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k0mmari · 28 days ago

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SYSTEM! SHEN YUAN AU (Pt.2)

Pt.1

Im not done with this, so to the people that wanted more, here it is! I, fortunately or not, have thought way too much again, so once more this is going to be a very, very, VERY long post. If you guys have any ideas about this btw, please do share them! I really am just letting my mind wander a bit more than usual, so maybe someone else can have more structured thoughts than me lol. (Fair warning, there probably will be plot holes, so sorry in advance!)

Please read Pt.1 if you haven't, or this won't make any sense!

After SY warped away from his impromptu meeting with Binghe, the last place he would like to end up would be even deeper into the Endless Abyss, but according to his System, the next piece of the virus was here. While not happy, since his Personal System was (mostly) working as intended, SY managed to activate Ghost Mode and walk towards the next part without having to deal with any of the creatures down there. (He had to try very hard not to get distracted by the monsters, lest his supervisor thinks he also went missing.)

It takes considerably more time to find the virus this time, so much in fact, SY starts to recognize his surroundings from SQH's ramblings (not that he was interested or anything), and he feels a cold sense of dread running down his spine. There was no way he was that unlucky that the object that got corrupted this time was-

He was that unlocky. Lo and behold, after entering a run down ruin, SY is faced with the legendary Xin Mo, power so overwhelming it manifested as dark fire covering the blade. The only reason why SY wasn't immediately writhing on the ground from the sword's power was Ghost Mode, which he could not rely for too long, as his Personal System was displaying warning after warning about Possibility of Corruption and God Like Plot Point. It all meant that SY was on a timer, and if he took too long, the sword would start corrupting his System, which in turn could corrupt him.

Now, since this was a VERY important Plot Point, Luo Binghe had to find Xin Mo or else the plot would derail to an unfixable degree, SY couldn't just snip at it, which was a problem, since manual debugging took a considerably longer time! Still, he summons his Scissors and positions it so he can start at least trimming off the virus.

His plan immediately backfires however, as an ominous crack sounds through the air and he's suddenly pushed away from the sword by a gust of energy. A bit disoriented, he shakes his head and acesses the sit-

Xin Mo, the horrible sword it was, was apparently so OP that it seemed to detect the Scissors at the last second, and the thing attacked back! The metal of the Scissors was dark and broken where it came close to the sword, almost broken in half! Which, not good! It any other time, a pair of broken Debugging Sheers would be more or less fine, if not a major inconvinience (and pay deduction) for SY, but since he'd been warping all over the time for a while now, his Personal System's energy reserves were carefully rationed, and if he were to use a chunk to send the Scissors back for some emergency repair, he'd only have one chance to go back to HQ. Alone.

He couldn't delay it any longer, he desperately needed to find SQH and pray he still had some energy reserves left.

Setting his Personal System's next warp location to SQH's last known location, SY wouldn't have guessed in a million years that he would go back to Cang Qiong Mountain, but whatever; maybe SQH had wanted to start with fixing the bug on Binghe's pendant? Not that this was the right time since it was after Binghe fell into the Abyss, but SQH had never been good at warping. It takes a bit of wandering and going inside different buildings, but eventually his Personal System managed to get a dirrect ping on SQH's System, which sent a massive wave of relief rushing through SY, since it meant that SQH was still slive.

Though as to why he was at An Ding Peak, SY could only guess.

After a bit more wandering, SY enters on what seems to be a (very messy) office space, SY feels all the pieces coming together in his mind. Half sprawled across the table with piles of paper covering the entire table's surface lay the An Ding Peak Lord, which- was already weird, since wasn't this guy supposed to be an enemy of the Peak now? After the whole betrayal thing or whatever? But that would've been something to look into later, were it not for said Peak Lord casually scrolling through a Personal System screen. A Personal System that could only be used by the System's Maintanence Staff.

SY wastes no time in deactivating Ghost Mode, and when SQH's eyes snap to his, the man jumps so high from his chair he almost falls back. It's not a happy reunion by a longshot, since SY immediately jumped his friend co-worker and demanded an explaination, almost screaming about it was all his fault for doing shitty maintenence, and creating this shitty world if it's shitty OP sword which broke his Sheers? Do you know how expensive these are?? I know you do, cause the supervisor never lets you touch the good ones cause you keep cracking all the other pairs-

It takes a more or less one whole hour to calm down SY, but eventually the younger settled and lets SQH say his bit of the story: Apparently, in his messing around with the System's world creation program when he was trying to find the bug in his world, he'd accidentaly managed to get himself actually transmigrated to PIDW, though still with (limited) acess to his Personal System, which let him still send messages to their supervisor and pretend that everything was ok. He'd gotten so unlucky too! Out of all the people to accidentaly select, did it have to be the An Ding Peak Lord? Couldn't it have been Binghe? Or MBJ- (SQH cuts his lamenting when he notices SY's absolutely viscious death glare being stared right through his soul.)

Long story short, he'd initially did try to fix his blunder, but as more time passed and SQH's access to Maintenance priviledges went out one by one on his System, he eventually just... Started actually living there. In fact, he was living so well there that he dared say his life as Peak Lord was even better then when he was with the System! Of course, since he had been integrated as a 'character' now, he had his limitations, he actually managed to get to know his fellow peak lords! He knew the name of his character's family members and his disciples! He'd managed to build a life he never even thought he could have inside the System.

Sure, did he betray the Peak? Yes, yes he did. Were they all going to die in a few years time when Binghe came back from hell? Yeah, yeah they were, and he was immensely guilty and terrified, but! The plot could be changed! He already assumed someone from the System had popped up in the Conference, as when Binghe had recently made his alliance with MBJ, and had mentioned in passing this weird thing that had happened to him just before he fell into the Abyss.

Anyways, eventually SY begrudgingly accepts SQH's decision to stay in PIDW, but he still had to help SY; and so they form a plan: SY was going to transfer some energy to SQH so he could temporarily get his acess to the full version of his Personal System and use his energy reserves to send SY's Sheers and get them fixed. SQH was also going to properly apologize to their supervisor for suddenly quitting without notice AND order some more energy stacks to be sent to SY's System. SY on the other hand had devises a plan to get closer to XIn Mo without the sword exploding his face off:

Infiltrate Demon Emperor Luo Binghe's palace as a lowly staff member and slowly debug the sword from the inside.

A perfect plan! What could go wrong?

SY selects to warp to a time where Binghe had Xin Mo mostly in control, so it is to no surprise he warps to a place were the Demonic Emperor's Palace is absolutely filled with women. Not the best situation, since a lot of people could and probably would be able to see him, but with that many harem members, it wasn't too much of a stretch to assume there was also a considerable number of staff, which, to SY's luck, there was! In fact, after he managed to activate a disguise for his clothes so they matched the rest of the servants, no one bat an eye on his presence; at most someone would inquire about his short hair, but other than that he was as noteable as a fly.

The first phase of his plan was already a success, so now he had to move on to reconnaissance which was mostly easy and the worst thing in his life. He was mostly looking for Binghe's quarters could be as he probably kept the sword close to him at all times, though with how big the palace was, his objective had gradually shifted to mapping out the labyrinth of halls as much as possible (SY was very glad that the System allowed him to create a map in real time or he might have gotten lost in the first five minutes). He walks so much he even manages to catch a few pieces of gossip, though the most interesting one by far being one about Binghe:

Apparently, a year ago, the Emperor had a qi deviation where, for a day, he seemed to have completely shifted his personality; he refused to touch any of his wives and kept screaming for his long dead Shizun. SY doesn't really remember that plot point, though his wondering is cut short when he hears people walking towards his direction. instinctively he his behind a dark corner, momentarily forgetting that he 'worked' at the palace now.

At list his bad luck was finally turning over as the Golden Protagonist himself walked past him with one of his wives hanging off his arm, looking just as cool as SY had always imagined. He had to snap himself out of his stuppor though, as two things caught his attention: First, Xin Mo was, predictably, strapped to his waist, still glitched but at least the virus seemed more or less contained, which gave SY a bit more time to work, though the other thing he noticed...

Hanging onto an old-looking braid laid SY's missing tassle that Binghe had found for him all the way back at the Conference.

What the hell was Luo Binghe doing wearing that old tassle at this day and age??

A few days passed and the Tassle Incident (as he called it) had to be set aside, as it seemed that passing as a servant also meant that other servants and even some wives expected SY to actually work. Not great, he sucked at cleaning and the other servants spared no words to make it clear to him, but it at least gave him something to do while he waited for his Scissors to arrive. SQH had sent him a few messages saying he'd gotten his part of the deal done, so now all SY could do was monitor Xin Mo's condition (from very far away), and occasionally manually debug some small virus pieces that had fallen from the sword, which luckily were easy enough to deal with that he didn't need to cut them off.

The only thing that was worrying him now is how... odd Luo Binghe seemed. Of course, he was supposed to be the pinnacle of the Cool Guy trope, so some edginess was to be expected, but Binghe didn't look just Edgy, he looked straight up depressed. There were bags under his eyes, and he barely seemed to tolerate the presence of 99% of his wives, and that damned braid with the damned tassle was still there-

Point is, Binghe acting so weird really threw SY through a loop, and he may have gotten a bit careless. At a random day when SY was carrying some dirty laundry another servant had just shoved at him, he had no prior warning before a voice sounded from behind him: "You seem to have dropped something."

He barely managed to shake off the violent sense of deja-vu that had sucker punched him in the face before he realized what was happening; Luo Binghe was talking to him. Directly to him. Shit- shit! Did he notice? Was Binghe doing a clever call back, spider-man style?? Was SY going to die????

SY shakily turns to Binghe, keeping his eyes locked onto the floor, bowing as much as possible that he still seemed respectful but the bag of clothes he had didn't all just fall to the floor. Thankfully Binghe didn't seem to mind, and simply put the fallen piece of clothing on top of the others and walked away. Though, just as SY was regaining his breath, Luo Binghe's voice stops him again. "You... Have we met before?"

SY trembles something about only being hired recently and not having the opportunity to formaly meet Junshang, and it seems to be a decent enough that Binghe just stares at him for a while longer before walking away. He really should grow out his hair if even the Emperor got weirded out like that...

Binghe started eyeing SY way more after that day. The protagonist would rarely speak directly to him, but SY could feel his gaze as if it were burning; though, since Binghe never said anything, SY just assumed that whatever Binghe's problem with him was, it was likely nothing to worry about.

In fact, it probably was because one of Binghe's wives had used SY is an impromptu act to try to get Binghe jealous (he just frowned, separated the two and walked away) and after that she had gotten infatuated with him, so she'd turned SY into her personal servant. Because of that SY saw Binghe at most two times a week instead of the 50% chnace of seeing his shadow once a week. Wow.

Because of this, as much as Binghe noticed SY, SY noticed Binghe as well, the protagonist seeming to get even more down as the days went. The tassle was still braided in his hair (SY worried it was just going to become a lock at this point), his eyebags never seemed to leave his eyes, and he was always muttering about... something. (SY managed to overhear something about 'fairness' and what Binghe actually wanted...?)

It all culminated at a seemingly random night. Most of the wives and servants had gone to sleep, only the more in-human women still hanging around, and SY, of course, but mostly it was because he wanted to see how close he could get to Binghe's quarters (aka Xin Mo) at night. Not that it was necessary, as when he was walking his attention was adruptly caught by the strangest sight: Luo binghe, sitting on one of the stone stair that lead to one of the many courtyards, being absolutely drenched in rain. The weirdest part was that a few servants and wives had also passed this place, and they all seemed like they didn't see Binghe, or didn't care.

Hating to see such an usually proud man (not that he'd seen much of that either) just soaking outside as if he'd just caught the love of his life cheating with another man, SY decided that at least he'd do a good job as a servant and take care of 'his Lord'. He grabs an umbrella from one of the adjacent rooms and slowly walks outside, covering Luo Binghe's form, not really caring if he was also getting soaked.

They stayed silent for who knows how long, but eventually, Binghe's eyes that had been laser focused on the horizon slowly blink once, as if coming out of a trance, and slowly move to SY's face, up to his hand holding the umbrella. "My Lord should get back inside. He'll get sick that way." SY half murmurs.

Binghe doesn't respond, though after a few seconds, his eyes seem to widen a bit and his breath comes out a little shaky. SY doesn't dare comment on it.

"Have we met before?" Luo Binghe asks again.

"...Yes." Shen Yuan says.

Binghe closes his eyes, and they stay like that for another hour.

Pt.3

#WE'RE DONE FOR NOW #this got atrociously long im so sorry #also im sorry for any typos im sure there were a lot #im not fixing them now doe #drabble #svsss #fanfic #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #luo bingge #bingyuan #binggeeyuan #this is set after bingge vc bingmei #if it wasnt clear enough #komm's system au

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julietsf1 · 1 month ago

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Love at first fright (🎃) - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: You don’t know what is scarier, the haunted house where you are interviewing Franco or the way your heart speeds up around him.

Content: cute, journalist!reader

AN: An early halloween treat 🤍 If you guys have cool costume ideas you’re gonna do lmk! have a lovely day sweeties

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I’ve interviewed a lot of athletes over the years—serious, stoic, some even downright boring—but Franco Colapinto? He’s my favorite by far. The guy is a natural on camera, always quick-witted, always charming. And, okay, I’d be lying if I said his smile didn’t make it easier to look forward to these interviews. He’s cute, in that effortless way that pulls you in before you even realize it.

Which is why, when I pitched the idea of interviewing him in a haunted house for Halloween, I wasn’t surprised when he immediately said yes. Franco loves goofing around almost as much as he loves racing.

“So, Franco,” I start, grinning as I hold up my mic, “if you weren’t a racing driver, what would you be doing for Halloween?”

We’re standing at the entrance of the haunted house, the camera crew buzzing around us, adjusting their lights and equipment. Franco’s green eyes flicker with amusement as he shoots a glance at the haunted house looming behind us.

“I think I’d watch a scary movie,” he says, that mischievous grin of his spreading across his face. “Or maybe I’d just go scare Lando during one of his livestreams. Seems like a good use of my time.”

I laugh, already caught up in his energy. This is why I love interviewing him��there’s never a dull moment. “Honestly, I’d pay to see that. But tonight, it’s all about you. Ready to face your fears?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Fears? Me? Please.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s hard not to smile when he’s like this—so playful, so at ease. “We’ll see about that. Let’s get going.”

We step inside, and the door creaks ominously behind us. The camera crew follows, their lights casting long, eerie shadows along the corridor. Fake cobwebs hang from the ceiling, and the sound of distant screams echoes through the halls.

“Spooky,” Franco says, looking around with an approving nod. “Nice setup. You pick this place yourself?”

“Of course,” I reply, glancing around. “Only the best for you.”

He grins, nudging me lightly with his elbow. “So much effort. I knew I am your favorite.”

I shoot him a mock glare, even though my heart skips a little at the comment. “You wish, Colapinto.”

“Oh, I don’t need to wish,” he quips back, his tone teasing. “I can tell.”

I shake my head, trying to focus on the interview. “Okay, back to business. What’s your biggest weakness—on the track or in a haunted house?”

Franco laughs, the sound echoing in the dimly lit hallway. “Weakness? You’re really trying to get something out of me, aren’t you?”

“It’s my job,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, give me something.”

He shrugs, playing along. “Alright, fine. My biggest weakness? Probably pizza. Or maybe rom-coms.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised but laughing. “I didn’t take you for the romantic type.”

“Hey, there’s more to me than racing and being good looking,” he says, his grin widening. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Clearly,” I mutter, trying to keep my cool as we walk further into the haunted house. It’s starting to get darker, the lights dimming as the creepy sound effects grow louder. I was starting to question why I chose a haunted house as the perfect location.

We pass through a corridor with skeletons lining the walls, and Franco glances over at me, his eyes gleaming. “You scared yet?”

“Not a chance,” I say, though my heart is starting to race just a little. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Good to know,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “Just in case, I’m here to protect you, you know.”

I shoot him a sidelong glance, but before I can reply, something rustles in the darkness ahead. I jump a little, and Franco notices, of course.

“Whoa, did you just flinch?” he teases, stepping closer. “I thought you said you weren’t scared.”

“It’s nothing, just my foot itched a little,” I say quickly, brushing it off. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Sure, sure,” he says, his grin not faltering. “Don’t worry, I’ll be your bodyguard tonight.”

We keep walking, the camera crew following close behind, but it’s getting harder to focus on the interview with all the random noises and the way Franco keeps inching closer every time something creaks.

“So,” I say, trying to regain control of the situation, “what’s the scariest thing you’ve ever faced in your racing career?”

Franco tilts his head, pretending to think for a moment. “Probably that one time I missed a pit stop and ended up in the wrong garage. I swear, the mechanics looked ready to chase me down.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s not scary. That’s just embarrassing.”

“Hey, for a second, I thought I was about to get a wheel thrown at my head,” he jokes. “That’s plenty scary.”

Suddenly, there’s a loud bang from somewhere behind us, and I instinctively grab Franco’s arm. He chuckles, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“You sure you’re not scared?” he asks, his voice soft but teasing. “Because it kinda seems like you are.”

I shoot him a look, trying to play it cool even though my heart is pounding. “I’m just making sure you’re not the one freaking out.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way.”

We turn another corner, and I realize the camera crew is no longer with us. I glance around, confused. “Wait… where did they go?”

Franco looks back over his shoulder, frowning. “They were just here. Maybe we lost them in one of the turns.”

“Well, that’s great,” I mutter, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What do we do now?”

Franco shrugs, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess we’ll just have to find them. You okay with being alone with me in a haunted house?”

I snort, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in my stomach. “Please, Colapinto. You’re not nearly as scary as you think you are.”

He steps closer, his grin widening. “Oh, I can make you pretty nervous I think.”

Before I can respond, there’s another loud crash, and something jumps out from the shadows. I scream before I can stop myself, my hand flying to Franco’s arm. He pulls me in closer, his other hand protectively resting on my waist as we both stare at the fake ghost that had startled me.

“Whoa, okay,” Franco says, his voice full of amusement. “I didn’t realize I had to start saving you this early.”

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I try to laugh it off. “I wasn’t scared,” I insist, even though I’m still gripping his arm. “It was just—unexpected.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly not buying it. “If you wanted to end up in my arms, you could’ve just asked.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t let go of his arm. “You wish, Colapinto.”

He chuckles softly, his hand still resting on my waist as we stand there for a moment. “Hey, no complaints here. I’m enjoying this hero role.”

We walk a bit further, Franco staying close, and the tension between us feels slightly different from its usual playfulness. Something a bit more loaded.

“Alright,” I say, trying to keep things professional even though I can feel my heart racing. “Let’s find that camera crew before they think we’ve disappeared.”

Franco grins, clearly in no rush. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll turn up. But hey, at least this gives us some alone time.”

I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly do you plan to do with this alone time?”

He smirks, leaning in slightly. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

We’ve been walking through this maze of dark hallways and creaking floors for what feels like ages. The air between Franco and me is thick with the usual playful teasing, but there’s something warmer underneath tonight. Something I’m not entirely sure either of us expected.

“So,” Franco says as we reach another eerie corner of the haunted house, “left or right, fearless leader?”

I glance between the two paths, both equally dark and ominous. “Left,” I say with a shrug, though my focus is more on the way Franco’s hand keeps brushing against mine as we stand there.

Without a word, he slips his fingers through mine, giving my hand a light squeeze as we take the left path. The gesture catches me off guard for a second, but it feels natural. Warm.

“You good?” Franco’s voice is soft, his teasing tone still there, but his concern is genuine.

I nod, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yeah, I’m just… trying not to trip over a fake skeleton or something.”

He chuckles, and I feel his thumb lightly brush against the back of my hand, his touch gentle. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I say, feeling a little braver now with him beside me.

We keep moving, our footsteps the only sound echoing through the narrow hallway. The haunted house is definitely doing its job—the creepy sound effects, the flickering lights, and the occasional distant scream have me on edge. But with Franco holding my hand, it’s easier to focus on him rather than the eeriness around us.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoes behind us, and I jump, gripping his hand tighter. Franco, always quick with a joke, leans in slightly.

“You know,” he says, his voice low, “if you’re looking for an excuse to stay close, you don’t really need one.”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to hide the way my heart skips. “Oh? Is that your best line?”

He grins, tugging me a little closer. “No, but it’s working, isn’t it?”

I glance up at him, half-amused, half-speechless at his boldness. “You’ve got no shame, do you?”

“None,” he replies, completely unfazed. “I figured you would’ve noticed that by now.”

We round another corner, and the sound of scraping metal rings out from ahead, louder this time. It’s getting harder to keep my cool, and Franco knows it. His hand tightens around mine, and before I can stop myself, I move closer to him again.

“You’re not as fearless as you like to pretend, huh?” Franco teases, though his voice has softened slightly, the flirty edge still there but mixed with something gentler.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I shoot back, trying to sound convincing, even though my heart’s racing a little too fast.

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “You’re doing great.”

We walk a few more steps, and then another noise—a low, guttural growl—sounds from behind. I instinctively pull myself closer to Franco, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me securely against him.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice, “I get it. You need me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” I mutter, though I make no move to step away from him.

Franco grins down at me, his green eyes gleaming. “Too late.”

We walk like that for a bit, Franco’s arm around me, the haunted house feeling a little less overwhelming now that we’re practically glued together. His fingers brush against my side, just enough to send sparks up my spine.

“You know,” Franco says after a moment, his voice lighter, “you’re cute when you’re scared.”

I snort, shaking my head. “I’m not scared. I’m… strategically cautious.”

“Is that what you call it?” He raises an eyebrow, the teasing back in full force. “Because it looks like you’re holding on pretty tight.”

I glance down, realizing that I am, in fact, gripping his arm for dear life. “Shut up.”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and low, and I can feel his gaze on me as we continue walking. The haunted house seems quieter now, the eerie sounds fading into the background.

Then, out of nowhere, we turn another corner, and there’s the camera crew. Setting up for the next shot like nothing happened, completely unaware that we’d been wandering around alone for what felt like forever.

“Well,” Franco says, not letting go of my hand just yet, “looks like we’ve been found.”

I laugh, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Good. Now we can finish this interview properly.”

But Franco doesn’t move. Instead, he steps a little closer, his hand still holding mine, his gaze steady and a little more serious than usual. “You know,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t have minded if we got lost for a little longer.”

I meet his gaze, my heart doing that stupid fluttering thing again. “Oh, really?”

He grins, that familiar playful spark returning to his eyes. “Yeah. I was starting to like having you all to myself.”

I’m about to respond with something witty, but before I can, Franco leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. It’s quick, gentle, but it sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the haunted house or Halloween.

He pulls back, grinning down at me, clearly pleased with himself. “You good now?”

I nod, feeling my cheeks heat up as I try to regain some semblance of composure. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Franco squeezes my hand one last time before letting go, stepping back just as the camera crew calls us over. But as we walk toward them, I can’t help but let out a deep breath that I didn’t know I was holding. Butterflies having a rave in my stomach.

“You know,” Franco says with a grin as we rejoin the crew, “if you ever want to do another haunted house interview… I’m in.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m sensing some ulterior motives here, Colapinto.”

“Perhaps,” he replies with a wink, his grin wide and full of promise.

#f1 x reader #fc43 x reader #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #f1 fanfic

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ugh-yoongi · 10 months ago

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hang up if u want to | kmg

he's in japan. you're at home, knowing there's no point in staring at your phone, waiting. mingyu might not wanna define what the two of you are, but that certainly doesn't stop him from asking for what he wants.

pairing: idol!mingyu x f. reader genre: situationship au; a lil angst, smut warnings: swearing. sexting — use of gendered terms for genitalia, mentions of oral and penetrative sex, masturbation, images/videos, dirty talk i guess?, squirting. one mention of reader wearing a dress. another mention of reader wearing mingyu’s shirt and it being large on her. (not meant to be an indication of size—that mf is just so large i think most people would drown in his clothes.) mingyu is domineering and kind of brat tamer-y but i wouldn't say this is dom-y at all. he also uses the term "baby" a lot bc i refuse to use y/n. rating: explicit. minors dni. wordcount: 3.6k listen to: namasenda - dare (pm) / khalid, 6lack, ty dolla $ign - otw / keshi - like i need u / edward maya & vika jigulina - stereo love / monsta x - addicted / brockhampton - sugar / shy martin - good together author's note: hello, i barely text men let alone sext them, so if this sucks my bad. i'm also not 100% comfy for writing any groups outside of bts, so i'm also sorry if the characterization is off. the mingyu brainrot was brainrotting tho bc if there's one thing he's gonna do it's look hot holding his phone in a photo, so. here we are. i was gonna wait and post this tomorrow but it's valentine's day so fuck it we ball. thank you: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, & @effortandmore for checking this over and brainstorming with me. namasenda for the lyrics in the title and inspo.

Kim Mingyu Missed Call (2)

Your eyes glance upwards at the time. It’s nearing one a.m.; Mingyu’s second call came and went only a few minutes ago. The first one will have come not long after he got off stage, because they always do. There’s a script—unspoken and unacknowledged, but a script nonetheless—and Mingyu follows it religiously.

You sigh. Leave your phone on your nightstand as you change into pajamas, back into the bathroom to wash your face. Roll your eyes as you hear the texts roll in, the sound grating and ominous as it vibrates against the wood.

All part of the script.

Kim Mingyu: just got back to the hotel Kim Mingyu: you up

Also part of the script: this is the only way it goes. Maybe Mingyu wants to text you, but adrenaline’s the only reason he ever goes through with it. That post-concert high, nothing else to do with all that energy but invest it into you, and the thing about scripts is that they get old, grow stale. Always the same thing, and you can only have that conversation so many times before you get tired and rip it up.

We all have roles to play. Mingyu is the one who refuses to define what it is the two of you have, put a label on it. He’s the one who calls from countries away and speaks in that low, hushed tone. He’s the tempter, the one who holds all the cards but refuses to lay them down.

A royal flush, every single time.

And you—you’re not helpless. Not some poor creature fighting for its life in a spun-silk web. Mingyu’s capable of devouring you in more ways than one, but it’s not like that. Not really. As laissez-faire as he is, you come and go as you please, too. Perhaps it’s as mutually beneficial as it is destructive, but that’s the nature of the production; the result of the roles you two of you play.

Kim Mingyu: you ignoring me? Kim Mingyu: i saw your ig story Kim Mingyu: knock it off baby

You smile, private and sardonic, because you aren’t helpless. Sometimes it’s your web, and it’s all Mingyu can do to keep his head above water. Another role you’d borrowed from someplace else but still have memorized. Still remember all the lines, the mannerisms.

On your story: a video of you, bare skin glittering beneath the golden-fluorescent light of your bathroom; you, with your dress unzipped, the straps slipping down your arms; your hand pressed to your chest to keep yourself covered. Your back turned to the camera, visible only in the mirror, as the silk dropped to the floor.

In the settings: only two accounts given permission to see, both belonging to the same person.

In your DMs: Mingyu, on his private account with the username that looks more like a keysmash than any legible thing, reacting with the fire emoji.

Related: the image hovering just above Mingyu’s texts. The one he’d repaid you with not long after seeing your story. A mirror selfie of his own: grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, a soaked-through white t-shirt stuck to his stomach, the lines of his abs visible.

That, and everything below it—all left unanswered.

The thing about Mingyu is he’ll give chase. Doesn’t shy away from all the things he wants; isn’t shy about giving voice to them.

But he’ll never, ever beg.

(Not like this, at least. When he’s in your bed it’s always a different story. He’s a kept man, there, and kept men have no qualms about things like that. Begging for your mouth, your pussy. Begging you to let him come.)

Normally you’d let it go. Let him talk to himself in your texts, because he’s got a lot of nerve if nothing else, but you’d gone out earlier. Grabbed a few drinks with your girlfriends, let the alcohol thrum through you like a livewire. Watched as they danced with men whose names they didn’t know and never learned and thought about what it’d be like to be able to do something like that in public.

Got home, felt a little scorned, just on the edge of bitter. Made a show of taking your dress off in the bathroom mirror and posted it someplace you knew he’d look.

You: did you like it?

Rhetorical. Mingyu may not want to put a label on this thing, might not want to be caged-in and suffocated, but you know what you do to him. All the ways you affect him.

i could tell you, comes the immediate reply, and your eyes are halfway rolled when—

Kim Mingyu: or i could show you

It takes a second to come through, but once it does your breath hitches in your throat. Far from the most obscene image he’s ever sent you, but just as effective. An expanse of tanned, soft skin, lean muscle; still in those same grey sweats, bunched up a little on the thigh as he lays in his plush hotel bed with his legs spread.

At the center of it all, the outline of his hard, thick cock, so fucking big as it stretches the fabric taut.

All you can do is stare.

Mingyu is not of this earth. This thought is nothing new: he has always existed outside the realm of possibility, in more ways than one, so this is merely a fact. Grass is green, the sky is blue, sometimes you can love someone in a way that’s so overwhelming and still be no good for them.

Another fact: it’s primal, the way you need him. Always has been.

You: what am i looking at? You: new sweatpants?

On the other end of the line, it’s easy to imagine his reaction. A quick snort of laughter, tongue pressed into the fat of his cheek before he clenches his jaw. If he were here, he’d haul you into his lap, kiss you deep and messy. Trail his fingers along your skin until they settled in the hollow of your throat.

Pull away just for a second. Just long enough to say, “Watch your mouth,” before he’s licking into it.

Kim Mingyu: don’t be like that 🙄

This time your eyes fully roll. Spitefully, you snap a picture of what’s in front of you: your bedroom wall, some drama playing on the TV, a sliver of amber light from the lamp next to you.

You send it.

You: while we’re sending pictures of irrelevant shit

Truth be told, you’re not like this often, but you get a streak of it every now and then. Only ever at times like this, when the two of you haven’t seen one another in a while and the distance between you is still so ambiguous, untitled.

Usually Mingyu will come by your place. Get you stripped down to almost nothing, have you writhing on his fingers. Then, in between satisfied groans, he’ll slap at your thighs, tell you to stop being a brat.

Kim Mingyu: then send me something worthwhile You: you first

Another beat of silence. Long enough to flick through the channels, plug in your phone, let some of that heat dissipate.

Your phone chimes, and when you look down—

Those grey sweats are long gone, replaced with a pair of black briefs barely containing his cock, still hard and curved toward his stomach. You swallow. Let your eyes linger on the corded muscle of his thighs, all that soft skin. Let your mind remind you, just for a second, how it feels beneath your fingertips, your hands, your mouth.

All the sounds he makes.

Kim Mingyu: is that better Kim Mingyu: is that what you wanted

Unbidden, the corners of your mouth lift. hm… close but no, you type out. Let it sit for a few seconds before you delete it. If Mingyu wants to be a tease, you can do the same.

You situate yourself against the pillows. Angle your phone so the length of your body is visible: your bare legs twisted in the sheets, the bruise Mingyu had sucked into the inside of your thigh before he left just barely making it into the frame. What’s fully visible, though: his shirt that’s draped over your frame, how much it engulfs you, the way you’re drowning in it. In him.

You send it.

You: depends... is this what you wanted?

The response is immediate:

Kim Mingyu: absolutely not. take it off baby.

You’ve starred in this production before, knew where it was headed the second you saw the missed calls, so you’d put on his favorite of your underwear. Skimpy red lace, part of a set he’d had sent to your apartment. Used to tell you in desperate whispers how ruined he was seeing you in them; used to have to rein himself in so he didn’t rip them off.

So you snap another photo. Spread your legs a little further, pull the hem of Mingyu’s shirt between your teeth. Know seeing that sliver of your stomach will drive him crazy, too, but it’ll pale in comparison to the underwear.

You consider video calling him. Want to see his face when you send this photo—the pinch of his brows, the slight drop of his jaw. The way he’ll whimper a little, say baby in that tone that floods you with heat: a little desperate, all hushed awe, bordering on a whine.

The same kind of heat that starts to creep back in again. There’s power in desire, in being desired, and even though you’re here and Mingyu’s in a hotel room in Japan, you can still feel it. Subconscious, like some kind of red string shit. Anticipatory.

Kim Mingyu: goddamn Kim Mingyu: you wear those for me? Kim Mingyu: fuck, i wish i was there to take them off of you

You suck in a breath. and if you were? you send back.

Kim Mingyu: you know that pair is my favorite Kim Mingyu: drives me crazy every time you wear that set Kim Mingyu: but i’ve changed my mind. i want you to keep them on Kim Mingyu: want you to keep my shirt on too You: yeah? you want me to wear your shirt while you fuck me? pull my panties to the side? Kim Mingyu: slow down baby, i’m taking my time with you

In your bed, you snort to yourself. Mingyu has never been patient with anything, but especially not with you. Most of the time he’s so keyed up, wound so tight, that it’s all the two of you can do to make it to your bed—and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes Mingyu puts all that body to use, presses your back to the wall and throws your legs over his shoulders as he eats you out. Wraps your legs around him as he fucks you right there, the slide so, so easy with how wet and messy he gets you.

You remind him of as much. Type out, you? taking your time? i’ve got a couple walls in my entryway that would say differently, and laugh when the reply comes through—can’t help myself sometimes—and promptly stop laughing at the next one: never can, with you.

Kim Mingyu: have i ever told you what i love the most? Kim Mingyu: just kissing you. you always taste so good, baby Kim Mingyu: the way you get so worked up and start grabbing at me when i’m doing it. the way you try to get me to touch you. the way you start grinding your pussy on me like you can’t go another second without me inside you

You feel like you’re on fire. Gets worse with every word you read and re-read, try to commit to memory. You know it all too well, what he’s talking about. Know how warm his skin is, how firm he feels under your touch. Know what he tastes like. How soft his lips are. The way he sounds when you start to writhe, the way he groans when he presses tighter against you, presses you into the mattress, hard cock rutting against you, enough to take the edge off but nowhere near what he needs.

You: love that too You: love when you’re inside me even more

Kim Mingyu: me too baby Kim Mingyu: love the way you feel around me Kim Mingyu: always so fucking tight Kim Mingyu: ffuck

Your stomach drops at his last message. are you touching yourself? you type, even though you already know the answer. Another sight you’re blessed to know: Mingyu’s hand wrapped around himself, how the size of his cock makes it look small in comparison. Head tilted back, abs flexing under the weight of the pleasure.

You get a singular character in reply: 응.

show me.

He doesn’t respond right away. The pause is enough to have anticipation thrumming through your veins, make you a little shaky. Your hand trembles as you trace patterns into your warm, soft skin, pretending it’s Mingyu’s touch and not your own. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that grabs at your breast beneath his shirt, thumbs over your nipple; Mingyu’s touch that has soft gasps escaping you. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that dips beneath the hem of your panties.

Kim Mingyu Attachment: 1 Movie

On the screen: Mingyu’s face greets you first, eyes half-lidded and hazy, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smirk. He tilts his head back, lets you see the sweat-slick skin of his neck, the column of his throat; pans the camera down over his collar bones, his bare chest, before he flips the screen. Can barely fit the entirety of his frame in the shot, and it strikes you someplace deep, how big he is. How overwhelming.

You suck in a breath as your eyes focus—as you take in the way he’s stroking himself. His cock glistens with whatever lube he’d indulged in, but you can’t help but pretend it’s from you and your mouth. Wish you could see the way he’d touch himself as you sucked him nearly to orgasm and told him to finish himself off. The way he’d whine, beg a little, get a little shitty with you.

“Fuck,” you say out loud. You can feel your pupils blow at the thought.

“Jagiya,” comes Mingyu’s voice, intertwined with the sounds of the tv, a city so far away from you, “fuck, I’m so fu-fucking hard.”

If you’d thought you were on fire before, it’s nothing compared to now. Hearing the need in his voice, watching the way he’s touching himself. The way his hips stutter as his body seeks out more, more, more, always more, and the way he squeezes the base of his cock so he doesn’t come too soon.

“Wish it was you. Wish it was you touching me like this. I—fuck, need you so bad.”

You watch as Mingyu strokes over the head of his cock, as each subsequent pass gets more tacky and wet. Lick your lips at the sight of it. Want, more than anything, to get your mouth on him and taste the salt of his skin, the precome he’s jerking himself off with.

Before he even needs to ask, you start recording a video of your own. Leave your panties on because you know he’d want you to. Record the first pass of your fingers through your slick, let out a disbelieving little laugh at how wet you are, how you can hear it. Moan as you dip a finger into your cunt, just to the first knuckle. Say, “I’m so wet, Gyu, oh my god,” all breathy.

Not all that different from how you sound when he’s here. When he’s flesh and blood and right beside you, on top of you.

You use the wetness you’ve gathered and move your hand to your clit. It’s throbbing beneath your touch, your body already wound too tight, and you nearly hiss in oversensitivity and relief when you finally touch yourself the way you’ve wanted to. “Fuck.”

You force yourself to take your time. Slow, small circles, when everything in your body is screaming to be selfish, begging for release the same way Mingyu’s had.

“Should I finger myself?” you ask. A sharp inhale as your next pass has your toes curling. “Wo-won’t feel as good as you, but I need—need more.”

Before you cut the video, you zoom in a little. Make sure Mingyu will be able to see the way you’re touching yourself, be able to hear the sound of your arousal, the same sounds that have warmth blooming in your cheeks.

Kim Mingyu: jesusf fuck Kim Mingyu: god baby youre so hto Kim Mingyu: wanna see you finger yourself Kim Mingyu: please

It’s a little embarrassing, how incapable you are of denying him anything. You trust him implicitly, love him even more, so it’s second nature to give in, to adjust your phone so you don’t have to hold it. Second nature to press record, pull your panties to the side just like you’d proposed earlier; second nature to make a show of sticking two fingers in your mouth, sucking on them, before bringing them to your entrance and easing them inside.

Nothing compared to the stretch of Mingyu, both his fingers and his cock, but it’s still good. Enough to have you sighing softly, barely audible over the sound of everything else: the rustling of your sheets, the low thrum of your own television, you in general.

A rhythmic song and dance. Practiced. You grow wetter with each push and pull; know Mingyu will be able to see it, the way you work yourself open. That, too, has you a little dizzy. Breathless. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Not only like this, but all the time. Does he see an expiration date? Something good while it lasted? Is there just this—something carnal and superficial?

Or does he just see you?

It drives you crazy. Inspires something within you: not just the desire to please him, make it worth his while, but to be something else, something more than this. Has your fingers moving a little faster, has you grinding your clit against the palm of your hand. Has you a whining, writhing mess; has sounds spilling out that you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard come out of you.

You send it before you can overthink it. Whatever Mingyu sees in you, at least these are the images that’ll play in his mind whenever he thinks of you. At least you’ve sunk your claws into him.

Seconds pass in a blur. You’re still on the brink of a mind-numbing orgasm, stuck in this liminal space simply because Mingyu isn’t here, and you know, too, how this goes. Know you aren’t supposed to come without his say-so in the same way he edges himself until he gets yours.

Kim Mingyu: shit shit shit Kim Mingyu: i wish that was me. wanna take you apart like that. wanna finger you while i eat you out, make you squirt all over me again Kim Mingyu: fuck i thin k about that all the time Kim Mingyu: im gonna cum

I think about that all the time.

So do you. You, on your hands and knees, Mingyu eating you out from behind. Bracing yourself against the headboard with one arm, the other one reaching behind you to pull at his hair. You remember how relentless he’d been that night. A man possessed. Disregarded all your breathless pleas, every Mingyu, Gyu, fuck, fuck, Mingyu, baby— that left your mouth. His tongue left your pussy only long enough to say, you can take it, baby before he was right back at it. Before he worked in two fingers alongside his mouth. Before his free hand came down hard on your ass, the sting startling you, making you jerk, forcing you closer to his mouth.

You remember coming with a scream. You remember coming to with Mingyu’s lips to your neck, the sweet way he was speaking to you. You remember the knee-jerk embarrassment you felt when you saw the giant wet spot you’d left on the bed and how quickly it dissipated when Mingyu pressed a kiss to your temple, called you his good girl.

You: you can come, but you know the rule

You move your fingers back to your clit, feel all that pleasure flood back, start in your toes. It’s not long before you’re pulling a blistering orgasm from your body—one that feels like it belongs to Mingyu, wasn’t yours for the taking.

thank you, he replies, right beneath a photo of his abs streaked with cum.

The comedown is jarring. You feel both too big for your body and completely out of sorts now that you’ve fulfilled your role. Now that there’s nothing to do but sit in the stillness of your bedroom, that same drama playing on television, some girl getting her heart broken.

You wonder if Mingyu’s thinking the same. If his body also sags with relief, if the absence of all that tension feels crushing. If the first thought he has in this newfound clarity is also I love you and if he also swallows it down every single time. You wonder if he thinks about his role, if it’s becoming stale and tired.

Because you know what comes next:

Kim Mingyu: i’ll be home soon Kim Mingyu: can i see you

And you also know what you’ll say. After all, you’ve played this role before.

if you've made it this far thank you so much for reading! this is prob not my best work since it's a lil rushed but i needed something to get me out of my slump.

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

#mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x you #mingyu x y/n #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #jewel writes

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simplygojo · 3 months ago

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The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 1

Authors Note: Hello lovely people! Here is the introductory chapter to a new series I have had in mind for a while, I hope you enjoy! I am hoping to upload chapters weekly, as it will be a relativly long series, so if you'd like to join along for the emotional rollercoaster this will take me though, please feel free! Also, I am ALWAYS open to requests, so don't be shyyyyy!! luv u all, thank you to all who support my work :)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series summary : After being found by Gojo and his first year students in a sticky situation, y/n joins Jujutsu High under the close supervision of Gojo. As time passes, the two of you become close, with a strong unspoken bond forming as you work together. Although, there is something dark looming over the situation, and those at Jujutsu High are determined to get to the bottom of it, before it is too late.

Chapter Summary : After a mission to investigate a special grade curse, Gojo and the first-years discover y/n, who has no memory of the past week. Despite a series of tests, her innocence is confirmed. Gojo becomes unusually protective of her, sparking curiosity among the students and other sorcerers. As y/n begins to adjust to life at Jujutsu High, Gojo finds himself increasingly drawn to her, unable to ignore his growing attachment.

Word Count : 3.8k

Warnings : none (for this chapter, wink wink), maybe slight mental overstimulation?

| Next Chapter

The forest was cloaked in an oppressive silence, where every sound seemed swallowed by the ominous presence of cursed energy, the type that even the lowest-level sources could feel in their bones. Footsteps crunched over twigs and leaves, disturbing the stillness as Gojo Satoru led his first-year students deeper into the thick of the cursed energy's source.

His casual demeanor, hands tucked into his pockets and a laid-back smile playing on his lips, contrasted with the seriousness of the situation. It was as if they were out for a casual stroll instead of on a mission to investigate a reported special-grade curse.

Itadori Yuji, Fushiguro Megumi, and Kugisaki Nobara followed closely behind, their expressions ranging from excitement to apprehension.

The blend of eagerness and wariness that accompanied every encounter with curses was palpable. Yuji’s bright, curious eyes darted around, already anticipating the unexpected. Nobara, less enthused, let her irritation show in the way she muttered complaints under her breath. Megumi, the most composed, kept his focus sharp, his brow furrowed in anticipation.

“So, we’re just here to observe, right?” Nobara asked, her voice laced with frustration. She wasn’t one for waiting around, especially when the promise of action loomed. “If it’s a special-grade curse, I doubt we’re doing much besides standing around.”

Gojo chuckled lightly, the sound teasing. “Observing is just as important as fighting, Nobara. It's all about learning how curses work.”

Yuji shot Gojo a curious look. “But it’s dangerous, right? You’re the strongest sorcerer, so we’ll be fine?”

Gojo was amused by Yuji’s innocent confidence. “Special-grade curses can be unpredictable, Yuji. It’s not just about strength; it’s about knowing what to do when things don’t go as planned.” He grinned wider and put his hands behind his head, adding a sense of cockiness as he walked, “But yes, Yuji, I am the strongest.”

Megumi sighed and rolled his eyes at his sensei's snarky comment, his skepticism apparent. “I still don’t see how standing around helps us learn anything.”

“Trust me, Megumi,” Gojo replied, his tone cryptic. “You’ll see soon enough.”

As they ventured deeper into the forest, the heavy cursed energy they had been tracking began to grow stronger. A sort of power Gojo had only felt a few times before in his life, evoking a feeling of both excitement, and fear, the latter which he hadn’t felt in a while.

“We are close to the special grade…stay alert students! You don’t want to miss a master in action!” Gojo said in his usual excited tone.

Beginning to dramatically stretch to prepare for the battle, Gojo was about to give the three first-years instructions to just observe the battle and take out any low-grade curses they encountered. However, before he could open his mouth, the strong cursed energy began to vanish.

It was subtle at first, like the fading scent of something foul in the air, but soon, it became clear that what should have been an overpowering force now felt faint, practically gone.

Yuji frowned, his senses alert. “It’s weaker. Shouldn’t it be getting stronger as we get closer?”

Nobara’s irritation grew. “I swear if we came all this way for nothing—”

Before she could finish, Gojo came to a sudden stop, his blindfolded gaze fixed on a small clearing ahead. The students followed his line of sight, and that’s when they saw you. Gojo’s eyes, even beneath that blindfold, were locked onto you.

—

You sat in the clearing, your body frozen with fear and cold. The forest around you was dark, the shadows stretching and twisting unnaturally. You had no memory of how you ended up here; the only thought that was present in your mind was that you were scared and disoriented.

Your hands trembled as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to make sense of the situation. You were a relatively calm and happy person, but as of late things had been changing, although, your memory seemed to be fading more rapidly the more you thought about it.

Footsteps approached, and your body tensed, instinctively curling tighter. The voice that spoke was startlingly bright, almost cheerful, not fitting the heavy atmosphere of the forest at all.

“Well, what do we have here?”

The man who spoke was tall, his white hair glowing faintly in the dim light. His face was obscured by a black blindfold, but there was an intensity in his demeanour that you couldn’t ignore. He crouched in front of you, his tone oddly reassuring despite the circumstances.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice caught in your throat. Fear and confusion overwhelmed you, making it hard to form words. You managed a slight shake of your head, your body trembling under the weight of everything you couldn’t remember.

Gojo studied you, his expression unreadable behind the blindfold, but there was a certain softness in his tone. “Interesting,” he murmured to himself, his words more for his own contemplation than anyone else’s.

Behind him, the first-years approached cautiously. Megumi’s gaze was sharp, scrutinizing you closely. Yuji and Nobara exchanged uncertain glances, their confusion and concern growing with each passing second.

Gojo straightened, his playful demeanour replaced by a more serious edge. “What is your name?” he said leaning in closer to your face.

You finally managed to get words out, not much above a whisper, as this white haired man was only inches from your face, “I-I’m y/n, y/n y/l/n.”

He nodded once and stood up swiftly, causing you to flinch. “Well hello y/n!” He said flashing a wide grin at you. “I am Satoru Gojo! A legendary sorcerer, if I might add.” He said proudly, provoking a loud sigh from Nobara.

He hinged at the hips and switched his tone back to a more serious one. “What are you doing here in this forest, doesn’t seem like a nice place to camp for a young girl like you” He asked you, and boy did you wish you had an answer.

“I don’t know…” You loosened the tight grip you had around your legs. “I, I really don’t remember anything at all, not from the past few weeks at least.”

Gojo looked at you intensely straightening his spine as he stood up straight, ‘Her eyes, they’re so…’ he quickly interrupted his thoughts and glanced at the the dark haird boy. “Megumi, can you sense any cursed energy from her?”

Megumi closed his eyes, concentrating on the surrounding area. His frown deepened. “Nothing of significance. Whatever cursed energy we felt here a few minutes ago, it’s gone now.”

Gojo turned back to you, crouching once more. His hand extended toward you, a kind but firm gesture. “Let’s get you somewhere safe. We can figure this out.”

You hesitated for a moment, your fear warring with the overwhelming relief that someone was offering help. Slowly, you reached out and took his hand.

The touch was warm and steady, a small comfort in the midst of your disorientation.

As Gojo helped you to your feet, your mind raced. Who were these people? How had you ended up in this situation?

And why couldn’t you remember anything from the last few days? The only thing you were sure of was that you had always been able to see curses—creatures others couldn’t perceive, lurking just beyond the edges of reality. But this? This was something entirely different.

You swallowed hard, gathering the courage to speak. “I don’t… I don’t remember how I got here,” you admitted, your voice still barely above a whisper. “I’ve always been able to see curses, but this… I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Gojo tilted his head, his expression unreadable beneath the blindfold. “No memory, huh?” He sounded curious but not judgmental. “Well, we’ll figure that out.”

—

Back at Jujutsu High, the atmosphere was tense. You were seated in a room, surrounded by people you barely knew, all of them sorcerers far more skilled than you could ever hope to be. The tests began almost immediately.

Every inch of your story was picked apart, your memory—or lack thereof—under scrutiny. They questioned you about the forest, about the curses, about anything that could provide a clue.

One by one, the sorcerers took turns assessing you. They used techniques, spells, and devices you couldn’t begin to comprehend, all in an attempt to uncover something—anything—that could explain your presence in that cursed clearing.

It was gruelling, mentally and emotionally exhausting. You answered the same questions over and over again, your frustration and mental fatigue climbing with each repetition. The truth was simple: you had no memory of what had happened.

And yet, the interrogations persisted, leaving you feeling more confused and overwhelmed by the second.

Gojo watched silently from the sidelines, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something quieter, more contemplative. His eyes—hidden behind the blindfold—never left you. The longer the tests dragged on, the more something about the entire situation seemed off to him.

Beside him, Principal Yaga and another special grade sorcerer, and Utahime Iori, continued their assessment. Utahime frowned as she used her ability to sense the flow of your cursed energy—or lack thereof.

“She doesn’t seem to be lying,” Utahime said softly, more to herself than anyone else. “But there’s something odd about this. It’s like there’s a barrier, something we can’t quite break through.”

Yaga crossed his arms, his expression stern. “We need to cover all possibilities. She could still be hiding something.”

As the tests continued, you felt yourself growing more drained. The sorcerers probed deeper into your mind, looking for gaps, inconsistencies—anything to suggest you weren’t telling the truth. But no matter how hard they pushed, your story remained the same. You didn’t know. You didn’t remember.

The pressure mounted until, finally, Gojo stepped forward, his voice cutting through the room with an authority you had yet to hear from him. “That’s enough.”

The suddenness of his command startled everyone, even Yaga, who raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Gojo, we need to make sure—”

“She’s not lying,” Gojo interrupted, his voice firm. “There’s minimal cursed energy coming from her, and she clearly has no memory of what happened. We’re not going to find any answers by grilling her like this.”

Utahime glanced at Gojo, her expression curious. “You’re sure about this?”

Gojo turned toward her, his grin returning, though it lacked its usual mischief. “I’m the strongest sorcerer, aren’t I? Just trust me.”

Yaga still seemed skeptical, but after a long pause, he sighed and relented. “Fine. We’ll stop for now. But we still need to figure out what she was doing in that forest. Especially since a veil was drawn…”

Gojo gave a small nod of satisfaction, then turned his attention back to you. His expression softened. “You’ve been through enough today. Let’s get you some rest.”

As the other sorcerers began to disperse, the first-years remained behind, exchanging confused glances. Yuji was the first to speak, his voice low but curious. “It’s not like Gojo-sensei to be this… invested, right?”

Nobara crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, it’s weird. He’s acting different.”

Megumi, ever perceptive, watched Gojo closely. “He’s unpredictable, but this is definitely unusual.”

Gojo, sensing the shift in the room, flashed his signature grin, waving off their concerns with a casual hand. “Don’t get any weird ideas, kids. I’m just looking out for someone who got caught up in a bad situation. That’s all.”

But even as he dismissed their concerns, Gojo couldn’t shake the thoughts swirling in his mind. There was something about you that unsettled him—something beyond the circumstances of your discovery in the forest. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it gnawed at him, refusing to be ignored.

He wanted to be closer to you. To understand why, of all the strange and dangerous things he’d encountered, you had managed to occupy so much space in his thoughts.

—

The next morning, you awoke in a small room within the Jujutsu High compound. The soft light of dawn filtered through the windows, casting the space in a gentle glow. Despite the calm atmosphere, your mind was anything but settled.

You had been told to stay here until they figured out what had happened to you.

While the thought of staying at Jujutsu High was daunting, you couldn’t deny the strange sense of safety you felt, knowing that Gojo was nearby. In addition to this, there was nothing waiting for you back in Tokyo, you’ve always been alone, and as a 24 year old girl, it was not the most exiting life to live.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. It opened before you had a chance to respond, and Gojo stepped inside, his usual playful expression firmly in place.

“Morning,” he said cheerfully, leaning casually against the doorframe. “How are you feeling?”

You hesitated before answering, still unsure of how to navigate this strange new world you’d been thrust into. ��Confused,” you admitted softly. “But… better, I guess.”

Gojo nodded, stepping further into the room. “Good to hear. We’ve decided to keep you around for a while.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Keep me around?”

“Yep,” Gojo confirmed with a grin. “You barely have any cursed energy, and you clearly don’t know how you ended up in that forest. But until we can figure out what happened, it’s safer for you to stay here, where we can keep an eye on things.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of the situation settling in your chest. “So… what happens now?”

Gojo’s grin softened slightly, and for the briefest moment, his playful facade cracked, revealing something more genuine beneath. “For now? You’ll help out around the school. Get to know the students, maybe even learn a bit about how we handle curses.”

He paused, his tone becoming more serious. “And I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and it seemed to catch Gojo off guard too. You had only known him for a short time, but something about the way he spoke to you made you believe him.

There was a depth to his words that you hadn’t expected, a promise that went beyond the typical duties of a sorcerer.

And as Gojo left the room, you couldn’t help but wonder why he seemed so determined to protect you.

—

As the days passed, the curiosity surrounding Gojo’s sudden attentiveness only grew. The first-years, in particular, found it strange how their usually carefree and unpredictable teacher seemed to go out of his way to check on you.

Yuji, ever the optimist, chalked it up to Gojo’s natural inclination to help people in need. “He’s just looking out for her. You know how he is.”

Nobara, however, wasn’t convinced. “It’s more than that. He’s never this focused on one person. It’s weird.”

Even Megumi, though more reserved in his judgments, couldn’t deny the oddness of Gojo’s behaviour. “There’s something going on. He’s not acting like himself.”

Gojo, of course, dismissed all their concerns with a wave of his hand and his usual grin. “You’re all overthinking it. I’m just making sure she doesn’t get into any more trouble.”

But no matter how many times he deflected their questions, the truth was something Gojo couldn’t even admit to himself. The more time he spent around you, the more he found his thoughts drifting back to that clearing in the forest—the way you had looked so lost, so vulnerable, but still so strong.

He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about you that pulled at him, something that made him want to be closer.

And for the first time in a long while, Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer in the world—felt something…almost like uncertainty.

Days turned into weeks, and you slowly adjusted to life at Jujutsu High. The students, though initially unsure about your presence, began to warm up to you.

Yuji, with his endless optimism and genuine kindness, was the first to make you feel welcome, even though he was almost a decade younger than you. He’d often drop by to chat, always trying to lighten the mood with stories of his own awkward experiences as a novice in the world of jujutsu sorcery.

Nobara, though more distant at first, soon took to you as well. She admired your strength or at least the fact that you were handling your situation without falling apart completely. "I respect that," she said one day with a shrug. "Not everyone could be thrown into this and not lose their mind."

Megumi was the hardest to read. His sharp, critical gaze often lingered on you, as though he was still assessing whether or not you were truly a threat. But over time, his cold demeanour thawed, and though he didn’t openly show it, there were moments where you could tell he had begun to trust you—or at least tolerate your presence.

However, it was Gojo who remained the most enigmatic. He would check in on you often, always with his playful grin and teasing remarks.

But there was something beneath the surface, something you couldn’t quite place. His visits were frequent, his concern palpable, but he never pushed.

Whenever you asked him why he was so invested in helping you, he would just shrug it off, offering a casual, "I’m the strongest, remember? It’s my job to make sure nothing happens to you."

But even you could see that there was more to it. His presence was constant, and no matter how much he tried to play it off, there was a tension between you—something unspoken but undeniable.

The first-years noticed it too, though none of them dared to say anything directly to him. Yuji, ever the optimist, thought it was just Gojo being protective, but Nobara and Megumi weren’t as easily convinced.

One evening, as you sat in the common room, absentmindedly flipping through a book Yuji had recommended, Gojo appeared, leaning against the doorway with his usual smirk.

"Reading? I’m impressed," he teased, strolling into the room without invitation. "What’s the book?"

You glanced up, meeting his blindfolded gaze. "Just something Yuji thought I’d like. It’s… fine."

Gojo chuckled, dropping down onto the couch beside you, far too close for what most would consider appropriate. His casual attitude about personal space had long since become something you were used to, though it still made your heart race a little faster each time.

"I was just checking on you," he said lightly. "Make sure you're not too bored here."

You raised an eyebrow. "Bored? After all the tests and constant probing into my memory? Yeah, I’d say I could use a bit more excitement."

His smile softened, just a touch. "Those tests were tough on you, huh?"

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "They were necessary, I guess. I don’t blame them for wanting answers. I want answers, too."

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the air thick with unspoken tension. Then, to your surprise, Gojo spoke again, his tone more serious than you’d ever heard it before.

"You’re handling all of this pretty well," he said quietly. "Most people wouldn’t be as calm about it."

You turned to face him fully, searching for the meaning behind his words. "I’m not sure if I’d call it calm. I’m just trying to… survive, I guess."

Gojo tilted his head, his smile still in place but his voice softer. "You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know."

Something about his words made your chest tighten and your eyes lifted above the page of your book, stunned. A warmth began to spread through you that you didn’t quite understand. Why was he being so kind? So attentive?

Before you could respond, the door to the common room creaked open, and Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi appeared, clearly having overheard at least part of the conversation. Yuji’s bright smile lit up the room, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

"Are we interrupting something?" Nobara asked, her tone playful but her gaze sharp as she looked between you and Gojo.

Gojo leaned back, waving his hand dismissively. "Nope, just checking in on our guest. You know, making sure she’s not too lonely."

Yuji chuckled, but Nobara wasn’t fooled. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned closer to Megumi, whispering something that made him roll his eyes.

Megumi, always the most perceptive, shot Gojo a questioning look. "You’re being unusually… protective."

Gojo’s grin widened, but his tone remained light. "What can I say? I decided I’d try and be a nice guy this year, a New Years resolution thing, ya know?."

But Megumi wasn’t satisfied with that answer. "It’s not like you to take such a personal interest in someone who isn’t a sorcerer."

There it was—the suspicion that had been bubbling under the surface for weeks. Those words hurt a bit.

You knew you weren’t of much importance compared to everyone here, but it was harsh to hear out loud. The first-years weren’t blind. They had seen how Gojo had gone out of his way to ensure you were safe, how his visits to check on you had become more frequent, more personal.

Gojo, for once, seemed caught off guard by the directness of the question. He shrugged, his grin never faltering. "What can I say? I like keeping things interesting."

But as the first-years exchanged glances, it was clear that none of them believed his nonchalance. There was more to it—there had to be. But none of them pressed the issue further.

After they left, the room grew quiet once more, and you could feel the weight of Gojo’s attention on you. For the first time, it felt like he wasn’t hiding behind his usual playful demeanour. There was something deeper in his gaze, something that made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

"You should get some rest," he said finally, his voice low. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

As he stood to leave, you found yourself wanting to say something—anything to break the tension. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you watched as he left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

And as the silence settled around you, one thought echoed in your mind: why did it feel like you were missing something important?

—

Later that night, as Gojo lay in his quarters, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The confusion, the vulnerability, the strength you didn’t even realize you had—it all stirred something in him that he couldn’t quite explain.

For someone as powerful as Gojo, emotions had always been a distant second to his duties as a sorcerer. But with you, it was different. There was something about you that made him want to protect you, to keep you close.

But more than that, he wanted to understand you. To know what it was that drew him to you in the first place.

And as he closed his eyes, one thought lingered in his mind: he wasn’t sure what it was about you, but he was certain of one thing.

He couldn’t stay away from you.

━

Author's Note II: I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!! Please feel free to send me any feedback or comments you have! Many more chapters to come soon, and this series will eventually become...18+ so read at your own discretion :)

Cheers!

#gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #megumi fushiguro #nanami x reader #anime #jujitsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu gojo #saturo gojo

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winxanity-ii · 2 months ago

Note

Hello, I'm not sure if the requests are open, so please forgive me! After reading your Gojo x Fem reader FIC "Gamer Gojo," awakened something in me. I wanted to see if I could request a gamer Gojo x Fem reader story, where the reader is really needy after watching Gojo play!😫or something like that feel free to reject this request if you don’t or feel uncomfortable. Thanks!

thanks for requesting and i hope i do your vision justice, forewarning, i might have made gojo a little mean 😩❤️

GAME OVER

ship: gamer boyfriend!gojo x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (p in v ; overstimulation; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos) word count: 9.9k (i'm gagged cuz i swear it wasn't that many words as i was typing 😭😭💀)

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You unlocked the front door and stepped into the apartment, the familiar scent of sandalwood and vanilla greeting you like a warm hug.

Kicking off your shoes by the door, you slung your bag over the back of the dining chair and made your way to the living room.

Gojo Satoru was exactly where you'd expected him to be: sprawled on the couch, his eyes glued to the TV screen, fingers moving furiously over the controller. His headset was pushed back slightly, his white hair tousled in that effortlessly messy way he always wore it.

"Hey, babe," you called out as you passed by, heading to your shared bedroom.

"Mm, hey baby," he replied absently, his focus never straying from the game. His voice was a low hum, almost drowned out by the sound of in-game battle cries and epic orchestral music.

You couldn't help but smile; it was almost cute how engrossed he could get.

You dropped your bag on the floor and slipped into your comfier clothes—a soft oversized sweatshirt and your favorite pair of pajama shorts. You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, wiping your face before heading back to the living room.

As you walked over to the couch, you noticed your little corner already set up: your pillow propped against the armrest, your blanket folded neatly and waiting for you.

Satoru might be lost in his digital world, but he never failed to make sure you had a cozy spot right beside him.

You plopped down next to him, the cushion dipping slightly under your weight. Leaning over, you placed a kiss on his cheek, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

Even though he was in the middle of a heated battle, he instinctively tilted his head towards you, almost like muscle memory, seeking out your touch.

"How was school?" he mumbled, his eyes still glued to the screen, fingers dancing across the controller with a practiced ease. You settled into your spot, draping the blanket over your lap and fluffing up your pillow.

"Same as always," you sighed, glancing at the TV. "Boring PowerPoints, boring lectures, boring discussion boards."

He let out a soft chuckle, his thumb rapidly tapping the attack button as he took down another cursed creature. "Sounds thrilling."

"What are you playing?" you asked, watching the screen as a dark, mythical landscape unfolded before you.

The game looked familiar—vivid bursts of cursed energy flashed as Satoru's character, a powerful sorcerer, slashed through hordes of enemies. It was the same one you'd seen him playing this morning before you left for class, though the setting now looked far more ominous, like he'd entered some cursed realm.

"It's Sorcerer's Domain: Curse Slayer," he said, his voice dropping as he concentrated, his character weaving through a series of devastating attacks from a towering boss. "A new MMORPG. The graphics are wild, right?"

You watched his hands as he played, fascinated by the speed and precision of his movements. His fingers moved deftly over the controller, each button press deliberate and fluid. The veins on his hands stood out slightly, muscles flexing with each motion as he navigated through the game with a kind of graceful intensity that made it hard to look away.

"Yeah, I mean, look at the detail on that cursed spirit," you mused, squinting at the screen as his character launched a spell that sent a wave of blue energy crashing into the boss.

It staggered, its grotesque form crackling with cursed energy before retaliating with a devastating attack. Satoru dodged it effortlessly, his thumbs moving in perfect synchrony with the game's frantic pace.

"Just playing with some friends," he murmured, his focus never wavering. "We're almost at the final boss level. Shouldn't take long."

You knew what that meant. Whenever Satoru got like this, it was best to let him ride it out. He was hyper-focused, chasing that rush of victory that came with beating a tough boss or clearing a particularly challenging quest.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it, then," you said, patting his knee gently. He hummed in acknowledgment, already diving back into his virtual world.

You reached for your phone and opened up your socials, scrolling through the latest posts and updates.

Time had slipped away, as it always did when Satoru got absorbed in one of his games.

It's been five hours since you'd come home, and he was still glued to the TV, headset on, fingers moving in a blur over the controller.

You'd spent the first hour scrolling through your socials, hoping he'd wrap up soon, but it quickly became apparent that he was in for the long haul.

Sighing, you put your phone down and got up from the couch, stretching the stiffness from your legs. "Might as well get some work done," you muttered to yourself, shooting a glance at Satoru. He was muttering something under his breath, the focused crease between his brows telling you he was neck-deep in whatever dungeon or boss battle he was facing.

You headed up to grab your things, pulling out your textbooks and laptop. It didn't take you long to finish up the few assignments you had left, the work more tedious than difficult. By the time you closed your laptop with a satisfied sigh, another hour had passed.

You looked over at Satoru, half-expecting to find him wrapping things up.

Nope. Still at it.

Shaking your head, you decided to be productive in other ways. You tidied up the living room, folding the blankets and fluffing the pillows. Then, you made your way to the kitchen to tackle the few dishes that had piled up in the sink. The warm water and soapy bubbles helped distract you from the annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. You knew he got lost in his games, but this was getting ridiculous.

Once the dishes were clean and drying on the rack, you even managed to carve out some time to catch up on your favorite stories, scrolling through the latest updates from the authors you followed religiously.

It wasn't until your stomach growled that you realized how much time had passed. You glanced at the clock—7:00 p.m. Satoru had been at it since you'd come home, and it didn't seem like he was planning to stop anytime soon.

With an exasperated sigh, you trudged downstairs, your patience wearing thin. You found him in the same spot, the blue glow of the screen reflecting off his glasses as he barked a command into his headset, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Hey," you called out, but he didn't respond.

Typical.

You tried again, louder this time. "Hey, babe."

He glanced at you, barely registering your presence before turning back to the game. "Yeah, babe?"

"What do you want to eat? I'm starving."

"Uh, give me a sec." He leaned forward, fingers flying over the controller as he dodged and attacked, his character on screen spinning through a flurry of spells and sword slashes. "Almost done here."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You've been 'almost done' for hours."

"Just a few more minutes, promise," he mumbled, not really paying attention.

You sucked your teeth, feeling the annoyance bubble up again. "Fine, I'm just gonna order Chinese. You want anything?"

"Yeah, sure," he said absently, completely lost in his game again.

You rolled your eyes and pulled out your phone, scrolling through your saved takeout places. You placed an order for your usual dishes and added a few extras for Satoru, hoping that by the time it arrived, he'd be ready to eat.

Spoiler alert: he wasn't.

When the doorbell rang, you jogged downstairs to grab the food. You placed the bags on the counter and called out to him. "Food's here!"

"Okay, just put mine in the microwave, I'm almost done!" he shouted back, his voice muffled by the headset.

Your jaw clenched, the irritation rising again. You were hungry, tired, and honestly fed up with the damn game. But you did as he asked, placing his portion in the microwave before grabbing your own food and heading back upstairs.

You sat on the edge of the bed, chopsticks in hand as you picked at your lo mein. Every now and then, you could hear him shouting at the screen downstairs, his voice filled with excitement or frustration.

You scowled, stabbing a piece of broccoli with unnecessary force.

It wasn't like you weren't used to this. Satoru's gaming marathons were a known habit, something you'd learned to live with. But tonight, it just grated on your nerves.

Maybe it was the long day at school, or the fact that you hadn't really had a moment to spend together since you'd come home.

Whatever it was, you found yourself glaring at the staircase, silently cursing the game that had stolen your boyfriend away for the entire day.

When you finally finished eating, you trudged back downstairs, only to find Satoru still engrossed in his game, the food you'd microwaved for him untouched.

You sighed, putting his plate in the fridge and wiping your hands on a dish towel.

Now, you were seated in your little spot on the couch, legs tucked under you as you pouted at your boyfriend's side profile. Satoru was still fully engrossed in his game, his brows furrowed in concentration as he battled yet another wave of cursed spirits.

You'd been trying to get his attention for a while now—first by poking his arm, then by leaning into his side with an exaggerated sigh. You even went so far as to pull at his sleeve like a child, your lower lip jutting out as you peered up at him.

But all he did was shoot you a distracted glance, a quick "Not now, babe," before refocusing on the screen.

You huffed, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. Satoru was usually so playful, always quick to tease or scoop you up in his arms, no matter what he was doing.

But tonight, it seemed like the game had taken complete hold of him.

"Come on, that was bullshit!" he suddenly shouted at the screen, his fingers clenching the controller as his character took a heavy hit. "Seriously? Who designed this wack-ass boss fight?"

You watched as he leaned forward, his frustration bubbling over as he frantically dodged and countered, cursing under his breath as he tried to regain the upper hand.

There was something almost endearing about how seriously he took his games, but right now, you were far more interested in getting his attention than watching him rage at virtual monsters.

"What the hell! Get out of the AoE, you absolute trash-fucker!" he barked into his mic, and you couldn't help but snicker at the ridiculousness of it all.

Even when he was annoyed, he was still so damn dramatic.

You waited a few more minutes, hoping he'd wrap up soon. But when he let out a triumphant cheer, pumping his fist in the air as his character finally landed the finishing blow, you knew you'd have to take matters into your own hands.

Without warning, you shifted closer, throwing yourself into his lap. Satoru jolted slightly, but his eyes never left the screen, his hands still firmly gripping the controller.

You straddled him loosely, your arms sliding around his waist as you pressed your face into his chest, just under his chin. His body was warm against yours, and you could feel the soft thrum of his heartbeat through his shirt.

You curled up a bit more, pressing yourself closer as you mumbled his name.

"'Toru…"

Nothing. No response.

His eyes were glued to the TV, his fingers still working the controls as he maneuvered through another enemy onslaught.

"'Toruuuuu…" you whined again, this time louder, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. You tilted your head slightly, sneaking a glance up at him, but he didn't even look down.

You let out a huff, your frustration mirroring his earlier outburst. You wiggled in his lap, hoping to at least distract him enough to get a reaction. But he merely shifted his weight, adjusting his position to keep you balanced without losing focus.

"...Almost there..." he muttered, his voice low and strained with concentration.

You let out another whine, your breath warm against his chest as you nuzzled closer, your hands clutching at his sides. "Baby, I'm bored."

Still nothing.

You sighed dramatically, tightening your hold on him as you turned your face into his chest, your nose brushing against the soft cotton of his shirt. He smelled like a mix of his cologne and that clean, comforting scent that was uniquely his.

Another few minutes passed, filled with the sounds of Satoru’s character slicing through enemies and his occasional muttered curses.

Every now and then, he'd let out a triumphant shout or a frustrated groan, his fingers never stopping their rapid dance over the controller.

You could feel his muscles tensing and relaxing under your hands, his focus razor-sharp. He was clearly in the zone, but that only made you more determined to break through his defenses.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head just enough to peek at his face. His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a thin line as he concentrated on the screen.

The faint glow of the TV reflected in his eyes, and you couldn't help but admire the way his lashes cast delicate shadows over his cheeks.

But admiration wasn't enough right now. You needed his attention.

"'Toru..." you whispered again, your voice softer this time, almost a plea. You nuzzled your face against his chest, your lips brushing against the fabric of his shirt as you squeezed his waist gently.

For a split second, you thought he might finally look at you. His fingers paused, his body stilling under yours. But then, he shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake off a distraction.

"Just a few more minutes, baby," he murmured, his voice distant, already slipping back into the game.

You groaned in exasperation, your forehead pressing against his chest as you let out a muffled scream. You knew he could be stubborn, but this was a new level of obsession.

For a moment, you just stayed like that, curled up in his lap, your face buried against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was soothing, the steady beat of his heart a reminder that, no matter how annoying he could be, he was still yours.

But that didn't mean you were going to let him off the hook that easily.

You pouted harder, leaning back to stare up at his face. Satoru's height always made moments like this a little ridiculous—he barely had to move, just a slight tilt of his head, and he was able to see right over yours, his eyes still glued to the screen.

You tugged at his shirt, your fingers curling around the fabric as you whined his name again, dragging it out like a petulant child.

"Satoru…"

He only hummed in response, the sound low and absent-minded as he continued to play, his attention still fully on the game.

A small breath of frustration escaped you, and this time, you decided to take more direct action. You reached up and grabbed his chin, your fingers pressing gently into the slight stubble that had started to grow there.

You pulled his face down, forcing him to look at you. His eyes, an intense shade of blue, almost too bright, blinked in surprise as if he were just now remembering you were there.

Up close, you could see every detail of his features—the way his hair fell messily over his forehead, still somehow perfect despite hours of being neglected. His lashes were long, almost absurdly so, casting soft shadows over the tops of his cheeks. And that slight stubble against your fingers felt both rough and familiar, a reminder of all the times you'd traced your hand over his jaw like this.

His eyes, usually sharp and playful, softened as he looked down at you. They were the color of the clearest sky, the kind of blue that held a thousand different shades, each one shifting and changing with his mood.

Right now, they were gentle, full of a warmth that made your heart stutter in your chest. You could see the flecks of lighter blue near the center, the darker ring around the edges.

It was like looking into the endless depths of the ocean, and for a moment, you almost forgot why you were mad.

He blinked again, his lips curling into that familiar, handsome smile that made you melt every time. The kind of smile that had gotten him out of trouble more times than you could count, the one that said he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.

"Hey there, stranger," he murmured, his voice soft, almost teasing as his eyes roamed over your face.

Before you could respond, before you could get lost in that look he was giving you, something seemed to click in his mind. His eyes widened, the lazy smile dropping as he quickly remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

"Oh shit!" he yelped, his head snapping back up to the screen. "No, no, no—damn it!"

You could hear faint shouts from his headset, his teammates clearly panicking as whatever battle they were in started going south. Satoru's face was set in a small grimace now, his brows knitting together as he tried to salvage the situation.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered into the mic, his fingers moving rapidly over the controller again. "I got distracted. My bad, my bad—just focus on the healer, I'll tank this."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his sudden shift in demeanor, his earlier softness replaced with that determined focus you’d seen so many times before.

It was almost comical really, the way he could switch from doting boyfriend to intense gamer in the blink of an eye.

Still, you kept your grip on his shirt, refusing to let him off that easily. You watched as his jaw clenched, the muscles tensing under your fingers as he concentrated on the game. His eyes were narrowed now, the playfulness gone as he leaned forward, his whole body taut with focus.

"Damn it, Gojo!" one of his teammates shouted through the headset, the voice tinny and frustrated. "You almost cost us that round!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Satoru replied, his voice still a bit strained as he navigated his character through another onslaught of attacks. "I'll make it up to you guys. Just give me a sec."

Satoru tried to juggle his focus, his eyes darting between the TV screen and your face. He muttered a string of apologies, his voice laced with a mixture of guilt and distraction. "I'm sorry, babe, really. Just—just try not to do that, okay? I'll be done soon, I promise."

He attempted a quick smile, but his gaze kept flickering back to the game, his fingers never slowing as he guided his character through another barrage of attacks.

It was clear he was torn, wanting to give you his attention but still too wrapped up in the game to fully pull himself away.

Your patience, already stretched thin, finally snapped. You sucked your teeth, the sound sharp and frustrated, and pushed yourself off his lap. "Ugh, I'm just gonna wait upstairs until you're done."

You turned to leave, annoyance radiating off you in waves as you took a step away from the couch. But before you could get far, Satoru's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist.

"Babe, babe, babe, wait!" he pleaded, his voice rushed, almost panicked. He tugged you back a step, his grip loose but insistent. "I'm sorry, really, I am."

Even then, he kept bouncing his attention between you and the screen, his character taking a few hits as he fumbled with the controller. He glanced back at the game, his jaw clenching as he barely managed to block an incoming attack. "I'll be done in a second, okay? Just—please don't go."

You crossed your arms over your chest, your glare piercing as you looked down at him. "You've been saying that for hours, Satoru."

"I know, I know." He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He looked back at the screen, his fingers moving in a blur as he navigated through another complex series of moves, and then back at you, his eyes soft with regret. "Just give me like, ten more minutes. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

You could hear the faint shouts of his teammates through the headset, their voices filled with frustration and urgency as they tried to coordinate. "Gojo, seriously! Pay attention!"

"Crap, I know, I know!" Satoru shot back, his hand still holding your wrist as his gaze flickered between you and the screen. His face was set in a small grimace, the strain of trying to balance his attention clear in the tense line of his jaw, the tightness around his eyes.

You let out a heavy sigh. You knew he was trying, but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

You didn't want to be that type of girlfriend, the one who pouted and sulked because her boyfriend was enjoying his hobby. But right now, it felt like you were competing with the game for his attention, and you were losing.

You stood at the foot of the couch, still stewing in your frustration, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

You could feel Satoru's gaze on you, the weight of his eyes as he turned his head away from the screen, his fingers still working the controller almost on autopilot.

"Babe, I swear I'm almost done," he said again, his voice softer this time, a hint of desperation threading through his words. His lips were slightly parted, a pout forming as he looked up at you with those damn blue eyes of his—eyes that were usually so bright and playful but now seemed almost pleading, like he was afraid you'd slip away for real this time.

It was unfair how beautiful he looked, even now, disheveled and slightly sweaty from hours of gaming. His white hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction from where he’d run his fingers through it in frustration. His cheeks were a little flushed, the result of his excitement and annoyance blending together in that way only Satoru could manage.

And those eyes... Gods, those eyes. They were so impossibly blue, like the sky on a perfect summer day, framed by lashes that were almost too long for a guy, making him look absurdly beautiful even in his current state.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as he bit down on his lower lip, a small, almost childlike gesture that made your heart clench. "Please?" he added, his voice almost a whisper now, the sound of it tugging at the frayed edges of your resolve.

You huffed, the annoyance still there, but you could feel it softening under the weight of his gaze. He always did this, made it so damn hard to stay mad at him when he looked at you like that—like you were the most important thing in the world, even when he was being an absolute pain.

"Fine," you muttered, your voice begrudging as you took a step back toward him. "But this better be the last time you ignore me for some stupid game."

His eyes brightened instantly, a smile breaking across his face, wide and brilliant, as if you’d just given him the best news in the world. He shifted the controller to one hand and reached out with the other, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he gently tugged you back onto the couch.

"Thank you, thank you," he murmured, pulling you down onto his lap with an ease that made your heart flutter. He was always so strong, so effortlessly sure of himself, and the way he handled you made you feel delicate, cherished. His lips pressed against your temple, the kiss light and fleeting as he murmured another apology. "I'm really sorry, baby. You know I can't help it sometimes."

"Yeah, I know," you mumbled, the words half-hearted as you settled against him, your arms slipping around his neck as you straddled his lap once again.

He kissed your cheek, then your forehead, his lips soft and warm as they trailed along your skin. "I'll make it up to you, promise," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear before he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You let out a small hum, your fingers toying with the flyaway hairs at the nape of his neck, the silky strands slipping through your grasp as you absently played with them.

You could feel his muscles shifting under your touch, the way his shoulders tensed and relaxed with every movement, every reaction to the game. His jaw clenched when something went wrong, a soft growl rumbling low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as you pressed closer.

Your hands slid up from his neck, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble as you leaned into him. He tilted his head slightly, giving you more access as he murmured something under his breath, his lips brushing against your hairline.

You sighed, letting your head rest against his shoulder as you snuggled into the crook of his neck.

From this position, you could hear every faint growl of frustration, feel the way his chest rumbled with each word he muttered. His arms were wrapped around you, one hand still holding the controller while the other rested on your lower back, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your skin.

It was almost mesmerizing, the way his body moved beneath yours, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed with every motion.

You could feel the power in him, the strength in his arms as they tightened around you, the way his thighs shifted under yours as he adjusted his position, trying to balance you and the game at the same time.

"Come on, just a little more," he muttered, his voice low and intense, his fingers flying over the controller.

You could see the concentration on his face, the way his brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes were focused, but every now and then, he'd glance down at you, his expression softening, his grip on you tightening just a bit, as if he needed to reassure himself that you were still there.

And you were—content for the moment, just resting against him, letting his warmth seep into you.

Your fingers slid back up to his hair, threading through the soft strands as you tugged gently, feeling the way his breath hitched in response.

You pressed your nose against his neck, breathing him in, the familiar scent of him making your heart flutter in your chest.

He let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes flicking down to you for a brief second, his smile a little strained but still undeniably sweet. "You okay, princess?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your fingers still playing with his hair, your lips brushing against his collarbone as you sighed softly. "Yeah, I'm okay."

And you were, even though you knew you'd be annoyed with him again later.

For now, you were content, wrapped up in him, feeling every rise and fall of his chest, every shiver that ran through him as you pressed closer, your face buried in the warmth of his neck.

The longer you stayed nestled in Satoru's lap, the more you became acutely aware of every little detail about him. The way his body seemed to mold against yours, the steady warmth radiating from his skin, and the soft hum of his breath against your ear.

The initial frustration that had simmered earlier was still there, but it had shifted, morphing into something else entirely as you tried to get comfortable, wiggling a bit in his lap.

Your legs tightened around his hips, and you couldn't help but notice how good it felt, the friction sending a small, involuntary shiver up your spine.

You tried to focus on something else—anything else—but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the growing warmth spreading through your body, the way your skin seemed to tingle wherever it touched his.

You shifted again, a little more deliberately this time, your hips pressing down against his. A soft, almost inaudible gasp escaped your lips, and you buried your face in his neck to hide it, biting down on your lower lip as you tried to steady your breathing.

Satoru's chest vibrated against you with a low chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he brushed his lips along your jawline. "You okay there, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety whisper that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

Your heart stuttered, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his lips press a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear. He was still playing the game, but it was like he could sense the shift in your mood, the way your body was reacting to him.

The bastard always had a sixth sense when it came to you.

"You've been squirming an awful lot," he continued, his tone almost taunting as he nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "You trying to tell me something?"

You let out a small, frustrated huff, your fingers curling into his shirt as you tried to keep your composure. "N-No," you muttered, though the way your voice shook betrayed you.

"Mm, that doesn't sound very convincing," he teased, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing and nibbling along the sensitive skin as his other hand tightened around the controller. His voice dropped lower, a breathy murmur that sent a shiver through your entire body. "You're not still mad at me, are you? For being such a bad boyfriend?"

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each word he whispered making it harder to think, harder to breathe. "Satoru, you—" You tried to protest, but your voice faltered as he pressed a particularly firm kiss to the base of your throat, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

"What, baby?" he asked, his tone playful, almost mocking as he lifted his head to look at you. His eyes were darker now, a shade of blue that was almost dangerous, and the smirk on his lips was edged with something mean, something that made your stomach twist in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. "I'm trying to focus here, and you keep squirming around like that. You making it hard for me on purpose?"

His words, laced with a teasing edge, made your cheeks burn. You tried to pull back, to get some space to think, but he only tightened his hold on you, his fingers digging into your waist as he kept you firmly in place.

"Aw, don't be shy now,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I know I've been a bad boyfriend, ignoring you like that. But you didn't make it easy either, distracting me while I'm trying to win."

You swallowed hard, the heat in your face spreading down your neck, your heart racing as his words washed over you.

There was a roughness to his tone, a sharp edge of frustration that made your breath hitch, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles were coiled tight under your hands.

"'Toru, please—" you started, but he cut you off, his lips ghosting over your jaw as he let out a low, dark chuckle.

"Please what, baby?" he purred, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled against your neck. "Ya'know, if you're so impatient, you could just ride me." His words were like a shot to the heart, and your whole body froze, your breath catching in your chest as you processed what he'd just said.

You pulled back, eyes wide as you stared at him, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and something far more dangerous. "W-What?"

Satoru's eyes darkened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned forward, his hands sliding down to your hips, his grip firm as he tugged you even closer. "You heard me," he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. "If you're so needy, you can just ride me. I won't stop you."

He shifted on the couch, his body curling in toward you as he caged you in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he whispered again, his voice dripping with that mean, teasing lilt. "Go on, baby. Show me how badly you want my attention."

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your whole body heating up as his words sank in, the implications of what he was saying making your head spin.

You tried to form a coherent thought, to come up with some kind of response, but your mind was blank, your body reacting instinctively as you pressed closer to him.

"'Toru—" you started, your voice trembling, but he just smirked, his hands squeezing your hips as he tilted his head, his eyes lidded and intense as he watched you.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his tone mocking, almost cruel as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You were so eager to get my attention before. Did you change your mind?"

You shook your head, your breath hitching as his words sent another shiver through you, your fingers tightening in his shirt as you tried to find your voice. "N-No, I just—"

"Just what?" he pressed, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he whispered against your throat. "You said you were bored, didn't you? So why don't you entertain yourself, hmm?"

Your mind was reeling, the heat pooling low in your belly as his words wrapped around you, his voice a dark, seductive murmur that made it hard to think, hard to breathe.

He was teasing you, taunting you, and the worst part was, it was working.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you looked up at him, his face so close, his eyes boring into yours with that wicked gleam that made your pulse quicken. "I—"

"Come on, baby," he coaxed, his voice softening just a fraction as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his hands guiding your hips, pressing you down against him in a way that made your breath hitch. "I know you want to."

You felt like your whole body was on fire, your thoughts a jumbled mess as you stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest as he continued to watch you, his eyes dark and hungry, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk as he whispered, "Don't make me ask again."

You bit your lip, your gaze fluttering to the side, a clear sign of your defeat. Satoru's eyes lit up with satisfaction, and a slow, almost predatory smile spread across his lips. "Good girl~" he purred, his voice a low rumble that made your stomach flip.

Without wasting a moment, his hands moving with an almost practiced ease as he helped you get situated on his lap. His teammates' shouts grew louder, their voices crackling through the headset as they realized he was barely playing, his movements on screen sluggish and inattentive.

"Gojo, what the hell are you doing?"

"Dude, focus! We're gonna lose!"

But Satoru didn't care. His attention was almost entirely on you, his gaze heated as he watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle.

With one arm, he easily lifted you up, his strength almost dizzying as he held you aloft, giving you just enough space to quickly throw off your shorts and underwear.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, the cool air hitting your heated skin making you shiver as you tried to compose yourself.

You moved to straddle him again, your body desperate for the closeness, but he was quicker, his hands gripping your waist firmly. "Whoa, slow it down, babe," he teased, his voice light and teasing as he held you back, his grip strong enough to keep you still.

You gasped as he ran his long, deft fingers along your slit, the touch light and teasing, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Your legs instinctively tried to close, but his body was in the way, his hips and thighs keeping you spread open for him. "Babe—"

"Shh," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as he chuckled lowly. "Such a reactive girl. At least someone’s not mad at me." His words were laced with a smug satisfaction that made your heart race even faster, and before you could respond, he leaned in, licking up the side of your neck in a slow, deliberate motion that left you trembling.

His fingers continued their exploration, each movement deliberate and slow, teasing you with just enough pressure to drive you crazy. He found your entrance, his fingers sliding through your slickness, his touch almost reverent as he circled you with a gentle but insistent pressure.

You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, your body already aching for more as he continued his slow, torturous teasing.

"Look at you," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed your neck, his lips trailing along your collarbone. "Already so wet for me, and I've barely even touched you."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. "Satoru, please—"

"Hmm?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting with a playful cruelty as he slipped one long finger inside you, the motion so slow, so deliberate, that it made you gasp. "Please what, baby?"

You whimpered, your body arching into his touch as he added a second finger, his thumb brushing lightly against your clit in a way that made your vision blur. He moved with an easy confidence, his fingers curling inside you, finding that spot that made your toes curl and your breath hitch.

"More?" he teased, his voice a low, mocking whisper as he pressed his thumb down harder, his fingers curling just right. "Is this what you wanted?"

You could barely think, your body already unraveling under his touch. He made it seem so effortless, the way he played you like an instrument, each movement calculated to draw the sweetest sounds from your lips.

You felt yourself tightening around his fingers, the pleasure building with each swipe of his thumb, each curl of his fingers.

It didn't take much for you to come undone, your body shuddering as he worked you through it, his lips pressing against your jaw, your neck, his words a constant, filthy murmur in your ear that only made you fall apart faster.

You could feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him as he kept his pace steady, his fingers relentless as he coaxed every last bit of pleasure from you.

And all the while, his teammates were still shouting through the headset, their voices a distant, almost surreal background noise as you lost yourself in the sensation, in him.

But Satoru didn't care. He had you exactly where he wanted you—right in his arms, every breathless moan, every shuddering gasp his to command.

You slumped against his chest, your breath coming in slow, uneven waves as the satisfaction curled through your body, making you feel warm and languid in his hold. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, the rapid beat of his heart thrumming under your ear.

You could still feel the faint aftershocks of pleasure rippling through you, your body trembling slightly as you tried to catch your breath.

But your reprieve didn't last long.

You felt Satoru's fingers tapping lightly against your lower spine, the touch almost teasing as he let out a low, breathless chuckle. "Didn't forget about me, did you, princess?" His voice was smooth, almost mocking, and you could feel the underlying heat in his words, the need that was barely restrained.

He shifted under you, his hips rolling up slightly to press against your core, and you couldn't help the way your breath hitched as you felt the prominent bulge beneath you, the hard line of him pressing against your bare skin.

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze, his eyes dark and hungry as they trailed over your flushed face. You bit your lip, your hands moving to grip his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself, your body still weak and trembling. But he didn't give you much time to recover, his hands sliding down to your hips as he adjusted your position, his movements firm and insistent.

The friction of his sweatpants against your skin sent a shiver through you, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, the steady throb of his arousal pressing against your entrance.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulders, and you took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself as you lifted yourself up slightly, giving him just enough room to free himself from the confines of his sweats.

With a quick, practiced motion, he pushed the waistband of his sweatpants down, his cock springing free and slapping against his lower abdomen.

It was impressive—long and thick, the skin flushed a deep red at the tip, a bead of precum oozing from the slit. A faint white trail of hair led down from his lower abdomen, drawing your eyes down the length of him, and you could feel your mouth go dry at the sight. It twitched against his stomach, the movement almost impatient as it stood proudly between you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a strange mix of excitement and anticipation coiling low in your belly as you looked down at him. The sight of him like this, so exposed, so needy, made your own body react instinctively, your core clenching around nothing as you felt the heat building between your thighs again.

Satoru let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "See something you like?" he teased, his voice a low, breathy murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. He lifted his hand, his fingers trailing up your thigh as he gripped your waist, guiding you closer. "Don't be shy, baby."

You swallowed hard, your hands moving to his chest as you shifted in his lap, your eyes flicking between his face and the length of him, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to process what you were about to do.

He was watching you with that same dark, intense gaze, his pupils blown wide with lust as he leaned back slightly, giving you the space you needed.

You took a deep breath, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached down, your eyes never leaving his as you positioned yourself above him. You could feel his hands on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he held you steady, his breath coming in quick, shallow pants as he watched you with a mixture of anticipation and impatience.

"W-Wait—" you started, your voice barely a whisper, but he cut you off, his grip tightening as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Don't keep me waiting, princess," he murmured, his voice rough and needy as he kissed the side of your neck. "I've been patient long enough."

Your body shuddered at his words, your heart racing as you nodded, your hands moving to grip his shoulders as you slowly began to lower yourself onto him.

You could feel the stretch, the slow, delicious burn as he filled you, your breath catching in your throat as you took him in inch by inch, your body trembling with the effort.

He let out a low, guttural groan, his head falling back against the couch as his eyes fluttered shut, his fingers digging into your hips as he guided you down onto him. "Fuck! Yeah, that's it, baby," he breathed, his voice strained and rough. "Just like that."

You could feel every inch of him, the way he stretched you, filled you, the sensation almost overwhelming as you finally settled in his lap, your body flush against his.

He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as he looked up at you, his eyes dark and half-lidded, a small, almost dazed smile on his lips.

"There you go," he murmured, his hands moving up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks as he looked at you with a mixture of awe and desire. "Such a good girl for me."

You could only lick your lips, your own eyes dazed with lust as you stared up at him, feeling completely intoxicated by the sensation of him filling you so perfectly.

It was like he was made for you, every inch of him fitting just right, and you could barely think past the haze of pleasure clouding your mind.

You felt weightless, almost dizzy, and it took everything in you just to keep breathing, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself.

Satoru took a few more seconds, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, his eyes drinking in the sight of you on him as if committing this moment to memory.

But then his entire expression shifted, his eyes narrowing, the gentle touch of his hands replaced by a firm grip on your waist. He suddenly jolted his hips up in a sharp, powerful thrust, his fingers digging into your skin as you gasped, your body arching in response.

With his other hand, he picked up the controller, his lips pulling up into a wicked smirk as he leaned back against the couch, his posture casual, almost lazy, despite the intensity of his gaze.

"Alright, baby," he murmured, his voice low and taunting. "Time to ride."

You couldn't even respond, your body moving almost on its own as you began to follow his command, your legs trembling as you lifted yourself up and then sank back down onto him. The sensation was overwhelming, each movement sending a fresh wave of heat through you as you felt him stretch and fill you again and again.

Your hands gripped his shoulders for support, your nails digging into his skin as you moved slowly, your body vibrating with every slight jolt of his hips as he met your movements with his own.

You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, the pleasure building with each roll of your hips, each shift of your weight.

Satoru's reaction was almost maddening.

He was still playing the game, his eyes half-lidded as he focused on the screen, his fingers moving over the controller with a practiced ease. But his breathing was heavier now, each inhale a little sharper, a little more labored.

Every now and then, a small groan would escape his lips, his fingers tightening on the controller as he struggled to keep his focus. But he was still holding it together, still managing to play the game, his gaze flicking between you and the screen as if he were watching both of his worlds collide in the most delicious way.

It was almost infuriating, the way he could be so composed, so focused, even as you were falling apart on top of him.

You could feel the frustration and desire swirling inside you, the steady rise and fall of your hips turned into something more desperate, more needy.

You started to grind down against him, your body trembling with the effort, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you chased that high, the friction of him inside you almost too much, and yet not nearly enough.

You bit down on his shoulder, your teeth sinking into his skin just enough to muffle the sounds threatening to spill from your lips as you rocked against him, the pleasure continuing to build.

The warmth inside you was almost unbearable now, the pressure building with each desperate grind of your hips. Your thoughts were dissolving, your mind consumed by the need to reach the end.

But Satoru, damn him, was still so composed, so infuriatingly in control, even as his breath hitched and his muscles tensed beneath your touch. He was watching you with that same dark, intense gaze, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile as he leaned back, his fingers digging into your waist as he guided you, his voice low and teasing as he murmured, "That's it, baby. Don't stop. Show me how much you need it."

And you did, your body moving faster, more erratic as you chased that high, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure built to a dizzying peak.

You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your whole body trembling with the effort, and you knew you were close, so close, but you needed more.

You needed him.

Before you could say anything, Satoru's hips jolted up in a sudden, forceful thrust, hitting a spot deep inside you that had you letting out a sharp squeak, your entire body tensing as you clenched around him.

The reaction it pulled from him was immediate—a low, whiny groan slipping from his lips, his head falling back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut as he felt the tight squeeze of you around him.

That sound—it sent you spiraling, your mind going blank with the need to hear it again, to feel that desperate intensity between you.

You could barely catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched him, his features twisted in a mix of pleasure and restraint.

The sounds of your bodies moving together, the wet, obscene noises of him thrusting into you filled the room, almost drowning out the distant shouts from his headset.

The headset he'd been wearing slipped down to his neck, hanging awkwardly as the commotion and shouts from his teammates on the other end grew quieter, almost like they were stunned into silence by what they were hearing. But Satoru didn't seem to care anymore, his grip on the controller loosening until he finally just threw it to the side, muttering a rough "Fuck it," under his breath.

He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you steady, and then he began thrusting up into you with a pace that left you breathless, his movements quick and forceful, each stroke long and deep.

You couldn't hold back the sounds now, your voice coming out in a series of warbled, wanton moans that felt too loud, too raw, filling the space around you.

You tried to bite down on his shirt to muffle the noise, but it was impossible, your whole body shuddering with each powerful thrust, your mind lost to the pleasure coursing through you.

In the back of your mind, a small, fleeting thought reminded you that his teammates could probably hear everything, but the haze of lust and pleasure had made it impossible to care. All that mattered was him, the way he was moving inside you, the way he was filling you so completely, so perfectly, that it left you trembling.

"Gods, you feel so fucking good," he growled, his voice rough and breathless as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "So tight, so wet... squeezing me like you never want to let go."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the filthy praise, the heat pooling low in your belly as he continued to thrust up into you, each movement more desperate, more intense than the last. "You like that, huh?" he whispered, his voice low and almost cruel as he rocked his hips up again, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Like being my good girl?"

You could only nod, your head falling forward as you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to hold on, tried to keep yourself together. But he was relentless, his pace punishing as he fucked up into you, his hands guiding you, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Come on, baby, don't hold back now," he murmured, his voice dripping with that dark, teasing lilt that made your whole body thrum with need. "Let me hear how good I make you feel. Let me hear what a mess you are for me."

His words broke something inside you, your body shaking as you moaned loudly, your head falling back as the pleasure washed over you, overwhelming and all-consuming.

You could feel him shifting, his hand moving between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, quick circles that had you seeing stars.

Satoru's hips slammed into you, his thrusts fast and rough, his breath coming in harsh pants as he continued to fuck you, his fingers working you with a skill that made your head spin.

You could feel the pressure building, the heat coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable, your entire body trembling as you teetered on the edge.

"Gonna cum for me, baby?" he growled, his voice strained, his teeth grazing against your neck as he kept up that relentless pace, his hand never stopping its assault on your clit. "Come on, I know you're close. Be a good girl and cum for me. Let me feel you."

His words were your undoing, the last push you needed as your body tensed, your breath catching in your throat as you shattered around him.

You could barely hear yourself, your moans loud and desperate as you came, your entire body shaking with the force of it, your mind going blank as the pleasure crashed over you in waves.

Satoru wasn't far behind, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more frantic as he chased his own release.

With a final, deep thrust, he let out a low, filthy groan, his head falling back against the couch as he came, his body trembling beneath yours as he filled you completely.

You could feel the heat of him, the way he pulsed inside you, his breath ragged as he held you close, his hands still gripping your hips as he rode out his own high.

With nothing but your shared pants filling the room, Satoru shifted you gently, the movement drawing soft whines and groans from both of you as the overstimulation hit like a shockwave.

He carefully adjusted his position, cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek.

You looked up at him, your vision hazy with the lingering remnants of pleasure, and saw the gentle concern etched into his features. His usually playful eyes were soft, almost vulnerable, as he searched your face.

"I'm really sorry for ignoring you earlier," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, almost hesitant as if he were afraid you might still be upset. "I hope you aren't still mad at me."

You managed a tired smile, the corners of your lips lifting as you leaned up to press a soft, chaste kiss to his chin, the best you could reach in your current state.

Your body felt heavy, languid, the exhaustion of everything catching up to you. "It's okay, 'Toru" you whispered, your voice hoarse but sincere. "We both get hyperfocused sometimes. Just... let's try to plan days like this better, okay?"

This was just how Satoru was—easily distracted, but always committed to seeing things through.

You couldn't really fault him for it, not when it was one of the things you loved most about him. "I know you don't mean to ignore me, but just... talk to me. Let me know when you're in the zone like this, and we can work around it."

He nodded, his eyes soft as he listened, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, comforting motion. "Yeah, you're right. I'll do better. Promise."

Before either of you could say anything else, a voice crackled through the headset still hanging around his neck, the sound startling in the quiet, intimate space.

"Shiiiit, the way y'all were fucking, I hope she still not mad either!"

The rest of his teammates erupted into laughter, their voices loud and boisterous as they teased and joked, clearly unbothered by the fact that they’d been privy to far more than they’d bargained for.

Your eyes widened in shock, your heart leaping into your throat as you stared at Satoru, his expression mirroring your own.

For a split second, you were both frozen, caught between embarrassment and disbelief.

Then, with a hasty curse under his breath, Satoru reached over, fumbling with the headset as he tried to switch it off, his fingers slipping in his rush. "Goddamn it," he muttered, finally managing to yank it off and toss it aside, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

You couldn't help it—the absurdity of the situation, the sheer ridiculousness of being caught like this by his friends, it all came crashing down on you, and before you knew it, you were laughing, the sound breathless and a little hysterical as you buried your face in his chest.

Satoru looked down at you, his lips twitching as he tried to keep a straight face, but the sound of your laughter was infectious, and soon he was joining in, his laughter a low, rumbling sound that made his chest vibrate against yours.

"I can't believe this," you managed to gasp between giggles, your shoulders shaking as you clung to him. "I'm never gonna be able to look at them again."

He shook his head, still chuckling as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "Don't worry, baby. I'll just have to kick their asses next time we play.”

You snorted, your laughter finally calming as you rested your head against his shoulder, the embarrassment still there, but tempered now by the warmth of his embrace. "You're unbelievable."

"Yeah, but you love me," he teased, his voice soft and teasing as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you.

"Yeah..." You sighed, your heart swelling with affection as you snuggled closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. "...I do."

"Good," he murmured, his voice a gentle murmur against your hair. "Because I love you too."

And for a moment, everything else faded away—the embarrassment, the laughter, the lingering heat of what had just happened.

All that mattered was the warmth of his arms around you, the steady beat of his heart, and the quiet, undeniable truth that no matter what, you'd always be his, and he'd always be yours.

A/N: y'all i think i'm broken, i can't seem to write straight forward smut without making a plot w/ it 😭😭💔 i hope y'all don't get tired of me doing it, but my mind won't let me get freaky until i picture it all like a movie 😔

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trippinsorrows · 4 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + eight

authors note: so....i like cliched shit, so there's some of that here. hope it's not too much. this one is also very heavy at points, so please read the warnings, but it def has its moments that help progress the plot. also, the book referenced is a real work that we often use in therapy with survivors of sexual trauma. an excellent, powerfully healing read. i own neither the book nor the excerpt used.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: references to csa, aftermath of csa, character being triggered, scene of violence/torture, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 12k (i clearly don't know how to stop. it is what it is)

It's out of our hands We can't stop what we have begun

---Leann Rimes

“Clarke.”

There’s a heavy sigh followed by continued writing, icy blue eyes focused on the report before her instead of the irksome man before her, no doubt giving her those ‘fuck me’ eyes that would be an HR nightmare if HR actually did any fucking thing at this precinct.

She finishes her quote before asking with all the intentional disinterest, “what do you want, Reed?”

His question, as well as his intrusion by her desk, is expected. “why aren’t you joining the rest of us for the luncheon today?”

It’s none of his business, and Danica has no issues telling him that in intentionally vague terms. “Got somewhere to be.”

Finally looking up, she sees Reed’s gaze go cold. “Where?”

Danica drops her pin and answers in the sweetest yet nastiest voice she can muster before 10am. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but the Miller girl is being released from the hospital today.”

Reed is just as confused as he is stupid. “Who?”

His obtuseness shouldn’t surprise nor irritate her, but it does. She remembers every single case she’s ever worked, and she’s certain this one will always remain at the top of the list. No matter how far she gets into her career. “Solana Miller. Xavier Miller’s daughter. The home invasion—”

“I know.” Reed’s almost relaxed, nosy disposition has entirely shifted. “Captain said the case was closed. Kid doesn’t want to press charges.”

“That kid is fucking traumatized. Don’t put that on her. Xavier is the one refusing to let us proceed.”

Reed leans forward, harshly whispering, “keep your fucking voice down, alright? Miller is…..he’s not someone you want to piss off. If he says we don’t run it, then we don’t run it, got it?”

“And who the hell is he to decide how the law works?” Clarke is also leaned over her desk, almost a month worth of pent up frustration with the lack of justice bubbling to the surface. “You read that medical report. You were on the scene. You don’t beat a grown man the way they beat that little girl. She could barely fucking walked. Dragged herself to a neighbors to ask for help. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

“But she is, okay?” He’s also matching her energy, just as passionate about blatant injustice as she is for said justice. “The best thing to do for that kid is to let her go home, heal, and move on with her life.”

And that’s the part that almost breaks her, that almost makes her shift from her role as an advocate to the survivor within that so deeply identifies with Solana.“You really think it’s that simple? Like she can just go back into the house where she was raped and almost killed and pretend like nothing happened?”

“No, I don’t know, Clarke, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m moving on and picking my battles wisely.” His voice switches to something ominous. “And if you knew what was good for you, you’d move on too.”

Aware of the underlying implications of his warning, she calls his bluff, “you threatening me?”

“Believe it or not, I actually do like you, Danica, but you’re playing a dangerous game.” Reed’s voice lowers again, and Danica almost feels like he’s trying to be genuine. “I know you’re still new around here, so let me give some free advice. Xavier Miller is a dangerous man. He’s got friends in places you don’t want to find out about. Leave this alone before you’re the next mutilated body we find floating in the river, alright?”

________

Danica Clarke has always been stubborn, a trait she’s certain will lead to her demise, but if this is the route that brings her to said demise, she’s okay with it.

Danica waits in the doorway, aware of how knocking can be alarming. She waits and assesses for the moment Solana’s gaze is close enough to where she won’t be as startled. “Hey there, pretty girl….”

Sure enough, Solana jumps a bit, and Danica is pleased to see the swelling on her face has gone down tremendously and the bruising has started to fade to an almost flesh toned color. She looks less at death’s door than the first time Danica was introduced to the 12-year-old.

“Can I come in?”

As expected, Solana doesn’t say anything, just nods quietly.

Danica moves to sit in the chair on the side of the bed. “Heard you were getting released today….” Danica studies Solana carefully, adding kindly, “may be kinda nice to have a change of scenery.”

Solana remains quiet, but Danica has been around enough survivors, remembers her own survivor story, to know that nothing feels nice or good in the immediate aftermath. There’s just numbness and pain. No in-between.

“I’m so sorry there’s nothing more I can do to help you, Solana. I really am.” And she means that with every fiber of her being. “You didn’t deserve this. You deserve justice, and I wish there was more I could do, but….my hands are tied.” Danica’s only been at this precinct for less than six months, and while asking to be transferred won’t be a good look when evaluations roll around, she doesn’t give a fuck. She can’t serve with bastards who would let sick fucks like Solana’s attackers walk around freely.

It’s too repulsive.

“But, I do…..I want to give you something.” Danica reaches into her backpack and pulls out something she hasn’t had to look at in years. A book, thick, with yellow, paperback binding. The edges are a bit worn, and certain parts are highlighted, but it’s still just as powerful nonetheless. “When I was….a little younger than you, I was raped too.” Danica sees Solana’s gaze lift up, surprise and shock written on her face. “And it wasn’t until I was a freshman in college that I started to heal and finally process what’d happened to me.” Danica’s lips press together. “The counselor I saw in college, she gave me this book, and it changed my life.”

Solana looks down, reading the title, typed in big, black letters: The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.

“I wanna read something out of it for you, if that’s alright?” Consent, especially now, is everything, so Danica waits patiently for Solana again to nod, permitting her permission to read.

With a deep breath to also prepare herself for revisiting the past, she begins reading a passage that Solana can see she has highlighted.

“I know you're in a world of pain, but that pain will lessen. At the beginning you can't see that. You can only see your pain and you think it will never go away. But the nature of pain is that it changes— it changes like a sunset. At first, it's this intense red-orange in the sky, and then it starts getting softer and soften. The texture of pain changes as you work through it. And then one day, you wake up and realize that life isn't just about working through your abuse; it's about living, too.”

Danica looks up to see Solana sniffling, wiping at her eyes. She’s tempted to reach and take her hand, but she also knows better, knows that the last thing this child wants is to be touched.

“I want you to have this, Solana. I want you to take it, and when you’re older, when you’re ready to reclaim your voice, and you will, I want you to read every word in here. From cover to back cover. You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You don’t feel it now, but you have to believe it.” Her eyes gloss over. “Don’t ever stop living, Solana.”

“Solana.”

Flashbacks and memories from that time of her life don’t happen often, and it’s an intentional thing on Solana’s part.

She doesn’t like thinking about that part, but this certain memory has now revisited her a total of three times now. Twice in a dream and now in the middle of a conversation with Bayley and Naomi.

That…..that can’t be a coincidence.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing seems like the most appropriate thing until Naomi shakes her head.

“Roman said we’re not supposed to accept or condone you apologizing for anything, so imma pretend like I didn’t hear that, sis.”

Roman….

He confuses her.

He’s certainly unlike any man she’s ever met. And though that number is far from generous, he’s still the anomaly.

After essentially rejecting what was an….interesting, unfamiliar, different experience between the two of them, she expected him to be upset. To be frustrated. To be absolutely all over her baggage. To ignore her.

But, that’s not what happened, none of that has happened. Instead, he’s carried on like nothing happened, like she didn’t run away from him in near tears.

Like they didn’t….like they didn’t almost have a moment.

He’s stayed true to his word in that he’s met her every day after work in the week that’s passed. And while the first day was awkward, mostly on her part, they’ve fallen back in that same confusing yet peaceful space.

Confusing yet peaceful…that seems to be the theme since the day she said “I do.”

It’s not uncomfortable nor unpreferred over where she came from.

It’s just…..different.

“Oh—okay.” Solana doesn’t know what else to say but notices that Naomi looks like she has something else to say but is hesitant. “Is—is everything okay?”

That seems to be the door that paves the way for said conversation. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve come a long way. Like, you’ve really got the basics down, all the defensive positions, even fluidity of movement.” It’s leading up to something, Solana is certain of this, but it also means a lot to her that Naomi believes she’s progressed. Doing well with this or even retaining Naomi’s training is something she never saw for herself. “I want to advance you to learning attacks. Solana’s stomach starts to tighten. “With weapons.”

And there it is.

Solana winces. “Weapons?”

Bayley sighs, joining in to help Naomi present her case. “We wanna teach you how to use knives.” Solana’s stomach tightening quickly morphs into twists and knots. “Hear me out, please. I know….I know that’s gotta be a sensitive thing for you, and I totally understand why, but knife fighting is a really great skill to have, even if just to have one on you at all times and know how to use it if need be.”

“And let’s be honest, Roman isn’t going to let anything happen to you to where you would need it, but still.” Something tells Solana Naomi isn’t wrong about that. That neither woman is wrong in what they’re saying, but just the conversation brings back flashes of that night, the night that left the physical and mental scars she still bears now.

Bayley offers a sympathetic smile. “Just think about it, okay?” Solana can do that. She will do that, just….maybe not right now.

And she doesn’t have to because Roman and the twins suddenly enter the gym space. Solana’s stomach tightens seeing Roman shirtless, a sight that’s happened a couple times now, and each time doesn’t seem to make it any easier on her nerves. If anything, it gets worse.

“Whassup, ladies.” Jey greets, clapping his hands as he asks, “ya’ll ready for tonight?”

“Tonight?” Solana speaks up, not directing her question to anyone in particular, but Bayley is the one to answer. “What—what’s tonight?”

“Night of Champions.” She then goes on to explain. “It’s one of our annual wrestling events. Naomi and I are competing.”

Curious, Solana turns to Roman. “Are you fighting?”

Jimmy, however, is the one to answer. “Soso, Big Dog don’t do these events no more. Not very often anyway, but he’ll be there.”

“Can I come?” Solana directs her question to Roman, knowing that it will be his call. He eyes her unexpectedly.

“You want to?”

She nods, referring to the group. “I—I wanna see them fight.”

It also feels like the right thing to do, to support the two women who’ve been nothing but supportive of her since day one. Even Jimmy and Jey with their often inappropriate comments about her body and continuous praise over her cooking abilities. It’s still always been very respectful in a strange sort of way.

Roman steps towards her, and Solana finds that it takes a concentrated effort to keep her eyes on his and to not gaze downward. Him being shirtless before her doesn’t help with the attraction she’s still trying to wrap her head around and navigate.

He lowers his voice, asking, “you sure?”

She’s confused only for a second when she remembers why he seems to be ensuring this is what she wants. This will be the first time Solana has returned to the Warehouse since Grayson and Austin’s attack, since she caused a whole scene that resulted in the whole damn place being shut down and Roman sending a grim message to all.

For a second, she backs away, retreats from her initial desire. Briefly tells herself that this isn’t what she wants, but that other distant voice in the back of her head, not as present or loud, seems to win the battle this time around.

“Yes,” is the final answer she settles on. “I’ll be fine.”

Roman nods, informing. “We leave at 6:30.”

Solana starts to wonder about what this night could entail when Jey suddenly expresses, “It’s kinda nice outside. I think I’m gonna go for a swim. Get in that aquatic cardio.”

Jimmy also cosigns this after sharing a quick kiss with Naomi. “Oh shit, yeah, lets’ do it

Roman is instantly annoyed, asking with all of the exasperation. “Don’t ya’ll have a pool at your houses?”

“Yeah, but yours is nicer.” Jimmy answers like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He then looks over at Solana, asking, “you joining us, Soso?”

And that, not the idea of returning to the place where she was almost attacked, is what brings on the heavier anxiety. Once upon a time, Solana loved the pool. Swimming with her mom on hot, summer scorching days used to be some of her favorite memories. Now, those memories are plagued with flashbacks of being held under water, a form of torture implemented by her brother.

“N–no.” Solana catches Roman’s gaze on her, the way his eyes dip to her running her fingers against the sides of her workout pants. “I—ummm—I’m going into work for a little bit today, so I should get ready to go.”

Roman speaks up first, skeptical. “I didn’t know you were going in today.”

“I have to take care of something.”

Solana being vague is new, it’s unfamiliar, and it doesn’t feel the best to lie to him in a sense. Even if it’s less a lie and more a vague answer.

There is something she needs to take care of. She just has no desire or even ability to tell him just what she needs to take care of, because that would mean she has to tell him the why, and that is something she’s never discussed with anyone and has no desire ever to.

________

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you as much. Life has been….very confusing and different, but not bad. I think….I think I like living here.

I like Bayley and Naomi. They’re so nice to me. I think you would like them too. Bayley is Mexican, so we talk in Spanish sometimes, and I love that because it reminds me of us, mama, all our conversations and writings.

Jimmy and Jey, Roman’s cousins, make me laugh. They’re also nice to me, and they really like my cooking, your cooking. I still use a lot of the recipes you taught me.

I finally have a dog, mami! Her name is Dulce. She’s so sweet and little and adorable. Roman got her for me.

Roman…

He’s not what I expected. I don’t….I don’t understand why he’s nice to me. Cause that’s what it is. That much I’ve finally realized. He’s….nice to me.

I’ve never had a man be nice to me.

We had….something happen a week ago. I still don’t really know how to describe it, just that he was touching me, not even inappropriately. And I think…..I think I liked it, but then I got scared because it was like….it was like it wasn’t him touching me. It was them.

And I….I hate that. I hate it because it’s miserable feeling this way. Wanting something but not wanting it. Being scared of something but wanting it. Desiring to be close to someone but not wanting that either.

I feel so torn sometimes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that book the detective gave me after it happened. There’s gotta be a reason I kept it all these years. I think….I think I want to read it.

I don’t know what to expect, and I’m nervous because I don’t like thinking about it, but I can’t, I don’t, want to keep living like this.

I can’t.

________

When Solana asked to attend Night of Champions, she was thinking it would be similar to WarGames. A foolish assumption. It is in the sense that the arena area is packed, not a single seat unoccupied, the boisterous sound of loud chatter and music serving as a backdrop against said chatter. That’s all the same and unchanged.

What is different and what Solana should have thought about was the fact that the two women who made her feel so comfortable last time won’t be there this time, because they’re competing. And so are the twins.

And Nicki is apparently upset with Jey—a recurrent theme, it seems—so she also won’t be present.

That leaves one person.

Roman.

Solana didn’t think about the fact that she’d be seated with Roman. It’s not as nerve-racking as it could be, as it probably would have been almost three months ago when this whole new, unexpected chapter of her life began.

But, it’s still a bit anxiety inducing.

She doesn’t miss how Roman’s grip on her hand remains firm on hers from the moment he helps her out the SUV, his eyes again taking her in the same way he did when she met him back in his office to tell him she was ready to go.

Solana initially felt unsure of herself given the fact that Naomi and Bayley could only pick out her outfit, shoes, and accessories for the night but couldn’t actually help her get ready given the fact that they were competing. Solana struggled to navigate her hair, as always, pinning it up on her head, and her makeup definitely isn’t as nice as the night of WarGames, but it mostly covers up her facial scar, and that’s all that matters.

Still, she must not look completely awful because Roman did not hesitate to give her a slow one over followed by a muttered “damn” and more vocalized, “fuck, you look good.”

She’s starting to lose count of how many times he’s said that now, and each new occurrence still gives her the same butterflies as the first time.

Roman escorts them to their seats, the twins and Paul already being present. Jimmy is the first to speak, whistling loudly.

“Damn, Soso. How we supposed to fight and you distracting us looking all fine and shit?”

“If you want to live and make it to the actual fight, you’ll shut the fuck up.” It’s hard for Solana to tell just when Roman is being completely honest with his cousins or just deadly honest with his cousins.

This is one of those moments.

“Thank you.” She doesn’t know what else to say, what kind of response is appropriate to something that isn’t as so.

Roman then motions for Solana to sit down and easily props his big body down in the seat right next to her. Their arms are nearly touching, but she tries not to think of that. Tries to distract herself by asking the twins, “shouldn’t you be in the locker room?”

“Naw, we fight toward the end of the night, so we like to assess with Roman till then.”

“Assess?”

While Jey was the one to provide the initial answer, Jimmy handles the clarification. “You gon be a member of the Warehouse, you gotta earn that shit. That means doing your thing in the ring. You ain’t cutting it, you out.”

Solana nods, quietly. It makes sense. Roman seems like a man with high standards. “So…you all have the final say?”

Jimmy takes a sip of his beer, shaking and nodding his head toward his cousin. “Naw, that’s all Big Dog.”

Solana glances at her husband who’s focused not necessarily on the conversation at hand but the preparation for what’s sure to be an eventful night.

“If you don’t mind, My Tribal Chief is trying to focus here.” Paul’s voice, equally nice as it is nasty, reminds her of his presence. For some reason, she’s surprised by said presence, though she shouldn’t be. It’s clear the Wise Man is an important asset to Roman.

“Whassup, my dogs!”

Just then a lanky man comes over to the group. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says ‘honorary uce’ and has wild red hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. Solana takes a second to look at him, finding him strangely familiar. It’s then she realizes that he fought with Roman, Solo, and the twins during WarGames.

He goes for some kind of special handshake with Jimmy, then Jey, and finally Roman who looks like he’s contemplating murder rather than wanting to return the greeting. He quickly plays it off, “that is well—okay my tribal chief, and—wow—” Him turning to Solana, finally noticing and acknowledging her, is an experience for the both of them. She notices his initial gaze sets on her chest which is uncomfortable but not entirely unexpected given the style of her dress. Still, she shifts in her seat, uneasy with the attention. “Those are—-ummm—” His eyes go wide, as he moves to backtrack on an obvious Freudian slip. “I mean, it’s uh, very nice to meet you, ma’am, or Mrs. Reigns, or your highness. Whichever you prefer is a-okay with—“

“Sami.”

His shoulders hunch and head drops in shame, like he already knows what’s coming. “Yes, Tribal Chief?”

“Go sit somewhere else.”

This Sami person doesn’t even hesitate, confirming he already knew he fucked up in the less than five minutes he was present. “Yes, my Tribal Chief.”

Solana watches, still partially confused but also kind of amused as he wastes no time in departing.

Paul then leans over, chatting away, “I told you, my Tribal Chief, I never liked Shmuel. He’s always been so beneath you. I understand he makes easy collateral, but—“

Roman sighs loudly. “Wise Man.”

“Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Go join Sami.”

“But……” Solana looks over at Paul. His expression is one of devastation, like he’s just been told he had six months to live. “I—I always sit with you for Night of Champ—“

“Wise Man.”

Paul swallows. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“I’m not gon tell you again.” Roman finally looks over at his closest advisor, forcefully enunciating and instructing, “go.”

Similar to Sami, the Wise Man walks off with his tail between his legs, leaving just Solana, Roman, and the twins.

She has no idea where Solo is.

“See, now you ain’t even have to do all that, Big Dog. You be getting yourself all upset over nothing. You need to start doing some deep breathing or shit, then maybe you could get off them high blood pressure pills.”

It’s that last part that Solana zones in on, that makes her turn to Roman, “you have high blood pressure?”

He lifts his eyes, dismissing, “it’s nothing.”

“Can’t—can’t that be dangerous?” It’s not necessarily a question she needs him to answer. Solana is well read on a variety of subjects, especially subjects pertaining to physical health. High blood pressure can mess with a lot of things, a lot of organs. Eyes. Brain.

Heart

Jimmy is the one to chime in, asking with that typical tone of humor. “Soso, you do know what he does for a living right?”

But, it’s hard for her to find said humor when all she’s thinking about now is how certain meals she’s prepared for him could maybe not be the best for his high blood pressure. How she could be exacerbating that.

Feeling pressured by her inner monologue, she offers, “I can change how I cook for you.” And she can. She probably will, making a mental note to peruse through her mom’s recipe books that would be more aligned with the type of diet he probably needs. “I know there’s certain things you probably shouldn’t eat—”

“Solana.” He interrupts, but it’s not with that same irritation he had towards Sami and Paul. “I’m fine. My numbers weren't that bad. The doctor is just being over cautious.”

She wants to believe him, wants to not be as…bothered by this as she is, but something tells her Roman isn’t unlike most men who downplay these sorts of things.

Letting the conversation go, her determination to help him maintain his health remains.

The conversation shifts to a dialogue between the twins and Roman, the three men conversing in Samoan. She doesn’t mind this, as it also allows her the space to catch the gaze of Bayley and Naomi who look freaking amazing in their gear.

“Soso.”

“I swear to God, if you call her that one more fucking time—”

Jey, possibly foolishly, waves off Roman’s threat. “You understand Yeet, right?”

Blinking twice, she asks, “what?”

“Yeet,” Jimmy says it too, like it’s as basic a word as they come. “Our motto.”

“I—” Honesty is a bit easier with her husband’s cousins. “N–no.”

“Man,” Jey makes a sound with his teeth and jumps right into the explanation. “It’s like a way of life. Like, you yeet when life going good—”

“—when life going bad.”

“—or when you leaving.”

“—or going.”

“It’s a way of life.”

Jimmy and Jey playing off of each other for their presentation is entertaining, at best, but it doesn’t leave her any less confused than she was just a minute ago.

“I—I still don’t get it.”

And that, for the first time, is when Solana hears Roman laugh. It’s not something she ever thought possible, but it’s there, his handsome face turned into an amusing expression as he expresses vindication. “I told you it was fucking stupid.”

“See, I thought we was close, Soso. I thought we was becoming family and shit, but I see you a hater like your husband.”

At that, Jey punches his brother on the arm, reminding with a rough mutter, “man, she be cooking, don’t be fucking up our good thing.”

“Aww shit.” Jimmy quickly moves to backtrack. “I mean, I could see your point.”

Conversation continues as such until the start of the night, Solana watching as the three men around her easily shift into an almost business mode. Their gazes are almost intense, watching closely as matches begin.

Solana partially expected to have to sit and remain quiet for the evening, but certain moves, similar to what Naomi and Bayley have taught her, catch her attention. And it must show, because Solana finds herself occasionally being asked by Roman if she has any questions or if she understands why a fighter did a certain mood.

Some she can answer. Some she cannot.

So she asks him.

And he answers all of them, clearly, concisely, in a way she can understand.

If Roman is irritated by any of her questions, he does a damn good job not showing as such. And to her credit, she does her best to take a guess vs asking outright with certain things, pulling from her time with Bayley and Naomi.

And in certain matches, she’s fully immersed in watching their expertise that questions aren’t even a thing. Like the tag team match between two of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen, Jade and Bianca, as Roman called them. Same with Naomi and Bayley who independently show her a side of their ruthlessness she figured existed but hadn’t seen firsthand until tonight.

“Do you all learn how to fight when you’re kids?”

“More or less,” Roman answers, and Solana has a hard time not staring, not being caught up by how handsome this man really is. “This life….it’s kill or be killed. So to not be killed, you learn how to fight. How to survive.”

Survive…

Solana has such a complicated relationship with that otherwise simple word.

“How come….how come you don’t fight as much?” She’s wondered about this, come up with speculation but would like to know for certain, especially as he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.

Like most things, he keeps his answer nice, simple, and vague. “I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”

“Did–did you?” He looks over at her, and warmth rises back as she tries to clarify. “At some point, I mean.”

Again, it’s a one-worded response. “Yes.”

She’s not entirely sure just what he’s saying ‘yes’ to, but a full blown out explanation was never expected. He doesn’t seem like the type. But something more would have been….nice. Granted, Solana realizes she’s probably pushing her luck in asking all these questions anyway and sits back in her seat, relegating herself to focusing on the current match.

The chill of the arena makes its reminder yet again as Solana crosses her arms over her body, trying to warm herself. The man beside herself notices this, accurately assessing, “you’re cold.”

True to her nature, Solana shakes her head, downplaying the fact that she is very much cold. “I’m fine.”

Downplaying or being outright dishonest is clearly something Solana would do well to push away, because it seems like this man is capable of seeing right through any and all lies.

Roman shifts forward in his seat and removes his jacket, reaching it to her. “Here.”

Rejection would be rude. It would also make her feel even more bad than she already does at inconveniencing him. Still, her options are really singular, meaning there are no others. Only one.

Mustering a small smile, she accepts his objectively kind gesture, sliding her arms through and adjusting as best she can given their size difference. Warmth overcomes her as well as the scent of his collage, something masculine, almost minty. It fits him.

Silence befalls them for a comfortable while before Solana excuses herself to use the bathroom, Roman only nodding in acknowledgment.

It’s in walking down the hall that Solana sees Jade and Bianca chatting away, admiring their championship belts. The taller of the two, Jade, happens to glance her way and smiles, exclaiming, “Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress!”

“Absolutely killing it,” Bianca also compliments, her smile just as genuine and affable.

Solana is certain she’s just staring dumbly for a good couple of seconds, because such a compliment from two objectively stunning women towards her was the last thing she expected.

Descending off her shock, she offers an equally genuine smile and expression of appreciation. “Thank you so much.”

The compliment keeps that smile planted on her face. It’s so unexpected but deeply appreciated.

Solana dries her hands and tosses the used paper towels in the trash. It’s a brief glance at herself in the mirror that serves as the start of the slippery slope, landing her back in a brief state of uncertainty. The dress is so revealing, much more revealing than anything she could or would ever wear. But it’s hard to think or sit too much in that discomfort when the night has consisted of several compliments. Sami, Jimmy, Jey, now Bianca and Jade. Not to mention the biggest one, or maybe the one that gives her the most butterflies, coming from Roman.

“Fuck, you look good.”

Her smile shifts from something more silly to something a bit more bashful, her cheeks warming at someone as handsome and powerful as Roman Reigns thinking that she looks good.

Thinking that she’s beautiful.

A toilet flushes from the only other taken stall, and the door opening reveals the perfect reason why Solana should have just went straight back to join Roman instead of having a mental discourse in the bathroom.

Samantha’s long, shapely legs are the first thing Solana notices along with the way her dress melts to her toned, curvy body. She looks good, and she has to know that she looks good. A woman like her probably has men lined up by the dozen, Roman being at the front of that line.

Samantha’s dark lips form into a smirk as she walks over to the sink. “Surprised to see you tonight.” She moves to wash her hands. “After that not so little incident a while back, I figured that was the last day you’d step foot in here.”

Solana swallows. She’s managed to not think about that day since it happened. Samantha bringing it up is definitely salt on an open wound. “I—umm.”

“Nice dress. A lil snug though. Maybe go up a size next time?” Her voice, so sweet and sugary, is also venomous and knowing. “Or two.”

Solana’s hands naturally move to her stomach, forearms trying to block the part of her body she hates the most and is certain Samantha is primarily referring to.

“Sage, right?” She doesn’t give Solana a chance to respond. “Let me give you some advice. Woman to woman.”

Something tells Solana she’s not going to like this advice.

Samantha dries her hands and walks up to Solana. “I know you’re Roman’s wife, but you can’t seriously think that means anything to him, right? It’s just a title, and he’ll defend you only because it’s defending his pride.” Solana tries to not put too much into Samantha’s hurtful words, but it’s hard not to when Solana knows Roman continues to be intimate with this woman, even after their marriage. She can’t blame him for that, though, especially since he’s definitely not getting it from her. Still, it does sting a bit. “Trust me, I’ve known him very well since we were in high school.” Samantha smirks, chuckling. “So, I would know.”

“Bitch, you don’t know shit.”

The last voice Solana expected to enter the conversation was that of Nia’s. But sure enough, Roman’s’ cousin stands near the bathroom door, arms crossed over her body.

Samantha’s expression sours tremendously as she icily greets the other woman, bigger, stronger, maybe even prettier. “Nia.”

Nia ignores the greeting and comes to stand near Solana, immediately going in on the slender women. “If you know him so well and you supposedly mean that much to him, how come it’s not you with a wedding ring on your finger?” Solana says nothing, keeping her gaze down, but it doesn’t stop her from also thinking about that very valid question. Just why didn’t Roman marry Samantha? “Or better yet,” Solana glancing back up allows her to see Nia’s cruel smile. “Why is it Solana’s name he said when he was fucking you?”

What?

Solana is visibly shaken by that because where in the hell did that even come from? There’s no way that can be true. No way Roman could be in bed with someone like Samantha and say her name.

But Samantha is visibly disturbed, lip almost curling into an almost snarl as she spits, “fuck you, Nia.”

“I’d call you Solana too, so I don’t think you’d want that.”

Samantha storms out of the bathroom without another word leaving Solana alone with Nia, Solana who is still trying to process what was just said and finds herself asking Nia.

“Is—is that true? Did you—did you really hear about Roman—ummm—”

Typically, Solana would keep her questions in the safety of her mind, but this…..this feels almost impossible to not seek clarification on.

“You know he’s my cousin, right?” Nia looks visibly disgusted but still answers her question. “I would never make something up like that about family. Samantha is a blabber mouth that doesn’t realize she shares her shit with that dumbass best friend of hers, Tiffy, and the whole town knows.”

The answer is appreciated, but it still leaves Solana with so many questions.

“I—I don’t understand.” Again, it’s something meant to stay inside but manages to slip past the cracks.

“God, you are naive.” Nia rolls her eyes and explains while crossing her arms. “Sweetie, if a man is balls deep in Woman A and says Woman B’s name, Woman A is not who he wants.”

That seems almost inconceivable to Solana. For Roman to think she looks good and maybe even consider her beautiful is one thing, but for him to desire her in that way is something entirely different.

She doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Don’t let that skinny bitch get to you.” Nia seems eager to switch the conversation to something different. “She’s a pussy. All bark and no bite. Remember, you have the ring on your finger. You just have to put her in her place one good time, and she’ll leave you be. And if not, let Roman know. He’d never hurt or kill her himself, but he’d definitely ask me to, and truth be told, I’ve wanted to snap that bitch’s neck since high school, so you’d be doing everyone a favor.”

Solana can’t allow herself, or maybe more so doesn’t have the capacity, to think about that right now. She’s still trying to get a grip on chapter one. Still, she offers a quiet ‘thank you’ to Nia, turning to leave when the taller woman says her name. Solana turns back around. “Yes?”

Nia sighs and rolls her eyes. “I know you think I hate you, but I don’t. I may hate how soft you are, but I don’t hate you.” Nia then smirks with an almost playful add on of, “I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”

________

As expected, Roman is immediately asking what took so long the second Solana is back in her seat.

Her excuse is weak. She tells him that there was a line, but it’s the best thing she can come up with on the spot. His expression is all the answer she needs that he certainly doesn’t believe her but will let it go.

For now.

The rest of the night seems to be more of a blur, Solana now more consumed with trying to wrap her head around this newest bit of information.

The twins end up finishing off the event with a brutal but successful match where they, as expected, retain their tag team titles.

Solana could see this, understandably, pleased Roman.

And outside of some constructive criticism towards Jey and Jimmy, Roman expressed his desire to leave as soon as they got cleaned up, which took less time than she expected. He’s guiding them, her, out to leave, her hand still in his, when a thickly accented voice calls the attention of the man beside her.

“Roman Reigns.”

Solana can barely turn around to the source of the voice when Roman’s muscled arm is stretched across her body, moving her behind him, his big body serving as an impenetrable shield.

Because of their height difference, Solana can’t see a whole lot outside of the instant shift of security and even the twins toward whoever this person is.

“How wonderful for you to bless us with your presence so soon after WarGames.” The man scoffs, clearly trying to bait Roman. “What is this, the second appearance in how many years? Hell hath fuckin’ froze over.”

Solana catches a brief glance of the mystery man and gasps. He has an imposing figure, similar to Roman but there’s something cold about him, something….sinister.

“How dare you acknowledge the Tribal Chief—” Roman lifts his hand to silence Paul.

Roman simply states, “talk.”

“You know what I want, Reigns.” Solana hears a footstep and notices how Roman makes a subtle movement that results in the twins also moving closer towards her, shielding her from this man. “You don’t deserve that title. You may have been a fighter then, but you ain’t now. You’re about the Bloodline, and I respect that, mate, but the Undisputed title deserves to be with someone who defends it more than once a fucking year.”

“So what, you think you the one who gon’ take it? Man, we outta kill your ass right now for talking out your neck like that to our Tribal Chief!”

Solana hates being unable to see Roman, to see his face, to be able to gauge and read his facial expressions. He’s an enigma of a man, typically oscillating between irritated, angry, and indifferent, but not having the option altogether to know where he currently lands is bothersome. Especially with what comes out of his mouth next.

“Do something.”

Solana freezes. That….that can’t be good.

“You standing up on me. You make a good tough guy face. Do something.”

Solana’s fingers tap against her side, that familiar knotting in her stomach returning. She glances over at Jey who seems to also be a bit confused by Roman’s response.

“Uce—”

Roman ignores him. “Go on. Pull it.”

Jimmy speaks up this time, rough voice quiet but urgent. “Roman, we got Solana here—”

“Come on. Make it happen. What’s different? Ain’t nothing changed. Think back to the last time you challenged me.” Solana hates when Roman moves away from her, because it means he’s a step closer to this man, this man who seems determined to pick a fight with the Tribal Chief and may get just that. “Think about it. I whooped you then. I’ll whoop you now.” Roman speaks with such a confidence about him, the most violent, straightforward promise of sure brutality she’s ever heard from a man. “Ain’t nothing changed.”

Solana isn’t necessarily thinking about what she’s doing when she suddenly moves herself in between Roman and this man who’s apparently hellbent on getting her husband riled up. It’s another unconscious act as she plants her palms against his chest, both relieved and nervous by how his gaze instantly drops to hers.

Solana licks her lips and finds herself pleading in an unexpectedly calm yet typically soft voice. “Let’s just go.” His initial expression of fury and simmering anger seems to lessen the longer he looks at her, and Solana adds on, desperately. “Please.”

This act of boldness is completely unplanned and entirely stems from Solana unable to stop thinking about how Roman being so upset all the time can’t be good for his blood pressure. It can’t be good for his health.

And for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, that bothers her. It concerns her.

Him not being healthy concerns her.

What does not surprisingly concern her is when Roman moves his hands down to her hips and almost gently moves her to the side, forcing her hands to drop. She expects him to lunge at the other man or to scold her for interfering, but he does neither.

He steps toward him and simply states with all the coldness, “you’ve got your match, but I set the date when I want it.” Solana’s more or less holding her breath, waiting for Roman to strike the man, or worse. “But know this, McIntyre, you step in that ring with me again, I’m not just ending your career this time, I’m ending your fucking life.”

Roman’s threat sends uneasy chills down her spine. There’s no mistaking Roman’s promise, something she’s certain he will be sure to fulfill.

He then takes her hand again and moves her to the side opposite of the man who looks like he hates Roman as much as Roman probably hates him. Solana is almost entirely eclipsed by Roman’s big body as he walks her past the ordeal.

The car ride is a bit uncomfortably silent, Solana recognizing that Roman is still seething from the exchange but most likely waiting until she’s out of his vicinity to express that rage.

But, it's when she’s walking back in the house after letting Dulce do her business that Roman catches and speaks to her.

“Solana.” He’s leaning back against the counter, big arms crossed over his muscular body. He’s so….big. “What happened when you went to the bathroom tonight?”

She can’t be surprised, can’t feel caught off guard by his question. It’s still not something she necessarily wants to talk about or knows how to discuss, but she’ll do the best she can.

“I ran into Samantha.” Taking a deep breath, she tries her hardest to keep it vague but still an acceptable answer. “I don’t—I don’t think she likes me.”

At that, Roman nearly growls, “what did that bitch say to you?”

Solana winces at his tone. “It wasn’t that bad…”

He’s quick with the dismissal and redirection. “That’s not what I asked you.”

“She just—she just talked about my outfit, that—that was it, because Nia came in there, and well, I don’t—I think Nia might hate her more than she hates me.”

Roman sighs, running his hand over his face. “I’ll handle Samantha.” Before Solana can protest, he adds, “Nia doesn’t hate you.”

This brings a small smile to Solana’s face. “That's what she said.”

Roman also looks slightly amused by this, studying her for a second. “Solana.” The surprises keep on coming, because he takes an unexpected turn in the conversation. “I almost lost my temper tonight.”

This….this feels true. His issuance of threats were delivered in an almost calm manner, but it was more deceptive than anything. Like a setup for violence that was potentially about to unfold if she didn’t interfere.

Still, nothing ended up happening, so it doesn’t make sense for him to act like it did.

“But, you didn’t,” she points out quietly, offering a bit of an olive branch. “And….you were upset.”

Solana would maybe argue that he’s always in varying states of upsetness, but that’s not the point of the conversation at hand.

“I have no shortage of enemies, Solana.” His voice takes on a darker, almost subdued tone. It makes her previously amused expression slip into something more somber. “But, I need you to know that I would never do anything that would put you in danger. Drew wanted to issue his challenge. That’s it. He wasn’t going to do anything, because he wants an audience for that. I had it under control.” Solana isn’t questioning that nor did she plan to, but Roman’s next question definitely takes her for a loop. “Were you scared?”

It’s a valid, understandable question that she didn’t think about until this moment. There was anxiety, maybe some element of fear but also concern, so she decides to play down the first two.

“I wasn’t scared.” It was more concern than fear, which, in her mind, are two different things. “Just….confused about what was happening.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His dismissal is nicer than what anyone else would receive. “Of me, Solana. Were you scared of me?”

Another valid question that she’s actually been thinking about on and off for the past few weeks. Solana would like to consider herself not naive to a lot of things about this life that she was born into. She knows that most of the people who surround her are killers. And Roman is no different. The king of that, maybe.

But…..

But, he’s done nothing thus far to make her ever believe she would ever be subjected to that side of him. If anything, he’s worked to stress and help her understand that she’d never be hurt by him. And adding up all of the things he’s done to support said message, Solana feels it only appropriate to be honest with him.

About more than just his question.

“When—-when the twins asked earlier today if I wanted to go in the pool, I got nervous because—-” Solana displays her textbook signs of discomfort with the stammering and playing with her fingers but still manages to get out what she wants to share. “Wes, he used to…..hold my head under water until I almost passed out.” Solana looks away for a second, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “That……that’s who I’m afraid of.” Solana manages to set her gaze back on Roman, almost confidently assuring, “I’m not scared of you, Roman.”

He steps toward her, and Solana’s eyes never leave his, mindful of the way his hand lifts, tensing when he rests it against her face, palming her cheek almost gently. Solana stiffens but easily shifts into something not calm but not on edge either. “You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, of anyone. I won’t let anyone else ever hurt you again.”

And for the first time, she believes him without the speck of doubt and uncertainty in the backseat. Solana has seen nothing from the man before her to indicate otherwise. She doesn’t know a lot of things regarding him, regarding them, regarding just why he’s so hellbent on defending her, but one thing she’s realized is that he’s intentional and determined with his dedication to protect her.

This is similar, very similar, too similar to that night where her fears got the best of her, where she was unable to overpower the discomfort and fear. But, this isn’t that night, and Solana doesn’t feel that building dread in the core of her stomach. It could be the fact that it’s only one hand on her, cupping her face. Nowhere else.

It could even be a very early sign that maybe, just maybe, that book she was given so long ago really does have the healing properties someone from so long ago once promised.

There’s even her conversation with Nia from earlier that sits in the back of her mind, the undeniable confirmation of Roman’s attraction to her. Enough to where he would say her name during that.

Whatever the case, she doesn’t move away, just nods quietly, slowly moving away from him.

“I’m—I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

Roman says nothing, also nodding as acknowledgment, watching as Solana grabs Dulce and disappears out of his sight but not the front of his mind.

________

The Reigns estate is as spacious as it is grandiose. There are several ways and paths to reach a destination.

So, Roman doesn’t have to pass Solana’s room to reach his bedroom. There’s an alternative route in coming from where he was working, but he decides this specific way for reasons he’s not entirely sure of.

It ends up being a good decision because it’s in walking past her door that he hears low scraping against said door. Instantly, he knows it’s Dulce clearly needing to go outside. And she confirms as such with her soft whimpering.

Rolling his eyes, Roman opens the door just enough for Dulce to run out, stopping when she sees it’s him. He glances at the bed to see Solana sleeping, open book on her chest, indicating she fell asleep while reading.

Dulce whines again, and he chides quietly, “be quiet before you wake her up.”

Dulce’s ears go down as Roman picks up the puppy that’s still too little to walk up and down the steps, hence needing human transportation. It’s annoying, but he brings her down the steps and out the backyard.

Settling her down, he instructs, “go on. Do whatever you gotta do.”

He’ll give the dog some credit where credit is due. She’s far more obedient than he expected for a puppy, because in less than 10 minutes, she’s emptied her bladder and is being carried back to Solana’s room.

Roman is careful to lay her little ass back in her bed, aware of her bristle looking legs that would probably break with one bad drop.

Rising back to his full height, he catches Solana turning on her side, the shift in position causing the book to slip and almost fall out the bed, but Roman is fast, catching it before the crash and potential disturbance can wake her up.

Naturally, he glances at the front cover, noticing the age of the book. But the aging look doesn’t mean shit to him when he sees the title and a piece of paper that clearly has Solana’s handwriting. He doesn’t read that, wanting to respect her privacy, but he definitely reads the title, and it instantly shifts his entire mood.

The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse

It shifts his mood from his default state or irritation to quiet rage.

There’s only one reason she would be reading this book, working out of this book. And it’s not that he didn’t already know she’d been violated in one way or another. Her medical records confirmed as such.

But, he was thinking she was a teenager, not any better, but definitely not a fucking child.

Someone hurt her when she was still a child, a literal goddamn kid, and this is something Roman cannot find it in him to avoid investigating. He’s always been a man uncomfortable with unanswered questions, and there are no shortage of them in regards to Solana. Not that he would ever put her in a position to answer them. No. He wouldn’t do that to her, would never make her share something like that with him.

But, he does know someone else he can demand answers from.

Two people, actually. One of them being shit out of luck after narrowly avoiding Roman’s wrath from earlier today in learning that he fucking tortured Solana.

Roman carefully places the book on her nightstand and makes sure Dulce is still in her bed on the other side of Solana’s before quietly closing the door.

Roman is down the hall, powerful strides taking him to his room as he pulls out his phone, dialing the one person he knows for a fact will answer his call at any time. Hitting dial and switching it to speaker, Roman tosses his phone on the bed to get dressed.

Sure enough, he answers on the second ring.

Roman jumps right into it. “Meet me at the Miller house. Get your brothers.”

Solo only pauses for a second, answering in that stoic voice, “we’ll be there in 30.”

Not good enough.

“Make it 20.”

________

As expected, Roman is met at the Miller house by his cousins, all three.

Slamming the car door shut, Roman hears Jimmy yawning loudly. “Man, why the hell is we here?”

Ignoring his older brother, Solo straightens his stance and informs, “I had Pearce disable the security system.”

“Good.” It’s the fact that Solo already knew to do so without being told. Moments like this is when Roman knows he made the right decision promoting and moving Solo up the ranks. He’s more than proved himself.

“I have questions. Miller has answers.” Roman’s answer there is intentionally vague. Solana’s trauma is no one’s business but her own, and just because he is also aware doesn’t mean he needs to broadcast it. “And Solana told me today her brother used to waterboard her.”

“Waterboarding? Like actual fucking torture?” This information seems to awaken both the twins, eliciting angry reactions. “What the fuck is wrong with his ass?”

“We killing them, right?” Jey, forever the hothead and also relatively equal with Roman in terms of how quickly he travels from zero to one-hundred, is the first to ask the most obvious question.

“No. Not tonight. That would be too easy.” And it would. Roman meant that shit when he said he wanted their asses to suffer. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make living easy for them.”

They don’t deserve to live, let alone living easy lives. Not when they’ve done everything seemingly possible to make Solana’s miserable.

Roman then looks towards the twins, instructing, “take care of the brother.” It’s not a necessary directive, but he doesn’t hesitate to add, “make him fucking suffer.”

He then motions for Solo to follow him, the men headed toward the house as Roman swears out loud, “Xavier is mine.”

Roman steps back as Solo waits zero time in shattering the large window in the living room, providing an entrance for the men. Roman grabs his gun, nodding for the twins to move first, followed by Solo, each man armed with a gun. It’s unnecessary, Roman is certain as they’re more likely to find father and son in the midst of illicit acts vs prepared for the onslaught headed their way.

Up the stairs and on the second floor, Roman quietly motions for them to split up, Solo and the twins to the right while he moves to the left, the most likely location of the master.

Solo seems to give him an uneasy expression, but Roman simply nods and heads toward his target.

Xavier is his.

The combination of the brothers works just as Roman predicted, them successfully locating the brother’s bedroom, confirmed by his horrified shout of ‘what the fuck!

It’s followed up with a shout of pain and Jey yelling “Get your bitch ass up!” and “Solo, fill up the tub!”

Pleased, Roman is standing directly outside of Xavier’s door when the older man rips the door open, face contorted in a mixture of shock and anger. That quickly morphs into fear when he realizes just who is responsible for this attack.

Roman brings the gun across upside Miller’s head, watching the man fall down and writhe in pain, holding his hand against his now bleeding head.

Undeterred, Roman reaches down, yanking the man up by his neck as he jolts his body against the nearest wall. “We need to talk.” Straight to the point and not in the mood for any bullshit this fucker may try to spew his way, Roman demands, “I want to know what the fuck happened to my wife.”

And there’s a brief but telltale sign that Xavier knows exactly what he’s referring to without Roman even needing to elaborate.

That only pisses him off even more.

Still, Xavier stutters, shaking his head, “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Roman gives a bitter smile, shaking his head and scratching his beard. It’s the last thing he’s certain Xavier sees before Roman again has him up by the collar of his pajama shirt.

“You really want to play these fucking games with me?” It’s a no. It’s a hell no, but Xavier insulting Roman’s intelligence by lying to him indicates the opposite of no. So, Roman will treat him as such. “Who the fuck touched Solana?”

His question is followed up by screaming coming from down the hall, the beautiful sound of a piece of shit getting exactly what he deserves.

“What? Ain’t so tough now, little bitch! Like to beat on women but a pussy when it comes to fighting another man!”

And while it could bring a smile to Roman’s face, Xavier looks horrified in hearing Jimmy’s taunts. Instantly, he’s pleading, pathetic and pitiful, “pl—please.”

“I’d torture and kill that bitch right in front of you tonight if I could.” It pisses Roman off to no end how this man can care so much about his demented son but not give a flying fuck about his innocent daughter. “Now, answer my fucking question, who touched Solana?”

Again, Xavier decides to test Roman’s patience, offering unasked information. “She—she was a virgin before she married you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her being virgin or not!” She could still be a virgin and have been touched. But truth be told, that shit’s never mattered to him anyway. Virgin or no virgin, it’s always been an irrelevant deciding factor to who he took to bed. “Tell me what happened to her or I’ll blow that bitch son of yours fucking brains out right in front of you—”

Roman pulls the gun from out of the back of his pants, knowing full and well that while he would love to empty the entirety of it in the scum before him, it’s better served torturing him in another sort of manner.

Mentally.

And it does the trick.

“Alright, alright!” Xavier finally caves, sweat bubbling across his wrinkled forehead. “She was raped, alright? Two men broke into the house when she was 12 and attacked her. Beat her real bad. They—they never found them. Okay? That—that’s the truth. That’s what happened.”

No. Not fucking okay. Nothing is fucking okay. Roman wanted answers, felt like he needed them, but knowing the truth, it doesn’t do shit but paint his vision red.

He knew something happened to her.

He just didn’t know how bad.

Raped.

Beaten.

Twelve.

And then another thought hits him, the absolute terror on her face that day when she was faced with what should be the most simplest thing for a person: going into their childhood bedroom.

Roman remembers her fear, the dried blood, the scratches on the wall.

It all makes sense.

She was attacked in her fucking bedroom.

The thought of a child being hurt at all has never sat right with him, but to be hurt in that way. As a child, and for that child to have been Solana.

He’s fucking breathing rage.

“Where the fuck were you, huh?” Roman jerks his body back against the wall, half ready to break this fucker’s neck. “Answer me!”

“I wasn’t home!” Xavier’s sweating has progressed into droplets from his forehead onto the bridge of his nose and shirt. “I—I was out on a fishing trip with Wes.”

A fishing trip…..

This man was out enjoying fucking nature with his dimwitted offspring while his daughter was at home alone fighting for her fucking life.

“You left a 12 year old home alone?” It keeps getting fucking worse. “How long was she alone!” Roman is fully prepared to risk snapping this motherfucker’s neck when he spits out a desperate answer.

“A week. It was just a week.” And if it makes a fucking difference, he desperately adds on, “I—I’d done it before, and she was fine.”

Xavier is either stupid or very stupid, because Roman can’t conceptualize how this imbecile would think the additional information makes it any better.

Solana was hurt.

She was hurt in the worst way possible, and it’s all his fault.

With all of the aggression in his body, Roman throws the piece of shit across the room, intentionally aiming for the glass coffee table that instantly shatters under the weight of his fat ass.

Without a second of fucking hesitation, Roman fires two shots directly into Xavier’s body, one in his right hand and the other in his left foot. Xavier’s shouts of pain do little to dull the unadulterated rage coursing through Roman’s body.

Shouts morph into tiny, pathetic whimpers as Roman slowly walks through the broken glass, tossing his gun to the side as he pulls out the brass knuckles in his back pocket.

“I told Solana I wouldn’t kill you until she gave me the word, and I’m not going to take that from her.” He crouches down besides the now crying older man, crying in the way Roman is certain Solana did when she was alone and helpless. His fury is practically bubbling over now as he coldly vows, “but that doesn't mean I can’t make your life a living fucking hell until then.”

________

Roman walks back into the house with a weight he can’t shake, even with the brutal carnage he unleashed on the Miller household, leaving father and son on the brink of death. That type of violent release typically abates his anger, and it did diminish a lot of it, seeing that piece of shit pummeled into a bloody, broken mess.

But Roman is still plagued with thoughts of the hell Solana endured living in that household. To be attacked in that way in her own home, in her fucking bedroom, it makes Roman want to get right back in his SUV and carry Xavier and his equally piece of shit over the doorstep of death.

But, he couldn’t do that to Solana, take that away from her. He’s just the executioner in this situation. He’ll let the day of reckoning be determined by her because that’s the least she can get.

Coming straight back home, Roman didn’t bother to stop and get himself cleaned up. His guards have seen much worse, and Solana is asleep, so that’s not a concern either.

But, it is a concern because in an almost scene of deja vu, Solana is most certainly not asleep. She’s sitting on the sofa, Dulce right beside her when she hears his heavy footsteps.

Roman doesn’t have time to say anything, too stunned by this happening yet again, even later than he’s returned before.

Why is she up?

Solana jumps up off the sofa and is suddenly standing across from him, her face painted in what’s obviously a moderate to tremendous amount of worry and anxiety.

But, she isn’t looking at him. Not really. She’s more so focused on the blood stained and splattered clothes that adorn him.

“You’re hurt…..” He’s heard her say it the last two times they were in this type of situation, eerily similar in a lot of ways, but this time….this time is different.

It’s different because she rushes over to him, her hand floating over his chest, one place, two place, another place. Like a plane trying to find a safe space to land, she’s unsure where he’s hurt and clearly overwhelmed by it all.

And then he sees it, the blurry overlay of water over her eyes and the slight tremble of her lip.

Roman steps towards her, trying to be respectful of the distance between them. Her discomfort with touch makes all the sense now. “Please don’t cry.” And this is yet another new, unfamiliar, unexposed territory for him, seeing her so distraught at her belief that he’s been hurt. The way that the thought alone clearly wrecks her.

Roman quickly notices the changing of her breathing pattern, heavier, rhythmic almost.

“Shit…..”

Roman has heard this song before.

Realizing this is a matter of de-escalation, he does what’s needed in the moment and brings his hands to her face, cupping her face.

“Solana, breathe, baby.” The term of adoration isn’t even something that really registers with him at the moment, not an intentional addictive or something he gives two fucks about in this moment, really. He’s solely focused on settling the woman in front who’s on the brink of a panic attack.

He can’t see her deal with that again, especially now that he knows just why she had the first one.

Roman has no hesitation in pushing away loose strings of her hair, never once taking his focus off her. “I’m fine, Solana. I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood.” Recognizing she clearly needs to see it, he moves back to lift and toss his shirt on the floor. “See?”

And that seems to do something for her, something to help settle the panic.

Roman watches her and forces himself not to think about the heat that fills him at her hand on his chest, over his heart. It’s all so innocent. Recognizing her breathing has settled into something less alarming and more familiar, he moves his hand over hers, reiterating once more, “I’m fine.” He waits for her to finish taking a deep breath to ask, “why are you up?”

This has to be the third time Roman has come home at an ungodly hour to find her waiting for him, and he’s trying to figure out what the real reason is.

She licks her lip, clearly working her way up to a response. “Dulce had to…..had to use the bathroom, and I saw you weren’t here, and you didn’t answer my text.” Roman curses himself. He was so caught in his uproar that he didn’t even bother checking that thing, never expecting for Solana to be the missed notification on his lock screen. “I just…..I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Roman has heard this part before and tries to navigate how he wants to push back on his belief that it can’t be just that, but Solana surprisingly beats him to it. “I get….I get worried when you’re not here at night and—-and I can’t sleep until—-”

“Until I’m back….”

He has a good guess why. She was attacked in the middle of the night, and he’s also pretty certain he remembers reading that the attack that killed her mother also happened at night.

“Solana…..” For the first time in a while, if ever, Roman is active in his attempts to explain this to her as gently as he can. “What I do…who I am…I can’t always be here.”

“I know,” she sniffles. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to bother you—”

“You could never bother me, okay?” He wipes away more of her tears, hand back to cupping her face, realizing she’s not going to pull away from him this time. He takes full advantage of that. Roman moves his other hand to the small of her back, holding her against him. It’s not missed upon him how she also brings her other free hand to his chest. “But, I always make it back, alright?” She nods, as he runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Can’t no man put me down.”

She smiles, a little laugh that does more to him than he’d like to admit, that he feels comfortable with. And this settles him. It settles him more than nearly killing her dad and brother for hurting her, directly and indirectly, did.

Solana nods, murmuring a quiet, “o–okay.”

He’s studying her. Closely. Maybe more than what’s necessary. It comes from a place of concern, and he’d admit as such. “Are you good now?”

She nods again, and he believes it enough to let her go, watching her start to walk away when he’s caught off guard again because of her body, so soft and warm, against his again. Her sweet perfume filling his senses, her arms around his neck.

She’s hugging him. Solana is actually hugging him. He can’t remember the last time someone did that shit.

But he doesn’t waste a second of time accepting her embrace that seems to end just as quickly as it began. He can’t be surprised or upset. This is big for her, obviously, and he would never push her past her comfort zone, but he also can’t deny that the absence of her in his arms is noticeable.

And uncomfortable.

Solana murmurs a rushed goodnight and grabs Dulce to head back up the stairs, Roman eyes never leaving her until she’s completely out of view.

Roman stands there for a few good minutes, unsure of what just happened, working to process the same unfamiliar feelings that coursed through him the last time they had a moment like this. It’s the same as before, just ten times stronger, more intense, more consuming.

Unsure of a lot, two things he knows for asbolute fucking certain:

He’s going to find Solana’s rapists and make them pay for every sick fucking thing they did to her.

There’s not a fucking force on earth that could take this girl away from him.

She’s his.

And he’ll protect her with everything in him.

No matter what the cost.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x poc!oc #roman reigns x reader #arisnotebook

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rizsu · 16 days ago

Text

ꪆ୧ ── WISH UNATTAINABLE ┊ A MERE DREAM ﹑ HSR ⤿ starring: boothill ◟ sunday ◟ dr. ratio.

꒰ a player's mission ﹢ ding! quest(s) unlocked. to obtain a reward of 100 stellar jades, knock yourself out with missions involving your favourite! don't get caught up in the dream though.

𖧷 · love, ‘su: i clearly had an idea & needed to jot it down before i forgot about it (old draft i wrote when i js was fresh into hsr bear w me 😢)

COSMIC SPLENDOR AND MERITED PRAISES ⟡ siobhan’s revealed that someone's here for you, insisting for you to not be a killjoy and come meet him.

“drink's on me sweetheart, knock ya'self out,” boothill slides the cocktail at you, giving his signature smirk as its free side dish.

you're not quite sure what you expected, but boothill being a bartender wasn't one of them. actually — it's believable when you think about it.

when siobhan sent you those messages, your mind went to either gallagher or aventurine. (un)fortunately, your guess was wrong. you are now a taste-tester and subjected to subtle flirting? a win is a win.

boothill puts a hand on his hip. he mixed the drink gracefully with siobhan's aid, it's bound to be perfect — hopefully.

“what's it called?” you asked, turning the glass around to appreciate the red and orange ombre. it reminds you of someone, but you can't put a finger on it.

“didn't think that far into it.” he shrugs. “you can name it, sweetheart.”

“i can name it sweetheart?”

“no, i meant... well, why the fuck not.”

you're sure you heard a disappointed sigh from him. maybe it's the alcohol? whatever, it tastes good. the drink's sweet, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste — if that makes sense. it's so sweet that you keep sipping, yet it's so bitter that you're reminded it's alcohol and not juice. a perfect balance.

gently placing the glass down, you slid it towards boothill, “another glass please, gentleman.”

“right away, darlin’,” he accepts your request, refilling your glass with the sweetheart special. this time, he adds a little edible glitter in the mix to spice up the aesthetic.

the glass is once again slid back to you. the only difference is a shine to the liquid. the new beauty to it can make even argenti fall to his knees to worship it (he worships anything beautiful).

“it's so good i can kiss you for it,” you mindlessly reply, licking your lips from the excess liquid.

goodness, do you want him to overheat? is the way to defeat a galaxy ranger a compliment without thought put into it?!

“pfft— uh— well—” he sputters, unable to form a proper sentence yet.

a few coughs later, he regains his ability to speak, “it's just that good ain't it, darlin’?”

“you're the best and i need you in the express to make fifteen of these,” with desperation in your voice, you lean over to hold his hand. it's cold, but not cold enough to make you back away.

“i'll be right with ya!”

THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS ⟡ you received an anonymous message urging you to come to penacony. it felt like a scam, but the messages were too prim and proper to be one.

hmm, something isn't right. you can feel it in your bones. either you're experiencing side effects of being on cleaning duty, or you're being hunted down. has your excellence finally exceed you to the point where you've appeared on someone's hitlist? maybe.

staring at the message on your phone, you squint at it before moving your head away. you must be careful or else you'd be affected by its ominous energy.

there's only one logical decision to make: find dan heng and let him decipher a possible hidden code in the messages.

“dan heng, i need you!” you exclaimed, opening his room's door with a force that should only be reserved for battles.

“did you clean your manners out too?” sighing, dan heng closes the book he's reviewing.

“i think i'm being kidnapped,” ignoring his snarky comments, you enter his room, showing him the pile of messages.

> Hello, (y/n). I trust that you've been well during your trips.

> Have you decided on whether you'll return to Penacony? If not, I hope that you come soon.

> There is something I wish to do with you.

> Meet me at The Reverie Hotel 10 system hours from when you reply. I shall accompany you directly instead of a regular staff.

> That is all. I'll keep the conversations for our meeting.

you shake your head, hugging your body in attempts to shield yourself.

“see! there's no way that isn't someone out to get me.”

dan heng falls silent. clearly, this is someone you've met before, but who? they haven't left any name, let alone a profile icon. there's only one way to find out and that's to reply.

“hand me your phone, i'll reply.”

...

have you been deceived? is dan heng in on this too? why would he reply? suspicion dominates over you. you slowly back away from his side.

“damn... they really do say your enemies are close.”

“that's now how it... whatever. just give me the phone so i can ask for their identity.” his tone's laced with disappointment. he's not surprised, but boy was he wrong for thinking you matured.

being left with no other choice, you surrender your phone and safety to him.

< Sorry, who are you?

< I'm sure we've met though.

“they're typing...” he mutters, leaning into your side so you can see the screen too.

> My apologies. I forgot to set my account.

> This is Sunday, head of the Oak Family.

“sunday?!”

“sunday!?”

this time you both were taken by surprise. out of everyone in penacony that would've sent you a text, he was the least expected. dan heng shoots you a pitiful look. he's pretty sure sunday's still on your hitlist.

“i am not going.”

“it's rude to ignore someone's request.”

“dan heng,” you began, folding your arms across your chest, “you can't make me go.”

in response dan heng simply nods. he walks out his room and into the main area. you're not sure what he did, but he came back to you lounging on his bed in five minutes.

you were already comfortable, with one knee up and a foot on the knee. you expected him to come back, but not with a trusted adult.

“are you serious?”

“himeko, (y/n)'s ignoring someone's request to meet.”

one corner of his mouth moves up. he knows he won this battle. snitching is the way to go, always.

and that's how you're now standing besides sunday. all stiff with nervous laughs, praying to whichever aeon that he doesn't use the telepathy punishment thing on you. it's game over and restart if he ever dares to.

sunday's as poise as ever — with a hand behind his back, he observes the view of oti mall below. it's bustling with life; the noise is enough to do all the talking. truly a one-sided comfortable silence.

“so... how's life been, sunday?” you tread carefully with your question and behaviour. you don't even make eye contact.

sunday smiles slightly, “it's been busy as ever. this is probably the only moment of peace in my schedule.”

and it's silent again. how do you continue a conversation with a bigshot? you ran your mouth with the supreme guardian of belobog but god forbid you're with the head of the oak family. scary.

cold sweat drops. you have got to keep the conversation going or you'll lose your mind in seven minutes.

“been getting into gambling with the slot machines lately. what about you?”

perfect. ten out of ten. a penacony-related addiction.

“i see you've picked up that ipc stoneheart's behaviour.”

okay, maybe it wasn't that perfect. and was that disappointment?!

it's silent again. you steal a glance of sunday and it did not help. he has a relaxed expression on his face. his chest rising and falling with every breath. is he truly comfortable with the silence? you're dying here.

a sigh leaves you. why not just speak your mind.

“to be honest, it's a little uncomfortable being so silent. i feel like i'm being watched by that large eye in the mall.”

sunday's head turns, his expression slightly changes.

“apologies, i did not notice. would you like to take a walk together?” he suggests, holding his palm out to you.

you place your hand in his, trying to hide the smile. you're finally going to do something instead of standing like an npc.

“yeah, sure.”

after your approval, you basically re-toured penacony. he even took you to his office. that's not even the biggest part. the huge wow factor here is that you were hand-in-hand with him. yes, hands intertwined with the most handsome man in penacony. someone should be jealous.

although his hand was gloved it still counts. the gloves are thin anyway — it was basically skin contact. had you known beforehand that sunday's hand was this manly you wouldn't have even complained to dan heng.

COSMIC SPLENDOR AND MERITED PRAISES ⟡ herta bothered you to return to her station, insisting that she needs your help. you reluctantly agreed, but didn't expect to meet the doctor you've been hitting on.

> Come. I need to experiment on you.

< Excuse me?!?

> Aeon stuff.

< Which Aeon is it?

< Herta?

< Hellooooo... Anyone there...?

> [Automatic reply] Hi, I'm currently unavailable, and won't be contacting you later.

< You've got to be kidding me.

> [Automatic reply] Hi, I'm currently unavailable, and won't be contacting you later.

a heavy sigh leaves you. new day, same old herta demanding your presence and going off the net. well, it's been a while since you've revisited herta's space station, and it doesn't hurt gaining new knowledge on aeons. hopefully it'd be quick... and that screwllum's there as well. out of the three, screwllum's the sole one that's gentle.

once you stepped foot in her office, you stepped right back out. seeing someone you've been avoiding to reply to their messages certainly isn't a good thing. the chances of the man you were testing your charisma on being with herta is low — incredibly low — but never zero.

“come here, (y/n).” a voice filled with authority calls for you who's standing to the side of the door.

you purposefully chose that position; since the doors are automatic, they'd immediately open if you were directly in front of it.

“no, thanks!” you yelled, preferring to stay where its safe from confrontations.

inside the office, herta folds her arms. the clock is ticking, and she doesn't want to lose interest before she can glimpse the secret of at least one aeon.

“just go get her. what're you standing there for?”

with a tone as blunt as that, ratio feels slightly offended, but he can't argue. she's right, he can simply bring you back inside the office.

confidentally walking towards the door, he steps out and immediately turns his head left. it was as he calculated: you were right there leaning against the wall, trying your best to act nonchalant while ignoring his obvious presence.

“don't act childish.” disappointment laces his voice, his folded arms shows it, too.

“whatever do you mean, doctor?” you smiled.

ratio's having none of it. he moves his position to stand in front of you, forcing you to look at him instead.

“your behaviour then and now is childish. get back in the office.”

“cut me some slack! do you think the courage i have over text translates to real life?” your defenses raise, poking his chest to enforce your point. “you're intimidating and handsome, dude. give me a break.”

a silence follows. the kind of silence that indicates you said something you definitely should've kept as a thought. nervously, you move your eyes to look at ratio's. the eye contact doesn't last long — like you said, he's intimidating (and handsome).

“tell me something i don't know.” ratio breaks the silence, grabbing your finger off his chest. “but that's not the point here, is it? we have something to do.”

mood: ruined. it's common knowledge to anyone who's been in a conversation with ratio that he's well aware of his visuals. compliments are nothing new to him — it's a shame he didn't act the way he did in your daydreams.

“gosh, you're so annoying.” a voice of defeat.

grumbling, you straightened your posture, making your way back to herta's office. ratio followed behind, observing the you walked. has someone walking always been attractive, or is it just because it's you? a question that he'll be pondering on until he finds a suitable answer.

“hey. you guys took too long. i don't wanna do it again,” herta complains the second she saw you two walk in.

#. ae-generated: honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #honkai star rail x reader #boothill x reader #boothill fluff #boothill x y/n #sunday x reader #sunday fluff #sunday x y/n #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x y/n #dr ratio fluff #hsr fluff #hsr drabbles #hsr imagines #honkai star rail fluff

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anakinstwinklebunny · 3 months ago

Text

DOCTOR!ANAKIN HEADCANONS 🩺

TW: at some point it contains mentions of body worshipping, blow job..just in general pretty filthy sexual content so, if you're uncomfortable with the warning, please do not read for your own safety and comfort 💓

Doctor!Anakin who was your doctor in the beginning but already caught your interest. He wasn't like other doctors here, in this clinic. He was actually polite, patient, made actually funny and, most important, no inappropriate jokes to lighten the mood. Plus, he was dead handsome and that alone brought your heart to race like crazy

Doctor!Anakin who surprisingly to you, liked you in a way doctor doesn't like his patients, rather like a lover does. He tried to make different jokes while you were visiting his office to somehow bring himself closer to you. Of course, as much as he wanted to ask you out, he wouldn't do it while he was at work, it'd be unprofessional

Doctor!Anakin who, when you started dating, became your private doctor 24/7

Doctor!Anakin who often gave you the contacts to the best doctors in town which happened to be his close friends

Doctor!Anakin who's absolutely protective over you and always cares about your health. That's why he often suggested to go with you for tests. Since, for example, he knew that you hate blood tests and get very anxious and emotional during it. But it's not like he's all the time filling your mind with testing yourself. He just very gently and calmly asks if you want to go with him (since he tries to test himself regularly) take tests and if you agree, he's more than happy to really be there for you during some of them (he knows how anxious and scared you can be)

Doctor!Anakin who did an operation on you when you had to have one;

Fun fact this was supposed to be a collab with beautiful @kingdomhate to which we agreed to do months ago so @kingdomhate , I'm waiting for you 🙄

As a doctor, Anakin had navigated the intricacies of countless surgeries with precision and unwavering focus. His hands were steady, his mind sharp. But today was different. Today, it was you on the surgical table. Despite the calm facade he maintained, a deep, unspoken worry gnawed at him.

Your eyes, wide with a mix of curiosity and fear, followed the syringe as he prepared it, the clear liquid shimmering ominously inside. "What’s that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with anxiety.

Anakin’s heart ached at the sight of your uncertainty. He met your gaze with eyes full of warmth, a soft frown creasing his brow as he gently explained. "It’s just the anesthesia, sweetheart. It’s going to help you drift off to sleep, and when you wake up, everything will be over. You won’t feel a thing, I promise."

You nodded, your trust in him unwavering, though the apprehension still lingered in your eyes. "Okay," you murmured, a slight quiver in your voice.

Anakin’s smile was tender, a small attempt to comfort you as his fingers brushed delicately against your cheek, tracing the familiar contours of your face. "We’re going to start now. Are you ready to let go and get some rest?" he asked, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

You managed a faint smile, trying to muster some lightness in the midst of your fear. "I guess I could use some more sleep," you replied, your tone soft but still tinged with anxiety.

A quiet chuckle escaped him, a sound filled with love and reassurance. As he carefully administered the anesthesia, his touch was as gentle as a whisper. "That’s my brave girl," he murmured, his voice a soothing lullaby. "Just relax and let the world fade away. I’ll be here, right by your side."

As Anakin made his way to your room, fatigue weighed heavily on his shoulders. The operation had been long and demanding, every second requiring his full concentration. But despite the exhaustion tugging at him, a deep sense of relief washed over him knowing that the surgery was a success. The thought of seeing you again filled him with renewed energy.

When he entered the room and saw you lying in bed, a soft smile touched his lips. He moved closer, his eyes warm and filled with affection as they took in your drowsy form. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle, almost a whisper.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes hazy and unfocused from the lingering effects of the anesthesia. Instead, you gazed up at him as though you were seeing an apparition, a gentle, almost dreamlike expression on your face.

A quiet, affectionate chuckle escaped Anakin as he noticed the dazed look in your eyes. You were undeniably under the influence of the drugs, and the sight of you like this was both endearing and amusing.

"You're so high right now," he teased, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watched you struggle to focus on his face.

With a clumsy movement, you lifted your hand and poked at the fabric of his smock, your touch light and uncoordinated. "You’re... fine-looking," you mumbled, your voice slow and slurred, as though the words themselves were drifting on a cloud.

Anakin couldn’t help but laugh, the sound deep and rich, filling the room with warmth. There was something so utterly charming about your drugged-up state, and the way you were trying to compliment him despite it all. He raised an eyebrow, still grinning as he leaned a little closer. "Just fine-looking?" he teased back, his tone playful, his eyes sparkling with humor.

Anakin leaned in closer, his gaze softening as he took in every detail of your face. Now just inches away, he could see the delicate curve of your lips, the gentle rise and fall of your breath, and the way your lashes fluttered slightly as you struggled to focus on him.

"You're absolutely gorgeous though" he murmured, his voice low and tender as his eyes traced over your features, lingering on every part of your face like a painter admiring his masterpiece.

You gasped softly, a rosy blush creeping up your cheeks as his words sank in. Your eyes widened in surprise, and you whispered in awe, "That cute guy likes me..."

Anakin’s laughter was warm and full of affection, his heart melting at how sweetly the drugs were affecting you. Your reaction was innocent and utterly charming, like something out of a dream.

"Yes," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, "that cute guy really, really likes you." He knew exactly who you were talking about, and the thought made his chest swell with love.

Without a second thought, he leaned in even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as if to seal the words he had just spoken.

Your eyes widened again, the surprise and delight in them unmistakable. "That cute guy is kissing me!" you exclaimed, your voice rising with excitement, almost as if you couldn’t believe it was real.

Anakin smiled against your skin, pulling back just enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze. "And he’s never going to stop," he whispered, his eyes full of adoration as he looked at you, his heart full to bursting with love.

Doctor!Anakin who can’t help but give you medical advice, even for the smallest things. If you so much as sneeze, he’s ready with remedies, and if you’re hurt, he’ll drop everything to take care for you

Doctor!Anakin who finds solace in your presence. After particularly tough days, he seeks you out to decompress, finding comfort in your embrace and sharing the emotional burden of his job. He’s not afraid to show his vulnerable side with you, whether it’s admitting how hard a day was and etc

Doctor!Anakin whose bedside manner are impeccable (especially when you're sick). He’s attentive, gentle, and goes above and beyond to ensure your comfort

Doctor!Anakin who's favorite show was 'doctor house'

Doctor!Anakin who, even with hectic schedule, tries to prioritize your time and you alone. When he finishes work, he finishes work. It's time for you both. Yes, sometimes he has emergencies but mostly he tries to not pick up his phone when he's with you

Doctor!Anakin who's a coffee addict. He’s practically fueled by coffee, and you often tease him about his excessive consumption. Despite this, you always make sure there’s a fresh pot waiting for him at home after a long shift. Sometimes, you’ll surprise him at work with his favorite coffee order, just to brighten his day.

Doctor!Anakin who is a highly dedicated doctor, often working long shifts that leave him exhausted. He’s passionate about helping people, but it sometimes takes a toll on his mental and physical health. You’re the one who gently reminds him to take breaks, eat properly, and get enough sleep, even if it means dragging him away from the hospital when he forgets to put himself and his wellbeing first

Doctor!Anakin whose relationship with you is the one thing that softens his rough edges. Around you, he lets down his guard, showing a more vulnerable and affectionate side. Just being close to you, whether it’s lying in bed together in silence or holding your hand, helps him cope with the weight of his work.

Doctor!Anakin who knows how important it is to keep the romance alive, so even if it’s something simple like a homemade dinner or a late-night walk, he puts in the effort to make you feel special.

Doctor!Anakin who finds cooking therapeutic after a long day. You often come home to the smell of something delicious on the stove, with Anakin in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, and a content look on his face. He doesn't even know how hot he looks there

Doctor!Anakin who will send you quick texts during breaks—just to check in, see how your day is going, or tell you he loves you. It’s his way of staying connected, even when he can’t be there physically

Doctor!Anakin whose mornings are usually chaotic, especially when he’s on an early shift. You’ve developed a routine where you both navigate the morning rush together—he makes the coffee, you pack his lunch, and you share a quick breakfast before he heads out the door. Or sometimes, more often, when you're too lazy to do that, Anakin just wakes you up gently before leaving for work with small kisses and soft whispers

Doctor!Anakin who is such a worshipper of your body;

Anakin's lips trail over your skin with a reverence that borders a worship. Each kiss is slow, deliberate, as if he's memorizing the taste and texture of every inch of you "so soft..so beautiful.." he kept murmuring between gentle kisses.

He started with your collarbone, the kisses lingering on your delicate line, his breath warm against your skin. His large, overworked and hands gently cradle your sides, pulling you closer as his mouth moves lower, brushing over the curve of your breasts. "Gonna tell you everyday how beautiful you are so it'd stick to that little pretty head of yours"

His touch is precised, tender. His overworked yet skilled hands seem to know your body better than you do. He knows where to touch, how to touch.

He makes you responsive. breathless. loved.

His kisses are unhurried, simply savouring your lovely body in one go. His lips pressed against your stomach, to which your breath hitched and your fingers tugged at his short hair, as much as they could

Doctor!Anakin who doesn't mind some love making in shower

Doctor!Anakin who loves plants. He literally most of the time goes with you to local green marketplace, filled to the brim with different flowers, herbs or plants

Doctor!Anakin who easily gets bold in bed. So, he's a dom but rather a soft dom. And he always makes sure that not only he finishes but you especially, even before him

Doctor!Anakin who really doesn't mind you changing before him;

Anakin glanced over at you as you muttered a curse under your breath, mentioning your need to go to the bathroom. He could see the hesitation in your eyes, the way you were being a bit shy about it, and he couldn’t help but find it endearing. To him, your embarrassment was entirely unnecessary—he had seen you at your most vulnerable, more times than he could count, and it only deepened his affection for you.

"Just do it here," he said casually, his attention still mostly on the TV screen, though his tone was laced with genuine care.

"But—" you started, your voice trailing off as the embarrassment took over.

Anakin shifted his gaze back to you, his eyes locking onto yours with a reassuring warmth. He could see the flush of your cheeks, the slight uncertainty in your expression.

"Babe," he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "I literally performed surgery on you. Trust me, seeing you change is the least of my concerns."

You bit your lip, still feeling a bit self-conscious. "Did it gross you out tho?" you mumbled with slightly pinky cheeks

He chuckled warmly at your question with a head shake "No, not at all. I’m a doctor—things like that don’t gross me out," he reassured you, his voice gentle yet amused. "Besides," he added with a playful glint in his eyes, "I see you naked almost daily. There’s nothing you could do that would make me think any less of you."

Doctor!Anakin who sometimes send you flowers to your workplace without much occasion

Doctor!Anakin who definitely knows how to finger you and make you a gasping mess

Doctor!Anakin who does not mind making you cry (during some love making of course). It just gives him the possibility to haunt you with 'crybaby' nickname

Doctor!Anakin who sometimes isn't there to satisfy your needs and you have to something else;

It was common for anakin to leave for some serious medics meeting in (or out of) town that lasted days. Each time, you felt yourself missing his strong arms around you, his warm body in bed, his soft words yet what you especially missed was those sleepless nights where nothing was more important for him than making you his all over again

So, without him near, you couldn't help but find something to satisfy your primal hunger and what was better than Anakin's pillow?

It felt embarrassing..it felt wrong..yet so good at the same time. With your imagination running wild, you humped on the soft material. Recreating the images of his beautiful face gazing as you ride him, you actually cursed the medical company that managed to took him away from you. Even for those three days

Your actions only brought moans and gasps from your parted lips. It's all you could hear and with your eyes closed, you haven't even acknowledged who appeared in the room

When Anakin took steps through the stairs up to your shared bedroom, the light betrayal and shock spun around his body to sank to his skin. At first he was sure he caught you cheating but that would be impossible - he thought - because his sweet girl would not let any other man touch her, right?

But when he quietly got inside the room, ready to caught you in the act, he was not prepared to see you riding his pillow, moaning out his name like a prayer

his expression was rather puzzled and he still tried to fully understand what's just happening when your eyes met. The embarrassed blush crept on your cheeks and tied your lips.

So that's how embarrassment feels like

“Don’t mind me, please, continue.” his words brought your embarrassment mix with confusion

But when you didn't do as he said, suddenly too shy and embarrassed, on the brink of tears for being found out, he lose his restraint and made his way to you. Taking the soaked pillow out from between your legs, he pushed your face down to the bed and made sure your hips stay in the air. “I didn’t expect my kind, sweet patient to be so dirty.” his eyes took a good look at your sex with a tired yet somehow pleased smile, “You should have told your doctor to help and wait for him to appear” the sound of unbuttoned belt rang in your ear. This was happening all so quickly. You haven't even had a chance to say anything, just submitting to him but still feeling so.. humiliated, awkward “And since I stopped you from helping yourself, I’ll take the responsibility to help you Miss y/l/n"

Doctor!Anakin who you sometimes surprised in his office during his lunch break and things can go wild..;

As you suck on him, his body arches off the chair, a low moan escaping his throat. His large hand tangling in your hair as he loses himself in the sensation of your mouth on his cock "That's it... oh fuck..." His hips start to move rhythmically, seeking more of you as his moans fill the air "just like that... suck on it baby..." He pants "Oh fuck... don't you dare stop.. didn't know I have such little warm throat to bruise.. shit--"

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker @slutforfinnickodair

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

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kitkatscabinet · 1 year ago

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Break up with your boyfriend

John Mactavish x reader x Kyle Garrick

Requested by @bunnyreaper

Summary: Johnny and Kyle are hardly pleased with the news you're dating someone who's not them, and promptly decide to remedy the situation.

Word count: 1.5k

“Sorry can’t, I’m calling my boyfriend tonight.” Your words reverberate through Soap’s mind even hours later, a neverending loop as he dazedly tries to make sense of the Earth shattering revelation. My boyfriend. Boyfriend.

The heinous word mocks him, causing him to scowl at his plate murderously as he stabs the slightly undercooked vegetables with his fork hard enough that it’s a miracle the plate doesn’t shatter under the force.

Gaz, who had been staring warily for a few minutes decided it was time to finally speak up, “You alright mate? Didn’t think the food was that bad,” he attempted to joke, smile dying when Soap’s imperious glare turned to him.

“Did you know?” Ominous words aside, Gaz quickly manages to get to the root of Soap’s ire, finding himself joining the petulant club of disgruntled men stabbing their food and imagining it’s your boyfriend. He’d probably squeal like a little bitch after only one punch Soap mused. Not at all the type of man worthy of you.

Still, they grit their teeth and wallow in their jealousy and rage because you just seem so happy, even if they both privately think you’d be so much happier with them. These thoughts are never vocalised to one another but it’s clear in the way Kyle clenches his jaw when you smile at your phone, and the way Soap is constantly raring for a spar to expend the sudden rush of agitated energy, that neither of them are truly happy about the boyfriend.

The fragilely maintained peace doesn’t last, shattering barely a few weeks after they’d recieved the news, because they finally meet him. It’s during an outing at the local bar that often housed soldiers during their down time. The team had been waiting for your arrival, Soap’s knee jiggling as Kyle repeatedly checked his phone. You were thirty minutes late, you were never late, and just when the boys begin to fear for the worst, you arrive, only with a man’s arm wrapped around your waist.

Instantly Kyle’s smile dies and Johnny’s clutching his glass so tightly that it’s a miracle it didn’t smash into a million pieces. You seem a little harried, usually immaculate appearance a little messed and the rumples in your shirt give the team a perfect idea of why you’re late, not to mention the stupid smug smirk that’s painted on your asshole boyfriend’s face.

While Kyle at least tries to be a little magnanimous, though the petty remarks do slip through, Soap doesn’t even try to hide his dislike. “This him then? Shorter than I’d pictured” Soap says with a predatory grin, shaking your boyfriends hand so hard that something pops. Those words set the tone for the rest of the night, and it’s only thanks to Price sensing the underlying tension and keeping your attention on him and Simon that you don’t truly notice and get upset.

Stuck between the full force of Kyle and Johnny’s charm turned to the max, your boyfriend barely gets a sliver of your attention. Especially when Kyle’s hand migrates to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing circles that feel like fire as you try to focus on anything else. (Later you’ll try not to feel sick when you just narrowly avoid moaning Kyle’s name instead.)

By the time your boyfriend is practically dragging you out of the establishment with gritted teeth and a strained smile, it’s been decided. There’s no discussion, it’s a completely silent transition, but upon finally meeting the douchebag, him and Kyle are suddenly on the same page. That being to get you to leave your loser boyfriend, using whatever means necessary.

It starts small, neither of them want to scare you off. They’ve both always been naturally flirty with you, touches that already bordered the line of inappropriate, but they need to get you used to the thought of them, both alone and together. As much as Johhny wants to pin you to the bed and fuck you stupid, Kyle convinces him its not the best route. They needed to get you reliant on their touch, their words, their praise until you could barely think of anything else, let alone the supposed man calling himself your boyfriend.

Johnny hugs you every morning, inhaling your scent and crushing you against him far too long to be normal. Kyle asks you how you slept, cheekily commenting that you’d have slept better in his arms. They pull your focus from your phone, subtly sliding it out of sight or straight up pouting when you won’t pay attention to them. Spars always inevitably ended with them grinding against you, acting like they weren’t hard, smirking smugly at you when your eyes were drawn to their erection.

It pays off, because it doesn’t escape either of their eagle eyed notice when you start to seek them out more, the way you lean into their touches, how you seem almost surprised yourself when you start to initiate, desperate for their touch.

That’s when they start to kick it up a notch.

You’ll never know that it’s not an accident, Kyle leaving his door open wide enough for you to hear the way he moans your name, to see his hand desperately jerking his cock. Though he’ll later ask if you liked the show, watching the mortification flood your face when you realise he caught you watching. “I don’t mind, you can watch whenever you like, if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you touch,” those damned whispered words haunt your every waking hour, filtering into your dreams so much that more than once you wake up achingly horny.

Never one to be shown up, Johnny stumbles into your room, alcohol on his breath and cheeks flushed as he collapses ontop of you. He uses his bulk to squish you into the mattress, nuzzling into the skin of your neck and pinning your arms to your side with his own muscular ones.

“What are you-” you shriek out in surprise, only to be cut off when he shushes you.

“Calm down. ‘S just me,” he murmurs, as if that was the only issue. Further protests fall on deaf ears as you’re forced to accept that Johnny is your blanlet for the night. (You don’t fight nearly as hard as you should.)

It’s the worst sleep of your life. Not because its uncomfortable, no, Johnny’s body against yours is too comfortable, feels too good. Then your night turns straight into hell when he starts to grind against you in his sleep. You can feel everything, his cock is slotted perfectly with your groin and his moans and whimpers filter directly into your ear. In your panic and guilty arousal you don’t know what to do and just when you go to wake him, the ache between your won legs becoming too much to bare, he stills. Your heart roars thunderously in your ears, throat dry and senses dialled to 11 when you hazily realise that he’s cum.

Too keyed up from a restless night and unwilling to look Johnny in the eyes, you miss the victorious smirk he shoots at an equally proud and jealous Kyle. If one was bad enough, now the two of them are always together and they are insistent on not leaving you alone. Hands on your hips, around your shoulders, brushing your ass as the other stands moves to fill whatever free space there is. Not to mention the relentless use of pet names, babe, lovey, honey, bug, darling, everything’s been given a go until they settled on the things that flustered you the most.

The final straw is when you walk into your room to see Johnny and Kyle sloppily making out on your bed. You don’t say anything to them at the time, unwilling to speak or do anything that you might regret while you’re still with your boyfriend. You refuse to be that person.

The fate of your relationship is decided barely three months following its inception though its not as difficult to break it off as you thought it would be, especially not when just before he tells you that he didn’t want you hanging around Johnny and Kyle anymore. It was him or them and wasn’t it a little funny that he genuinely thought you’d pick him?

It’s the fastest breakup of your life, not even a five minute phone call. Though you had hung up when he’d started to scream at you, all but running back to your room where Kyle and Johnny were waiting with matching grins, pulling you down between them like they’d practiced.

Tags: @juvenillia @ghostslillady @tokusho @ohworm-writes @kmi-02 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jumpofmyclif @tiredmetalenthusiast @cooliofango @101crows

#x reader #cod mw x reader #soap x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader x john mactavish #cod mw

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fikefries · 6 months ago

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wheels of fate (m.s) part one

part one: shadows in the dark

warnings: implied almost assault, swearing, mentions of alcohol

summary: when you find yourself in the face of danger, an unexpected character comes to your rescue.

1.1k words

you sit on your dorm bed, staring blankly at the incomplete essay on the laptop in front of you. today was not your day. partying the day before your thesis was due was not the best idea. the words blur together as your mind wanders, boredom gnawing at you, and an immense craving for salt-and-vinegar chips bubbling in your stomach. you look across your room to your tiny electric clock sitting on your desk, its blue hue slightly lighting up the darkness of your dorm.

1:37 AM,

you sigh, shutting your laptop with a small thud, rubbing your tired eyes, and pull yourself out of bed. you left out a soft groan at the state of your room, mini skirts, tube tops, and empty bottles of tequila sprawled out on the floor. the room feels stifling, and your hunger is rising. you need to get out, even if just for a little while.

grabbing your phone and hoodie, you decide to make a quick trip to the 24/7 convenience store down the street. it isn’t far, and the walk will do you good. you slip out of your dorm quietly, tip-toeing down the hall—not wanting to wake your roommates.

the cool night air is a nice change as you walk through the campus gates and onto the empty night streets. the city has a different feel at night—quieter and more solemn. you stuff your hands into your jacket pockets, trying to shake off the unease that creeps up your spine. you know that walking down a dark street in the middle of the night isn’t the safest thing to do for a girl like you—but hey, what are the odds something happens the one night you decide to go out?

as you reach the convenience store, you notice a small group of tall men huddled around the energy drink section. they are dressed in black t-shirts, black jackets, and have on fingerless gloves. you realise that most of them are holding motorcycle helmets, automatically assuming they are night bikers. the area you live in is notoriously famous for its biking culture—one that results in many police chases and gunshots. knowing this, you keep a safe distance away from the group of men, but one seems to catch your attention. a boy who looks around your age is holding a motorcycle helmet and has multiple piercings adorning his ear. you can’t help but stare at his sharp features and siren eyes, the way he looks with his jaw clenched, a toothpick resting in his mouth as he stands patiently, waiting for the rest of the guys to sort out their choice of drink. you don’t even realize you are staring so intensely until he starts looking around the small store, before his eyes catch yours.

shit.

you quickly avert your gaze and pretend to inspect the different flavors of chips. your embarrassment doesn’t falter, as you feel his sharp gaze burning into the back of your head. you turn to quickly grab a few snacks and head to the counter.

"just these, please," you say, trying to act normal and confident, not wanting to garner more attention from the possibly dangerous bikers.

the cashier barely glances at you, engrossed in his phone.

“have a good night,” he mumbles as you pay and leave the store.

you begin your walk back to your dorm, nervously munching on a bag of chips you bought. you decide to take a different route, hoping to enjoy the quiet streets a bit longer, distracting yourself from the awkward encounter you just had. your thoughts wander, and you find yourself lost in your own world, not noticing the ominous figure that has started following you.

“hey you,” a gruff voice breaks through your thoughts, making you jump in fear. you turn to see an old, ragged man approaching you, his eyes gleaming with something sinister, a creepy smile etched onto his face, revealing his crooked teeth. “what’s a pretty thing like you doing out here alone, hm?”

your heart races, and you quicken your pace, turning around occasionally to see if you lost him, but the man keeps following you, his grunts growing louder as he catches up to you. you begin randomly taking different paths and alleyways in hope of losing the man. you've heard stories of what has happened to other girls on campus before and you know how dangerous the situation you are in is.

god, i should've just stayed home.

you glance around at your surroundings, slowing down your pace, realizing you have run into a more isolated and unknown part of town, and are now at a dead end, with nowhere to run to as the creepy man catches up and starts walking towards you.

“leave me alone,” you manage to shout, your voice trembling in utter fear and desperation.

“come on, don’t be like that,” the man sneers with a wicked smile, closing the distance between you.

before he is able to touch you, the sudden loud roar of a motorcycle engine echoes down the street, zooming towards your direction. the old man halts his actions, his expression shifting from predatory to wary and he slightly backs away from you. a sleek black bike skids to a halt in front of you, and the rider jumps off with an air of cold confidence.

the rider removes his helmet, revealing the boy from the convenience store with sharp features and piercing eyes that seem to see right through you, his hair messy from being underneath the helmet.

how is he here? did he follow me? did he hear me screaming?

he barely glances at you before fixing his gaze on the old man.

“get lost,” he says flatly, his voice devoid of emotion, his blue eyes glaring coldly at the man.

the old man hesitates, clearly intimidated by the biker’s presence. “hey, boy, i don’t want any trouble,” he mutters, fully backing away from you, as you let out a sigh of relief.

“you already found it. leave before you actually fucking piss me off,” the biker replies, his tone cold and unwavering.

the old, creepy man shoots one last menacing glare at you before turning and disappearing into the night, knowing not to mess with a night biker—especially in this part of town. the biker turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice and eyes still stoic and devoid of warmth.

you nod, swallowing hard. “yeah, thanks. i—”

“be careful” he interrupts, already turning back to his bike.

“wait” you nervously call out, hesitantly taking a step forward. “what’s your name—i mean thanks for saving me, i don’t—” you stutter.

he pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “matt,” he says simply, putting his helmet back on and revving the engine of his bike before heading off into the night.

tags: @isasturns @sofieeeeex @scqrletsmadness

a/n: im thinking this will be a 10 or more part series! let me know if you have any ideas!

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dandelions-143 · 2 months ago

Text

Fear Play - Minho

Kinktober Masterlist

Word Count: 3600

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, sexual content, elements of fear and psychological tension, mild (implied) violence), consensual fear play/ knife play

Authors Note: I’ve had this one in my drafts for a while now. It’s much more detailed than the others. Maybe a little too detailed and wordy but you can be the judge of that! Enjoy babies!

No summary just smut under the cut

The mansion loomed before you, a dark silhouette etched against the inky night sky. Its gothic spires and ornate turrets seemed to claw at the heavens, casting long, ominous shadows across the overgrown lawn. Minho had texted earlier, his message a cryptic plea for your presence, claiming he missed you desperately. As you approached the wrought-iron gates, an unsettling feeling crept over you, raising goosebumps on your skin.

The windows of the mansion were pitch black, not even a flicker of light visible within their dusty panes. It was as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for your arrival. Your hand trembled as you input the passcode, the electronic keypad's soft beep sounding unnaturally loud in the eerie silence. The ancient key turned with a rusty groan, the lock's mechanisms protesting as if warning you to turn back.

Minho's house had always unnerved you. It was a relic of a bygone era, its weathered stone facade telling tales of centuries past. The sheer size of it was overwhelming - countless rooms and winding corridors that seemed to shift and change with each visit. The air around it felt heavy, charged with an energy that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It wasn't just old and huge; it was a place that seemed to exist outside of time, unwelcoming and filled with secrets that whispered from every shadowy corner.

The door creaked open with an ominous groan, revealing a void of darkness so thick it seemed to have physical form. As you hesitantly stepped inside, the oppressive silence engulfed you, broken only by the thunderous pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. The floorboards beneath your feet protested loudly, each step eliciting a series of creaks and groans that reverberated through the empty halls like ghostly whispers.

"Minho?" you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. His name hung in the air, unanswered, swallowed by the suffocating darkness. Instead of a response, you were met with an eerie whisper of wind, its soft susurration seeming to emanate from the very walls themselves, carrying with it the musty scent of age and secrets long forgotten.

A bone-deep chill crept up your spine as you ventured deeper into the bowels of the house, each step feeling like a descent into some nightmarish realm. Pale slivers of moonlight filtered through grimy windows, casting elongated shadows that danced and writhed across the walls, their movements seeming to defy the laws of nature. The darkness grew more intense with each passing moment, as if actively resisting your intrusion.

"Minho, please," you pleaded, your voice now quivering with unmistakable fear, "this isn't funny anymore." The words echoed back at you, mockingly, from the unseen corners of the house. As you began to ascend the stairs, each step felt like a monumental effort, as if the very air around you was thickening, becoming more resistant. The staircase seemed to stretch endlessly before you, a twisted path leading into the unknown depths of the house's upper floors.

Suddenly, a sharp crack pierced the silence - a floorboard creaking directly behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you whirled around, eyes wide with terror. But instead of finding Minho or any other presence, you were confronted with an impenetrable wall of blackness. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, alive with malevolent intent. You stood frozen, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps, as the shadows around you seemed to close in, threatening to swallow you whole.

Without warning, a hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your scream. An arm like iron wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a solid form. The sudden contact sent a jolt of adrenaline through your body, your heart racing wildly in your chest. A voice, low and menacing, whispered in your ear, "I've been waiting for you." The hot breath against your skin made you shudder involuntarily. Your blood ran cold as you realized this voice, though familiar, held none of Minho's usual warmth. It was colder, darker, almost predatory. As you struggled against the grip, your fingers clawing at the arm holding you, a chilling thought gripped you: what if this wasn't Minho at all? The possibility sent a wave of terror through you, your mind racing with horrifying scenarios.

Suddenly, you felt Minho's grip loosen ever so slightly. It was barely perceptible, but in your heightened state of awareness, you sensed the opportunity. Taking advantage of this moment, you summoned all your strength and wrenched yourself free, your elbow connecting with something solid behind you. You didn't wait to see the result. You bolted down the dark hallway, your feet pounding against the wooden floor. The darkness seemed to press in on you from all sides, making each step feel like a leap into the unknown. Your heart pounded in your ears as you ran, a deafening rhythm that almost drowned out the sound of pursuit behind you. A potent cocktail of excitement and fear coursed through your veins, making every nerve ending in your body sing with tension. You could hear Minho's footsteps behind you, steady and unhurried, a stark contrast to your frantic pace. His low chuckle echoed off the walls, the sound seeming to come from everywhere at once, disorienting you further. The playful menace in that laugh sent shivers down your spine, a reminder that in this game of cat and mouse, you were very much the prey.

"Where are you going, baby?" His voice called out, a mixture of playfulness and menace that sent shivers down your spine. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, echoing off the walls and making it impossible to pinpoint his location. You darted around a corner, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Your eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, frantically scanned the shadowy corridor for any sign of movement.

The house seemed to come alive around you, creaking and groaning as if it was conspiring with Minho to trap you. You don't know why, but a part of you loved these random menacing games he would play. The thrill of being hunted, the adrenaline coursing through your veins - it was intoxicating. He never actually hurt you... yet. But the possibility, the danger, made every nerve in your body sing with anticipation.

You stumbled into what felt like a study, the musty smell of old books filling your nostrils. Your hands frantically searched for a lock on the door, fingers trembling as they traced the smooth wood. Finding none, you ducked behind a large, ornate desk, its polished surface cool against your heated skin. You tried to quiet your ragged breathing, pressing a hand to your mouth to muffle the sound. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the thunderous beating of your heart.

The sound of Minho's footsteps grew closer, slow and deliberate. Each step seemed to echo in the empty room, a countdown to your inevitable discovery. "I can hear your heart racing," he called out, his voice closer than you expected, rich with dark amusement. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as you realized he was in the room with you. "You can't hide from me forever," he purred, the predatory tone in his voice making your stomach flip with a mixture of fear and excitement. You held your breath, pressing yourself further into the shadows, wondering how long you could prolong this exquisite torture before he finally caught you.

Suddenly, a strong hand grasped your shoulder, yanking you up with unexpected force. You found yourself face to face with Minho, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and something darker in the dim light. The moonlight filtering through the dusty windows cast eerie shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his features. Before you could fully process what was happening, he pulled you close, his body heat radiating through your clothes.

Minho's lips crashed against yours in a passionate, almost desperate kiss that left you breathless. At first, you melted into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath your palms. As the kiss deepened, Minho's hunger seemed to grow. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, the slight pain sending a shiver down your spine. His kisses became more demanding, more intense, bordering on bruising. The taste of him - a mixture of mint and something uniquely Minho - filled your senses, making your head spin.

Overwhelmed by the intensity, you shoved your hands hard against his chest, breaking the kiss with an audible smack. Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kisses. Minho stumbled back a step, but quickly regained his composure. His eyes, now dark with desire, roamed over your form, taking in your disheveled appearance and flushed cheeks. A soft smirk played on his lips as he murmured, his voice low and husky, "So fucking pretty when you're scared."

Before you could fully recover, Minho closed the distance between you again. His strong hands found your waist, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you flush against him. You could feel every hard plane of his body pressed against yours, the heat of him seeping through your clothes. His breath was hot against your neck as he leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. "Did I scare you, baby?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent vibrations through your body.

You shivered involuntarily, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The lingering adrenaline from your fear mixed with the undeniable desire his touch ignited in you. Your heart raced, but whether from fear or excitement, you couldn't tell anymore. "You're terrible," you whispered, but there was no real anger in your voice. Instead, it came out breathy and weak, betraying the effect he had on you. Your words held a mixture of reproach and anticipation, your body trembling slightly in his arms as you waited, with bated breath, for what was to come next.

He chuckled, a low, menacing sound that sent your heart into overdrive. "You know I can be way worse," he purred, his voice dripping with dark promise. Your eyes widened as you turned around, heart pounding in your chest. His words sent an electric jolt straight to your core, your clit throbbing with arousal. As you finally got a good look at your boyfriend, your breath caught in your throat. Minho was holding a knife - a large, wicked-looking blade with a matte black finish that seemed to absorb the dim light. He gripped it tightly in his right hand, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the motion.

"What the hell are you doing with that thing?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, a tremor of fear evident in your tone. Minho stayed silent, his only response a slight tilt of his head to the side. His eyes, usually warm and inviting, now held a predatory gleam as they raked over your form. You felt exposed, vulnerable under his intense gaze, as if he was assessing his prey before making his move.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, goosebumps erupting across your skin. Minho's eerie silence and posture only heightened your anxiety, yet you couldn't deny the growing wetness between your thighs. The playful atmosphere from moments ago had evaporated, replaced by a tension so thick you could almost taste it. It was thrilling and unsettling in equal measure, your body caught in a paradox of wanting to flee and yearning to stay.

"I smell you," his melodious voice suddenly pierced through the silence, startling you. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Minho's nostrils flared slightly as he took a deep breath, his eyes darkening with desire. "You're wet for me, aren't you, baby?" he continued, his voice low and husky. "It turns you on that I scare you so much." The amusement in his tone was evident, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Your cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassment warring with arousal as you realized he could sense your body's betrayal. The knife glinted in the dim light as Minho took a step closer, the anticipation of what might come next making your breath catch in your throat.

Suddenly, Minho's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist. With a swift, forceful tug, he pulled you closer, the sudden movement causing you to stumble slightly. His handsome face was mere inches from yours, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks. The intensity of his gaze bore into you, dark eyes glittering with a mixture of mischief and something more sinister. You could see the muscles in his jaw working, as if he was barely restraining himself.

"Let's play a game," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, spreading goosebumps all over your skin. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and threat. Your breath caught in your throat, a potent cocktail of fear and excitement coursing through your veins. Despite the alarm bells ringing in your head, you found yourself nodding, utterly captivated by Minho's dark charisma.

Without warning, Minho tugged you forward again, his grip on your wrist unyielding as he led you deeper into the shadowy hallway. Gone was the gentle touch you were accustomed to; this Minho was all rough edges and barely contained aggression. Your heart raced wildly in your chest as you stumbled after him, your free hand reaching out to steady yourself against the wall. The darkness seemed to press in around you, making each step feel like a plunge into the unknown.

As Minho led you through the luxurious house, your pulse quickened with each step. The floorboards creaked ominously beneath your feet, and you could have sworn you heard whispers echoing from the shadows. "What are you doing?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mixture of uncertainty and fear. The words came out as barely more than a whisper, almost swallowed by the oppressive silence of the house.

Minho remained eerily silent, his only response a slight tightening of his grip on your wrist. You winced at the pressure but didn't dare pull away. His face was a mask of indifference, any hint of emotion carefully concealed behind those dark eyes. You found yourself wondering what thoughts were swirling in the depths of his mind, what plans he had in store for you.

As you rounded a corner, a faint red glow caught your attention. Your eyes widened as you spotted a door slightly ajar, the crimson light spilling out into the hallway like a river of blood. The sight sent a fresh wave of trepidation through you, your imagination running wild with possibilities of what lay beyond that threshold.

Minho pushed the door open wider, revealing a room bathed in a soft crimson light. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight before you: black candles flickered on every surface, casting dancing shadows across the walls. In the center of the room stood a large, ornate bed, its dark sheets a stark contrast to the red glow surrounding it. Your breath caught in your throat as Minho's hand slid from your wrist to the small of your back, gently guiding you into the room, the knife held in his hand still unused but very much in the forefront of your mind.

At first you thought this looked romantic until you took another look noticing that the bed had black steel handcuffs at each corner. Your eyes darted between the bed and Minho, uncertainty, excitement, and fear evident in your face. The sight of those cuffs made your clit throb with anticipation. As he guided you further into the room, the door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both in this crimson-lit sanctuary of desire and fear.

You didn’t dare speak At first, your eyes fixed on Minho's steely face. The tension in the air was palpable, the warring mix of fear and excitement making your skin tingle as if you were vibrating. You watched, heart racing, as Minho slowly approached the bed, his fingers trailing along the silk sheets. “Minho…what is this?” You whispered, your voice trembling slightly. Minho's head tilted, the expressionless mask he made sure to keep up hiding any feelings behind his dark eyes as he turned to face you. His silence was unnerving, but there was an undeniable electricity in the air. Slowly, he reached out, the tip of the knife gently tracing your jawline. It was a gentle steely caress by the blade, not enough to cut you but enough to make you shiver.

The cold metal against your skin made you bite your bottom lip to suppress a whimper, your teeth digging into the soft flesh. Your eyes, wide and filled with a mixture of fear and desire, remained locked on Minho's intense gaze. His eyes, dark as obsidian and just as hard, held a promise of both danger and pleasure that sent a shiver to your core. You felt your breath quicken, coming in short, shallow gasps as he traced the knife down your neck. The sharp edge of the blade barely grazed your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The cool metal contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from your flushed skin, heightening every sensation.

Without warning, Minho's free hand lifted, gripping the collar of your white shirt. With a sudden, forceful tug, he ripped it in two, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the room. You gasped, the mixture of shock and excitement evident in your face as your chest heaved with each rapid breath. "Minho!" His name escaped your lips in a breathless yelp, a mixture of protest and arousal. His response was a dark, rumbling chuckle that reverberated through his chest and into yours. The amusement dancing in his eyes nearly infuriated you, but the heat pooling in your core betrayed your true feelings.

The cool air of the room hit your newly exposed skin, sending a violent shiver down your spine. Your nipples hardened instantly, the sensitive peaks straining against the fabric of your bra. Minho's hands, calloused and warm, found their way to your bare waist. His touch was electric, leaving trails of fire in its wake as he pulled you closer. The heat of his body contrasted sharply with the chill of the room, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

Just as you thought he was going to pull you in for a kiss, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours, he surprised you once again. With a swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your back firmly against his chest. His face found the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin. Each exhale sent a new wave of shivers through your body, your pulse quickening with every passing second. You could feel the solid planes of his chest against your back, the strength in his arms as they encircled your waist.

His hands began to roam your exposed torso, fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you trembling. Every so often, the cool metal of the knife would graze your skin, a sharp reminder of the danger that lurked beneath the passion. The juxtaposition of the warm, rough skin of his hands and the cold, smooth metal of the blade had your senses in overdrive. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your body caught between the instinct to flee and the desire to press closer.

As Minho's exploration continued, your eyes darted to the bed once more. The sight of the cuffs, gleaming ominously in the crimson light, sent a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through you. Your mind raced with possibilities, each more thrilling and terrifying than the last. What did Minho have planned for you in this crimson-lit room? The uncertainty only added to the intoxicating mix of fear and desire that consumed you, leaving you dizzy with want and trembling with anticipation.

He pulled your pants down slowly, leaving you standing in just your underwear. The cool air of the room raised goosebumps on your exposed skin, making you shiver involuntarily. Minho's eyes raked over your body, dark with desire, as he twirled the knife between his fingers. Without warning, he hooked the blade under the elastic of your panties, the cold metal a stark contrast to your heated skin. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sliced through the fabric, letting it fall to the floor in tatters. Your breath hitched as he repeated the process with your bra, the sharp edge of the knife barely grazing your skin as he cut away the last barriers between his gaze and your naked form.

You couldn't deny the thrill that ran through you at the sight of Minho wielding the knife with such precision and control. Your body betrayed your arousal, your pussy clenching as you felt your juices coating the apex of your thighs. Minho's nostrils flared slightly, as if he could smell your excitement, a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands ghosted over your hips, fingers splaying wide as they traced up your torso. The calluses on his palms created a delicious friction against your soft skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. As his fingers traced the curve of your breasts, you couldn't help but arch into his touch, silently begging for more.

You shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his intense scrutiny, but loving the way he gave all of his attention to your body. Every touch, every glance felt like it was setting your skin on fire. Minho's grip returned to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he tightened his hold on your waist. With a forceful tug, he guided you towards the bed, the metal cuffs gleaming ominously in the dim light, seeming to beckon you closer.

"Babe... why won't you speak? This is scary and-" The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement. Before you could finish your sentence, Minho's hand shot out, gripping your throat firmly. His long fingers pressed against your skin, not enough to cut off your air supply completely, but enough to make you gasp. The sudden assertiveness in his actions sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your pussy throbbing in response. You could feel his face close, his hot breath fanning over your ear, causing you to shudder. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous, barely above a whisper, "No more talking. It's time to play."

With those words, Minho firmly pushed you onto the bed, your back hitting the soft sheets with a soft thud. His face remained an impassive mask, but his intentions were clear in every touch, every movement. The weight of his body pressed you into the mattress, his muscular form a cage of flesh and bone that both thrilled and terrified you.

As you lay there, bound and exposed, a potent cocktail of anticipation and vulnerability coursed through your veins. Minho's fingers trailed down your body with exquisite slowness, his touch a paradoxical blend of gentle caresses and possessive grazes. Each brush of his fingertips sent electric shivers rippling across your skin, causing you to arch your back involuntarily, pressing into his touch, silently begging for more.

Your eyes darted frantically between Minho's handsome face, etched with intense concentration, and the menacing knife still clutched in his hand. The blade ghosted over your skin, following the path of his fingers, its cool metal a stark contrast to your feverish flesh. Your heart hammered in your chest, a primal fear of being cut warring with an overwhelming desire for his touch. You wanted to scream, to beg him to put the knife away, but your voice seemed trapped in your throat. Instead, only pleading whimpers and desperate gasps escaped your lips.

"Minho... please..." you finally managed to whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. In an instant, his hand moved, gripping your jaw with bruising force. He yanked your face towards him, forcing you to meet his smoldering gaze. "Didn't I say no more talking?" His voice was low and dangerous, each word dripping with stern authority. Your mouth snapped shut immediately, teeth sinking into your lower lip to stifle any further sounds. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of fear and arousal making them glisten in the dim light.

Minho's hands resumed their torturous exploration, alternating between feather-light touches and firm, almost painful grips. The unpredictability kept you teetering on the edge, your body taut with tension, never knowing what sensation to expect next. Suddenly, his fingers found your nipples, pinching them tightly between his thumb and forefinger. The sharp pain lanced through your body, but it quickly transmuted into a jolt of intense pleasure. A strangled gasp tore from your throat as you arched your back, pushing your breasts further into his merciless grasp.

His fingers continued their relentless assault on your sensitive flesh, twisting, pulling, and flicking your hardened peaks. Each touch sent waves of sensation coursing through your body, the mixture of pain and pleasure so intoxicating that you felt dizzy. Your breath came in short, ragged pants, chest heaving as you struggled against your restraints, desperate for more contact yet simultaneously overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

With deliberate slowness, Minho reached up and grasped your hand, guiding it towards the headboard. The cold metal of the handcuffs bit into your wrist as he locked it in place, the click of the mechanism echoing ominously in the room. He repeated the process with your other hand, effectively immobilizing your arms. The vulnerability of your position sent a fresh wave of both fear and excitement coursing through you.

Minho's strong hands then moved to your legs, gripping your thighs firmly. With a swift, powerful motion, he spread them wide, exposing your most intimate area to the cool air of the room and his hungry gaze. You felt utterly exposed, completely at his mercy. Minho's face tilted as he observed you in this compromising position, his dark, devious eyes roaming over your glistening folds. The intensity of his stare made you feel as if you were being devoured visually, your pussy throbbing under his scrutiny.

"Fucking delicious," he groaned, his voice husky with desire. The knife in his hand glinted as he slowly dragged it up your inner thigh. Your breath hitched, a mixture of fear and anticipation causing your body to tremble uncontrollably. The cool metal of the blade traced a path dangerously close to your aching core, but Minho kept his touch light and teasing, never quite making contact where you desperately wanted it.

Your chest heaved with each ragged breath as Minho leaned down, his face hovering mere inches from your engorged clit. You could feel his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves, the warmth a stark contrast to the cool air on your exposed skin. The combination of your complete vulnerability and the mounting excitement had your heart racing at a frantic pace. Your body trembled with desire, every nerve ending alive and singing with anticipation of what was to come. In this moment, suspended between fear and ecstasy, you had never felt more alive, more aware of every sensation, every breath, every beat of your wildly pounding heart.

You watch, transfixed, as Minho slides off the bed with feline grace. His heated dark honey eyes never leave yours as he begins to undress, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch in your throat. Your eyes hungrily follow every deliberate movement as he slowly peels away each layer of clothing, revealing his sculpted form inch by tantalizing inch.

The dim red light bathes his body in an otherworldly glow, casting deep shadows that accentuate every curve and plane of his muscular physique. His golden skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat, emphasizing the definition of his abs, the sharp cut of his hipbones, and the powerful lines of his thighs. A small scar on his abdomen catches your eye, appearing darker than the rest of his skin in the crimson lighting. The sight of it awakens a primal urge within you - you desperately want to trace it with your tongue, to taste the salt of his skin and feel the slight ridge of healed tissue.

As Minho steps out of his last piece of clothing, you can't help but suck your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes widening at the sight of his fully aroused state. His cock stands proud and thick, so hard that it curves slightly towards his stomach. The veins along its length pulse visibly with need, and a bead of precum glistens at the tip, catching the red light. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, and you feel an answering throb between your legs. Involuntarily, your thighs fall open wider, your body's silent plea for his touch.

Minho stands at the foot of the bed, his head tilted as he surveys your bound form. His eyes rake over you with predatory intent, drinking in the sight of your naked, vulnerable body. The anticipation builds to an almost unbearable level as he slowly approaches, like a panther stalking its prey. One hand ghosts over your ankles, leaving goosebumps in its wake as it trails up your calves and along your inner thighs. The other hand, still clutching that damned knife, follows a parallel path up your body. The flat of the blade glides over your skin, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your core.

Without warning, Minho presses the knife to your throat, the razor-sharp edge biting into your flesh but never quite breaking the skin. Your pulse races beneath the blade, each heartbeat a reminder of your complete surrender to him. "That's my good girl... so tame for me," he coos, his voice a low, dangerous purr that sends shivers down your spine.

Minho's free hand brushes against your drenched core, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. You bite back a moan, too scared of the blade at your throat to make a sound. He explores your folds with agonizing slowness, his touch a maddening combination of gentle caresses and purposeful strokes. His fingers dance lightly over your throbbing clit, barely ghosting over the sensitive bundle of nerves before dragging down the length of your folds. They circle your creamy entrance with painful slowness, gathering your arousal but never dipping inside where you need him most.

You struggle against your restraints, desperate for more contact, for anything to relieve the aching need building within you. But Minho keeps his movements measured and controlled, a stark contrast to the wild, frantic energy thrumming through your body. His eyes, dark with desire, watch your every reaction - the flutter of your eyelashes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your hips cant upwards seeking more pressure. He drinks in your desperation, savoring every moment of exquisite torture he inflicts upon you.

"So wet for me already," he murmurs, his voice low and husky behind the mask. His fingers circle your most sensitive areas again, building the tension in your body with each passing moment. You whimper, biting your lip to keep from begging as he'd instructed earlier. Your hips involuntarily buck upwards, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of him. The ache between your legs intensifies, a throbbing need that consumes your every thought.

Suddenly, Minho withdraws his hand, leaving you trembling and desperate. A small, needy sound escapes your throat as you begin to open your mouth, but he silences you by pressing the cold blade more firmly against your skin. "No," he growls, the single word filled with dark promise. You feel the sharp edge of the knife trailing down your neck, leaving a path of goosebumps in its wake. Minho shifts, positioning himself between your spread legs. His face looms over you as he leans in, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. "Remember," he whispers, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin, "no talking. But I want to hear every other sound you make. Cry for me, little one... let me hear how scared you are." His words send a shiver down your spine, a potent mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

With agonizing slowness, Minho slides his smooth, hard cock through your slick folds. The feeling of him gliding over your aching clit is so exquisite that a loud, uncontrolled moan escapes your lips. Your eyes flutter closed at the overwhelming sensation, your body arching off the bed, seeking more contact. You can feel every ridge, every vein of his length as he teases you, the pressure both too much and not enough. "Jesus..." you hear Minho bite out, his usual composure cracking. The sexual tension in the air is palpable, crackling between you like electricity. You can feel the desire radiating off him in waves, his muscles taut and hard against your soft curves. His breathing becomes more ragged, matching the frantic pace of your own. The anticipation builds to an almost unbearable level as you wait, trembling, for his next move.

Then, with no warning at all, Minho enters you in one swift, powerful thrust. You gasp sharply, the sensation overwhelming every nerve in your body. His thick length stretches you wide, the delicious burn of the initial penetration mingling with waves of intense pleasure. Your eyes roll back in your head as he fills you completely, the feeling so exquisite it borders on painful.

Minho shows no mercy, no gentleness. His hips snap back, almost withdrawing entirely before slamming forward again with bruising force. Each thrust is deep and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. You cry out loudly, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain as he sets a punishing rhythm.

The handcuffs bite into your wrists as you instinctively pull against them, your body arching off the bed with each powerful thrust. The metal restraints hold you firmly in place, leaving you completely at Minho's mercy as he takes you with animalistic intensity. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him impossibly deeper.

Pleasure builds rapidly within you, your body responding eagerly to Minho's rough treatment. Each thrust sends jolts of ecstasy coursing through your veins, the pain only serving to heighten your arousal. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your inner walls clenching around him as he drives into you relentlessly.

Through it all, Minho's grip on the knife never wavers. The cold, sharp edge remains pressed against your throat, a constant reminder of the danger, the fear, the exhilarating thrill of surrendering control. The blade moves with each of your frantic breaths, the threat of it cutting into your skin adding an extra layer of intensity to the overwhelming sensations assaulting your body.

Minho's carefully placed expressionless mask finally cracks as his plump lips part and a guttural groan escapes them. The sound sends shivers down your spine, raw and primal. Your heart races, pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat, right where the cold blade still presses against your skin. The biting pain of the knife's edge and the overwhelming desire coursing through your veins create an intoxicating cocktail of sensations, each amplifying the other.

Despite the fear - or perhaps because of it - you find yourself arching into his touch, your body betraying your desperate need for more. Every nerve ending feels electrified, hyper-aware of Minho's presence above you, the heat radiating from his skin, the slight tremor in his muscles as he fights for control. The tension between you is palpable, thick enough to cut with the very knife he wields.

"More..." you whine, the word escaping your lips before you can stop it. You tug hard at the handcuffs, the metal chafing your soft skin, leaving angry red marks that only fuel your arousal. The pain blends seamlessly with pleasure, until you can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins. "Let me touch you, please!" you nearly cry out, your voice a broken, pleading whisper. The desperation in your tone surprises even you, but you're too far gone to care. All you know is that you need to feel him, to run your hands over his sweat-slicked skin, to pull him closer until there's no space left between you.

Minho silences you with a searing kiss, his teeth grazing your lower lip with just enough pressure to elicit a gasp of mingled pain and pleasure. The metallic tang of blood mingles with the taste of his tongue as it invades your mouth, dominating and possessive. His free hand releases the knife, the clatter of metal on wood barely registering as it hits the floor. Both hands now tangle in your hair, fingers twisting in the strands until your scalp tingles with the exquisite pain.

With a sharp tug, he wrenches your head back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat. You can't suppress the yelp that escapes you, the sound a mix of surprise and arousal. Minho's lips ghost over your pulse point, his hot breath fanning across your hypersensitive skin. "You know I love you," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous growl that sends shivers down your spine, "but I'm going to fuck you like I hate you."

True to his word, Minho begins to drive into you with relentless force. Each thrust is deep and punishing, the angle allowing him to hit that spot deep inside you that makes your vision blur. Your cries echo off the walls, a symphony of pleasure and pain that only seems to spur him on. His grip on your hair never wavers, keeping you pinned in place as he takes you with animalistic intensity.

The pleasure builds rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your lower abdomen. Your body trembles uncontrollably, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Minho's hands finally release your hair, only to grip your hips with bruising force. He pulls you closer, somehow managing to drive even deeper. "Fuck," he growls, his usually controlled voice rough with desire. You can hear the strain in his tone, feel the tremor in his muscles as he fights for control.

The intensity of the moment is overwhelming. Your body is slick with sweat, the crimson light casting an otherworldly glow on your skin. Tears burn in your eyes, threatening to spill over as Minho fucks you with an intensity that borders on too much. You're teetering on the edge of begging him to stop, yet craving more at the same time. Every nerve in your body is singing, alive with sensation in a way you've never experienced before.

Minho's presence looms over you, his powerful body caging you in. His own grunts and moans of pleasure mix with your desperate cries, creating a primal chorus that fills the room. You can feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment. Minho's thrusts become more erratic, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own release. The air between you is electric, charged with the intensity of your shared pleasure as you both hurtle towards the precipice of ecstasy.

Suddenly, Minho's movements become more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully as he nears his own climax. The tension in your body reaches its peak, and with a final, powerful thrust, you're both sent over the edge. Waves of intense pleasure crash over you as you nearly scream, your body arching off the bed despite the restraints. Your inner walls clench rhythmically around him, milking every last drop as he spills himself deep inside you.

As the intense waves of pleasure subside, you lie there panting, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Tears of overwhelming emotion slip from your eyes, trailing down your flushed cheeks. Minho collapses beside you, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. His body glistens with a sheen of sweat, the crimson light accentuating the defined muscles of his torso. His cock, still semi-hard, shines with the mix of your combined juices.

With a gentle touch, Minho reaches into the nightstand and retrieves a small key. He carefully unlocks both of your restraints, his fingers lingering on the reddened marks left behind. Your arms, limp with exhaustion, fall to the mattress. Despite your fatigue, you manage to languidly reach over and caress his handsome, sweat-dampened face. His eyes meet yours, dark pools filled with a mixture of love, lingering desire, and a hint of concern.

A small, tender smile plays on his lips as he leans in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. His fingers, now impossibly soft compared to their earlier roughness, wipe at the tears on your skin as he moves closer. "Are you okay?" He murmurs, his voice a low, affectionate rumble. His hands gently grasp yours, bringing them to his lips to place feather-light kisses on the raw spots encircling your wrists.

You don't answer right away, mesmerized by his gentle ministrations. You watch as he kisses up your arm, his lips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. He moves to your shoulder, then up your neck, his touch now reverent and soothing. He lingers on the small red mark the knife left behind, licking over it with his soft tongue as if trying to erase any trace of harm.

"Yes..." you finally say, your voice slightly hoarse from your earlier cries of passion. A mischievous glint enters your eyes as you add, "But next time you're going in these fucking cuffs." Your fingers trace the metal restraints still attached to the headboard, emphasizing your point.

Minho's laughter bubbles up, a rich, warm sound that fills the room. His eyes crinkle at the corners, softening his features as he gazes at you with unbridled affection. The tension from earlier melts away, replaced by a tender intimacy that wraps around you both like a cocoon.

With deliberate slowness, he leans in, his breath ghosting over your lips. The first brush of his mouth against yours is feather-light, a stark contrast to the passionate frenzy of before. His lips move languidly, savoring every moment of connection. One hand cups your cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin, while the other arm snakes around your waist, drawing you impossibly closer.

As he deepens the kiss, you can taste the lingering sweetness of his earlier laughter. His embrace tightens, strong arms enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and security. The solid planes of his chest press against you, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your own. In this moment, wrapped in Minho's loving embrace, you feel utterly safe and cherished, the fear and intensity of earlier giving way to a profound sense of belonging.

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dewdropdinosaur · 2 months ago

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Kinktober Day 14: Collaring

Summary: Alastor had carved out a nice little undead life for himself. Drawn by the intoxicating allure of power and freedom from the mundane, he had willingly sold his soul to you, believing it would grant him unimaginable strength. And that comes back to bite him, like you always do. Warnings: Collaring, pet names, dom-sub dynamics, slight dub-con implications, use of magic as restraints, etc. MDNI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @tarokitsu

It was true, Alastor had carved a nice undead life for himself. Once a mere mortal with dreams of violent grandeur, he had stumbled face first into the fiery pits of Hell. Damn his way of death but then again so was life, or so the joke went. Roaming around aimlessly with no where to go, his undead life was truly in the hands of fate. The source of his power a mystery to all but you, the powerful overlord of chaos. Drawn by the intoxicating allure of power and freedom from the mundane, he had willingly sold his soul to you, believing it would grant him unimaginable strength. It did, for the most part. Years had passed since Alastor’s hand had wrapped in your glowing red ones, and he thrived in the chaotic realm, his reputation growing. He reveled in mischief, manipulating the very fabric of Hell, yet the memory of his pact lingered in the back of his mind like an unwelcome guest. You would often visit every couple months or so, caressing the edges of him mind with a gentle reminder of his pledges to you.

Alastor, you will be an obidient and loyal servant till his undead live end and in return, I shall grant you power not even the King of Hell himself can comprehend.

And so the years went on. Amid a chaotic feast of souls, Alastor was plotting his next broadcast without a care in the world. The dimming light of the Hellish day was coming to an end and so were the daily activities of the Radio Demon. A perfect time to stir the pot. Your form appeared in a swirling mass of shadows and light, eyes glinting like red supernovas in a void. Soon, Alastor’s evening revelry faded, and a palpable tension filled the air as you surveyed your domain.

“Alastor,” you called, voice a melody that both thrilled and haunted him. “It’s time to fulfill your end of our agreement.”

He straightened, a confident grin plastered on his face, masking the dread bubbling beneath. “Of course, my lady! I’ve been quite busy, you know. So many souls, so little time.”

Your gaze sharpened, and he felt the weight of your intent. “You think your tricks and games can postpone your payment? I need more than your fleeting soul capturing.” The atmosphere shifted as you advanced, a whirlwind of chaotic energy swirling around you.

Alastor’s bravado faltered. “Payment? Surely, I’ve given enough in my service!”

In an instant, you summoned a red collar with a snap of your wrist, shimmering with dark energy. It coiled like a serpent in your grasp, a symbol of submission and power intertwined. You tsked softly, a small smirked coming to form maliciously on your features. “We play this game every time my dear. Every. Single. Time. Don’t you get bored of the disodience?”

Alastor’s heart raced. He had danced on the edge of fear and arousal, and was soon finding himself falling off the deep end of the latter. “Y/N, please—”

“This is your due. A token of your servitude. You will wear it willingly, or I will make you.”

Before Alastor could finish a strangled plea, you moved with a speed that left him breathless, the collar snapping around his neck. The moment it closed, a surge of power coursed through him, forcing him to his knees. The chain linked to the collar glinted ominously, tethering him to you will. You admired the way he looked beneath you, so beligerant. He always was in the beginning but after years of this little game, you knew just how to make him keel. How to beg and plead to have any modicum of friction, how his eyes would tear up in ecasty as you made him find a demeanted form of heavenly release time after time. You revelved in that sight, in the luxury of seeing such a man as him bend and break under your will and cry for more.

“Look at you,” you purred, the thrill of dominance evident in you voice. “You were so eager for power, yet now you kneel, bound by the very thing you sought to control.”

Alastor swallowed hard, a mix of attraction and acceptance swirling within him. He had gambled with his soul, and now he faced the oh-so delicious consequences.

With that, you tugged the chain, pulling him closer. Alastor felt his pride start to wither away, yet he couldn’t ignore the strange thrill coursing through him. His ears laid flush against his head, clawed hands coming to grip the floorboards beneath him. He loved when you tugged on his chain, the pain shot through him in a sick sense of sadistic pleasure that never failed to make him hard. Craning your head down, eyes now level with his, you stood over him with a shit-eating grin and a imposing figure.

“Now my pet, shall we play?”

He couldn’t resist when your lips crashed onto his, sealing his eternal damnation to you and you alone.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months ago

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book 7 part 7 thoughts!

***THIS POST CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7, PART 7 OF THE MAIN STORY!!***

There are only 16 new chapters total in this update; with this, we are up to chapter 116 in book 7.

You should check out this livestream if you want a more part-by-part summarized translation of what's going on and/or if you want to hear the voices and watch the characters along with the commentary!

Please note: this is NOT meant to be a summary or a translation; these are only my initial thoughts on the events that unfold. There may be details overlooked or misunderstood in this post, so PLEASE do not use this as a translation.

As expected, we start off where we left off last update; Yuu, Grim, Silver, and Sebek have met up with the Shroud brothers. (Lilia is not with them.) According to Idia, they are still in a dream realm since Sebek is still in armor which he cannot bring back into reality. Ortho is present via a projection of some sort.

It's weird seeing Idia, Sebek, and Silver introducing themselves to one another in the main story and acting as though they've NEVER met before; they were all featured in Glorious Masquerade and interacted quite frequently. I'm aware that the main story and events don't share the same timeline, but it's still quite the jarring knowledge gap to witness.

ADFIHBADIYFBIOAFBEWQVUQOCAB SILVER AND SEBEK SUDDENLY CLOSE IN ON IDIA TO PROTECT HIM FROM SOMETHING THEY SENSE, HE CAN'T BREATHE... Waaaah, Idia... You're a princess squished between two pretty boy knights wwww

Idia and Ortho tell us that Malleus is expending a lot of energy to monitor Lilia in particular...? Ortho then goes on to explain that his "individuality" has become useful. Even though he cannot have a UM (okay, so confirmed that Ace is the last one to gain it shjdbahsdbasda), he is the only one capable of transferring his consciousness from one body to another. This is how he was able to reach out to Idia and the others!

Ortho tells them about his Cerberus Gear. We get a flashback of what he was up after getting suited up; he's flying over Sage's Island to collect information on Malleus's UM for STYX.

Thorns pierce through the clouds and Ortho battles them! STYX sends reinforcements (not personnel, but like technology/cannons?) to help Ortho. The thorns form a short of shield over Sage's Island, so he breaks through via a weak point. asdbhbaisdbals It's so unsettling to see the port looking so dark and depressing...

Ortho's mom reminds him he can only stay in there safely for 20 minutes. Aw, she cares so much about Or-kun 😭

It's going to take over several minutes (I think 17) just to analyze the complex nature of Malleus's magic and save it. While the analysis anchor does its job, Ortho has to protect it!

OH SHIT IT'S OB MALLEUS

ebfyvoFoaHhahaahahaHHhahaahah ORTHOS STARTS TALKING ABOUT A BUNCH OF TECH STUFF LIKE WIRELESS TO EXPLAIN TO MALLEUS HOW HE CHANGED BODIES, Malleus surprisingly understands???? I half expected him to combust on the spot from confusion... DBHLBSYOFOFYAAFIAFIL MALLEUS IS BEING DUNKED ON BY A CHILD, Ortho says that since magic is powered by imagination, Malleus cannot block Ortho's advances or force his new body under sleep since Malleus does not understand tech.

I can't believe him being shit with tech is actually relevant to the plot 💀

AEFHLBFBYFOVYFEQRUROQ OB MALLEUS PROCEEDS TO RESPOND WITH VIOLENCE, HE'S GOING TO DESTROY THE ANALYTICAL ANCHOR SO ORTHO DECIDES TO FIGHT BACK

RIP Or-kun, he could only resist for so long... his attacks have no effect in this domain where Malleus has complete control.

JUST 30 SECONDS BEFORE THE ANALYSIS ENDS, QUICK ORTHO STALL HIM BY SHIT TALKING MORE!!! I KNOW CHILDREN CAN BE SAVAGE, SO UNLEASH YOUR WRATH

HFBFYOAEOFYEEIAFL MALLEUS.?>??? ?? ? ?? ???? HE IMPLIED HE'S GOING TO KILL OFF ORTHO AND THEN GOES OFF (?) ON ONE OF HIS DOGGIE DRONES...

"Good night, little Shroud." You have to hear it for yourself, it sounds very ominous 💀 He really said he ain't above child murder, eh?

??? For a second Malleus froze and his shot missed? So Ortho decides on a strategic retreat with the second dog drone. NO MALLEUS ENDED 02 TOO, IT TOOK A BLOW FOR ORTHO WHILE HE RETRIEVES THE ANCHOR

We cut back to STYX, which is dedicating its resources to creating an opening in Malleus's barrier for Ortho to escape. He clears the barrier!!

Aaaaaaah, another cute moment for Shroud Mama! She and Shroud Papa collapse onto the floor in relief. He has sustained some damage, but his core is intact!

One line I really like from Malleus is him referring to Ortho and others as "uninvited guests" that he's going to chase off no matter what.

NOOOOO THEY CONFIRMED BOTH DOGGIE DRONES GOT MCMURDERED IN THERE OTL Never forgiving Malleus for this, fr (Shroud Mama says she can fix them though so we're all good!)

They tell Ortho "welcome back" and Ortho says "I'm back" 😭 AND THEY GROUP HUG

RUH-ROH

Shroud Papa says that Malleus's UM... reminds him of Grim's magic... WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN

STYX has support from Briar Valley, which should help with their analysis. However, the results so far are not looking good. According to Shroud Papa, the barrier is 99% impossible to destroy unless either Malleus dies OR Malleus chooses to lower the barrier himself.

It's not plausible for Mama to make enough Cerberus Gears for a whole army. Besides, if they they destroy the barrier, Shroud Mama theorizes that they may also accidentally destroy the consciousnesses of everyone on Sage's Island... so that's definitely not an option!

FJLDADBIAFSVYOFFEQFA ORTHOS UGGESTED TELLING MALLEUS "Your grandma is so sad" FROM OUTSIDE THE BARRIER TO CONVINCE HIM TO LOWER THE SHIELD........ . . . ....... . . .. .... .. . . . . .. . . ... . . LIKE IN THE OLD MOVIES

They're now looking into Idia's dream on a monitor? Ortho notices Idia's dorm room does not have Ortho's mainenance dock, so... um, he realizes that Idia must be dreaming about an alternate world where his little brother never passed.

Shroud Mama is going to try and "hack" into the dream spaces. AJAFSVOSvfvfefea SHE HAS A CUTE LITTLE GREMLIN GIGGLE??? She's very fired up because Malleus insulted mankind's best technology, saying it cannot stand up to his magic. (aslbhflasbifabfd THIS IS WHERE IDIA GETS IT FROM????????)

"It's rare to see Idia so happy." LDBHbiadib THIS BOY IS MAD DEPRESSED, LET HIM BE

"Isn't it time that everyone got tired of the dream world and want to return to reality?" No, Shroud Mama. I guarantee you that most TWST fans WANT to stay in Twisted Wonderland and don't want new content to stop coming out, this is our escapism :)

WAAAAAH ORTHO HE'S REPEATING THE LINE VIL TOLD HIM, THEY HAVE TO TRY BECAUSE NOT TRYING IS ALWAYS 0% BUT 0.001% HAS THE POSSIBILITY TO BECOME 100%

Shroud Papa warns Ortho that Idia may reject reality, and therefore "this" Ortho. He's concerned that this will put Ortho through a lot of emotional stress. Shroud Papa wants professionals (psychologists) to try and contact Idia instead of Ortho.

ADFILBAFIYAEGIYQEFBIAF ORTHO HAS SO MUCH FAITH IN HIS OLDER BROTHER, he says Idia would get hype about a cute robot boy trying to get in contact with him, this means he'll become a protagonist like in his light novels!

DNBHdsvyofwFTOwqihbyow8fS WE'RE GOING TO IDIA'S DREAM NOW, he pulled like 3 SSRs of his favorite character (of course he'd dream this, OF COURSE).

Video chat notif from Ortho???

OMG IT'S ROBOT ORTHO AND IDIA FREAKS OUT THINKING IT'S COSPLAY

Ortho reintroduces himself. "It's nice to meet you for the first time in 'this' world!" Idia starts to laugh and assumes it's Ortho's avatar for virtual chat, that kind of thing. Or maybe Ortho is talking about the plot of a new anime?

ILBFIBYADBFADBEFQFIPo; IDIA REPEATS THE EXACT LINES ORTHO SAID HE WOULD SAY, THAT HE'S THE CHOSEN ONE BEING CONTACTED BY A CUTE ROBOT BOY

Here's the breakdown... Idia gets a headache and finally realizes the truth. afhbBIfieeq;ofBHQEF;????? ?the DREMA ORTHO IS CALLING HIMAND TEELLING HIM THE REAL ORTHO IS A FAKE, DON'T LISTEN TO HIM (this is THE definition of gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss).

DREAM!ORTHO TRIES TO PULL IDIA DEEPER INTO THE DREAM, TELLING HIM HE'S JUST SLEEPY FROM GAMING TOO MUCH SO GO BACK TO SLEEP

Oooh, interesting that RSA!Ortho still appears to be similar in body type to Robo!Ortho? I always assumed Ortho was small because Idia kept him "preserved" in the moment of death. Maybe the dream Ortho is just modelled after Robo!Ortho since that's what Idia's memories are familiar with.

Idia loops back around again to the start of his dream, where he is in ceremonial robes and Malleus approaches him. HERE COMES MALLEUS TO GASLIGHT HIS CLASSMATES AGAIN

adhfgyoafdodp THERE'S A LIGHT FROM THE SKY???? TSUMTSUMS???????? GOD?????? AND ANIME ON IDIA'S SIDE?????? OMG, here comes Ortho in his Cerberus Gear come to save the day! Idia recognizes STYX's emblem.

UH-OH, MALLEUSIS PISSED THAT ORTHO SURPRISED HIM TWICE"Stand down, you fools." MALEFICENT ENERGY IS OFF THE CHARTS

Idia recognizes Malleus as being in Overblot adhbafliafa AND THE SKY STARTS CRACKING because Ortho is not meant to exist in this dream. He basically goes against the canon www

Malleus teleports away (yeah, FUCK IDIA I guess) and leaves them to be swallowed by the abyss. Idia's being pulled into the darkness, and their mom's voice comes in warning Ortho to stay away before more damage occurs. Idia recognizes his mom's voice and remembers even more!!

Aw, Ortho promises to save his brother...

Idia is at the gates to the Underworld again? Phantom Ortho says Idia fell there and speaks to him kind of in a friendly manner. "It's too early for a reunion."

asfkjlnsUPBUADGPAGB IDIA IS SO CONFUSED, HE'S WONDERING WHY A PHANTOM IS CALLING HIM BIG BRO, HE STILL BELIEVES THAT HIS BROTHER GOES TO RSA AND THAT THIS IS A NIGHTMARE Idia is sooooo in denial...

Phantom Ortho reassures Idia that his death is not his fault, so please stop blaming himself... that Idia promised he would live without looking back, so he should look at the truth.

WHOOOOO HE REMEMBERS BOOK 6 FELLAS

AYO WE GOT IDIA CRYING AND IT'S ANIMATED, WE SEE THE TEARS ROLLING DOWN HIS CHEEKS, WE WINNIN'

"I'm always being saved by my little brothers (YES PLURAL, WEH), I'm such a pathetic big brother."

Ah, so now Phantom Ortho calls himself "King of the Underworld" says Idia cannot leave since it's not a good example for the rest of the phantoms. It's going to be the boss!

OOOOOH IDIA'S HAIR GOES FULL DIFFERENT COLOR + new facial expression (we previously only saw the hair change color in his Dorm Uniform Groovy and his Suitor Suit Groovy).

IDIA CALLS HIS FAMILY CURSE A BLESSING, he gets more power in areas with lots of blot since there is more fuel for him to burn. HASDIYASODBASID IDIA OBS TO FIGHT PHANTOM ORTHO??????? IS THIS A PREVIEW FOR OVERBLOT CARDS OR SOMETHING

They have the same battle lines about how they will be "free"...

IDIA'S CRINGE ERA RETURNSSSSSSSS (he's making those cringe sound effects of blowing things up) and claims the title of "King of the Underworld" (the same title given to players who own 10 cards of a particular character).

afhbabilfbialfi IDIA LAUGHS SO HARD HE CHOKES

He finally uses his UM to open the gates and escape, telling Phantom!Ortho he cannot stay there. PHANTOM!ORTHO LOVINGLY WISHES HIS BROTHER SAFE TRAVELS, AW "The whole universe is waiting for you."

Idia tries to wake up and hears Dream!Ortho's voice??? BUT IDIA IS FULLY AWAKE NOW, HE KNOWS IT'S SUCH A DREAM He has finally accepted Ortho's death AND calls both the robot brother and the dead brother as his "brotherS"

Idia points out all the discrepancies in the dream... adfbilasdibalbiaflb I LOVE HOW EVERYONE KEEPS CALLING RSA A "SHINY" SCHOOL, Idia's all like, "No WAY is my little brother going to a school like that!"

THE DREAM ORTHO PANICS AND BEGS IDIA TO LISTEN TO HIM BADSBILADIAIDVFADIL IDIA TELLS THE DREAM ORTHO "Sorry, I don't like anyone other than anime/game characters calling me onii-chan!" IBRO, YOU'RE OUTTING YOURSELF LIEK THIS????????? ? ????? ????

He plots revenge on the person that would dare show him this disgusting dream, he's ready to FILE A COMPLAINT to them! (Watch out, Draconia, this otaku is coming for YOUR ASS) sayusdbyosfvayf What's with Malleus pissing off big bros with dead little bros...

Idia finally reunites in his dream with Robo!Ortho and apologizes for the hurtful things he said... Ortho talks about the adventures he has been on + explains what has been going on. Basically, they reconcile without a problem!

After all the summary, Idia first comments on how shocked he is that their mom hacked into his computer 🤡 Yeah, Idia... she saw everything... Ortho tells him it's okay, she didn't comment! BUT THAT MAKES IDIA EVEN MORE UPSET, "it's the worst thing for a male high school student!" It just might make him Overblot a THIRD time www

I can't believe THIS of all things is what makes Idia seek revenge on Malleus... (HE SAYS HE WANTS MALLEUS TO CRY AND BEG FOR FORGIVENESS)

Idia is really out here about to doxx Malleus huh 💀

I honestly was not expecting to cry this update (since I was thinking it would just be a flashback about how Ortho "woke up" Idia) but NOPE, I just guess every update now is going to elicit tears... I've always been highly invested in the Shroud brothers' storyline, so I'm really happy they touched on it again here and enhanced it by giving us more Shroud Mama and Papa, as well as Phantom!Ortho. It was sweet to see Idia recognize Phantom!Ortho as his brother too instead of completely renouncing him or "replacing" him with Robo!Ortho. ihbdiladqeofqbeafnasi The updates are making me like Idia more, but in the same way you'd like a character for being pathetic... Man made SO many dog chew toy nosies this time 😭

I did not expect Malleus to be so... pro-child murder/j He will stop at nothing to keep everyone under his thumb, and that's so awful. There was so much gaslighting in this part as well, even if Malleus is not directly doing it himself. The fact that his magic can just... do that on its own is... It sort of gives me the vibes of trying to enforce a toxic kind of positivity on everyone, which in of itself has its roots in his own insecurities and inability to cope with loss. He's projecting that onto everyone else, and that has very scary results as we see here.

There were a lot of memes pre-book 7 about how Malleus's inability to understand technology would come to bite him in the ass later, and all of those fans can now feel vindicated because WELL, IT CAME TRUE.

And last, but not least, I'm shocked at Idia's reason for wanting to fistfight Malleus 🤡 BRO'S MAD FR FR... WHAT MUST HIS MOM HAVE SEEN ON HIS COMPUTER TO MAKE HIM SO AGGRO... WAS IT LEWDS OR SOMETHING???????? ?? ? ??? ?????? ?? Glad that Idia is on our side now, this is an excellent place to leave off on for next time!!

#twisted wonderland #twst #Malleus Draconia #Idia Shroud #Diasomnia #Ortho Shroud #Yuu #Sebek Zigvolt #Lilia Vanrouge #Silver #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #Ignihyde #Maleficia Draconia #Maleficent #Grim #book 7 part 7 spoilers

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somedaylazysomeday · 9 months ago

Text

Dreams - Part Four

After your conversation with Jareth, you experience yet another restless night.

Jareth x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors, please do not interact.

Word Count: 5,300

Warnings: Sleeplessness, suggestive language, themes of being trapped, ominous warnings, masturbation (interrupted), sex toy use, negotiation, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, discussions of boundaries.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

You had avoided sleep that night for as long as you could manage.

Yes, according to Jareth, the labyrinth’s hold on you was already too strong to fight. You would continue being pulled along those stone corridors until you found yourself unable to leave them. And, honestly, you didn’t want to look too closely at how your life would progress after that point.

It may have been a losing battle, but what was the alternative? You had never been one to meekly let someone control your life. Not parents or friends, jobs or partners. And certainly not unbearably cocky Goblin Kings and their labyrinths.

But in the end, you would have been better off sleeping as early as possible. Rather than the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the labyrinth, the only thing that greeted your eyes when you fell asleep on your couch was darkness.

You woke up a few hours later, neck aching from the awkward angle your head had fallen into and confused to see your ceiling rather than the orange sky over the labyrinth.

You sat up - groaning and massaging the muscles of your neck as you did so - and tried to process what had happened. Dreams of the labyrinth had been unrelenting since your last meeting with Jareth. And now that you had met him again, they had stopped?

No. You didn't trust it.

When you reluctantly went to undress and brush your teeth, you had the strangest sensation at the back of your sore neck. It was almost a…tingle. A faint buzz. Your first instinct was to blame it on Jareth and more fae nonsense, but you eventually had to admit that you had energy for the first time in weeks. Not as much as you needed and certainly not enough to fully restore you, but it was better than nothing. It was almost enough to give you hope.

With that tender and delicate hope filling you, you climbed into bed and settled under the covers. Despite feeling more rested than you had in a while, you still found yourself dropping quickly into the abyss when you closed your eyes.

Only to find yourself utterly exasperated when you started to dream.

“What could you possibly want?” you demanded, rounding on Jareth.

To his credit, the Goblin King looked surprised for only a moment before his expression changed to pleasant blankness with a glimmer of distant mischief. “Well, if you’re offering…”

“I’m not offering anything,” you shut down immediately. “But we already spoke today, which is more interaction than we’ve had in months. Earlier, I had some blissful sleep without any interruptions. Why am I dreaming of you now?”

“I would think the more pressing question would be why you are not dreaming of my labyrinth.” Jareth tipped his head to the side and you could only be glad you were in a dream. If you were in the real world, a movement that dramatic would have left everything in a five foot radius coated in glitter.

You narrowed your eyes at him. You weren’t stupid enough to miss the redirection, but it was something you were curious about as well. “Fine. Why am I dreaming about you and not the labyrinth?”

“Your dream of a horse and its potential rider. Until I have managed to reach the responsible party, you will not dream of the labyrinth again,” Jareth told you. He managed to sound simultaneously unruffled and irritated by that. It was a neat trick. “But its hold on you will not lessen.”

“Fascinating,” you said flatly. “And now, for the second time: why am I dreaming of you?”

“Perhaps you missed me,” he suggested with a sly smile.

“That’s not it,” you assured him. “But honestly? I’m less concerned about figuring out the cause than I am with finding a solution. I want to end this so I can get some sleep.”

“One moment, my little champion.” You glanced back at Jareth expectantly, having already started walking away. “As it happens, this meeting is fortuitous. I have more information about your mysterious dream.”

You stared at him. “I don’t really need to know a horse’s name.”

“I agree,” Jareth told you easily. “Names hold power. But if you are in the labyrinth and hear hoofbeats, run.”

“I did that and it didn’t help very much.”

He continued as if you hadn’t spoken at all. “And if you hear hoofbeats when you are awake, immediately go inside the nearest building. Call a taxi or take transportation to your destination, but do not walk long distances. That would be a wise choice in general: minimize your time outdoors, especially when you are alone.”

By that point, your interest had been piqued. “It sounds like you know exactly who or what the horse is.”

“I have my theories,” he said darkly. “An old enemy, intent on interfering with my plans. Yet until they take official responsibility for the attack on you, I cannot make any official moves in response. So we wait.”

You nodded slowly. Someone working against Jareth’s plans for you could be useful. From everything you remembered about the fairy stories while you were growing up, there was no such thing as a true fae ally, but perhaps the enemy of your enemy could indeed be your friend…

“Whatever you are thinking, pet,” Jareth interrupted, voice cracking harshly across your skin, “stop. If the one behind this attack is who I believe it to be, they are far more likely to kill you than help you escape me. You are of no use to me dead - they will have no such reservations.”

“Fine,” you agreed, feeling unsteady at the idea that being involved with Jareth against your will had lined up enemies against you. Talk about being kicked when you were down. “So, run when I hear hoofbeats, or get into the nearest building. No walking long distances outside, especially when I’m alone.”

“Precisely.”

Silence fell thick and uncomfortable. You shook your head sharply, pulling yourself back to the moment. The motion attracted Jareth’s attention as well. “Well, this has been an enlightening and incredibly disconcerting meeting. Thanks for that, I guess. Will you please stay out of my dreams now?”

“I already told you, I am not the one who brought us together,” the Goblin King said.

“Fine, then I’m going to try a second time for dreamless sleep.” You turned away. “Bye.”

“Are you certain you wish to do that?”

You stopped short, suspicion rising in you. Turning your head slightly allowed you to keep Jareth in your line of sight. “Why?”

Jareth stepped closer, motions deliberate. Of course, you were back in the nothingness where you had been the first time you met with him in a dream, so it was hard to gauge how far away he truly was. “Do you not wish to take advantage of this time? I cannot help but remember the last time we found ourselves in a position like this one.”

You gave an inelegant scoff, trying to impart the full strength of your disbelief only through an expression. “How can I even begin to list the reasons that would be a terrible choice on my part? I’ll start with the lack of sleep, continue with the light stalking you’ve been doing for the past few months, and then… Well, considering how sleeping with you worked out for me the last time…”

Jareth listened patiently through your refusal and explanation, waiting until you had stopped listing things to counter. “There is nothing more I can gain from our being together. Other than the pleasure of being with you, of course.”

“Of course,” you agreed sarcastically. “Why should I believe that?”

“Because I cannot lie to you, of course.” The gesture he gave was flourishing and entirely unnecessary. “And, much as I despise leveling accusations toward your so-impressive independence… I know that you need me.”

“To what, exactly?” You planted your hands on your hips and watched him take another subtle step toward you. “To ruin my life in even more creative ways?”

He lifted one elegant brow. “How could your life possibly be ruined by someone whose presence you hardly notice?”

“Your ego cannot be the reason you’re tormenting me right now.”

“As if there is anything more important.”

You sighed sharply. “Okay, if it speeds this conversation along, I’ll bite: why do I need you?”

Jareth grinned, exposing a pearly flash of those unnervingly sharp teeth, and took a final step toward you. It closed the space that had once existed between you, and you found your heartbeat picking up at the overwhelming closeness of him.

“You need me…” he drawled, pausing to draw a slow breath through his nose, “to satisfy that desperate ache deep inside of you. And as for biting? Do as you please.”

You did your best to ignore the filthy smirk he gave you with the invitation. Instead, you took stock of your body. Jareth was a first-class asshole, but he had a direct line to your libido. You had been too exhausted to get together with anyone since the ill-fated encounter you’d shared with Jareth, and you were feeling the lack of physical contact. Still, you would have to be stupid to fall for that again.

But nothing said you couldn’t mess with him a little.

The duck of your head hid any mischief that might have otherwise been apparent and made you look flustered. You were fine with that. “I can take care of any aches by myself.”

“Can you?” he asked, voice silky. “I think you fall short of it. Your fingers can’t reach where you need me, and toys only stoke the burn. Am I correct?”

He took a half-step closer, pressing against you. The feeling of his hard length against your hip made you swallow loudly, irritated by the heat that ran through you at the sensation. That heat was stoked even further as he slotted a leg between yours. “I’m sorry, pet, I didn’t hear your answer. Am I correct?”

“I… shouldn’t,” you admitted softly. “There are things you don’t know about me. Important things.”

“Mmm?” Jareth hummed, lips pressing just above your ear. The low laugh he gave made you shiver, chills running through every inch of you. He shifted, putting pressure on a very sensitive place with his thigh. “I know everything there is to know about you. I have made a point of it. There is nothing you could possibly have hidden.”

“That’s not true,” you told him, though it was gasped out with a helpless moan as his teeth nipped at your neck. “You don’t know the things I did after I ran your labyrinth the first time.”

“What did you do?” he asked, sounding intrigued. “Tell me, sweet.”

“I spent a lot of time thinking about you.” Your head fell to the side as Jareth applied stinging pressure to your skin. “And even more time… practicing…”

Jareth pulled back, mismatched eyes studying your face with intimidating intensity, heat dancing over his expression. “Practicing what?”

Your eyes were hooded as they met his, a smile curving your lips. Your hips gave a instinctive little rock, grinding your core against the solidity of his thigh. “Lucid dreaming.”

And then you drew every ounce of strength you had, dredging up the memories of the lucid dream training you had done - on your own and encouraged by a therapist during your college years. With an incredible strain, you wrenched yourself awake.

Even with the high of triumph, there was no getting around it: you were uncomfortable.

You were swollen and wet, which was particularly frustrating, since you had changed the sheets when you had gotten home from the coffee shop. But if that was the price you paid for making Jareth’s life less pleasant, it was one you were happy to pay. Hell, you were tempted to get yourself off. You were ready enough. In fact…

You didn’t bother turning on a light - you knew how to find everything you needed by touch alone. The top drawer of your bedside table had always been reserved for toys, and you refused to be embarrassed about that. The exhaustion of the labyrinth dreams had kept you from finding someone to sleep with, but you still had to meet your own needs.

A pump of lube for the toy - a generously endowed rabbit vibrator - and another to increase the slipperiness of your own folds, then you were ready. When you pressed the vibrator into yourself, your folds parted easily to admit it.

The toy speared deeper and deeper and you reveled in the way it stretched you. When it bottomed out inside of you, you paused to let yourself soak it all in. You were tight around the silicone shaft, the ‘ears’ of the rabbit vibrator pressing firmly against your clit. And then you switched it on.

The best part about that particular toy was that you didn’t have to manipulate it overly much. You didn’t get a lot from thrusting it inside of yourself, but it had the perfect curve to press against your g-spot and the clitoral stimulation was delectable. You could just insert it, set it to a vibration pattern you enjoyed, and ride the wave of sensations until you came to a gasping climax around it.

You were well on your way there already. Much as you hated to admit it, the meeting and subsequent flirtations with Jareth had left you keyed-up and ready to go. The toy was only finishing something that had already started.

One hand kept the vibrator positioned exactly where you needed it while your other hand rose to play gently with your nipples. The additional stimulation made you clench, and you bit back a moan as your orgasm soared ever-closer. Your head tipped back, eyes closing as you tried to breathe and stay quiet at the same time.

Your fingers slipped from the toy - your grip impossible to keep with the wetness coating the silicone and your fingers - and then it was gone. You floundered your way upright, still reeling at the edge of orgasm and looking around in search of the vibrator. With the darkness of the room, you couldn’t see it… but you heard it hit the wall with enough force that you were worried about the drywall.

“What the hell-?”

Greedy lips descended on yours, your mouth filling with the taste of glitter and magic. You lost yourself in the kiss for a moment, meeting the questing tongue with rhythmic presses of your own, but you soon freed yourself with a punishing nip against a plush bottom lip.

“What are you doing?” you demanded.

Jareth’s hand dropped from his mouth, returning your glare with one of his own. “Do you really think I am incapable of finding you? I would think you understand by now-”

“Yeah, yeah, blood and magic,” you summarized. “But why are you in my room?”

“Because you need me.”

Your brows rocketed upward. “Need you? No. I had everything I needed until you took it away. By the way, if you broke that toy, I’m going to be furious. It’s my favorite.”

“Your loneliness calls to me, little mortal,” Jareth said. Some trick of the moon outside your window illuminated him just enough to see the way his eyes had changed to that otherworldly fullness, one eye drowning in black depths while the other burned in green fire. “Despite your clever trick, we are not finished.”

“I think we are,” you countered.

Jareth groaned, sharp and violent and impatient. “So uselessly stubborn! I cannot leave you until you are satisfied. I have taken your needs under my care.”

You squinted at him. “Is that an actual fae thing or something to do with your pride?”

“Perhaps I have simply decided to atone for the sleepless nights you’ve suffered alone,” he suggest.

“Perhaps I’ve realized that, when you use ‘perhaps’, you’re trying not to lie.”

He sighed. “You should spend less time analyzing my motivations and more time considering my offers.”

“I haven’t heard anything tempting enough to accept your offers,” you countered. “So far, your main argument is that you would have sex with me as a gesture of goodwill. Well, I don’t accept. I’m perfectly capable of meeting my own needs - especially if you didn’t manage to break my favorite toy. But you haven’t offered anything I’m truly incapable of getting for myself.”

Jareth bared his disconcertingly sharp teeth at you. Somehow, the expression seemed less intimidating than ever-so-slightly amused. “Very well. What would you like in return for allowing me access to your delectable body?”

“Other than a limit to such cannibalistic wording?” you pressed. “To start, it wouldn’t be unlimited access. One-time access for a pre-specified amount of consecutive time-”

“My, we are laying out terms rather carefully,” Jareth murmured.

You ignored him entirely. “But in return, I want… I want dreamless sleep.”

“No.”

“That’s not how you bargain.”

Jareth smirked. “I am a king. Bargaining is not an overly well-developed skill of mine.”

“Hard to believe you have enemies who want to kill me,” you said dryly. “Let me help you out: you give a counteroffer that’s closer to what you actually want.”

“I want permanent access to you in every way at all times.”

Your mouth fell open, then closed long enough for you to take a deep breath and push it out. “No.”

“I am given to understand that is not how one should bargain,” Jareth told you helpfully.

“I want you to leave me alone, never see or speak to me again, and I want to never be touched by magic again for the rest of my life.” You crossed your arms, only then realizing that your sheets were dangerously close to exposing your legs and the fact that you were unclothed below the waist.

“Impossible,” Jareth told you, a single flick of his eyes telling you that he had noticed your attempts to subtly pull the sheets up and your shirt down.

“Then we are apparently at an impasse.” You flicked your fingertips at the door of your bedroom. “You can go out the same way you came in. I’ll expect a new vibrator if you broke mine. Goodnight.”

Jareth didn’t move, but you managed to slip from your bed without flashing anything delicate to the room. You retrieved the toy from where it had fallen, running your fingers over the wall to be sure your unwelcome guest hadn’t put a dent in the surface.

“Very well,” a harsh voice gritted out. You turned to find Jareth standing behind you, expression foreboding. “In return for your temporary admittance to your bed, I offer a predetermined number of dreamless nights. Is that acceptable?”

You took a moment, pretending to consider it. In all reality, you were fighting the urge to take a large step back. It was easy to pretend sometimes, but behind the veneer of care, cordiality, and relentless pursuit, Jareth was dangerous. The menace poured from him, and something deep inside of you screamed for you to run.

But this was not the forest or the field or the jungle. Jareth was hunting you with slow steps and measured manners, sweetly urging you to give yourself away one piece at a time. You could resist that - at least, you liked to think you could - but you didn’t seem to have an option.

The only way to win was to leave Rachel to him. Or never speak those words at all.

“Yes, that is acceptable,” you agreed when you were sure your voice would be steady.

The ensuing negotiating session was slow and painful, but at least it gave you an idea how highly Jareth prized getting together with you. In the end, you agreed that he could stay with you until dawn. In return, you would get seven nights of sleep with only the dreams that your mind concocted for you.

“It seems we have reached an accord,” Jareth concluded, holding out a hand for you to shake.

You reached out, but paused at the last moment. “And… this won’t change anything? About our situation, at least?”

“Nothing more than an improved mood for us both,” he promised. You believed him.

How far you had fallen.

The instant your fingers made contact with his, Jareth pulled you closer. You braced yourself for a kiss - or even a grope - but he buried his nose behind your ear, taking a deep breath.

“Are you sniffing me?” you asked. It was a rhetorical question; there was little else he could have been doing.

“Ah,” Jareth sighed, releasing you. “I always forget that human senses are so terribly weak.”

“And there’s the condescension,” you muttered, trying to pull back from him.

Jareth’s grip tightened on you, locking you in place against him as he shook his head. “You cannot pick a fight with me, little champion. We have an agreement and I have no intention of releasing you from your part of it. I am here.”

“Only until dawn,” you reminded churlishly.

“Precisely,” he agreed with a sharp grin. “There is no time to waste.”

You were in his arms, then you were in the air in his arms, then you were on the bed in his arms. The dizzied spinning of the room around you had left you fully disoriented, and you had no idea how he had managed to get both of you horizontal without releasing you.

When Jareth’s grip on you disappeared, it was only to strip you of your sleep shirt before busily setting to work on his own clothing. Despite your nudity, your past, and the delicate situation he had interrupted when he arrived - which you still refused to think about too hard - you found yourself suddenly feeling awkward.

“What’s on the agenda?”

“First, I’m going to indulge in one of my longest-held fantasies,” Jareth told you, excitement glittering in his eyes. They were starting to look distinctly more fae, and that made chills run over your body. You couldn’t entirely tell whether they were from fear or interest.

“Which is?”

You were flat on your back in an instant, hips propped up on a pillow as Jareth’s shoulders pressed your thighs further apart. His face was poised at your entrance, lined up so perfectly that his slightest exhale made you tighten.

“Guess,” he drawled up at you.

Any clever response you might have offered got caught in your throat, stuck behind a noise that you would give anything not to loose. Instead, you just watched him, knowing your eyes were wide and your lips were parted. It was an expression that spoke more clearly than you wanted it to, but you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Jareth smirked like he knew the state of your uncontrollable thoughts and lowered his head.

You thought briefly, fleetingly, about the sharpness of his teeth and the way you hadn’t been willing to risk this the first time you were together. The thought lingered for only a fraction of a second, because you were catapulted into the stratosphere the instant Jareth touched you with his mouth.

He was slow, methodical, though his explorations were wicked and merciless in a way that slowness rarely allowed. He found every sensation that made you squirm, milked the way you couldn’t catch your breath when he pressed just so with his fingers inside of you, reveled in the way your hands fisted in the sheets when he teased your clit with the faintest flick of his tongue.

Jareth didn’t pull away from you - a good thing, since you might just weep if that happened - but one of his hands snaked up to pull yours down to his hair. You didn’t need much encouragement, especially when you felt how surprisingly soft those strands were. Both of your hands sank deep into his hair, holding him in place or moving him where you needed him most.

He was shockingly obliging, allowing you to steer him as you clutched desperately at his head. But, even as your orgasm started really approaching, Jareth slowed further and further until he was barely moving. The slight pressure and warmth of his mouth wasn’t enough to push you over the edge and you groaned as you felt the pleasure start to plateau, then slowly ebb back out of you.

“Jareth…”

“I do love when you use my name, pet,” Jareth told you, and you despised that he pulled away to say it. “But you know how I feel about your pleasure without me.”

You stared down at him, aghast even as you remembered how he had insisted on being inside of you before either of you came last time. Mid-plea, you changed tactics. You spread your thighs still further, far enough that your hips ached with the stretch, and said, “Hurry.”

Jareth sat up, the lower half of his face shining with you, but he certainly did not hurry as you had requested. Instead, he took an eternity cleaning his face. Not wiping it on his arm or using the sheets to dry himself off. No, he gathered every hint of you from his face with his fingers, which trekked back and forth to his mouth until any trace had been swallowed down. You watched the process raptly, feeling as though you might actually die from arousal if he didn’t finish soon.

He settled on the mattress beside you, seeming utterly pleased with himself when you threw your leg over his hips and pulled, dragging him against you. He smiled, murmuring something, but your entire being had narrowed down to the way his cock felt sliding through your folds and you didn’t catch what he had said.

Jareth was still gloating when you pumped your hips again, catching his head with your entrance and pushing him partially inside of you. His otherworldly eyes went wide with shock as his body reacted without any consent from him. His hands locked onto you - one on your shoulder and the other splayed over your hip - as he gave a stuttered thrust.

That wasn’t enough to seat him fully in you, but it was enough to make you clench so tightly around him you worried he would be forced from you. It wasn’t, obviously, and Jareth quickly used his grip to pull you down as he pushed up and in, sinking fully inside of you in a slow, stretching surge that left both of you gasping with the shock of it.

“How are you possibly gripping me so tightly when we spent all of that time stretching you out?” Jareth asked, a hint of unsteadiness in his voice.

“Tongue ver- ah -versus dick,” you pointed out.

Jareth grimaced. “Crude word.”

“But accurate.”

He withdrew rapidly, pulling out until only his head was left inside of you. When you shifted uncomfortably, he pounded back into you so hard that you could almost imagine an audible noise from his hips hitting yours. “Does a sensation like this feel like it could stem from something as crass as a ‘dick’?”

“Are you really talking about vocabulary right now?” you asked, struggling to keep the words even.

“Perhaps I am attempting to prolong this experience,” Jareth gritted out.

You tilted your head at him. “So much for ‘perhaps’ being a half-lie. You’re close, aren’t you? That was fast…”

Jareth’s lip curled as his hand slid from your hip to your thigh. He tugged your knee further up, shifting his own hips just enough to hit the center of your g-spot with every thrust.

You had a split second of profound discomfort. G-spot orgasms rode on the edge of ‘too much’ even when you were feeling relaxed with someone you trusted, and they were on the wrong side of that line with Jareth. The intense pressure in the cradle of your hips made you frown, a small pained sound falling from your lips.

You took a breath, ready to tell Jareth that he had to pick a different angle, but the hand that had once been on your shoulder disappeared from it, reappearing between your legs. With a wriggle to get between the lips of your pussy, Jareth’s thumb pressed hard against your clit.

The spike of sensation turned the ‘too much’ pressure on your g-spot into blinding pleasure, and you were fairly certain you were screaming as your body did its best to explode from the combination.

Jareth’s orgasm could have been kicked off by yours - probably was, owing to the vice grip of your core around him - but you were unaware of it. The pleasure hit you in wave after overwhelming wave, each one knocking you down before you had recovered from the one before it. You were robbed of sight, sound, and touch, every sense dulled by the glittering onslaught against your sanity. It turned you into a shapeless, formless thing, unable to do anything but feel, and even that was overwhelming.

When it finally ebbed enough for you to be somewhat aware of your body again, you were trembling as you sucked in breath after breath.

“Any further jokes about my stamina?” Jareth asked, shifting.

You caught at his shoulders, seized by the unbearable tenderness of your entrance. “No- don’t move yet.”

He settled down once more. “I cannot say I regret the company in the afterglow.”

The smug look on his face made you frown at him. “Don’t do that again. I mean it, Jareth.”

As you had intended, the use of his name grabbed the Goblin King’s attention in a way little else did. He scowled a little. “You seemed to enjoy yourself well enough.”

“I can’t remember the last time I came that hard.” Jareth grew smug once more, but you shook your head. “You don’t understand. It felt great, but also kind of bad. It’s… a lot. I have to be in the right mood for a g-spot orgasm, not have one pushed on me.”

“Why?”

If his tone had held anything other than genuine curiosity, you would have told Jareth to go to hell. As it was, you felt the need to explain. “It’s like the expression ‘flying too close to the sun’, in the true mythic way. It’s pleasure, but it’s sharp. Heavy. Intense. It makes you wonder if you’ll ever feel anything but that again. They’re nice if you’re in the right frame of mind for it, but not entirely comfortable.”

Jareth nodded slowly. “I am sorry for pushing it on you, then. I assumed I was doing you a kindness.”

If you didn't know better, you would think you and Jareth had just had a mature exchange. The idea was too strange.

“Thank you for listening,” you returned cautiously. “You can pull out now.”

He did so slowly, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. Your wetness and his cum helped him slide out without too much friction, and you relaxed when he was free of you. You curled up slightly, the closest you could get to cradling your hyper-sensitive junk in mixed company.

“That’s the other bad thing about a g-spot orgasm,” you told him. “I’m going to need a little more time to recover before I can go again.”

“No need, little human.” Jareth nodded to the window. Your curtains were drawn, but you could see hints of light gilding the fabric edges. “Your part of our deal has been fulfilled.”

“Oh.”

It seemed anti-climactic, though you were grateful you didn’t have to scrape up the effort for another romp with the Goblin King that night. And, to a lesser extent, you were excited to get some sleep free of fae dreams.

“Do not sound so terribly disappointed,” Jareth said, smiling. “Your week will end almost as soon as it begins and then we will see each other once more.”

“That makes me disappointed,” you fired back.

Jareth’s smile only widened, like he didn’t believe you. You didn’t entirely believe yourself, either.

And that scared you to death.

---

Author's Note - Guess whose one-shot grew a plot? I'm working through a backlog of fics right now, but this is one of my favorites and I'll probably end up back here sooner rather than later.

Thanks for reading! I would love to know what you thought!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #labyrinth #jareth the goblin king #jareth #jareth x reader #jareth x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #spicy #lemon #not suitable for minors #minors dni #labyrinth 1986

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