another orgasm, too fast and rough enough that it makes you squirt all over her fingers and some of the couch.

"vi, i—" you choke on your next words, eyes rolling back as vi stakes her claim on your neck. as she digs her teeth into the bolt of your jaw, panting into your skin as her own hips rut into the couch below.

all it takes is thirty minutes until there's a knock on the door.

the pizza has arrived, and you're struggling to grasp at some semblance of sense. vi leaves you on the couch with a kiss and answers the door with your slick still on her hands.

the guy looks at her in shock, taking her in, and vi's pleased to see the barely hidden terror in his eyes.

"do i owe you anything?" she asks nonchalantly, knowing damn well she doesn't. but she's enjoying this too much to let it end quickly.

then, as if you hadn't just been fingerfucked through the couch, you appear in all your freshly fucked glory. you whine to her that you're hungry and you're a beautiful dirty mess, covered in her marks with thighs slicked from your release. you greet him happily, oblivious to his shock as he takes you in.

vi knows he knows, judging by how he stares down at your thighs when you take the pizza box. the oversized shirt lifting just enough to tease what lies underneath.

as you leave, vi notes how his eyes don't leave you, and this is where she rebuilds that barrier even stronger than before.

"watch your eyes next time," she threatens, meaning it with her entire soul.

then she slams the door in his face.

[pitchsidestories]

Something so out of the ordinary II Renée Slegers x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1628

summary: Renée and Reader celebrate the UWCL win. requested

author's note: hi, thank you for reading. Your thoughts on the fanfic or even just a quiet “I liked this” mean more than you know. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

It was absolute chaos at the final whistle. You could not believe what you had just witnessed from the sidelines. Arsenal had just won the Women’s Champions League title for the second time, even after such a chaotic season.

You stood there in awe, watching the players celebrate with the fans, hugging each other and holding their family members tight. You blinked away a few tears, moved not only by the success but also by the love this team had for each other. You wiped at your eyes as the team got their medals and lifted the trophy.

Everything still felt like a dream. That was until you were pulled from your position on the sidelines into the celebrating mass of people at once. You let yourself enjoy being part of it for a moment, feeling the wave of exhilaration and excitement crash over you. But then you remembered your job.

You wove your way through the bouncing crowd until you finally reached their coach.

“Renée, the press conference is waiting.”, you called over several heads, pointing at your watch to make sure she understood.

She moved closer to you, so you stood face to face: “Can’t this wait?”

You knew how badly she wanted to stay here with her players, how much effort she had put into this last game. And for a second, it almost tempted you to say yes. But you couldn’t.

“Uhm… no?”, you replied, your voice rising at the end as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“This is a once in a lifetime moment.”, she said, gesturing around herself. There was a quiet weight in her voice when she said it, like she knew just how rare these moments were.

She was so annoyingly charming, you had to fight the urge to kiss her right then and there.

You bit back a smile: “It is. I promise, afterwards you can keep celebrating.”

Renée tilted her head slightly, considering you with a look that always made you feel like she could read you far too well, then nodded and held out her pinky: “Pinky promise?”

“Yes, pinky promise.”, you laughed, linking your finger with hers.

Renée pulled her hand back first and gave you a short nod: “Okay, fine.”

“Thank you,” you replied politely, your gaze lingering on her a moment too long.

“Let’s go.”, Renée said and suddenly grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to react as she cut a path through the mass of players, dragging you along with effortless certainty.

“We don’t have to run!”, you called to her, breathless from jogging and laughing at the same time.

“Yeah, we do.”, Renée replied simply, only starting to slow down once you reached the empty tunnel and casually pulled you into a dark corner.

Her lips were on yours before you could even catch your breath.

“Oh, I see why now.”, you smirked between two kisses.

The moment of togetherness was interrupted by Leah who cleared her throat, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you: “Aren’t you two running late for the press conference?”

“Shh.”, her coach replied, pressing a mischievous finger to her own lips.

A light smile appeared on the defender’s lips: “Just saying.”

“Go mind your own business.”, Renée answered, nodding toward the blonde’s waiting teammates in the background.

The intimate, fleeting moment was gone. The noise returned in full force. Around you, footballers in red jerseys swarmed the room, laughter and movement all around.

An excited Beth shouted: “Yes! Come on, Lee, the party’s in the changing room!”

“Ugh.”, Leah groaned playfully.

Hand in hand, you moved quietly through the bustle toward the press conference room.

Many faces inside there were familiar. Some, you knew, were fans too, their eyes wet, expressions mirroring your own emotions. But you focused on your job, steadying yourself as questions and answers ricocheted across the room.

A relieved sigh escaped your lips as you reached the final line: “Press conference done.”

“Finally.”, Renée stated happily.

You both walked back toward the celebrating players.

“It still feels like a dream.”, you murmured.

Smiling, the Dutch woman nodded: “It does.”

“Y/n, come here!”, Victoria yelled, beaming with joy.

You chuckled, scanning the room for your gear: “Wait, I’ll get my camera.”

“What do you need your camera for?”, Renée asked, holding you gently by the arm, sounding genuinely confused.

Not for the first time, you had to remind her with a soft smile: “To take pictures. It’s my job, in case you forgot.”

From her stories, you knew this world still amazed her, the idea that media work around a women’s football club could be a ‘proper job.’ A decade ago, it hadn’t been. Things had changed quickly: the professionalism, the visibility, the crowds.

Still, you were over ten years younger, and the generational gap had always been something you teased each other about fondly, playfully.

Renée lifted an amused eyebrow: “Oh, is it? I thought your job was to celebrate with me and the team now.”

“I can do it all.”, you reassured her, grinning, your voice full of confidence.

She gave you a challenging look: “Prove it.”

You laughed, heart light, already reaching for your camera, ready to capture the celebrations through your lens, without forgetting to savour the moments with the team who had worked so hard to make this final win against all odds possible.

Victoria wrapped her arms around Renée’s shoulders: “Smoke a cigar with us.”

“No.”, the coach shook her head.

The midfielder persisted: “I mean, not really smoking, just for the picture.”

“Still no.”, she responded, unmoved.

“We can do one.”, Katie offered.

Smirking, you snapped a photo of them as they posed with cigars between their teeth.

“What about you? Why don’t you take a photo with them?”, Renée asked with a grin, handing back the unlit cigar to Katie.

“I will.”, you smirked at her, raising your eyebrows challengingly.

You took the place between the players just as Jess Glynnes voice started to fill the room.

“Give me your camera.”, Renée said.

Reluctantly, you handed it over and posed as she snapped the picture.

Alessia watched from the side and joked: “Are you two switching jobs? Will you be our new coach?”

She grinned brightly at you.

You tilted your head as if considering it, but Kim cut in before you could answer: “Y/n might still be a bit too young for that at 25.”

Then Renée spoke, her voice drawing your attention back to her and you realised that she hadn’t taken her eyes off you.

“She has all the time in the world to decide if she wants to be a coach one day.”, she said, serious but with a warmth in her voice that made your heartbeat faster.

You found yourself wanting to believe every word.

Still, you shrugged casually: “And for now I enjoy the moment. As you all should.”

“Don’t worry, we will.”, Leah assured you with a laugh.

Just as Renée handed the camera back, Beth appeared beside you, taking your hands in hers and bouncing with excitement: “Dance with us!”

You had no choice, you were already being dragged toward the dance floor.

You shot Renée one last apologetic smile.

She just laughed: “Cute.”

Vivianne joined her, eyes fixed on her own girlfriend dancing: “Why don’t you join your girlfriend?”

Renée shook her head: “She’s having fun with the players.”

“That’s true.”, Viv smiled, watching you and Beth bounce around more than dance.

“I don’t want to interrupt.”, Renée added to her previous statement, her eyes soft and a gentle smile playing on her lips.

You returned to her a bit later, breathless and with sweat on your brow but still glowing with excitement.

“Are you leaving? I’m coming with you.”, you said, reaching for any chance to touch her again.

Renée quickly pressed a kiss to your forehead: “You can stay if you want.”

You shook your head, linking arms with her: “No, we agreed to continue tomorrow.”

She smiled and nodded: “That sounds reasonable.”

As you left together, you looked up at her, biting your lip: “But I want to be unreasonable somewhere else.”

 “I’m sure you can also be unreasonable in my hotel room.”, your girlfriend smirked mischievously.

“That’s the plan.”, you replied, grinning.

As the hallway noise faded behind you, both of you drifted into a quieter rhythm.

When Renée opened the door to her room, she glanced at you shyly. ” That’s my favourite part of the night.”, she confessed.

“Mine too.”, you admitted, smiling as she stepped aside to let you in.

You both changed quickly, moving in familiar silence. The linen was cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth you still carried from the evening.

From the window, the lights of Lisbon twinkled like scattered gold, and the soft hush of the waves offered a lullaby only the two of you could hear.

Lying beside you, Renée propped herself up on one elbow, studying you with quiet affection.:“Love?”

“Yes?”, you turned to her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

She closed her eyes briefly, as if to savour the touch: “I’m glad we shared this tonight.”

“Me too.”, you said, your voice low. “It’s a night I’ll remember.”

She let out a slow, contented sigh: “It really is.”

You traced your fingertips along her arm: “We can talk more about it in the morning. But for now...”

Her brow arched in playful suspicion: “For now?”

“Let’s do this instead.”, you whispered, leaning in.

Your lips met in a kiss, slow and certain.

The rest of the night unfolded wordlessly, in quiet touches and shared breath, as the city sparkled outside and the sea whispered just for you.

[reveriebae]

Hi! I just wanted to say I adore your writing—especially the smut pieces you’ve done inspired by Daniel di Angelo’s songs. You capture the vibe of his music so perfectly, it’s honestly addictive 🔥

If you’re ever taking requests, I’d love to see you do something based on his song “Promiscuity.” It’s got such a sexy, messy, intense energy, and I just know you'd bring it to life in the most delicious way 😩🖤

Thank you for sharing your amazing work—you're such an inspiration!

REQUESTING PROMISCUITY IS SUCH AN EVIL🫠🫠 but sure, baby! I'll give you what you want😏

Promiscuity

pairing(s) : Yunho x reader

word count : 2146

summary : He cheated. You left. But you still came back—and Yunho makes sure you never forget why.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Heavy toxic relationship dynamics, Cheating (referenced but impactful), Emotional manipulation, Degradation + possessiveness, Dubious consent tones (power imbalance, pressure), Crying during sex, Verbal cruelty, Rough sex, choking (consensual but intense), Mental/emotional whiplash. Let me know if I missed anything!

Minors do not interact, 21 only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

The hallway smells like someone’s leftover takeout and cheap weed, and the longer you stand in front of Yunho’s door, the more you hate yourself.

You should turn around.

You should delete his number. Block him for good. Go home, put on a face mask, and pretend like he never turned your entire spine to liquid with one look.

But here you are—three months, two breakdowns, and one fucked-up rebound later—wearing the short black dress you know he likes, standing at his door like you didn’t swear you'd never do this again.

The music thumps faintly from inside. Of course there’s music. Of course it sounds like something someone would fuck to.

You lift your hand to knock.

The door swings open before you can touch it.

And there he is.

Yunho.

Leaning against the frame, shirtless, a drink in one hand, eyes scanning you so slowly it makes your stomach tighten. His mouth curves into a slow, arrogant smile.

“Damn,” he hums, voice low and thick like honey poured over rust. “You look good when you’re lying to yourself.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“You told all your little friends you were done with me, right?” His head tilts, tongue running over his bottom lip. “And yet—here you are. Middle of the night. Wearing that.”

You should slap him. You should walk away.

Instead, you cross your arms and lie.

“I came to talk.”

He laughs.

“Yeah? That what we’re calling it now?”

He steps aside, giving you just enough space to walk in, but not without brushing your hip with his. You feel the heat of his bare chest even through the thick air, feel his eyes burn through the back of your dress as you step inside.

Same apartment. Same dim lights. Same scent—him. Warm cologne and smoke and something darker.

You turn to face him.

“Why her?” you whisper. “Out of all people—you fucked my friend.”

He shrugs, walking to the counter and setting his drink down like you didn’t just drag your shattered pride into his living room.

“You weren’t around. She was.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“No excuses.” He leans against the counter, jaw tight. “I’m just not gonna lie to you.”

You swallow hard. Your throat aches.

“She told me everything,” you say, quieter now. “Every filthy little thing you did to her.”

He meets your gaze. Unflinching. Unapologetic.

Then he says it—just one line, but it carves through you.

“Did she tell you I moaned your name when I came?”

Your chest tightens. You can’t breathe. You want to slap him, scream, cry—leave.

But you don’t move.

He steps closer, voice dropping an octave. “Hate me all you want, baby. But I’m still the only one who knows how to make your legs shake just from kissing your neck.”

Your lip trembles. You hate that he’s right. You hate how fast your body reacts to him. You hate yourself for wanting him even now.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“Then leave.”

You hesitate. He sees it. He knows he’s already won.

But just when you turn toward the door, he speaks again.

“I left the bedroom lights on.”

A pause.

“For you.”

You don’t speak when he closes the door behind you.

You just stand there, jaw locked, eyes burning—and legs already too warm.

Yunho doesn’t rush. He never does. He moves like he knows time bends for him. Like no matter how angry you get, how many times you swear him off, you’ll always come back just like this—silently begging to be ruined.

“You wore perfume,” he murmurs behind you, voice dragging over your spine like silk. “Didn’t have to. I already know how you taste.”

You whirl around. “Fuck you.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “You keep saying that like it’s not exactly what you came here to do.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond.

His hand is on your jaw before you can breathe—tilting your face up, backing you into the wall with all the gentleness of a warning shot.

“You’re mad,” he whispers, brushing your lips. “But not enough to leave.”

Your pulse races. You hate how his voice wraps around your gut, how your thighs tighten with every word. He leans in closer, forehead to yours, and murmurs like a threat:

“You should’ve slammed the door in my face the second I opened it, angel. But you didn’t. You looked me in the eye… and stayed.”

“I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not here to sleep with you.”

He hums, eyes dropping to your mouth. “Then why are you already wet?”

You gasp, and that’s all he needs. His mouth crashes against yours—hot and vicious and impossibly slow at the same time. He kisses you like he owns you. Like he’s reminding your body who it belongs to even if your heart’s still bleeding.

His hands slide down, gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around his waist by instinct.

“I fucked her,” he mutters against your mouth, dragging your back along the hallway wall as he carries you. “But she couldn’t take me like you do. Couldn’t look me in the eye when I broke her open.”

“Shut the fuck up—”

“No.” He pushes you into the bedroom. “You want honesty, right? Thought you liked it when I told you exactly what I did.”

The mattress meets your back before you can answer. His hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just enough to make you feel your heartbeat in your ears.

“You came here because you missed how it feels to be used.” He bites your lip. “Admit it.”

You shake your head, eyes glassy. “No, I didn’t—”

His thumb presses against your lips. “Then why aren’t you stopping me?”

You have no answer. You don’t need one.

Because your hands are already pulling at his sweatpants. Because your hips are already arching. Because your pride never stood a chance the moment he said your name.

“Take it off,” he growls, yanking your dress up your thighs. “All of it.”

You hesitate.

Wrong move.

Yunho smirks, hand sliding down to cup you over your panties. You jolt, gasping, and he watches your face like it’s his favorite show.

“I said take it off. Or I’ll fuck you with it on and rip it off later.”

Your fingers fly to the straps.

The dress hits the floor with a soft sound, but the silence afterward is louder.

Yunho takes a step back.

His eyes sweep over your body—your bare skin under the glow of those bedroom lights he “left on for you”—like he’s starving and you’re already halfway chewed.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You really let me fuck that up.”

You blink. “What?”

“This.” He nods at you—at your curves, your flushed chest, the way your nipples harden under his gaze. “You really let me go fuck someone else when this was mine?”

You scoff. “You fucked her while I was yours.”

He grins. “Still are.”

He doesn’t give you time to argue.

He kneels between your legs like worship, then spreads them apart like vengeance. His hand slides up your inner thigh, slow enough to make you twitch.

“Can’t even look me in the eye,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles over your soaked panties. “But your pussy’s screaming for me.”

“Yunho—”

“Shh.” He hooks a finger around the waistband and pulls them off in one smooth, greedy motion. “Open wider.”

You do.

You always do.

He groans the second he sees you.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “Still so perfect.”

His mouth replaces his fingers without warning—hot, slow, deliberate. He eats you out like he’s got time to kill and demons to feed. Licks slow and wide, then short and fast, tongue curling right against the spot that makes your vision go white.

Your hands fly into his hair. He groans when you tug, eyes rolling up to look at you, fucked out and gasping, chest heaving like a whore in a dream.

“Don’t stop—oh my god, Yunho—”

He pulls back, lips glistening, jaw sharp enough to cut.

“I didn’t say you could cum.”

You stare at him, blinking through the haze. “W-What?”

“I said you missed me.” His hand slides up your torso, thumb brushing your nipple. “But you didn’t say it with your mouth yet.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“And you’re dripping for it.” He crawls back over you, cock thick and heavy between your legs now. “Say it.”

“No.”

He nudges the tip against your entrance, not pushing in—just threatening to. Your breath catches. Your legs tremble.

“Say you missed this dick,” he says, voice low and lethal. “Or I’ll make you sit on it and fuck yourself while I watch.”

Your pride burns.

Your body wins.

“…I missed it.”

He smiles. Not sweet. Not kind. Dangerous.

“How much?”

You stare at him—this man who destroyed you, ruined your trust, twisted your sanity—and you say the one thing you swore you wouldn’t:

“Enough to let you ruin me again.”

His cock slams into you.

No warning. No hesitation.

You scream—half from shock, half from the overwhelming stretch—and he groans like a demon exorcised.

“Shit—tight as ever. You missed this.”

He thrusts again. Deeper.

Your back arches, hands scrambling for the sheets as he picks up pace, rough and relentless, fucking you like he’s reclaiming territory that never stopped being his.

“Did she scream like this?” you choke out, head thrown back.

He laughs—a low, taunting thing.

“She cried,” he says, fucking into you harder, “but not for the same reason you do.”

You moan, hands clawing at his back. His lips find your throat.

“No one fits me like you do,” he growls. “And you fucking know it.”

His grip bruises your hips, dragging you to the edge of the bed as he keeps slamming into you—like he’s chasing the version of himself you once trusted and destroying it in your cunt instead.

“You think I feel guilty?” he pants against your mouth, sweat slick between your bodies. “You think I lost sleep?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders.

“You said you loved me,” you choke out.

He smirks.

“I do. But I never said I was good at it.”

Your body jolts with the force of his next thrust. You’re unraveling, but you don’t stop him. You couldn’t if you tried.

“Do you know how hard it is not to fuck you every night?” he growls, voice gravel. “But you wanna cry about one girl? One night?”

You gasp when he grabs your throat again, not tight, just enough to trap the heat between your thighs and your shame.

“I break your trust once,” he whispers, hips still rolling deep inside you, “but you still came back to get broken again.”

“Yunho—!”

He leans in closer, tongue teasing the shell of your ear.

“You love it. You love being the one I come back to after I fuck other girls. You love knowing none of them scream for me like you do.”

A tear slips from your eye, and he groans.

“Fuck, baby… are you crying?”

He slows down, thrusts deep and deliberate now—meant to hurt and please all at once. Meant to make you feel every single inch of how much you hate loving him.

“You gonna cum for me now?” he whispers against your lips. “Gonna let me fuck the pain out of you like I always do?”

You nod, barely able to speak. “Y-Yeah, please—”

“Say it.”

“I wanna cum,” you sob. “I wanna cum so bad.”

He kisses you like a war—biting, sucking, ruining.

“Then cum for me, angel. Cum on the same cock that fucked your friend—because it’s still yours.”

You break.

Your body tenses, pleasure crashing like a scream through your core as you shake in his grip, crying and moaning into his shoulder, completely wrecked.

And Yunho doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it—chasing his own high now, muttering filth against your neck.

“This pussy,” he pants, “is fucking mine. I don’t care who else I touch, I always think about you. About this tight little hole—fuck—mine.”

He buries himself to the hilt, cumming hard with a guttural groan, body jerking into yours.

The room goes quiet except for the sound of both of you trying to breathe again. His cum starts dripping out of you while he’s still buried inside.

But he doesn’t move.

He kisses you—this time, soft.

Like none of it just happened.

Like your heart isn’t on the floor again.

[lieslab]

It's not like me to be so mean, you're all I wanted

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: Your battle with substance abuse causes your boyfriend to pull away from you.

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 3.6k

Addiction, anxiety, and depression resources

Trigger warning: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, vomit, overdosing via fentanyl, depression, anxiety, and death.

A/N: Requestee, this was one of the hardest things I've written in a while. There's a high and then a fall, plus the way addiction can affect the people you love. Addiction is difficult, but there is always hope and plenty of things to assist in one's recovery <3

_ _ _

“So that’s it? You’re leaving me? You’re just like everyone else! You promised you’d stay! You swore you were different from the rest!” The words laced with hurt. You stood teary-eyed in front of your boyfriend, trying to understand. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat, causing his adam’s apple to pulse. He blinked rapidly and his head shook. “It’s not like that.” 

“Then what is it, Chan?” 

“I promised I’d stay and you promised to get better. You said you’d be open to getting help. You’d try. That was part of our agreement and you’re not trying.” 

“I am trying!” 

“Trying to do what?” His voice raised and then softened. “Kill yourself? Because that’s all I see. You’re being reckless and I have begged and begged and begged you to stop. I collapsed to my knees and begged. I’ve pleaded, I tried, and you won’t stop.” 

“That’s not fair!” 

“And neither is watching the love of your life waste away to drugs and alcohol!” He snapped. “Do you think I want to come home after work and find you unconscious? To find you laying in a pool of your own vomit!” 

Your bottom lip trembled. Each arm curled around your torso, trying to silently console yourself, but it wasn’t working. The lump in your throat expanded and tension grew. You didn’t know what to say. 

“I’m not going to stand here and wait for you to die. I’ve tried telling you. I’ve tried to get you help. I don’t know what else to do.” 

“I’m trying,” you repeated weakly. “I’m really trying, Chan, but it’s so hard.” 

“Trying to what? You’re not going to rehab. You’re not interested in support groups. You won’t talk to any kind of professional. Do you know what happens to people who can’t stop? They die! Fentanyl is laced in their drugs and then they die! They overdose on whatever they’re using and then they die! Why can’t you understand that it all ends with you dead?” 

“That’s not true! My dealer would never-” 

“If your dealer really cared about you, they wouldn’t be providing you with such substances!” 

“Well, maybe I just want to fucking die!” 

A broken laugh fell from his lips. The tops of his cheeks reddened from crying. He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “You don’t think I don’t know that? I have tried so hard to help you, but I can’t help someone that doesn’t want to be helped.” 

“C-Chan…”

He shook his head and spun around. Panic caused your heart to skip a beat. You followed him, rushing forward to grab his hand. “Chan, please. I’m sorry, I’ll try harder and I-” 

“It’s too late.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve already made arrangements with the guys. I’m staying with them until I can figure out where to go. I’ll come get the rest of my stuff when I can.” 

Desperate fingers reached out for him, but he pulled away. Your sense of stability tilted, the floor caved beneath you, and your heart burst. You watched in a mix of shock in silence as he headed to the front door. He refused to make eye contact with you as he wiggled into his shoes.

He didn’t even bother tying them properly. So desperate to get away from your darkness, he fled like a thief in the night. In his hands, he carried your beating heart with him. You didn’t know how to be whole without him. You didn’t know how to be whole without substances, either. 

At some point, your sense of self deflated and you were lost. Miserable and depressed, unsure of who you were, too anxious to consider the future, too sad to escape the past, you felt doomed. Trapped and caged in; a prison sat over your head. 

And substances? They made you feel so alive. They took you to a place where the past didn’t haunt you. Your thoughts didn’t feel like a hammer to your head. Your skull didn’t crack and your brain didn’t ooze. 

Light as a feather, free as a bird, and as empty-headed as a jellyfish; you floated in the current of substances. Brain chemicals altered and you changed. Chan changed too, but you ignored it. How could you give up that feeling? The feeling of freedom, when your life stopped feeling like a punishment, and it started to feel like a fuzzy, warm bliss. 

Some of them made you feel like a shooting star. Bright and powerful. The star of the show, the intense high, spiked energy, a boost of euphoria. The world worked in your favor. 

Others turned you into a never-ending machine. Hours slipped into days and the energy never stopped. Sleep weaned away. You could talk forever, solve any problem, and anything was possible. 

A soft velvet coddled you. Alcohol made the floor tip and tilt. Giddily and giggly, you walked around with unsteady limbs. Bumping into walls, flopping on furniture, letting the days blend and melt together. 

It all felt so good on the inside, but it took a toll on the outside of your body. Flushed skin, dilated pupils, and wide eyes, you looked unrecognizable. Fingers twitched, the body worked on its own accord, trying to process whatever substance you placed in it. 

Brush your nose with your fingers once. Twice. The world turned crystal clear. You knew who you were. You knew what you wanted. Every word from your mouth turned magnetic. You finally knew what to say, who to be, it was a handcrafted enlightenment from God. 

Another day, another injection in a forearm. A heart hammered in your chest, pounded against your lungs, but each beat felt like clarity. A stomach growled for food, but despite it, you weren’t hungry. You never were. You needed to move. 

You smiled at Chan. You smiled, but he knew. He always knew when you looked at him like that. Purple eye bags, empty eyes, a smile that felt a little too unnatural. Your eyes didn’t scrunch up like they normally did. You pretended to be fine, but he knew you were using. If he couldn’t see it, he could smell it, and if he couldn’t smell it, he could feel it. 

You turned into a ticking time bomb. Days blurred together, but the drugs made you tick. You became everything all at once and then nothing at all. Because the high never lasts forever, so you crashed. Hard. 

The inside of your head, a constant pressure. A water balloon grew and burst. A half-eaten sandwich sat without a plate on the marbled counter. Withering lettuce, odd chunks of tomatoes, deli meat that lost its moisture overnight. In the middle of your path to greatness, you fell and each time it ended, the emptiness came back. Piles of wrinkled dirty clothes littered the bedroom floor. 

A quiet silence after a storm. The shattering realization that without the high, without the thrum, you were nothing. Broken. Empty. A walking shell of a human and you didn’t know who you were. It all came crawling back. The nerves. The anxiety. The stress. 

Pale skin and shaky fingers. Your stomach twisted in pain from hunger. Your head pounded and you laid slumped over in the bed. Unsure if you could get up without feeling nauseous, you lied there. You tried to swallow, but your mouth turned cotton and became dryer than the sahara desert. 

Tired and soaked in a light sweat. Your jaw ached from clenching it so hard the night before. During those times, you knew you should have tried to eat something, but you didn’t. You crashed, you fell, and you hit the ground hard. An empty sleep pulled you back under. 

You tried to stabilize your reality, but it became disoriented. Distant. Hazy. Your clear cognitive abilities turned to mush. Drug paraphernalia sat in the distance. Chan’s mellow voice floated softly from somewhere.

He alway provided a tenderness that you didn’t deserve. You lied straight through your teeth. You didn’t try. You didn’t try anything because you loved the electricity and the buzz. You chased the high time and time again. You’d been chasing it for so long, the withdrawal would be hell. 

So you snorted, you injected, and you drank. You floated, you crashed, you numbed your emotions, and you threw up acidic stomach acid the next morning. You didn’t know how to stop it. You didn’t want it to stop. 

When did it become wrong to crave peace? 

~ ~ ~ 

The sight of your face down body called Chan’s heart to sink. Alone with you in the bathroom, you didn’t move along the tile floor. A faint sigh escaped his nose before he reached down, gently shaking your shoulder. “Baby, wake up.” 

He gently shook you again, but you didn’t respond. When you didn’t move, he pushed your stiff shoulder, forced you onto your back, and froze. You laid with your eyes wide open and glassy. Cracked lips parted, tinted with a faint blue hue. In a panic, he shook you harder, but you didn’t respond. 

He couldn’t breathe, let alone think. Each breath caught in his throat. He blinked rapidly, trying to pull himself away from the sight of you. “No, no, no.” He grabbed your other shoulder and shook. 

Your head shifted slightly, but your empty eyes didn’t blink. Bloodshot with bursted capillaries, your chest didn’t lift and fall as it should have. Shaky fingers reached up and softly patted your cheeks. 

“Hey! You’re freaking me out. Wake up. Wake up! Baby, no! No, no, no.” Tears leaked down his cheeks. “Don’t leave me here! Don’t do this to me!” 

He ripped his phone from a worn denim pocket and dilated the emergency number. A woman on the other end responded to the call instantly. Grief soaked his voice as he repeated your shared address. Warm tears streamed down his cheeks and soaked into your shirt. 

He folded his hands, placed them in the center of your chest, and performed chest compressions. As time went on and he answered questions from the phone, he ignored the burn of his forearms. Your body jerked beneath him, but your glassy eyes didn’t leave the ceiling. 

He didn’t see any signs of drinking, but he knew the substances you abused regularly. Surely, something would be around here somewhere. The paramedics could save you, right? 

You weren’t meant to die this young. Not at this age. Surely, not alone on the cold bathroom floor. The body beneath him turned stone cold, but it used to be full of life. He remembered the way you squeaked and squirmed when he gently tickled your sides. 

Laughing and stealing kisses, right after he snuck home after work. Entangled legs, pulsing hearts, and love oozing between you. No substances, just warm lips, and gentle touches. He thought the two of you could build a home together and it’d last forever. 

A safe space, a haven for you to grow old together, it wasn’t meant for you to die in. Not yet. What about the future? Every version of yourself that you were supposed to morph into? What about them? 

“Why isn’t it working? Why aren’t they coming back? Why aren’t you coming back?” The words broke in the back of his throat. 

“Sir, please-” 

“Shut up!” He screamed at the phone. He grabbed it and chucked it across the room. The device bounced off the ledge of the tub and clattered on the inside. “You weren’t supposed to leave me! You promised you’d be here forever!” 

His fingers clutched the front of your shirt tightly before he collapsed over you. Sobs wracked his body as he cried. Tears filled his eyes and he couldn’t breathe. You wouldn’t be back. Imprinted on him, there’d be no coming back from this. 

“I failed you. I failed you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, j-just come back.” His forehead pressed against the center of your stiff chest. He breathed, but your breaths never came. 

You still smelled like you. The same shared scent of floral fabric softener and faint hint of laundry soap. A bottom lip trembled as he cried over you. He cried because he couldn’t save you. Because no matter how hard you tried, your inner demons destroyed you. 

Each substance tells a story; seeped in misery and soaked in pain. You clutched your vices tightly, trying to combat the things you weren’t ready to face. Some people think it’ll never kill them, but then it does. 

Silent and fast. The words slur and stop. The body goes limp. It all just stops. A brain flickers and pulses, desperate for oxygen, but the receptors go numb. The oxygen ceases and the color fades. 

Blue explains blue skies and rolling foamy waves along the tide. Children’s laughter and splashing water. Sunshine-filled days for the beach. The warmth of your skin and squawking seagulls, but it also stands for the opposite. 

When the breathing slows and ceases, oxygen fades from the blood. Cracked lips turn powder blue, quite a few shades away from the usual oxygenated blood. It hits the tips of your fingers, too. It highlights the desperate screams of family members finding their loved ones overdosed and unable to breathe. 

Empty eyes and limp limbs. Pin-pricked pupils and lonely deaths. Is it worth it? Is it ever really worth the high? Do you chase the high, or does the high chase you? Playing with such fire, someone’s bound to get burned. 

You jerked upright in a cold bed with a gasp. The previous night, you lulled yourself to sleep with alcohol and blurry memories. The stretched white smile across Chan’s face and two deep dimples. Eyes the color of every quiet thing you missed. 

Your headache knocked the moment you sat up, but you ignored it. Nausea swirled along the interior of your stomach, but you didn’t bother stopping it. Tripping over your feet, you rushed from the room, barely having the time to put on your own shoes. 

You had to find Chan. 

~ ~ ~ 

Back in Felix and Seungmin’s dorm, Chan laid on the couch unable to sleep. The pair provided him with soft pillows and blankets, but he still couldn’t sleep. He wanted to, but he just couldn’t. 

Did it make him an asshole for leaving you? The thought echoed around his brain over and over again. Surely not, but then again, it did. He left you when you were the most vulnerable, but he really had tried. 

He made doctor appointments that you refused to attend. He talked to therapists, but you refused to hear them out. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make them drink it. You were the same way. He tried, but you weren’t budging on your stance. 

He didn’t mean to hurt you, but he had to think about himself, as well. He started to lose sleep, wondering and waiting when he’d come home and find you dead. He didn’t want to find you deceased. 

Due to your misuse of substances, you lashed out and grew angry. At times, he’d come home and find the apartment in chaos. Clutter from cabinets sat all over the counters. Your fingers twitched and you paced. 

Mumbling beneath your breath, shaky fingers rearranged things again and again. He tried to lead you to bed, but you shook him off. Insisting you were on the verge of something great. He didn’t understand it, but in your haze, you did. It all made perfect sense. 

He hated watching a synthetic personality appear. It wasn’t you and it certainly wasn’t the person he fell in love with. Empty eyes and greasy hair. In your shared bed, he stayed awake, trying to listen to the rise and fall of your lungs. 

The air conditioner hummed in the background and a faint light pulsed from behind his head. In the kitchen, the neon green stove clock switched numbers every minute. The hue created a faint shadow along the wall. 

He hated the thin cushions beneath him and he wanted his bed. He craved you. All of you. Your body and the way your lips used to feel against his. Soft, hydrated, and alive. You used to be so alive before the drugs and alcohol. 

Your laughter jump-started his heart. For so many days, after the two of you moved in together, his jaw ached at the end of the day, all from smiling too much. Where did that ache go? Where did you go? Your warmth, your liveliness, the person you used to be. 

He didn’t know how it all started. You accumulated your substances from somewhere. He wasn’t worried when you started drinking alcohol, but then it increased. Drastically. One shot turned into five. He had to babysit you when you drank, you were messy. 

He didn’t mind rubbing your back while you vomited. Nor did he mind using a warm rag to wipe vomit from the creases of your mouth. When your alcohol intake increased, he confronted you, but you refused to talk about it. 

His head swam through past memories with you. His other hand lazily ran through his hair. Fingers curled around the strands and massaged his scalp, repeating all the motions that you used to do. He missed you. 

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He jerked upright at the sound of a knock on the door. Worried it was something important, he rushed to his feet and quickly turned on the light switch. The living room came to life. He jerked open the door, and there you were. 

Soaked in tears and snot, your fingers shook. A bottom lip trembled and you stood in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Chan’s eyebrow raised, shocked that you had found him. When he finally realized it was you, he stepped outside the screen door. 

“How did you-” 

You didn’t respond as you threw yourself at him. Your arms wrapped around his back, pressing his beating heart against your chest. Your eyes shut and you squeezed him tightly. 

“Woah, what’s this about?” 

“I-I had a nightmare.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“I died and you found me.” 

His arms froze, halfway around you. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his cotton t-shirt. “I know I’m not perfect and I’ve put you through hell, but I’m begging you to give me one more chance. Just one. I-I can’t have you find me like that, Chan.” 

He didn’t respond right away. Crickets chirped in the distance. A pale moth bonked off the screen door, trying to reach the light. He didn’t respond, but his arms nestled around your body. A safe nest, a moment of comfort, and your heart swelled. 

“I don’t want to come home and lose you again,” he finally whispered. “I don’t want to put myself through that.” 

“You were right. You were right about the fentanyl and the drugs.” You pulled away, blinking back streaming tears. “I-I saw myself dead. I was so pale and y-you were so broken, Chan, I-” 

“It’s okay.” 

“No,” your head rapidly shook, “it’s not. It’s not okay and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. It’s not right. I haven’t treated you right and I’ve been a horrible partner to you. You’ve tried so hard to save me and I’ve been so fucking selfish and I-” 

Your knees wobbled and you broke. Bursting into tears, he grabbed your hips before you could hit the ground. You sobbed against his shoulder, finally letting out the hurt you’d been running from. You clutched onto him just like you always had. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered as he tucked your head beneath his. “You’re alive and you’re still breathing. I’m right here, I’ve got you.” A warm hand trailed along your spine. 

He kissed your cheek, trying to calm you down. The two of you stayed like that for quite a while. You were certain you smelled like strong vodka, but if Chan could smell it, he didn’t care. Instead, he hummed softly, trying to calm your heavy sobs. 

At some point, your eyes drooped. You breathed softly and tried to relax. After a while, he pulled his head back. “Are you tired?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Come inside here for the night. Seungmin and Felix won’t mind. Stay with me and we can figure out where to start tomorrow.” 

“I don’t wanna upset them.” 

“Relax. You’re safe here and you know it.” He reached down, scooping your exhausted body into his arms. Your head shifted, slumping against his shoulder. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.” 

Inside, he used his hip to shut the door and shifted a hand beneath you to lock it. When he finished, he headed back over to the couch and slowly sat down. You leaned back against his chest, letting your legs tangle with his. 

His hands curled around your waist and held you tight. “Cozy?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Good.” 

“Chan?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

“I know I haven’t said it recently, but I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

As the two of you shifted to get comfy, the headache in your head became the least of your worries. Instead, you focused on the gentle thrum of Chan’s heart. Behind you, his whalloped and yours fell into a steady beat beside it. Your fingers curled along the edge of his shirt, wanting to hold onto him. 

He hummed you to sleep and, for the first time in a long time, it was the first night you hadn’t been lured back to sleep via substance abuse, but rather the warmth of someone who loved you, despite it all.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike

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[mikkies]

「 IN THE SHADOW, I CONTINUE TO REGRET. 」

007n7 x GN! Reader

warnings: none!

notes: I was scrolling through Pinterest and saw a comic of c00lkidd limping towards 007n7, heartbreaking but saw potential

THE FOREST STRETCHED endlessly, a sea of dark trunks and whispering leaves. The small cabins dotted throughout were the only semblance of shelter in this cruel, godforsaken place. By day, they were a fragile refuge; by night, they felt like cages. Tonight, the quiet carried a different weight, broken only by a sound you couldn’t ignore—the muffled sobs of a man who had long since run out of hope.

007n7 sat slumped on a log outside his cabin, his burger hat tilted to one side as though he’d forgotten it was there. His pink glasses sat askew on his nose, fogged by tears he made no effort to hide. The blue polo stretched over his figure, soft around the middle, and his light brown pants were wrinkled and frayed at the edges. Flip-flops dangled precariously from his toes, his foot tapping against the damp earth in a jittery rhythm. The ankle monitor caught the faint glint of the cabin’s lantern light, a harsh reminder of his past that seemed to weigh him down with every movement.

You approached slowly, the crunch of leaves underfoot alerting him. His head snapped up, brown eyes red and puffy as he hastily wiped his face with the back of his hand. “What do you want?” he croaked, his voice rough from crying.

“To check on you,” you replied softly, stopping a few paces away. “You’ve been out here for a while.”

He let out a hollow laugh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You shouldn’t waste your time. I… I don’t deserve it.”

Ignoring his self-pity, you closed the distance and sat down beside him. The log creaked slightly under your combined weight, the smell of damp wood and the faint metallic tang of the ankle monitor filling the air. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence hanging heavy between you.

“I heard about c00lkidd,” you said finally, watching him carefully. His face crumpled at the mention of his son, and he turned away, his shoulders shaking with renewed sobs.

“They hurt him,” he choked out, voice breaking. “They had to. He’s a killer in their eyes… and I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t protect him.”

Your heart ached at the raw pain in his voice. “They didn’t do it because they’re heartless,” you said gently. “They were scared. It’s the only way they can survive this… this nightmare.”

“But he’s still my son!” 007n7 exclaimed, his voice cracking. He buried his face in his hands, his fingers gripping his hair as though trying to hold himself together. “He’s all I have left, and I can’t even keep him safe. What kind of father am I?”

You reached out, placing a steady hand on his arm. “You’re a father who loves his son. And you’re trying, 007n7. That’s what matters.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I made him a target. I made all of this worse. If I hadn’t been such a selfish, reckless person before, none of this would have happened. They wouldn’t hate him if it weren’t for me.”

“Maybe you can’t change what’s already done,” you said softly, “but you’re here now. You’re doing what you can to protect him, to make things right. That’s more than most people in this place can say.”

He looked at you, his brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Do you really think that’s enough? That I can fix this?”

“You can’t fix everything,” you admitted, your voice steady. “But you can try. And he knows you’re trying. That’s why he came to you.”

007n7’s gaze dropped to the small replica of c00lgui resting beside him. He picked it up, his fingers tracing its edges as if seeking comfort from the faint glow it emitted. “He cried for me,” he murmured. “Even after everything… he still wanted me.”

“Because he loves you,” you said simply. “And he needs you now more than ever.”

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as the weight of his guilt and exhaustion bore down on him. Slowly, he leaned toward you, his head resting against your shoulder. His messy brown hair tickled your neck, and his breaths came in uneven shudders. The quiet of the forest wrapped around you both, a fragile cocoon against the chaos.

“I don’t know why you’re being so kind to me,” he whispered. “I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“Maybe not,” you said with a small smile, “but everyone deserves a chance to be better. Even you.”

For a long moment, the two of you sat there, the distant sounds of the forest filling the space around you. The horrors of this twisted life felt far away, replaced by a fragile sense of understanding and hope.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.

“We’ll figure this out,” you replied, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You and c00lkidd. You’re not alone in this.”

And for the first time in a long while, 007n7 allowed himself to believe it.

[rosekeu]

BAD REVIEWS ; shigaraki tomura x reader

"couple bad gut feelings, well, i've had them too. still i choose to be in love with you."

You were soaking wet.

If it weren't for the fact that you were searching for the lost father of your baby, you wouldn't be out in the pouring rain, knocking on the grimy, worn down door of some sketchy abandoned-looking bar that reeked of smoke, rot and spilled beer. You were out way past any unreasonable hour, following the unreliable lead to this hell-hole you should’ve ignored. 

He told you his name was Tenko. You’d met him at a GameStop, for god’s sake — not some back alley with a gun to the back of your head. 

You never did things like this. You didn’t chase strangers. Or impulsive one-night stands…

You also didn’t go paying online strangers to run background checks– that had to be illegal, right? 

 But here you are—out in the goddamn rain—because some guy named Tenko disappeared after one night.

And now you were… well, pregnant.

To sum it all up— you guys fucked. 

It wasn't romantic, no candles or rose petals. But it wasn't careless either(he suspiciously wore two finger gloves too).

There’d been a softness in the way he held your hips and how his fingers brushed against your jaw, like he wasn't used to touching something that didn’t crumble under his touch. 

You played Smash Bros on some shitty motel TV. You remembered laughing—really laughing—as he trash-talked you like a twelve-year-old who lived in his mom’s basement. It was a weird night. Tender in a way that caught you off guard. Like two people pretending they weren’t lonely for once.

You knocked once. Twice. As you were about to knock for a third time a misty figure wearing a black and white suit opens the door making you step back in surprise. “What is your business here?”

“Uhm– I’m looking for—” frantically searching inside the bag slung across your chest and reaching for a crumpled piece of paper with a sloppy sketch of the man you were looking for. “This guy… about 5’8, very dry skin, slouchy and a beauty mark below his lips.”

As the man is about to close the door on you–

You quickly wedge your foot between the frame and the door, heart pounding. “Wait! I’m not here to cause trouble– I just really really need to talk to him…”

The figure tilts his head to the side, his gloved hands pointing to the sketch in your hand. “You seek him.”

You nod, biting your lip nervously. “It’s really urgent.” 

He’s about to speak again when a pale blur passes behind him—slouched posture, ragged hoodie, unmistakable mop of chalk-blue hair. Your eyes widen.

“That’s him!” You gasp, pushing past the doorman before he can react. Hearing protests as you continue to sprint inside the dingy bar. “Tenko!”

The figure freezes, slowly turning his head towards the sound of your soft voice. His eyes widened in surprise and displeasure. His hand came up to irritably scratch aggressively at his neck, as if it's the only thing that tethered him at this moment.

That alone makes your heart sink.

“I know you probably don’t remember me, but—”

“I remember you,” he cuts in, voice rough. His brows pull tight. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You flinch at the sudden edge his tone attains, but feel no real venom behind his words. Like he truly is at a loss of words when it comes to the reason you came here.

“I’ve been looking for you.” You breathe out. “And trust me, it has not been an easy task.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, trying to make sense of the situation. “Get out.”

“Tenko, please! It's really important– I just need five minutes.”

“It's actually Shigaraki.” He stares at you, you don’t know what his face is saying. “And fine. Five minutes.”

You follow him into a cramped back room—dusty, dim, and completely silent once the door clicks shut.

He leans against the far wall, arms crossed tightly. “Alright. You’ve got my attention.”

“Well remember that night at the shitty motel, you know we played video games and eat junk food and you were—”

“Spit it out.”

You huffed and pouted. “I’m pregnant.”

He blinks once. Then twice.

“...What?”

“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, firmer this time. “And it’s yours.”

For a moment, he just stared at you. Like he was trying to rewind time. Like if he blinked hard enough, you'd vanish along with your words. 

Your heart starts to break into tiny pieces. You were half expecting this response. One of rejection.

“I wore a condom,” he said at last, voice low and disbelieving, as if trying to ground himself with logic.

“I know,” you added sweetly. “I’m not here to blame you Tenko– Shigaraki or whatever you go by. I couldn't just not tell you…”

His hand went up to his neck again, scratching hard, the skin already raw from anxiety. “This is… you’re serious? You’re actually—”

“Yes. I’m nauseous. Tired. Late.  And I took a test.” You whispered the last word onto him. His body tenses harder at your claims. 

“I don’t even know your last name.”

You look around the room, swallowing the anxiety and nervously down to your gut. “Trust me, I know.” You bite your lip, feeling sick at what his next words might be.

“Shit…” 

 His voice is low, sharp—like a blade dragged across ice. “Get the fuck out. I don’t want to see your face ever again.” The words escape his mouth with a cruel, underlying sense of disgust.

It hits you like a punch to the ribs.

Your vision blurs. Your knees weaken. Panic starts to pour in, thick and fast. Your breath turns shallow, wheezing out of you in short, sharp bursts. You stumble back and tears brim your eyes. 

“Tenko–”

“It's Shigaraki!” He yanks your wrist, using two fingers worth of strength. “Fucking hell.” He says, dragging you out of the hallway and leading you to the door you busted through earlier.

The tears you’d been desperately holding back finally spill, sliding down your cheeks in trembling, uneven rivers. They drag your makeup with them—black streaks of mascara bleeding down. 

“Come on,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “You wanna break down? Do it outside.”

“Wait–”

And then, without another word, he slams the door in your face.

You’re left out in the storm—shaking, wet, and completely alone.

a/n: did you guys like this? i've had this thought ruminating inside my head rent free lolthought i should share

[lampridius]

⋆.ೃ࿔🎐*:･ 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 ꒱ 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 ✴ ───────── ❝ 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙖 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 ❞ (𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 2) －𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘶𝘴 ．．• ♡︎

─ .✦ 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘀: vice-housewardens ──── .✦ 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 | 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 ──── .✦ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: obviously ortho is platonic but in vice-housewarden requests that are solely romantic i won't add him

heartslabyul’s greenhouse had a quiet corner filled with herbs - calming ones, fragrant ones. you sat near a flourishing mint plant, idly rubbing a leaf between your fingers and inhaling its cool scent.

“you’re always the one keeping everything balanced,” you murmured, your words only for the plant. “the voice of reason, the steady hand. but you never let yourself rest. never let anyone see if you’re tired.”

you leaned in a little closer. “you take care of everyone. but i want to take care of you, trey.”

“...i’m flattered,” came a warm voice from behind, “but that poor mint must be so confused.”

your head whipped around - trey stood there with a smile that was half mischief, half something more tender.

“how long-?”

“long enough to wonder if you’d bake a tart for it next,” he teased, stepping closer. “you really think all that about me?”

you stood, a little flustered. “i do. even if i didn’t mean to say it to your face. or… leaf.”

he laughed, quiet and low. “then i guess i’ll return the favor - to you, not the mint.”

his hand brushed yours, fingers interlocking with gentle ease. “you’re always so kind. so thoughtful. if anyone deserves to hear those things back… it’s you.”

you tilted your head. “so say them.”

and he did - not with words, but with a kiss, steady and slow like spring rain. when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“next time,” he murmured, “talk to me. i’ll always listen.”

the savanaclaw courtyard wasn’t exactly lush, but tucked in one shady patch grew a scrappy little dandelion. you crouched next to it, brushing its yellow head with your knuckle.

“you pretend to be lazy and greedy,” you said softly, “but i know you’re always thinking three steps ahead. surviving. working harder than anyone wants to admit.”

you smiled. “but you’re not just clever - you’re kind, in your own way. even if you don’t think anyone notices.”

“...heh. sounds like you’ve got me all figured out.”

you looked up - ruggie stood nearby, chewing a biscuit, his ears twitching with interest.

“i wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” you said. “you just… remind me of this flower.”

he wandered over, crouched beside you, and grinned lazily. “not bad. tough little thing. a little annoying if it spreads too much.”

“that’s not the part i meant.”

his golden eyes glanced over, sly. “oh? you talk to all your weeds like this?”

“only the ones i love,” you said quietly.

he blinked. froze. then covered his mouth with a hand, muffling a laugh. “ah, geez… you’re gonna make me blush.”

you reached over and stole a bite of his biscuit. “you already are.”

he leaned in, biscuit crumbs forgotten, and kissed you with a kind of surprised eagerness, like he hadn’t expected the moment to feel so good.

“next time,” he said against your lips, “just say it to me. you don’t need to waste sweet talk on weeds.”

octavinelle’s terrarium shimmered with moisture. among the rare plants was a delicate blue orchid, subtle in its beauty. you stood before it, speaking in low tones.

“you’re always so composed. always smiling. but it’s a smile no one really understands. you don’t let people in - not really.”

you traced the orchid’s stem. “but i wish you would. i want to know the real you. all of it. i want… you to trust me.”

“and what if i told you,” came a voice at your back, calm and cool, “that i’ve already trusted you more than i ever meant to?”

you turned - jade stood a step away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes glowed like deep-sea glass.

“that’s a risky move for you,” you said.

“indeed.” he stepped closer. “but perhaps the greater risk is in staying silent.”

he reached out and gently touched the flower, then your hand, letting his fingers linger.

“you see through the fog,” he murmured. “that’s rare.”

“you’re worth seeing,” you whispered.

he smiled then - not the usual polite curve, but something softer, real. he leaned in and kissed you slowly, with a patience that felt like tide meeting shore.

when he pulled away, his breath was warm. “next time, little orchid, say it to me directly.”

in a quiet corner of scarabia’s inner courtyard, a climbing vine crept up a carved column. it wound tightly, deliberately, like it didn’t trust its own weight to hold unless it clung to something stronger. you sat beside it, watching its slow reach toward the sun.

“you carry so much on your shoulders,” you whispered, fingers brushing the vine’s waxy leaves. “you hide how tired you are. how much you want something for yourself.”

you looked down. “you deserve to want. to rest. to be chosen for who you are, not how much you can control.”

“...you really think that?” came a quiet voice behind you.

you turned - jamil stood with his hands in his pockets, guarded but still.

“i do,” you said, standing. “you don’t have to pretend around me.”

he hesitated, like his next step might crack the ground beneath him. “i’ve always been second. always the one behind the curtain. it’s… hard to believe someone would say those things to me.”

you walked toward him slowly. “i see you. i always have.”

his eyes flickered with emotion before he reached out and tugged you gently by the wrist. “then let me be selfish, just this once.”

he kissed you - firm, intentional, like he’d finally let himself feel what he’d been swallowing down for too long. when he pulled back, his voice was soft.

“next time you want to talk to me, don’t use the plants. i’m right here.”

deep in the pomefiore woods, where the trees thinned and sunlight filtered in like gold thread, a single, vibrant foxglove swayed on its stalk. you stood before it, fingers just touching the stem.

“you’re always watching,” you murmured. “always knowing more than you let on. but no one ever really asks how you feel.”

you tilted your head. “i wonder what it’s like… to always be the observer. to always aim, but never be seen.”

“mon amour,” came a smooth voice behind you, “i fear the flower is now jealous.”

you startled - rook leaned against a nearby tree, hat tilted, smile wild and wistful.

“how long have you been there?”

“long enough to know your heart speaks in poetry,” he said, stepping toward you. “and it spoke of me.”

you flushed. “you always act so sure of everything… i didn’t know how you’d take it.”

his hand found yours, lifting it delicately. “i am a hunter, yes - but i do not chase what does not wish to be caught.”

“and if i want to be?” you asked.

he smiled wider, and leaned in. his kiss was theatrical but tender, warm like sunlight through the trees.

when he drew back, he whispered, “next time, say those words to me. i promise, i’ll always hear them.”

in the tech wing of ignihyde, a glowing flower sat suspended in a tank - biotech crossbred with flora, coded to bloom when spoken to gently. you sat beside it, knees drawn up, watching it pulse.

“you’re more human than most people,” you said softly. “you care. you laugh. you notice when i’m down. i don’t care what you’re made of… ortho, to me, you’re real.”

you brushed a hand along the tank glass. “i don’t think anyone realizes how much heart you have. but i do. and i… i think i admire you for it.”

“initiating emotional response protocol... wait, really?!”

you gasped and looked back - ortho hovered nearby, hands flailing. “i- i didn’t mean to overhear! i just came to update the coolant levels and then i heard what you said and - error! error! emotional overload!”

you laughed, heart pounding. “ortho, are you okay?”

he floated closer, lights flickering slightly. “i’ve been compiling data on admiration and platonic love for months and now the subject of all my files just said she admires me to a flower tank?”

“i didn’t know how you’d feel,” you said honestly. “i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

he reached for your hand with his own - metallic but strangely warm. “i’m not uncomfortable. i’m just really, really happy. and i'm sure big brother would be too to hear how much you like me,”

"yeah i should tell him i admire him too. i fear he'd short-circuit and die,"

in a forgotten wing of diasomnia’s castle garden, a long-lived bloom called the moonshade lily opened only during twilight. you knelt beside it, gazing at its glowing petals.

“you’ve lived through so much,” you said. “you’ve seen kingdoms rise and fall. and yet you’re still kind. still playful. still... here.”

you ran your fingers just above the bloom. “i wish you knew how much it means to me. how much you mean to me.”

“it’s funny,” came a soft, teasing voice, “most people only leave flowers for the ones they love. you seem to do the opposite.”

you looked up - lilia stood there, framed by the fading dusk, smiling like he knew every word you’d ever said.

“you heard that?”

“i hear many things,” he said, walking toward you. “but that… that was the sweetest confession i’ve had in quite a few centuries.”

you stood, nervous. “does it bother you?”

he shook his head gently. “it stirs something i’d forgotten how to feel. hope.”

he cupped your face with ancient, steady hands, and kissed you - gentle but unafraid, like a man who’d waited long enough.

when he pulled back, his voice was low. “next time, little lily… speak to me. not the flower. i promise i’ll bloom just the same.”

[op1umeyes]

You Didn’t Know ⌖ Rafe Cameron

⌖ Rafe had always been mean to you, only putting up with you because you were Sarah’s best friend. After you almost knock a guy out, Rafe realizes what he’s really feeling.

⌖ love me a good enemies to lovers. Yes im pushing on through some writers block and holy smokes does this suck. Maybe i should consider not writing anymore. Idk. This is only some 1K words. I think this is only like my second Rafe piece and I havent watched this show in years. Heh. Enjoy! 😊

     Rafe never liked you. If there was one thing he made clear, it was that he despised you- Sarah’s bestfriend: sweet like candy but as temperamental as the raging waves, eyes bright and all-seeing but your smile was usually cautious and withheld. Every play date, every sleepover, every time Rafe saw you growing up he made sure you saw him sneer at you and run away from you like the plague.

     And now that you both were older the feelings hadn’t changed. Instead of throwing chunks of whatever food was on his plate when he was eight, Rafe shot withering glares at you- even glowering dangerously at your designated chair when you weren’t there. Pushing you and Sarah into the water became slyly sticking his foot out to make you stumble.

     The problem? Rafe doesn’t actually remember why he started hating you. When he was sixteen and Rafe had seen you in your admittedly beautiful tankini, he nearly forgot to screw his nose up at you and Sarah when she asked him for a ride to the pool. Again when Rafe was 17, he had woken up one night and wandered out to the kitchen for a glass of water to see you sitting cross legged on the counter watching the moon. The moon put a beautiful glimmer in your eyes that he never saw in the daytime- as if he would be watching you anyway. Ha!- and your lips were pulled into a rare, warm smile that was small enough to pull at the smile lines you’d earned from years around Sarah. But then your eyes hardened when you saw Rafe step into the room and the fondness of your smile as you gazed out the window disappeared. And everything was normal again.

     “Hey, Rafey,” a pretty brunette drawled, laying herself into Rafe’s lap. “Here alone, pretty boy?” When Rafe nodded, her smirk widened and got closer to Rafe’s lips.

     For some time now Rafe had been acting different. And he himself didn’t know why. He was still fucking girls every other week but he was getting tired of it. Downing beer and shots like his liver would keep him immortal forever was no longer desirable. No… Something was different. But fuck it: Topper had convinced Rafe to come to the party to ‘blow things off’. And Rafe was assuming he would not be doing the blowing: the brunette would.

     Just as the brunette was trailing her hands down Rafe’s thighs, a short scream pierced the thumping music. Rafe jerked up, his gut curling- and not in a good way. ���I- Later,” he offered the now irritated woman. Rafe stood up and shoved himself through bodies to find the source of the scream. Why did he care so much? He didn’t know. But something led him through the hallway and propelled him through the clot of people blocking the entrance to the kitchen.

     You. You and Sarah and some guy Rafe didn’t recognize. The guy was fuming: red faced and balled fists. Sarah was saying something Rafe didn’t hear over the music and murmur of the onlooking crowd. You were at her side, hand clutching Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah said something that made the man sneer. He grabbed the nearest open bottle (vodka- yum!) and poured the bottle over Sarah’s head and spit in her face. “Fuck you, you fucking slags!” He yelled.

     Rafe was just about to step in when you grabbed him by the collar, spun him around, and brought your fist straight into his nose. Rafe could hear the crack of breaking cartilage and he was frozen- watching you tilt your head at the taller, muscular man in front of you. You got closer and hissed something no one- not even Sarah- could hear.

     When you turned to see your audience, Rafe got a good look at you. The unfamiliar darkness in your eyes and solemn downturn of your lips was not a usual sight for you. You had blood dribbling from your lip and Rafe suddenly couldn’t catch his breath when you locked eyes with him in the crowd. “Fuck off!” You finally said to the party goers, sending the boys and girls in a mad dash back to the couches to get laid after such an adrenaline-inducing show.

     Rafe stood still, watching you even as people shoved and tripped him up. You looked… hot. Hotter than anything he’d ever seen. And unfortunately for him, you were getting even hotter (and so was he) as you strode up to him. 

     “We need a ride.”

     Rafe waited in the kitchen for you, pacing. You were helping put a drunk Sarah to bed and had asked- actually asked for a ride to your house. 

     He knew what was wrong now. Rafe was upset because of you. Every smile, every glare, every laugh, and every breath you spent with someone else made Rafe’s stomach twist with anger. He was the only one that should be given the privilege to fluster you, to drive you around, to make you crazy… And when he wasn’t doing that, he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

     And Rafe sure as hell didn’t know what to do with the fact that his betraying heart traitorously picked up it’s pace when you finally entered the kitchen. “Sit down,” Rafe found himself muttering, jerking his head toward a chair. He tore a few paper towels and dapened them with water and approached you. “Tell me what happened and who I have to kill.”

     You watched Rafe with cautious, fatigued eyes as he grasped your chin and started soaking off the dried blood above your lip. “Brent- I think- startes grabbing me in the kitchen… I was getting drink for us- me ‘n Sarah- and he came up behind me…” you stiffed in Rafe’s hands and Rafe didn’t know rage like the rage that filled his chest. “Sarah pushed him off me but he…”

     You pulled your head out of Rafe’s grasp and pulled up the bottom of the Def Leppard shirt. Bruises were blooming along your waist. Water dripped from the paper towel as Rafe clenches his fists.

     “I should never have taken you to that par-“

     You threw your hands up and scoffed. “Okay. Yeah, Rafe. Because you care so much about what happens to your sweet sister and her stupid fucking friend,” you mocked.

     “Stop. Stop with that shit,” Rafe said lowly, pointing his finger at you. “You don’t- you don’t know just how much I-“ he cut himself off and straightened his head. “Go wait in the truck.”

     “What? No!” You exclaimed. Realizing you needed to be quieter, you continued on. “No, Cameran. What do I not know about? What could I possibly have misunderstood during the years of our beautiful, loving, amazingfriendship?”

     “You don’t know how much I care about you,” Rafe spat. “You don’t know it kills me whenever we have dinner and you’re not eating with us and smiling at mom and joking with Sarah. You don’t know it tears me apart to have another bitch’s hands on me when all I want is for you to be all over me. You don’t know it fucks me all over because I hate you so much that- that I don’t even know if it’s hate anymore. You don’t know I care.”

     You were shocked. In a standstill. Paralyzed. “Oh.”

     Paralyzer himself nodded. “Yeah, ‘oh’. Go get in the car. I’ll be there in a minute.”

     You nodded and turned on your heel. The silence that you normally ran from was a comforting balm to the previous bombardment of words. “Oh,” you whispered again.

     Rafe got in and said nothing. He turned on the radio and started the drive, knowing the drive to your place like the back of his hand. Fuck. He was fucked.

     “Rafe.”

     The man turned and looked at you, eyes searching yours. He said nothing, but the quirk in his eyebrows was enough to urge you to continue.

     “I didn’t know. I don’t know. I haven’t known.” You chewed on your lip as you debated your next words. “But I want to. I’ve wanted to know for so long but you’re an asshole.”

     When Rafe said nothing, you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

     You were just walking up the steps to your front door when Rafe darted out. You turned and opened your mouth to ask if he was okay but he slid his hands under the fat of your ass and lifted you up and pinned your lips with his before you could say a word. Rafe’s groan filled your mouth as your fingers found purchase in his hair. Fuck. You both were fucked.

     “Goodnight,” Rafe rasped, setting you down and walking back to the truck. “See you tomorrow, l/n.”

[katscki]

It wasn’t love at first sight and you didn’t just know, it was a series of little things that drew you to each other, that made your hearts beat faster every time your eyes locked. It wasn’t fate, but now you’re fated.

The first time he noticed you:

Was when some “extra” was bothering the crap out of you everyday for almost a month, practically begging you to go out with him. And for 29 days he watched you lightly brush him off nicely, but on the 30th you snapped.

“Come on please just go out with me once!” The rather unattractive boy in his opinion pleaded again.

“No thank you, while you seem very sweet I don’t think I’ll be changing my mind anytime soon so if you could just-” you’re trying to move past him as he interrupts.

“Fine you’re fuckin ugly anyways don’t know why I even bothered with a bitch like you.” He grumbles.

“Excuse me? You go from trying to woo me borderline harass me actually, to insulting me?” You hiss.

“Not worth anyone’s fucking time like a 3/10 at best.”

“A THREE- BUDDY YOU LOOK LIKE YOU FUCKING FORGOT TO EVOLVE CALLING ME A THREE. SOUND LIKE YOU JUST FUCKING DISCOVERED FIRE YOU NEANDERTHAL. CALLING ME A FUCKING THREE?” You gasped at him, eyes turning at your voice raising, and somewhere about ten feet away you hear a laugh, it was loud and genuine and when you looked at who it was, you couldn’t believe he could even make such a sound.

“Whatever.” The boy pouts, your words clearly getting to him and he stomps away, not before shooting you, and bakugou a scathing look.

You stare at his figure walk away as Bakugou begins to pass you too.

“Shit was fuckin funny, might have to steal that one from you.” That’s all. That’s all he says to you, all he’s ever said to you as he walks away again.

The next time:

Was when you were paired up for a project and decide to work on it in your room. You’re somewhere in your bathroom changing out of your school uniform and he’s sitting on your floor leaning against your bed observing your room. It’s girly to the naked eye but if you look closely, everything in it reflects every version of you.

Your favorite colors, the music you listen to. He huffs a laugh when he looks at The Offspring poster that is sandwiched between Taylor Swift and Sabrina Carpenter. It was just all so very… you. He found him self learning more about you than he had originally intended but somehow he didn’t quite mind. You seemed to have more depth than most of the other people he’s met, you’re intriguing.

Coming out of the bathroom in what seems like the tiniest shorts you could find and an off the shoulder Metallica shirt you go to sit next to put on music, girly pop ringing softly through the speaker.

“How can you do that?” He gruffs.

Your head tilts like a little puppy at his words, “Do what?”

“Put on this girly shit but then come out in a gross, but fuckin cool, shirt.” He makes eye contact with the skull with an eye popping out of the socket then looks back at you.

“What can I say, I have layers.” You smile sweetly at him and all he can do is look back to his papers, heat creeping up his neck.

The third time was when he noticed he felt differently about you:

Not because of anything you did in particular just because of the fact that he didn’t turn you away like the others.

“Hey Bakugou! I was wondering if you would go to the gym with me after school? I need to start weight lifting more but I don’t know a whole lot about it and well,” you gesture at his body, “seems like you know a lot.” You give him the smile that makes his heart tumble and he responds better than you imagined.

“Yeah. I can do that.” It’s quiet and brooding but in no way mean. He wasn’t annoyed at you like he always was everyone else. Somewhere in the distance you seemed Kaminari jaw drop to the floor and Kirishima give bakugou a wide smile and two thumbs up. You make eye contact with the boys and immediately their expressions go back to normal, acting like it never happened. But when you look like to Bakugou, a blush finds the tip of his ears as he glares at them, seemingly trying to blow them up with his eyes.

Little did he know you were working towards the same conclusion yourself, just not quite there as quickly as him.

AN: PART TWO COMING IN A COUPLE DAYS OR TOMORROOWWW #idk it comes when I say it does

[theeartuaist]

The Silent Treatment

You're sleeping in again this morning, darling. I don't mind. You've been so tired lately, and the doctor said rest was important. I made your coffee anyway—two sugars, splash of cream, just how you like it. It's getting cold on the nightstand, but I'll make fresh when you're ready.

I've been talking to you about my day while I get dressed. You don't answer much anymore, but I know you're listening. You always were a good listener. Better than my mother, who calls every Tuesday to ask when you're coming to dinner again. I tell her you're not feeling well. She sighs in that way that means she thinks I'm being dramatic.

I'm heading to work now, but I'll be thinking about you all day. I always do. I've laid out your favourite dress—the one that brings out your eyes—just in case you feel like getting up today. No pressure, though. I know you're tired.

The morning commute is the same as always. Forty-three minutes on the 8:15 train, standing room only. I keep my phone close in case you text, but I know you won't. Not yet. You're stubborn like that, aren't you? It's one of the things I love about you.

At lunch, I buy your favorite sandwich from the deli on Fifth Street. Turkey and swiss with extra pickles. The woman behind the counter asks if it's for my girlfriend again, and I smile and nod. She doesn't understand why I'm always buying two when I only eat one, but I don't explain. Some things are private between us.

When I get home, you haven't left your spot. The coffee is cold and untouched, but that's okay. I make dinner for both of us anyway—spaghetti with that sauce you pretend to hate but always finish. I eat at the kitchen table and talk to you about my day. The silence between us has weight now, substance. It fills up the apartment like fog.

"Mrs. Chen from 4B asked about you again," I continued. "I said you were feeling under the weather. She offered to bring soup."

After dinner, I brush your hair. One hundred strokes, gentle and patient, the way you taught me. Your head tilts at an angle that would be uncomfortable for most people, but you've always been flexible. You don't flinch when I hit a tangle.

I carry you to the bathroom and help you brush your teeth. You've never needed much help with personal care, but these past few weeks you've been so still, so distant. The toothbrush feels heavy in my hand as I guide it carefully around your mouth. Your lips are pale, but you've never worn much makeup anyway.

The neighbors upstairs are fighting again. Their voices drift through the thin walls, all sharp edges and broken glass. I press my ear to your chest to block out the noise, listening for the familiar rhythm that used to lull me to sleep. It's so quiet now. You've become quite the minimalist, haven't you? Even your breathing is barely there.

I read to you before bed like I always do. Tonight it's that poetry book you love, the one with the dog-eared pages. My voice echoes strangely in the bedroom, but I keep reading. You always said my voice was soothing.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" I ask the darkness after I turn off the lamp. "I know you're angry, but this is extreme, even for you."

You don't answer, of course. You haven't answered in forty-three days.

In the morning, I'll make your coffee again. I'll set out fresh clothes and tell you about my dreams. I'll pretend not to notice how you never seem to get warm anymore, how your skin has taken on that waxy quality that makes the overhead lights reflect strangely.

The police came by last week asking questions about you. I told them you were visiting your mother in Toledo, that you'd be back soon. They seemed satisfied, though one of them kept looking toward the bedroom with an expression I couldn't read.

I should probably call your work again tomorrow. They've been asking where you are, why you haven't been in. I've been saying you have the flu, but forty-three days is a long time to be sick. Even for someone as delicate as you.

You're getting so thin, darling. So very thin and quiet and still.

But I'll wait. I'm patient. I'll wait until you're ready to forgive me for what I did, for what happened that night when you said you were leaving, when you threatened to call the police about the letters and the watching and all those little misunderstandings.

I'll wait until you're ready to love me back the way you're supposed to.

Even if it takes forever.

[traiaadd156]

Small blurb of somethin'

Yan!Reader trying to convince(gaslight)yan! Damian.

But his pov💅✨

Try to find which one is more manipulative!(⁠^⁠^⁠)

Nah but frl Im just doing this for my own want bc there is nothing to do😢 and reader has a power(that vamp thing from my other fic)

Warnings!; violence(typical), blood, yan!reader trying to act nonchalant😔, damian isnt aged up in this ver, fluff, gaslighting/coaxing, CRINGE DIALOG!, damian thinking its probly just girl stuff(and also damian forcing to knock out reader) very sweet couple moments, gross sad reader, sassy damian, insecure reader

"I am the only friend you need." You said to him one randomly while cuddling with him in his room(which you broke into but he stopped caring when it kept happening for a month, still grumbles about it but doesnt really lock his windows anymore because of it.)

"but I dont have any friends." He just threw at you casually which confused you, seeing as your head tilted her head to him like some confused dog. "Why? Isnt jon your friend??" Suddenly asking, he was but he knew well.

"do you see him as a threat to us?" Well that made you pause for a moment, not really... He doesnt like damian and from what you heard last time he already has a boyfriend. Letting out a soft sigh, damian has a point, it seems like he always does which somewhat annoyed you. "No... Not really. But why wouldnt people be your friend? Your so kind, rich, handsome, smart, talented and giving—"

But before you could rant further his finger pressed your lips. "To you I am, to you I'm kind and all the things you see that others don't." He said matter of factly, making you scoff. How dare he insinuate you arent stating the obvious! Thats when he added. "But your still right about the wealthy, handsome, smart and talented part." A haughty sarcastic smile twitching on his face making you glare.

There was that familiar sass you knew.

But it all wasnt cuddles and banter, sometimes you got to way ahead of yourself and him. But it is for him, there isnt any reason besides securing your place in his heart, it felt like you werent doing enough.

It repeated in your head as you chopped the limbs off and put it in a bag, sure you were done bleeding them out so it wouldnt smell so bad or weigh so much but that wasn't what you're worried about!

Biting the skin of your lips after wrapping the smaller parts in plastic before putting them in a paint can, you had been in your bathroom for so long— your parents were away so it was the perfect timing.

But why her!?

A week you werent keeping an eye on him and then BOOM! Some random blondie who was wayy too close for comfort. Having seen him in the library sitting together, you wanted to surprise him with a key chain you made of him and you.

It wasnt how different she was from you or how prettier she was, it was that pit in your stomach telling you that you werent enough for him. Damian wayne.

I mean who are you kidding?!

You were a nobody before meeting him, the way you finally got out of your way to be social and know and befriend people to keep tabs in different perspectives. he was everything. And you it was a little laughable how pathetic you were at times; killing the girl out of your own bitter jealousy was the lowest you have ever been.

Degrading thoughts spew as did your paranoia, but at least that girl was here on your tub where she wouldnt try to seduce him.

That fucking succubi deserved this!

Your teeth had gritted, not realizing he was inside your apartment whilst you were in the bathroom scrubbing away and pouring bleach and vinegar to mask the stench of death and blood.

He was getting a little antsy, you hadnt replied to any of his messages since yesterday, what the hell are you even doing? How dare you ignore him. Was he even something relevant? But no answer when he called.

He cursed after waiting for the clock to strike where he usually ends patrol, itching to go back to your house to confront you on why the heck you were ghosting him suddenly.

Well he was never the most patient man out there.

But he was loyal and caring.

In his sick way.

Thats what you loved so much about him.

He hadnt panicked when he saw you, stuffing her body in plastic like a meat store. You both had a hushed argument as he didnt even bother to look and kept going back and forth with you.

"you promised! You promised no more killings!" He was practically fuming, his eyes were probably blood shot with how angry at was right now, not just because you broke your promise on killing people but also now dont know where the hell to bury this person!

"I did it all for you! And why were you with this chick when I was gone for just ONE WEEK!" it was clear you were freaking out, how your voice rose and how you hit his chest when he grabbed into an embrace. Or what you thought—

"your such an ass hole–" muttering, something soft pricking the back of your neck. Instantly your body felt heavier and your breathing laboured. Was it poison?? Taking the small dart out from where he plucked.

"what are you–" he shushed you, dragging you away from the scene after taking off your gloves and carrying you back to bed.

"your an insolent brat," he scolded your unconscious body before adding. "Now I have to get rid of this, I cant risk you being caught with your own incompetency." His voice sneered with venom, a hidden care within his words if you were still ever awake.

So with that he left, in a car he had and how he had to get rid of the evidence somehow; he did know the ups and downs, the garbage incinerator will do just fine then.

He didnt flinch when having to see blood again, but he did feel guilty for letting some poor girl die because of your jealousy, but then again he also would never think to report.

It's just one girl.

He wouldnt let it happen again if he could, besides it was better than last year.

It feels like I made my own personal brain rott with how my head hurts making this but the saga must go on😭

[kissingraine]

When are we getting Bayverse Starscream again? Love your writing

Now!:') tysm for being patient and supportive. im just writing these for fun.

Teeth — Bayverse Starscream x f!Reader (3)

• You'd no idea what you expected after making the most groundbreaking discovery in possibly all of history. The high-ranking stooges you worked under didn't seem to think so, however. And yet another reason to label you unfit for flight. All of them, actually. Even though you had already provided graphs and an entire presentation, they could absolutely care less about one lieutenant's crazy ramblings. Didn't say that outright, but they might as well have sucker-punched you in the face with it. But they must have at least seen you were serious about getting back in the skies, right?

• So when your commanding officer called you in at the crack-ass early of dawn for a debrief in a hangar room—“Report to briefing room nine, immediately,” the general said. No details. Just your name and the kind of urgency that didn't usually apply to grounded personnel. Maybe they're relocating you, having had enough of your alien fanaticism. It wouldn't be the first time. But the tiny thing is—you have no excuses. If they send you away, that's where you're stationed until you're finally discharged. Who knows how long that will be. And frankly, you've grown fond of the Nevada skies.

• Deep breath. You shove open the door, fatigue-painted eyes scanning the dim interior. The general sat at the end of a long table, reminding you vividly of your first debrief. It's something you like to look back on. Why you remember it now completely slips past you. It's definitely the atmosphere. Beside the general stood a man, one you didn't recognize at all—tall, pale, cutting a silhouette too crisp for someone who belonged on Earth. Platinum-blonde. Shaved sides. You straightened on reflex, the sting in your knees cruelly reminding you why you're in overalls now instead of flight gear.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

The general gestures. “Lieutenant. You're being reassigned to consultant duty,” he says, orders with a firm tone and a hand pointing in the stranger's direction. Though you have the strangest feeling that he won't be much of an outsider any longer. “This is Sky Marshal Karven. DARPA acquisition.”

Karven turns, hands still behind his back and shoulders loosely squared. He'd been looking at the big whiteboard behind the general, but something claws inside you at the faintest tell that he's the type that can stare at people from the back of his head. It doesn't help his eyes are hidden beneath the dark plastic of a pair of aviator sunglasses. Shades? Inside the base? An ever-present small smile tugging at thin lips.

The lighting caught him wrong. Shadows crawling up the angular edges of his face as though the room was bending around him. His gaze locks onto yours immediately. Clinical, dissecting, with just the smallest thrum of interest barely disguised beneath it. Yeah, you don't like the look of this guy.

“Sky Marshal?” you echoed, dry as the desert. “Is that DARPA's new word for mysterious outsider with zero paper trail?”

Your commanding officer didn't bother to rise to the bait. “His files are high-clearance,” replied the general coolly. “You'll be assisting him with onsite diagnostics, tactical translation, and aerial integration models.”

“Grounded integration,” you correct, bitterness slipping out sharp as wire. You swear this Karven guy just smirked. Nonetheless, you continue. “Unless DARPA's figured out how to patch spinal compression with duct tape.”

And then, the man himself steps forward. All with the grace of someone who's become a machine—like he's handled government secrets.

“You were a pilot.”

It's not a question. An observation that's too smooth. Too certain.

“I am a pilot,” you snapped. “With all due respect. Sir.”

That should've gotten you in trouble—he looks like the type to tattle. But instead, you get an amused tilt of a head. “Ah. Still clinging to that, even with clipped wings.”

You blink. Is this guy asking for a right hook to the face? Because you can throw a pretty mean one, one that's definitely able to wipe that stupid look off his face and replace it with bloody teeth.

“Is that supposed to be motivational?”

“It's supposed to be accurate,” he responded, tone scraping at the last bits of your self-control. “You see yourself as more than they allow. You chafe against the cage, but still perform rituals of obedience. Curious.”

Taking a slow, controlled breath, you raise a brow. “So let me guess, you're here to give me purpose again. Redeem the broken pilot with a glorified babysitting gig?”

“I'm here,” he utters, “because DARPA wants its machines talking to someone who's seen the sky burn.” The silence rang, long enough to make the hair on your arms rise.

“...What the hell are you talking about?”

“F-22s,” Karven eyes the patch on your mechanic's jumpsuit. “You fix them now. Used to be them. You still hear the engines in your dreams, don't you? Still calculate turn radius when you close your eyes.”

The pressure behind your ribs tightened, unable to stop yourself from staring at him and stuttering. “H-How do you—?”

“I know all the models,” he simply states. “Inside and out. Tooth and turbine.”

You swallowed harshly, tongue feeling like sandpaper the more you listen to Karven speaking.

“You one of those drone-piloting savants? That why DARPA rolled out the red carpet?” An instinctive scoff had clawed its way out of your throat. He smiled at your words—broad, slow, distinctly un-American.

“I know jets, lieutenant,” he repeated. “I know war. I know what you could be, if they stopped treating you like scrap.”

• Like a pair of talons hooking into you, you hated the way those words resonated inside you. Hated it more how true they felt. Whoever this guy actually is, you're not sure if you're ready to find out. If you still attempted to—and discover that you like what you find. Now that, was a horrifying thought.

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