#and no matter how happy he manages to be there will always be the tickle in the back of his mind

[roughentumble]

spn s5 had such a perfdct finale like im glad it didnt just call sam a blood freak over and over and then end with him in the deepest darkest pit forever im glad the show went on for fuckteenth seasons and then he got to go to heaven and know peace when he was done ans all that but literally s5 had such a good fucking endinggggggggg its ok dean ive got him. words that will rattle around in my skull until my dying day

[colorfulrook]

I have an idea:

Basically, it would be Reader and Jinwoo who have known each other for a long time. They're best friends, and Reader was always super affectionate with him when he was an E-rank. She treated his wounds, cooked him food, etc., and flirted with him directly, but Jinwoo ignored her advances every time (for him, it was just affection between friends), but Reader always continued even though it wasn't reciprocal.

When he became an S-rank, he got closer to the other hunters, especially Cha Hae In, and Hae In did the same thing Reader did for him (taking care of him), except that he reacted to her advances. Reader, seeing this, understood that she had to let it go and was happy for him despite the heartbreak. Everything she did for him, she did with the other hunters in the guild (brought back cookies, put bandages on Baek, while complimenting him on his muscles, etc.). Jinwoo seeing Reader being affectionate with everyone except him gives him a pang in his heart realizing that he hates it when Reader is with people other than him and begins to regret all the times when he didn't reciprocate and ignore her advances. One day when Reader is injured he goes to heal her and tries to do what Reader did for him hoping to be able to get closer to her again

Thank you so much for trusting me with your idea! I hope you will enjoy reading it and tell me if you liked it! I value quite much every opinion you throw ahaha, love you all - Rook

Ps: I proofread it a bit quickly so eventual grammar errors will be dealt it later!

Where the heart awaits [S.JW x F!Reader]

Pairings: Sung Jinwoo x F!Reader Word count: 1.5K Theme: Fluff, angst (Injury ahead!)

Being an A-Rank healer was tough, but it had its perks. You met all kinds of people—arrogant hotshots, quiet tanks, mages who thought they were gods, hell even S ranks—but none of them managed to leave you an impression like Jinwoo. Gentle, caring Jinwoo who, no matter the hardships of being an E-Rank, never backed down on a job.

You met him during one of your first dungeon after you awakening, despite having already some offers for all kinds of guilds, you politely declined, saying that you would like to lend a hand to the guildless people before committing to one.

That’s how you ended up in a cramped, damp D-Rank dungeon with a group of nervous, under-equipped hunters… and him.

He hadn’t said much at first—kept his head down, focused. You watched as he silently took more hits than he should have, trying to protect the others even though he was clearly exhausted. By the end, he was bloodied and limping, but smiling when he handed the core to a trembling C-rank who looked like he might burst into tears. You had walked up to him, healing magic already warm in your palms, and asked with piqued interest.

“Do you always try to be a martyr, or was today special?”

He blinked at you. Then he smiled. “Habit, I guess.” Feeling refreshed as you healed him, warm magic tickled his skin.

That was the start of your friendship.

From then on, things moved fast. Days turned into month that eventually turned into one year.

You started teaming up more often. Dungeons with Jinwoo became your favorite—how you waited eagerly every time there was a new dungeon, a smile forming everytime you read Jinwoo's name on the list. You could already feel your heart warming.

You began to see him after and before the raids, sometimes even cooking for him and his sister after a particularly gruesome outing. He walked you home after late-night cleanups. You learned how he liked his coffee, how he couldn’t handle spicy food, and that he always, always made sure everyone else was safe before thinking about himself.

You started to look forward to the way his eyes would light up when you brought snacks. To the little, tired smiles he’d give you at the end of a run. You flirted with him—openly, shamelessly—sometimes just to see him flustered. But he never responded to it. At first, you told yourself it was just because he was shy.

But you were wrong, he wasn't shy, he just thought you were very friendly.

It hit you one night when the two of you went out to eat in one of those small restaurant full of people and laughs. You'd teased him again—something flirty, casual, something about how you liked guys who were quietly heroic and kind to their teammates. Jinwoo had just laughed. Not nervous. Not awkward. Just… amused.

The thought of you referring to him went completely over his head.

"Don't worry (Y/n), you are an amazing person and hunter, I'm sure you will find someone you love soon enough!"

And that’s when it sunk in. You could feel your smile dropping a bit before regaining your composure.

To him, your kindness was just that—kindness. The way you patched him up, brought him home-cooked meals, dragged him out for breaks, gifted him silly little trinkets to cheer him up—he’d seen all of it as the affection of a good friend. And maybe, in his mind, he didn’t deserve more than that anyway.

So you smiled and kept going, because even if your heart ached sometimes, his presence was worth it. Being by his side was better than not being there at all.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

When Jinwoo came back from his double dungeon, you felt everything change, as if someone pulled a rug from under your feet and disrupted your carefully built balance.

He was stronger. Colder. More focused. You watched as he built his new life—his new guild—and got closer with hunters you barely knew. He spent more time with Cha Haein, and even though she didn’t speak much, she didn’t need to. The way she looked at him said enough. And worse, the way he looked back at her…

You decided to let him go.

You still talked frequently but you decided that it was time to do something with yourself, Jinwoo was happy with Haein, it was time to reach your happiness as well.

You decided to join Baek Yoonho's guild, feeling ready to lend your powers to a bigger group of people—it was time for a "fresh start" as you called it.

You loved it there, truly, you began to grow fond of every member of your usual dungeon party. Thus you decided to spread your affection to them.

You began to take extra care while healing everyone, especially Guildmaster Baek, handed cookies to the office staff, even embracing one of the rookies— "Gukkie" you called him with the affection of a big sister—in a warm hug for nailing one of the raids in a dungeon.

You didn’t mean it as payback. It was just you being you.

But Jinwoo slowly began to notice it.

And for the first time in a long time, he was the one watching you from the sidelines.

Jinwoo didn’t realize when it started—the way his eyes always followed you, shadows always at the ready to protect you.

Maybe it was the moment you tucked a blanket around Baek Yoonho’s shoulders after a gruesome raid and told him to get some rest, your voice warm with that same gentle tone you used to use just for Jinwoo.

"Master Baek, I know you are toning your body everyday but you must take care and rest after a dungeon!" you'd say pouting.

Or when you ruffled that one hunter's hair after he brought you a smoothie and said, “You’re getting sweeter by the day,” and Jinwoo had to stop himself from yanking your hand away, starved of your usual caring touch.

It didn’t hit him all at once. It crept up slowly, a quiet cold wave that nipped at his ankles. A sharp tug in his chest every time you smiled at someone else. And a heavy, sinking feeling when he realized that you haven't smiled like that at him for weeks.

You were still kind and affectionate during the now rare times you saw each others. But you didn’t linger anymore. You didn’t tease. No more late-night texts, no more lingering touches. You didn’t call him “handsome” with a laugh or sneak his favorite candy into his coat pocket before a raid.

And it was his fault.

Thinking back to before he went in that double dungeon left him with a bitter taste on his tongue.

He’d thought it was just how you were. That your softness belonged to everyone. He hadn’t realized—until it wasn’t his anymore—how much of it you had given only to him.

Now it was too late. Or maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t know.

Not until the day of an abnormal red gate dungeon.

When Jinwoo felt the pulse of the gate from across the city so stronge that even Igris twitched.

And then your name came through the emergency report from the White Tiger Guild.

A red gate. An unexpected ambush. An A-Rank healer, critically injured. You.

Jinwoo didn’t remember giving the order to teleport. He just moved. Shadows exploded from the ground like a tidal wave, launching him towards your position.

The first thing he noticed was how small and frail you seemed in Baek Yoonho's arms, whom looked at him with wide eyes.

"We closed the dungeon but we need to help her fast if we want her to live"

You were unconscious, blood seeping from your uniform, your breathing was shallow, and your mana flickered like a dying candle. Someone had tried to patch you up, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t you.

Jinwoo’s hands trembled as he touched your cheek. For a moment, all he could do was stare.

You were always the one healing. Always smiling through exhaustion, patching wounds, giving warmth without asking for anything back. Now you lay still, quiet and cold.

Something cracked deep inside him.

“Why didn’t I see it?” he whispered, almost angrily. “Why did I let you go?”

Beru stood silently nearby, his gaze lowered. Even his shadows stayed quiet, watching their king kneel beside the one person he could never bring himself to face until it was too late.

Jinwoo’s heart raced as his hands trembled, pouring every ounce of mana into you with a desperate kind of reverence, trying to heal the wound he had failed to stop. His shadows clung to you like a protective cocoon, dimly glowing with the magic he so freely gave, trying to mend what had been broken both in your body and in his soul.

"Please," he whispered again, his voice trembling with a vulnerability he had never shown before. "I can’t lose you. Not like this."

His forehead touched yours, and for a fleeting moment, the world faded into the background. The overwhelming pulse of his heart, the suffocating grief, the quiet dread of losing you—all of it seemed to blur as he focused entirely on you.

His breath came out in ragged gasps as he choked on the words he had kept buried for far too long.

“Wake up…” His voice cracked, the words barely audible. “Please. I still haven’t said it. I haven’t told you…”

But then he felt it—a soft pressure on his hand.

“Jinwoo…” Your voice was weak, your hand reaching up to gently touch his face. “I’m here…”

He leaned down, cheek pressed against yours as relief washed over him like a tidal wave. The fear, the doubt, the hopelessness that had gripped him melted away.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured softly, his hands brushing away the sweat on your forehead. “I'm sorry you had to wait for so long”

You smiled weakly as you felt the warmt of his words settle in your chest, maybe there was still hope after all.

[reignpage]

Restrained Beast

in which you tie up boyfriend!Konig

warnings: 18+ mdni, rope, bondage, cursing, suffocation, size kink, power play, slight dubcon, cowgirl, missionary, spitting, primal, prey, slight dacryphillia

the universe had blessed you with a once in a lifetime gift in the form of your big and strong boyfriend finally allowing you to tie him up. it was quite ridiculous actually, wrestling him into position, straddling his bare chest as you tied a rope around his wrists, looping it through the gap in your headboard. konig was a huge man, he took up the entire expanse of your bed, and you weren’t confident the rope would hold him. 

if he wasn’t so compliant, there was no way you would have ever managed to lift even just one arm into position; it weighed a ton. he was pure muscle, carved from years of military service, crafted to be the perfect battering ram. every flex could kill, he could smother you in your sleep with his heavy torso, even step on you if he wasn’t so careful. and god, did you love it. 

he was pure strength, the perfect killer, and yet there he was, peering up at you with a light blush and a small smile. his blond chest hair was coarse under your palms as you met his stare with a grin. konig had needed a little convincing to agree to your idea; in fact, it required a lot of begging and promises that you’d make it worth his while. 

the concept of being suppressed went against every instinct in his body, but how could he say no to his beautiful girl? so cute and so sweet, politely asking with big eyes and a pout. he wanted to make you happy, always. so there he was, lying patiently, completely naked under you. he tested the rope and felt pride warming his chest (and his cock) at his angel who clearly did her research, wanting to do it right, for him. 

“schatz, ride my cock, ja?” 

said cock was pointing to the ceiling, perfectly proportionate to his gigantic stature. it was always a struggle getting him inside you; you needed a lot of foreplay, and konig was more than happy to oblige every time. he would spend hours focused on you, making you ride his thigh, fingers, and face. he worshiped your pussy like it was the holy grail, lapping at your essence as if he couldn’t get enough. 

he overstimulated you every time, but you knew he didn’t mean to, right? you knew he just had a tendency to get lost in the taste of you, your scent overwhelmed him, and oh how he loved the feeling of your plush thighs squeezing his head. and when you would pull his hair in a desperate attempt to make him stop, his eyes would roll back before pinning down your frantic hips with an arm thrown over your stomach, diving back in with greater fervour. 

you bit your lip, nodding shyly as you scooted down his body, soaking pussy grazing his stomach. it made his happy trail shine under the dim light of the bedside lamp. you loved the hair, the feeling of it tickling you, the way it was barely visible unless you were pressed right to his crotch, and you often were. 

quickly rubbing your clit, you exhaled, physically and mentally preparing yourself to take him again. no matter how many times you had played with that part of him, you never got over how intimidating his cock was. everything about him was intimidating, it was one of the reasons he rarely left your shared home; people always stared. 

clutching his cock, you lined him up with your quivering hole, gulping as you pushed down. a pleasurable burn made you hiss, head thrown back as you heaved. every inch made you fuller and fuller until you felt like you couldn’t take any more, but one glance down and you realised you weren’t even half way down. 

how was that even possible?

“all of it, maus.”

you shook your head in a panic, your fight or flight instincts triggered. 

“ja, you can take it. you always do.”

könig pulled at his restraints with more force than he had intended, rattling the bed frame. he was itching to touch you, to blanket your tits with his palm and pinch at your nipples. the man wanted to feel your skin, pull your front down against him so he could kiss you, smother your whines with his mouth and push down every protest with his tongue. 

god, he just wanted to grip your hips and pull you down till he was buried to the hilt, his tip kissing your cervix in the way he knew you loved. konig had been on edge the entire time, he wasn’t used to not being in control, not like this, where he was completely helpless. 

but knowing he was at your mercy made him leak pre-cum like a faucet. 

eventually, with lots of praise and encouragement, he was in. you needed a second to adjust, to will away that burn as he stretched you to your limits, split you in half.

he might have complained when you initially brought it up, but you could tell he loved this just as much as you did if the incessant throbbing inside of you was anything to go by. his skin was cool to the touch, his sweat making it

slightly difficult to get a grip but you persevered, lifting your hips a little before letting gravity do its thing in an experimental stroke. it lit a fire inside of you and you knew you needed more. 

“you’re doing so well for me.”

“just - hah- like that, schatz.”

“fuck, liebling, so good -ngh- for me.”

his every praise and groan fuelled your thrusts and grinding, ignoring the ache of your muscles, intent only in making both of you cum. and with the way the head of his cock was pressing against that spongey spot inside of you, you weren’t going to take long. 

könig threw his head back when you lifted your hips as high up as you could before slamming down with a splat, juices flying and making both of your skin sticky. a white ring of cum was forming around his base and he would watch it dribble down all day if he could. 

your sobs were music to his ears, so breathy and uninhibited, he couldn’t believe he was making you feel that way. never thought he’d have such a good girl loving his monstrous body, obsessed with his freak of a nature stature, but there you were, a blissed out expression on your face as you held your tits in your hands, muttering his name again and again. 

like a plea thrown in the wind, you heard your name calling to you through the fog of pleasure. konig was looking up at you in the way he always did when he wanted one thing. the realisation that he wanted every part of you made you clench down on him, and you both moaned.

and of course, how could you disappoint your precious boyfriend? so you lean closer to him, breaths mingling as you teased him with a graze of your lips against his. he opened his mouth, but you couldn't help yourself; you swerved to the right and sucked at his skin, at the junction where his shoulders met his neck. he was so much bigger than you, you had to stretch to reach his chin.

he tasted salty and clean, like a glacier. he tasted like the love of your life. and you didn't think you'd ever get your fill. only his cockhead sheathed in your warm pussy; you had to climb the expanse of his body to reach you destination and when he growled your name, you knew you couldn't tease him any longer.

so with a playful scold, you gave him a love tap on his cheek, giggling at the flutter of his lashes. thumbing his plush bottom lip, you drawled, "open wide, koni baby."

and without looking away, you spat into his mouth and watched enthralled at the hasty swallow. there was no hesitation, no reluctance. only pure satisfaction as he pulled at his restraints again. it was like he had forgotten his predicament, so caught in your taste and smell, and the way your hips were swivelling around the head of his cock as you leaned back, pussy greedily swallowing his entire length once again.

you were so close, mewls getting louder and higher, whining every time your clit rubbed the hair on his pelvis just right, and pinching your nipples the way he would. he wanted to bring you there, wanted both of you to reach your high, and he couldn’t wait. no, he was desperate, needed you to move faster, to slam on his cock harder, just the way you like, the way you needed him to. 

perhaps, if either of you weren’t so caught up in the maddening hedonism, then you would heard the creaking of fibres being pulled apart. 

riding his cock wantonly, you moaned like a siren, uncaring about the neighbours who were no doubt in the middle of filing a complaint. again. and when konig jutted his hips upwards, you moaned even louder, stars sparkling behind closed eyes. you could feel him everywhere and yet it wasn't enough.

“kon, so close, ‘m so close.”

snap!

you barely registered it over the cacophony of your moans, the squeaking of the bed and the slamming of the headboard. but the big hands suddenly grasping your hips in an unforgiving grip was unmistakable, and when he lifted you up and heaved you down, a scream being rammed out of you, you knew your big bad boyfriend had broken free of his restraints. 

anyone else would have feared for their lives, having a ferocious beast be on the loose, but you barely had time to think about the terrifying glint in his eyes before he was throwing you onto your back and jackhammering into your sopping pussy like he was battering through the heaviest door. 

you were speechless, mouth hanging open in a perpetual o shape as your eyes rolled back, hands clutching at the sheets and then at his shoulders, clawing down his back. you needed to ground yourself, it was too much too fast, but you had nowhere to go, his body was pinning you down, your face buried in his chest. konig was suffocating you, chest hair tickled your face as you gasped, and he was knocking all the air out of your lungs with every merciless thrust. 

he was using your body like a flashlight, not a single regard for your pleasure or your life. it was exhilarating. only he could drag you to the edge of life and make you feel so much pleasure you forgot your name. 

“cum for me, schatz. need you to cum on my cock.”

you screamed into his chest, eyes screwed shut as waves and waves of rapture washed over you, dragging you in an undercurrent of euphoria and pure ecstasy. his lips stuttered at the feel of your cunt squeezing his cock, wringing a sudden orgasm out of him. konig roared, plunging into you with one final jab, cum pulsing out of him, painting your insides white. it burned your insides, a gasp grazing past your lips.

it was always so so so good with him. every. time. you were addicted. just as he was. now that he had a taste of what it was like to be restrained, you hoped he would want to do it again. although, you felt personally offended it didn’t last as long as you expected; he had broken free so easily, it was insulting. 

he huffed a laugh in your ear when he felt you pout. konig kissed every inch of skin he could reach whilst keeping his softening cock inside of you, a silent thank you for giving him more happiness and pleasure than he thought he deserved. 

“you need to tie it harder next time, ja, maus? make it more difficult for me.” 

damn right you’d make it more difficult for him. 

cocky austrian.

[allfearstofallto]

You are Made to Greet them When they Return Home

Yandere! Forced marriage x fem! Reader head canons

Ft: Childe and Scaramouche

Synopsis: Your yanderes require the domestic pleasure of being greeted by their wife when they return home.

Word Cound: 1k

TW: yandere, obsessive themes, forced marriage, NSFW themes, mentions of previous abuse/punishment

Childe

“Master Childe has arrived home,” a maid said after knocking gently on your bedroom door. A notice to anyone else, but a warning for you. A warning telling you to be your most joyful and happy self, to be ready for your husband that had a temper that could change like the flick of a light switch.

Your nicest dress hugged your body, a satin slip in his favorite shade of blue. It barely went past your plush thighs, something too cold for the typical Snezhnaya air, but perfect for the inside of the estate, which he kept warm for you.

Scurrying down the stairs, your heels clicked against the floor. No matter how many times you'd done this, your heart wouldn't cease beating like a drum. The fear and the worry all sat deep inside your chest and made you tremble, but you tried to not show it on your face.

Arriving at the door to the home, you stood there obediently, as you'd been told to do time and time before. You and a few of the house maids. And almost right on cue, it opened.

For the briefest moment while the door was open, you could hear the sound of the wind howling outside, like screams of the night. A little snow blew through the door, and tickled your toes, but it melted as quickly as it showed up. All that stood there now was him.

Snow covered his coat and frosted the tips of his orange hair, but he still had a beaming smile on his face, overjoyed to see you. “My angel,” he said sweetly at the sight of you.

You were pulled into an embrace, his gloved hands still wet from the elements. He kissed your cheek, his cold red nose tickling you, and you tried not to notice the blood splatter near his neck that he didn't clean off. No matter how domestic he tried to make your life together seem, he could never truly hide what he did for work.

When he pulled away from the hug, you began to take off his cape. No maid was allowed to do this, as he said that undressing him was a job for his wife and his wife alone. It was a heavy, white piece of clothing, with black fur on the nape. He'd always smile at you as you undid the clasp, his height dwarfing over you to the point where you had to reach up to touch his neck.

“Was work okay today…” you gulped down saliva nervously as the cape fell into your hands, the weight of it making your arms sag just a bit. He had a questioning look on his face, raising his eyebrows while his smile began to falter ever so slightly. He wanted you to say the rest. “Was work okay today, m-my love?” you barely managed to force yourself to say those words. You could already feel the bile rising up from your stomach, but the content look on his face told you that he was happy regardless of how strained you sounded.

His large cape was handed to a maid to be cleaned and she ran off without word of orders. You weren't the only one scared of Childe in this house, you were just the one who had his attention.

You didn't even get the chance to completely turn and face him again before he was wrapping his arms around you and resting his body against you in a dramatic display of his fatigue.

“Work was tiresome!” He groaned while placing many unwanted kisses on your cheek and neck, “But my beautiful wife will make it all better, won't you?”

Scaramouche

Such a beautiful, vibrantly colored kimono was nice for special occasions, but it only weighed you down in these instances. The multiple layers piled on top of each other were a pure sight for eyes, but absolute hell to wear. Especially for someone who wasn't native to Inazuma.

You struggled to drop to your knees in front of the door. It felt like all of these layers were swallowing you whole, and with one wrong move, you wouldn’t be able to get up. Not without assistance at least.

The lighting outside illuminated his silhouette through the translucent white, paper of the sliding door and you hurried to make sure you were in position.

The second you heard it click and slide open, you bowed your head down before him. Your palms against the floor, thumbs in the shape of a triangle, and your forehead pressed against the ground. You'd practiced this position a million times before, with him studying your figure to make sure you got it right each and every time.

“We welcome you home, my lord, Scaramouche,” you said with your head still angled towards the floor. He merely hummed at your greeting. A hum was good, it meant that you hadn't displeased him yet.

You were to stay in this position until he told you to rise. Some days he did it immediately, so that he could begin to kiss and undress you like an animal in heat. Other days, he would leave you there to see how long he could keep you on your knees before him. Those days were hell, the weight of the kimono made it feel as if you were suffocating, drenching yourself in sweat. But you knew better than to move an inch. Being crushed by heavy fabric was better than any punishment he'd given you before.

You could hear the sound of him shuffling, taking off his shoes and putting away his jacket, then finally, you heard the familiar jingles of him lifting his ornate hat off of his head, and handing it off to a maid who also stood beside you.

“You may look upon me,” he ordered.

You rose up, but still stayed on your knees in front of him, finally meeting his gaze for the first time today, “Greetings, my lord. Did the day treat you alright?”

“My day was the same as usual,” he muttered while stepping past you and up the stairs, “Meet me in the bedroom, and bring tea as well.”

When you heard the familiar click of the bedroom door closing, you breathed a sigh of relief. You'd made it through another moment with him, but still rose to your feet with hesitance. Making it through the greeting was the first part, now you'd have to manage in the bedroom.

[llamagoddessofficial]

struggling to sleep through the whole night, sooooo

-does this to Skull-

When you approach Skull, he's laying flat on his back on the couch. He seems asleep... he seems peaceful, hoodie unzipped over his slightly stained white sweater, sockets closed. It's a nice quiet night, the TV is still on, filling the room with background noise; he left it on a channel that seems to be exclusively playing cooking show re-runs. The woman on the screen is showing how to use leftover vegetable parts to make stock.

You crawl onto the couch beside him. His massive body is a touch difficult to navigate, but you manage, cuddling up to his side and snuggling in. The sweater looked like it would be itchier, but against your cheek, it's wonderfully soft. There's uneven hand stitching on the collar... did he make this himself? You get comfy, tucking your head under his chin. He smells like that pleasant, sweet, waxy aroma wool has... what's it called? Lanolin, right?

If you had peeked a little closer at his big face, you would've seen the sliver of dim red underneath his socket. He isn't really asleep. His instincts are far too fine-tuned to allow him to sleep through someone else entering the room, no matter how quietly they move. Once you've successfully squirrelled your way onto his chest, his massive body starts to shift; one arm wraps all the way around you, the other hand lays against the small of your back. His thumb brushes back and forth over where your spine dips ever-so-slightly. He always liked that spot.

Skull sighs. A big, slow exhale, deep and guttural and with the slightest of growls to it. Not a growl growl - just a relaxed and happy grumble. He sounds even more like a bear than usual, and your whole body shifts as his chest moves under you. You feel his teeth touch your hair, and you can feel the warmth from his face and eyesocket on the top of your head... it's like sitting under a heater. Either he's blushing, and his whole face is prickling with magic, or his eye is so big and fuzzy the warmth from it is bleeding through every part of his face. Could honestly be both. It doesn't matter how long you're together, or how many times you give him affection, he's always so happy when you're the one who initiates. You never see him happier than when you come to him.

He starts purring. Right up against him, you feel it more than you hear it. It's like he's your own personal head-to-toe massage chair.

The background hum of the TV, Skull's chest rising and falling under you, his slow breaths tickling the top of your head... his arms over you, his warm sweater on your cheek, the purring filtering through you...

... You quickly find yourself falling asleep. And even if you don't manage to sleep... you'd happily spend all night with him like that.

[ldrfanatic]

one last souvenir from my trip to your shores

thank you so much for 800 followers!!!

here’s a little summer in Italy with theo (from theo’s perspective)

06.04.2024

song title is from the manuscript but I promise this is a happy fic

works slytherin boys

wc - 1.1k

theo nott was decidedly the happiest 16-year old boy in all of europe right now. hell, maybe in all of the world. here he was, on a pebbly italian beach, sun warming his skin, and his beautiful girlfriend curled up on the beach chair next to him.

he felt his heart begin to swell as he watched the scene in front of him. you’d laid between his legs, your head rested against his abdomen and your soft hair tickling his skin. you were reading some muggle romance novel. he didn’t know the name of it, but he knew it was your favorite.

your new medusa charm sunglasses were perched on top of your forehead. you’d shoved them up there maybe 15 or so minutes ago with a complaint that they made it difficult to read.

the versace glasses had been a gift from theo.

in fact, despite your avid protests, he was very insistent on buying you a whole new summer wardrobe for the trip. theo smiled to himself as he thought on the weeks ahead. after many pleas from you, and heaps of charm from theo, your parents had begrudgingly allowed you to spend half the summer break with theo in italy.

the two of you were staying in the nott family’s summer home there. when he was younger, theo used to visit every summer, but he hadn’t been back since his mother passed. the cliffside home sat empty for so long that the two of you had to scourgify layers of dust off of every surface.

it was going on your second week of a blissful vacation. only one week into a six week trip, theo couldn’t help but feel giddy, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

“bellissima,”

you held one finger in his direction, an indication for him to hold his piece for a moment. theo felt amusement curl along his lips into a smile.

after a short (agonizing) eternity, you closed the book around your index finger and tilted your head backwards until your eyes met his, your head now completely resting on his stomach.

as your eyes found his, theo felt his mouth go dry. butterflies knocked around in his stomach threatening to crawl up his throat at any given moment. no matter how much time he spent with you, you still turned him into a blushing boy with only a look. it should be a punishable offense to be so beautiful and so very sweet.

theo wasn’t sure how he managed to land a literal angel from heaven itself but he knew one thing for sure: he was never letting you go.

pulling himself from his blissful thoughts, theo allowed a large hand to snake down until his palm rested against the softness of your stomach.

“affamato?”

over the course of your relationship, you’d picked up a few words and phrases from theo. when he so often spoke in his mother tongue, it was kind of unavoidable. theo rubbed his hand in smooth small circles. the content smile that graced your lips made theo’s insides feel like they were on the wrong side of gravity.

“i could eat.”

but neither of you moved. finally, you placed the small love note you’d been using as a bookmark in between the pages and closed your novel. then you turned over onto your stomach so as to look at your boyfriend properly.

theo’s arms snaked around you instinctively, pulling you impossibly closer to him. he tried not to look at your the tops of your soft breasts which were now pressed so much against him that they started to spill from the confines of your bathing suit. he may be your boyfriend, but he was also a gentleman. his mammina had taught him to always be a gentleman and always take really really good care of his women.

despite his best attempts, theo felt his eyes water involuntarily. the moment he saw you, he knew you would be his bride. he felt very strongly that you were sent to him by his mother. a parting gift.

the warmth of the sun, the sweetness of your smile. they felt like hugs and kisses from her. when he first met you, theo felt something. a feeling that had left with his mother’s last breath, and had yet to return. until you came along.

“let’s get you food, bambina.”

you didn’t question his teary appearance. you always understood him without a single syllable from his lips and this time was no different.

you packed all of your belongings back into your marc jacobs tote bag (another gift from theo) and picked up your sandal. when you turned to him, hair blowing in the beach breeze, and free hand outstretched to him, theo felt his heart tightening once again.

“i’ll be along soon. there’s something i have to do first.”

with a soft nod of your head, you took off on the path back to the chateau. theo watched you leave, waiting until you were safely inside the house before turning back to the waves. he didn’t smile, or move much at all. he just watched the waves crash and allowed his senses to be overwhelmed with the sweetness of the tyrrhenian sea. his mother’s favorite place on earth. the last place he saw her smile.

theo took a deep breath and allowed the words to flow naturally from his lips. he didn’t fight them or his emotions. he just spoke.

“mamma, i can feel your presence surrounding me. your spirit lives on in every beat of my heart and every breath i take. i want to thank you, mamma, for everything you've given me – for your love, your guidance, and your unwavering support. she's a gift, mammina, a true blessing, and i can't help but believe that you had a hand in bringing her into my life. her laughter echoes yours, and her kindness reflects the warmth of your embrace. thank you for sending her to me. i promise to cherish her, mamma. i miss you so much and one day, we'll be reunited. until then, i carry your love in my heart, knowing that you're always watching over me.”

theo took in another deep breath, the air suddenly feeling tight in his throat. “grazie, mamma, for everything. ti amo, e ci vediamo tra un paio di decenni.”

-

(i love you, and i’ll see you in a couple of decades)

theo taglist

@moonlightreader649 @thatdammchickennugget @helendeath @fandom-life-12 @bouquetolegoflowers @maryvibess @nighttimemoonlover

[nnnaaahhhiiiaaa]

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 - kwon ji-yong

Summary | After several dates with Ji-yong, you finally decide to invite him over for a quiet movie night at your place. What seemed like a simple evening for two soon takes an unexpected and much more intense turn.

Pairing | post-debut!kwon ji-yong x fem!reader.

Genre | 2000s era.

Warnings | fluff, romantic, smut, explicit content, sweat p in v, protected sex, stablished relationship, virgin reader & ji-yong.

Author's note | English is not my first language, so I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Request | @myflancee

After talking with your boyfriend and agreeing he would come over to your house, anxiety took over you. With your heart racing, you hurried to tidy up every corner of your room, making sure everything was in its place. You couldn't let him think you were messy—you wanted to make a good impression. Everything had to be spotless for his arrival.

But there was something that worried you even more than the mess: the posters, albums, and collectible figures of his group, Bigbang. In an almost instinctive act, you quickly hid them under the bed and deep in your closet, as if trying to bury a part of yourself. It wasn’t that you were ashamed, but you weren’t ready to confess just how much of a fan you had been—and still were.

Because yes, you had been a fan of Bigbang since the beginning. Even before he became an idol, you already followed him. You had seen him grow, evolve… shine. And your love for his art wasn’t born out of being his girlfriend, but long before your paths had even crossed.

Sometimes, in intimate moments, he would show you fragments of unreleased lyrics. And you, silently and with a smile you could barely hide, would memorize them like sacred verses. Later, when the songs were officially released, you’d sing them softly, feeling like you were part of something only the two of you shared. He didn’t know it, but you had already sung his lyrics a thousand times in the quiet of your room, long before they reached the world.

You were his girlfriend. But secretly, you were also his number one fan.

That’s when the doorbell rang, slicing through the expectant silence of the house like a chime in your chest. Your heart, already altered by nerves, pounded even harder, as if it wanted to race ahead to the door. Without a second thought, you dashed toward the entrance, your hands trembling and a smile threatening to appear too early.

When you opened the door, there he was. Standing there, waiting for you, with that expression that always managed to disarm you: warm, a little mischievous, and so uniquely his. You couldn’t help it. You threw yourself into his arms with a mix of excitement and relief, feeling your cheeks flush as he caught you naturally, like his body had been made to hold yours.

He kissed your forehead sweetly, smiling against your skin.

"I'm happy to see you too, princess," he whispered between a soft laugh that tickled your chest.

You pulled back just enough to grab his arm and eagerly pull him inside.

"Come on, Ji-Ji," you said with a nervous giggle. "I’ve got everything ready… even picked out the movies we’re gonna watch."

He followed without resistance, as if nothing in the world mattered more than being by your side.

"Hope you don’t mind they’re romantic ones…" you added playfully, glancing at his reaction.

"Romantic, huh?" he murmured, raising an eyebrow as he stepped in behind you, closing the door with a soft click. He gave you a sidelong glance with a smirk. "Trying to tell me something? Or just looking for an excuse to cuddle with me?"

"I don’t need excuses for that…" you replied quietly, half-joking, half-serious, as you walked toward the living room. You didn’t look back, but you knew his smile was growing.

He left his things by the door and followed, watching how you moved around the space—adjusting cushions, checking the lights, making sure the projector was ready. He knew you well enough to realize this attention to detail wasn’t random.

"You really went all out…" he said as he dropped onto the couch, settling in like it had always been his place.

"I wanted you to feel comfortable," you said, turning to him. "For it to be… special."

You sat beside him—not too close at first—but he soon wrapped an arm around you and pulled you in until your head rested on his shoulder and your legs brushed his.

"You know what’s special?" he whispered near your ear. "That I’m with my number one fan."

The world stopped for a moment. Your eyes widened, and you sat up just enough to look at him with a startled expression.

"W-what...? How do you know?"

"Come on…" he laughed, giving you a light tap on the forehead. "Your eyes light up when I talk about music. And all my posters from the last tour mysteriously disappeared… including the signed one with a personal message. Very suspicious."

You covered your face with both hands, letting out a muffled sound between a laugh and embarrassment.

"No way! You noticed everything?"

"Since the first time you came to one of my concerts and didn’t blink for an hour. I thought you were gonna faint when I walked to the edge of the stage," he joked, laughing as he gently pulled your hands away. "But don’t worry, princess. I don’t mind. Actually…"

He cupped your face with both hands, looking into your eyes with disarming tenderness.

"I love knowing the person by my side is also the one who’s been supporting me before any of this started. No one knows me like you do."

And without another word, he closed the distance, pressing his soft lips against yours, still glossy from the pink lip gloss you’d carefully applied minutes before. The kiss began gentle, like a melody shared in silence, his lips moving with yours in a rhythm only you two understood.

You didn’t want to pull away. You couldn’t. It was like everything in you—your skin, your chest, your breath—was begging to stay connected to him. But the air began to run out, and the tingling in your lungs forced you to gently pull at his shoulders to catch your breath, your breathing ragged and your cheeks burning.

You barely had a second before he kissed you again—hungrier, fiercer. As if the brief space between you had only fueled his desire. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer, craving his warmth more than ever.

His kisses were a wild yet tender mix. The way he kissed you made you feel sacred and desired all at once. Like he was afraid of breaking you… but also wanted to make you his. He was a gentleman hidden under the skin of a bad boy, and that contrast had you completely under his spell.

The temperature was rising. You felt it in every cell of your body. His hands slid from your cheeks to your waist with almost reverent softness, stopping right where your belly button piercing sat—a small pink jewel that seemed to glow at his touch. When he gently pressed on that spot, a moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

The sound surprised you more than him. Quickly, you let go of his neck and covered your mouth with both hands, your face flushed bright red.

"I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to..."

He looked at you with eyes lit not with lust, but tenderness. He leaned in and, in a whisper that brushed your skin like a caress, said:

"Do it again."

He didn’t give you time to respond. His lips met yours once more with a renewed intensity, as if nothing else existed beyond the touch of your mouths. He gently laid you down on the sofa, his strong arms guiding each movement while his hands began to explore your waist, your stomach, every inch of your skin.

But then, your words came out broken:

"J-Ji-yong… wait..."

He stopped immediately, not a trace of annoyance in his face. He looked at you with that deep gaze that felt like it could see into your soul.

"What is it?"

"I-I…" you swallowed hard, eyes dropping. "I’m a virgin..."

Silence fell, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He didn’t pull away, didn’t laugh, didn’t react weirdly. He just smiled—soft, warm.

"It’s okay, jagiya… I am too."

He caressed your cheek gently, as if to reassure you that nothing had changed, that everything was fine.

"Do you want to?" he whispered, his voice soft, like your answer was more important than any pleasure. "If you’re not ready, it’s okay. I can wait… as long as you need. I’d do it a thousand times for you."

You stayed silent for a few seconds, searching within yourself. Your heartbeat was a drum in your ears, but when you looked up and saw the sincerity in his eyes, you had no doubt.

"I-I want to… if it’s with you."

He nodded, as if that answer was the greatest treasure he could receive. And then, he kissed you again. Slowly. Respectfully. Lovingly. As if he knew this moment would be one you’d both carry forever.

His kiss was different this time. There was no urgency—only a deep need to make you feel loved. To show you that, in this moment, in this place, there was only you and him.

Ji-yong gently took you in his arms, never breaking eye contact.

"Let’s go to your room," he whispered against your lips. "I want you to be comfortable… at ease."

You nodded, and without letting go of his hand, led him down the hallway to your bedroom door. Once inside, the atmosphere shifted: it was your sanctuary, your most personal space, and now he was part of it. You closed the door softly, as if the world stayed behind it.

The dim light of your bedside lamp softly illuminated the room, and the floral scent from your diffuser filled the air. Your nerves were still present, but so was the warmth he gave you with just a single glance.

"You're trembling," he murmured with a gentle smile. "You don’t have to do this if you're not sure, okay?"

"I am… if it's with you," you replied, barely audible.

He leaned in and kissed you again, sweetly. His hands caressed your face, slowly trailing down your neck and arms as you both sat together on the bed. Then, he gently laid you down on the sheets, as if you were a gem too fragile to hold.

With calm movements, he began to unbutton his shirt, and you helped him, your trembling fingers brushing against his warm skin. He leaned over you and started to slide off your clothes with a patience that made your skin tingle, his eyes taking in every part of you as if you were a masterpiece.

"You're beautiful," he whispered upon seeing you, like the air had been knocked out of his chest.

You blushed, turning your face away for a moment, but he softly took your chin and kissed you again. His lips traveled along your neck and collarbones, leaving a trail of warmth and sighs. His hands caressed your waist with tenderness, as if your skin were something sacred—something that deserved no rush, only devotion.

He was taking his time.

He wasn’t rushing to go further. He touched you, listened to you, and when he sensed you tensing up, he stopped to whisper soft things in your ear—things like “I’m here,” “It’s okay,” “Just you and me.”

And when that moment finally came—when your body and his met with nothing between you—he didn’t move at first. He just looked at you.

"You’re my first love," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "And I want this night to be unforgettable for both of us."

He moved carefully, guided more by your reactions and your breaths than by desire. His touches were slow, his kisses endless, and his body sought to understand yours, to learn it, to cherish it.

At first it was clumsy, imperfect… but it was real. Human. Full of love.

He whispered your name between sighs, and you whispered his. And when your hands clung to his back, when your legs trembled beneath him, you knew there was no one else you’d rather share that moment with.

It was your first time. But it wasn’t just about the act—it was about what he made you feel: safe, special, loved.

And as the world faded away in the dimness of your room, with the distant murmur of a forgotten movie in the background, Ji-yong held you in his arms, his fingers playing with your hair, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your breath.

"I love you," he said, almost in a sigh, before kissing your forehead and pulling you close. "Thank you… for trusting me."

And so, between kisses, caresses, and the warmth of his embrace, you knew that night would live on in your memory as an eternal whisper—one only you and he would share, forever.

[neteyawne]

hello :) idk if you’re taking requests atm but if not ignore this!!

i would like to request some hcs for neteyamm if that’s okay, maybe some general ones like about him like his lil quirks and stuff and then some relationship ones? thanks lovely! 🫶

AHH i got you babe!! here's some head-cannons of our favorite boy on Pandora ~

Neteyam ⋆｡°✩ who's love language was acts of service. He was the perfect definition of a gentleman - always putting your own needs before his. He'd pick out the freshest fruits for you to eat and let you use his body as a pillow whenever you were in need of a nap. He was perfectly content with braiding your hair while you slept, often intertwining his own beads into the strands so you always had a piece of him with you no matter where you went.

Neteyam ⋆｡°✩ who used Norm's camera to take pictures of you. The Sky People's odd device was something he would come to cherish. He had polaroids of you stashed in a simple woven basket under his hammock - with other trinkets and sorts that reminded him of you.

Neteyam ⋆｡°✩ who had a bad habit of staring at you. He didn't even notice himself looking at you so longingly all the time until Lo'ak was snapping his fingers in front of the lovesick boy's face with an agitated look in his eyes. How many times would Neteyam space out and watch you play with little Tuktirey? He imagines you with his own children one day, and how wonderful of a wife and mother you'd make.

Neteyam ⋆｡°✩ who cradled you to his chest when you cried. He hated the sight of your lash line wet with tears, the sight bringing him to near tears as he hushes and soothes you. He spoiled you with love, making sure not a moment went by where you felt unloved. He was brave, but the sight of you crying always managed to break a piece of his heart. Until you're happy, don't expect the kisses and hugs to slow down anytime soon.

bonus scene! ⋆｡°✩

"Teyam - I can feel you smiling." You whisper, the feeling of his lips grazing your cheek soft as he lets out a chuckle

"I'm sure you can. You haven't opened your eyes yet, right yawne?"

You nod your head silently, your eyes still closed as he finally squeezes your hand gently - giving you the go ahead to open your eyes

Your fluttering lashes are met with the warm shine of the bioluminescence of the forest around you - and a few feet away from you was a tree, one that had you and Neteyam's named carved onto it.

"Do you remember this tree?" He asks softly, his eyes warm with love as you lean forward in awe, tracing the engraved wood with a smile

"I don't but... I feel like I've been here before." You whisper

"This was the tree you and I had our first kiss under. Remember, that branch was leaning over our heads - its vines tickling your sides when you leaned over hmm?" He muses, an amused grin on his face as he gently tickled your side as you squeal

"Teyam! This is - this is so wonderful." You breathe our, smiling so brightly that Neteyam's heart almost bursts at the sight

"Our love will be here forever. It's engraved here - one day, when we're old and our time has come - you and I will be laid here. Together forever, you and I." He whispers, and your eyes shine with unshed tears

"I love you Neteyam."

"I love you more, yawne."

[seelestars]

sunday w/ a fellow halovian s/o …

a/n : there needs to be more love for this little pigeon … he’s so cute im in love ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡ but alas, the only thing i can do is take matters into my own hands and contribute to feeding fellow sunday likers … can’t believe i’ve posted x2 in a day

- as a halovian, you’d likely be in one of the other families in penacony (bloodhound, iris, nightingale, alfafa)

- i think this would be smth sunday enjoys a lot, as he feels like he doesn’t need to hide as much when it comes to matters concerning the family and penacony since you’re already apart of the family as well, which means you know more about the inside matters of penacony

- but besides that, he also enjoys sharing the products he uses for his wings with you

- he’ll gently massage luxurious, expensive oils into your feathers

- if you decide to reciprocate such gestures and massage his wings as well, he’ll be very appreciative and happy—accepting your care with a soft yet subtle smile and a rosy tint on his cheeks

- whenever the two of you kiss each other, your wings always tickle each other (smth that always makes you giggle while he lets out quiet chuckles)

- if you got matching wing piercings with him .. he’ll be staring at them nonstop

- gets the two of you matching pairs of … wingrings? (feels wrong to say earrings…) with the color of his eyes and the color of your eyes

- might get a bit silly sometimes and communicate with you telepathically about certain opinions that he can’t voice around guests

- his smile widens just the slightest once you respond back with telepathy as well

in the quiet intimacy of your shared home, you were currently indulging in some self-care. “that feels so good…” you sigh softly as sunday hummed while massaging different oils into your feathers. you could feel yourself relax as you leaned against him, his touch very soothing and pleasurable on your sensitive wings.

“im glad it does.” sunday grins fondly once he notices you enjoying his touch, taking it as a sign to continue as you melt into the warmth of his bare hands. he made sure to handle your wings as delicately as possible, not wanting to cause you any harm. it was clear his touch was full of love and affection, massaging the spots he knew you liked most.

soon enough, sunday finishes caring for your wings. you already feel yourself craving for more of his touch. you just can’t seem to be satiated when it comes to him… after pondering for a moment on how else you could satisfy such feelings, your eyes lit up. “sunday! you should let me massage your wings too!” you beam, eagerly grabbing the bottles of essential oils.

“…ah? if that’s what you want, then go ahead my love.” sunday’s eyes slightly widened in surprise, you had never proposed such an idea to him before. it was always him being the one taking care of you—but he supposes he doesn’t mind if you were the one taking care of him for once.

and so, he found himself being soothed by your caresses as you gently rub the oils into all the crevices on his wings. you managed to provoke a laugh out of him quite a few times when you accidentally reached spots that were ticklish for him. with your touch, only one thought remained in his head.

he hoped he would get more opportunities like this in the future.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Hehehehe what about Vox and a fem!S/O that makes it a habit to fluster him or smother his techy butt in affection? I really just wanna take care of this stressed and overworked man whdiskansoskns-

Oh I suppose we can throw him a bone~

Vox X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: None I think??

Description: ☝️⬆️

Vox is probably the most stressed out of all the V's, not necessarily because of his workload but because of his temperament

A lot of little things get to him even though he tries not to show it

So he really appreciates having you as his S/O, especially on those days where he's losing his shit, because your affectionate nature helps him focus on something else

On those days, you manage to get him to lay down and accept a back massage from you, and you only tickle his sides a little

You couldn't help it

Sometimes, he actually falls asleep only to wake up to you lying on top of him, arms wrapped around his chest

Or you kiss the side of his screen and hug his neck while he vents to you, holding you securely in his lap

He doesn't want solutions, he just wants you to listen and keep cooing at him like you agree with him

Sometimes all he needs is just a hug from his favorite person in the world and you are more than willing to give it

He could die happy wrapped in your arms and breathing in your scent, your fingers gently caressing the edges of his screen

He loves how affectionate you are with him, knows that he would probably been driven mad by now if it weren't for you in his life

But if you do it in public or around the V's?? He's absolutely mortified and will actually just fizzle out right then and there

Not that you care, you'll take care of him

He's on tv doing his show? No matter, you blow him kisses from behind the camera until he's too flustered to go on, ending it earlier so he can go to you

Definitely doesn't cash in on all those smooches you were blowing his way

Not you interrupting a meeting with the V's because he forgot his phone, you practically demanding a kiss goodbye before you go

"Y/N, we're in a meeting I can't just-"

"I won't leave without a proper kiss!"

Smooch

Not Valentino hooting and hollering at you two as you grip onto your mans and really kiss him

Vox is so dazed by the time you scamper off, flopping back into his chair and hardly registering anything being said

...he definitely had his phone in his pocket before he left...he just didn't check after you pulled him in for a hug...

Did you pickpocket him just to kiss him at work!? In front of his friends!?

And now his screen went dark

The two of you are going out somewhere? You insist on holding his hand and kissing it at every opportunity, gazing up at him innocently

He chokes on his own spit

Even when you aren't awake you're so affectionate

Vox tries to get out of bed and get an early start on the day? Not unless he's taking you with him, your sleepy arms wrapped around him like a vice

More often than not, Vox is seen carrying you around while he sips his coffee, you peacefully dozing against him

You always rub your face on him, practically purring in your sleep because you're so content to snuggle him

He's blushing the entire time while trying to keep a neutral or annoyed look on his face, sipping his drink while scrolling through the news

If anybody mentions it then they're fired

If you ever wear lipstick or anything like that? You bet Vox is stumbling out of closets and rooms covered in kiss marks, blushing furiously

You look so innocent when you step out behind him, like you didn't nearly take his soul

Don't worry, you'll clean him up~

You give him affection and love so freely that it's difficult for him not to be embarrassed, not used to such a thing

He does try to reciprocate but it's not nearly as easy for him as it is for you, but he wants you to know he feels the same

So every once in awhile when you two are alone, he'll pull you into his lap and kiss the back of your neck in an attempt to hide his blush

"You know I'd be so lost without you, right?"

Now he's just asking for you to kiss him until he's begging for mercy

"Y/N W-WAIT!"

I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope it was okay!

[multific]

Small Kisses

Vincent De Gramont x Wife!Reader

Warning: mention of toxic obsession and kidnapping (not done by Vincent)

Summary: You loved the tickle of his lips on your skin.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses.

No matter the reason. He just loved doing it wherever you two were.

A formal event? 

A simple dinner?

A small date?

Or just staying in bed all day?

You swore the reason Vincent lived was to give you his sweetest kisses. A man so cunning and proud as him, yet he would be the proudest and calmest whenever he was with you.

You were his beautiful wife whom he loved with all of his dark heart.

But you didn't mind the blood, the murder and the insanity of it all.

Because every time he killed someone in the most brutal way, he would also come home to you, his gorgeous suit covered in blood, and give you such a sweet kiss.

It was honestly confusing rather than anything. 

Vincent was a very classy man. He enjoyed the luxuries in life. High-end products, and he always made sure that you lived in the same luxury.

On your last birthday, he gifted you an original Monét piece.

The painting is currently right above your bed.

If he could, he would buy you the Mona Lisa.

He would literally make sure that you are dripping in diamonds, much like how he did for his birthday when he got you a special gown, made out of diamonds.

Once he said: "I would change the Mona Lisa to a painting of you, you are far more beautiful, Mon Amour."

His sweet talking always worked.

No matter how angry you were because of something, he would always say the sweetest things and then give you a small kiss to your forehead.

“My Beautiful Wife, even stunning when she is mad at me.”

“I would kill any man for you, Mon Amour. You don’t have to ask.”

“I must apologise, I believe I have lacked in my duties as a husband, Mon Amour. I believe you forgot just how much I love you.”

He would always make sure that you are happy and protected.

Even when one time, he failed to do that.

Well, it was more like his men failed, not him. 

When you were taken, he was furious. Too furious to say or do anything other than rage. 

You were taken by a man. A man so insane, you never saw anything like this.

He kept on going on about how he knew you were in love with him, how he knew that you only married Gramont for the money and how now, you two can be together.

He scared you. 

His obsession with you was toxic, you could see just how crazy he was in his eyes. Every time he used the word 'love' it sent a shiver up and down your spine. 

When Vincent finally got to you, you were shaking in fear. The only thing that managed to calm you was Vincent's kisses.

The smallest little kisses he placed all along your body. He also spoke in French some calming words but you could only recall the tickle of his lips when he found a soft spot.

And when the next couple of days you woke up with a shiver, having nightmares about the man who abducted you, it was Vincent who calmed you down. 

It was he who kept waking up with you, never leaving your side, promising he would never leave or let this ever happen to you while placing kisses on your hands, knuckles and palm.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses on any exposed skin that you have.

But you loved the tickle of his lips on your skin even more.

His little kisses were the true proof of his love for you.

Vincent Taglist: @l4venderia

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[pursued-by-the-squid]

iii. location drop

pairing: eventual gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 7.1k

ao3 | masterlist

Young-il is so… interesting. In many ways he reminds you of yourself – he’s always studying the world around him, always listening, he can be remarkably serious and endearingly lighthearted in the same conversation, and he’s wickedly sharp. Much smarter than you are, that’s for sure, but you like that. It’s nice to speak to someone with so much life already lived and hear the way they view the world, even if it doesn’t always align with your own ideals. He challenges you, too. In ways you never would have imagined. That’s what makes him so intriguing.

His smile catches the light when you see him. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he says as he starts shrugging off his coat. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, his hair pushed away from his face in an elegant swoop.

You hum lightly into your cup. “Business stuff?”

Young-il nods. “Of a sort.” He eyes the extra cup of coffee on the table as he moves to sit across from you. “Trying something new?”

“It’s yours,” you correct. “Black Americano, right?”

Surprise tints his features and you feel a stab of pride for managing to catch him so off guard. “You remembered.”

His reaction shouldn’t sit as warm and cozy as it does in your chest, but you don’t fight it. Still, you try to play it off with a shrug. “I remember all kinds of things.”

A hand slips into his trouser pocket and it doesn’t occur to you until he’s pulling out his wallet that he wants to repay you. Before he can utter a single suggestion, you stop him. “Oh, no, that’s alright. I don’t mind,” you reply with a politely dismissive wave. “You can cover me next time, if you want.”

Truthfully, you’re still adjusting to the idea of purchasing whatever you want when you want it. You can’t (and won’t) go out and buy a brand-new sports car or anything, but even something as mundane as a coffee feels like a splurge with how strict you’ve been in the past. Gi-hun wants you to be happy, though, to have all your needs met, and if that’s what he wants…

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” you say after a moment. That wasn’t exactly what you had intended to say; you were trying to find something to say that wasn’t the same boring topics he always hears from you, but your mind had wandered and gotten lost somewhere between point A and point B.

Young-il’s still a bit taken aback, but you can see him smiling when he takes a sip of his coffee. “You would have missed me that much?”

He’s very clearly teasing you, but the fact of the matter is that yes, you would have missed him if he hadn’t shown. You don’t have many friends apart from him and Gi-hun who is, more often than not, busy doing whatever it is that he does. It’s not exactly a normal friendship, no matter how hard you strive to make it so, no matter how much you’ve come to care for him. Young-il, on the other hand, is less closed off, more engaging. He’s a normal businessman who does normal things like drink coffee and do guest lectures for some of the business students. You haven’t been able to see any of his talks yet, but you have a feeling they’re good.

You hide your own smile behind your cup when you go to take a sip, hoping that he doesn’t see just how tickled you are. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The conversation flows loosely from there. Young-il has recently taken over his business from the previous owner and as a result, his time is limited. Too many meetings, too much paperwork, and a lot of strategizing. You, on the other hand, have several short papers due this week that you’ve been putting off, not to mention the final project looming in the back of your mind as each week ticks by.

“There’s an extra credit module I was thinking of completing,” you say casually, as if your heart isn’t about to beat right out of your chest. “We have to visit the art gallery here on campus and write a reflection about our experience.”

You’ve been thinking of asking him to go with you. It makes sense considering he’s always on campus. You might almost think him a student if you didn’t know any better. But the difference between thinking about asking and actually asking is great – you don’t even know if he likes art, if he cares enough about your casual little friendship to meet you outside of weekly coffee meetings and words exchanged in passing on your way to the bus stop. Maybe you’re asking for too much. What if he thinks you’re weird?

So it takes you by surprise when Young-il leans forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. “I wasn’t aware there was an art gallery.”

You wipe a bit of liquid from the corner of your mouth. Could it really be this easy? “Yeah! They have a rotation of displays and visiting artists. The one we have currently is focused on surrealism. They’re displaying copies of some famous pieces, as well as art from several of our students.” Your eyes dart nervously over Young-il’s frame, trying to determine how open he is to the idea. He seems interested enough. “I haven’t been to a gallery in a little while and the extra credit would help raise my grade a bit.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It seems like you’ve already decided to go.”

“I think so, yes.” Your lungs constrict painfully below the canopy of your ribcage. If you don’t ask now, you’ll never find the courage to try again. “Would you like to go with me?”

A moment ticks by uneventfully. Then another.

Searching Young-il’s eyes tells you nothing. You can’t determine what he’s thinking, no matter how hard you look. The only insight his silence offers you is the weight of his gaze as he studies you, as if you were the art piece and he the seasoned purveyor.

His head tilts ever so slightly to one side. “You want me to join you?” He doesn’t sound disinterested in the idea, but neither does he sound fully invested.

You swallow nervously. “Yes. If you want.”

“Why me? Surely you have other friends you could go with, some of the students in your class, perhaps?”

Ah. So he’s not interested. You can feel your face heat up with the embarrassment of his rejection. You suddenly find the shapeless stain of a former coffee spill on the table inexplicably fascinating.

“I guess I probably should have asked one of them first.” You try to wrap the tail end of your response in a light chuckle, but it’s forced and uncomfortable. You end up grimacing more than anything else. “I’m sure you’re busy, what with your business and everything.”

What you want to say is that you wouldn’t go with any of your classmates even if you were paid to do it. What you want to say is that you’ve come to greatly enjoy his company and the little breaks in your otherwise monotonous routine that his presence provides. But of course, you can’t say any of that.

You reach for your drink, hoping to fill the awkward space with a couple sips of something tasty, but you’ve already drained the cup. There’s nothing left except for a few spare drops.

Young-il shifts in his seat, drawing your attention as he adjusts his sleeves. He’s rolling them up to his elbow, exposing all that previously unseen skin and the muscles of his forearms, and… Oh. Maybe this means more to you than you’d previously thought. Maybe you’ve developed a bit of a crush. That’s embarrassing.

“Next Tuesday,” he says, his attention still focused on the task at hand. “I have a break in my schedule around noon.”

For a few scattered inhalations, you’re left feeling lost. You were so sure he was uninterested based on the, well, everything about him, but now he’s saying exactly the opposite.

“I… Huh?”

The corner of his mouth twitches and for the briefest of micro-minutes, you think you see something soft hidden in his eyes. “If you’re free then?”

Right. Next Tuesday. Noon. Your brain putters around for a bit as it tries to play catch up to the conversation, but eventually the fog clears. You have an opening in your schedule around that time, too, funnily enough. The date is set – not that it’s that kind of date – and the conversation fades back into normalcy, but the entire time your heart is racing because Young-il has agreed to go with you and you feel an abnormal amount of excitement pooling in your stomach because of it.

The thing is, Gi-hun has told you before that you ought to make more friends. He knows that he is essentially the only person you spend time with on a regular basis and he’s not sure if he should feel guilty or honored by that fact. He should be happy for you that you’ve finally found a friend, that you’re getting out of your apartment and socializing. It’s just that when he had pictured a friend, Gi-hun had imagined someone around your own age, not… this.

The unknown man looks closer to Gi-hun’s age than yours. Not that that’s a bad thing. He’s your friend too, isn’t he? He simply finds it worrying. Older men and younger college students are something of a suspicious combination, no matter how refined and put together they seem. Like your new friend.

Still, there’s nothing harmless about meeting a friend for coffee. An older friend. Who doesn’t seem to do much apart from loitering around the business building and talking to you.

You’re fine, he tells himself, even as he pulls the brim of his cap down over his eyes and sips at his own drink. You can take care of yourself. But it doesn’t hurt that he’s here to watch over you, just in case. The last person in a suit to approach you had turned out to be a recruiter and it would be foolish of him to assume that you’re safe simply because you’ve thrown the card away and started heeding his advice.

Jeong-rae and his men are busy scouting the subways with a few more sets of eyes than usual to make up for Gi-hun’s absence. He has a pistol on him in case things go badly or your mysterious new friend turns out to be something he’s not, but he thinks (he hopes) that won’t be necessary.

Your coffee meet-up ends within the hour. Gi-hun has already finished his own drink long before, but he keeps sipping at his cup to sell the illusion that he belongs here, tucked into the corner of the campus coffee shop and watching you. He tries not to feel like he’s doing something wrong. Because he isn’t. He’s keeping you safe. If you’d had family or friends in the Games when he was there, he would have sworn to look after you and that’s all he’s doing now.

You head for the bus stop, your friend heads for the nearest parking lot. Gi-hun follows. He watches your friend settle into a very normal looking car – not obnoxiously flashy, but not a rundown heap of scrap metal either – and drive off, and he follows closely in his own vehicle. And if he gets a bit of a rush from tracking this man down and vetting him, then that’s his own business.

The man drives to a corner store and disappears inside for several minutes. When he comes out again, he drops a bag into the passenger seat and leans against the door while he smokes. Gi-hun suddenly pretends to find his mobile very interesting. He double, triple, and quadruple checks his incoming messages – no sign of the recruiter so far – and eventually finds himself pulling out his own stack of cigarettes and lighting one up.

By the end of the night, Gi-hun’s mission leads him to a hotel in one of the quieter pockets of the city. Your friend is entirely unthreatening and uninteresting. He feels a little foolish for letting himself get so caught up in his own paranoia – taking a gun with him? Really? Whoever he is, this man hardly looks like the same unhinged species of psychotic as the recruiter that had sealed his fate so long ago.

You can handle yourself, he reminds himself, perhaps for the fiftieth time today. And he knows it’s true. You’re smart and very capable, even if you are a bit trusting. You’re not the problem – it’s the rest of the world that worries him, the recruiters and game runners of society who could snuff out your light without blinking an eye. He won’t allow it, not even if it aggravates his paranoia and leaves him sleepless in the early hours of the morning.

Gi-hun will just need to keep a closer eye on you. To keep you safe. It’s a small sacrifice to make in return for your life.

In-ho carefully studies his reflection, smoothing a hand over his hair and straightening the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t usually wear a suit when he meets with you like he does when conducting Game business, opting instead for dark, soft things like turtlenecks and knit sweaters. Spring is finally here, but the chill of winter still lingers, so he suspects you’ll be neatly bundled as you were when he met you in the autumn. He’s mirroring you, trying things that subconsciously lure you into a false sense of security, and you’re falling for it every step of the way. It’s no wonder Gi-hun managed to worm his way into your life.

Gi-hun.

His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smirk. 456 had been a bit of a surprise, admittedly, a wrench in his otherwise perfectly executed plans. But In-ho has the training of a decorated police officer; 456 is gutter filth. And gutter filth, no matter how cunning, how desperate, or how rich, cannot overcome decades of rigorous training with the best police force in the country. He spotted Gi-hun the moment he pulled out of the campus parking lot – the rest had simply been a game that he was willing to play.

Today is a game of another sort. In his youth, In-ho had never been much of a flirt. Charming, perhaps, even suave if he was in the mood, but a flirt? It just wasn’t his style. But there is something to the Young-il persona that prompts him to try. Perhaps it’s the anonymity. Maybe it’s the low stakes and high reward – you’re not a genuine romantic prospect, you’re a target, and that means that it’s not his ego being bruised by your potential rejection but his predatory prowess.

Except you haven’t rejected him. You have, quite surprisingly, invited him further into your life. You have carved out a space for him in the otherwise uneventful and meaningless scope of your existence, and In-ho is painfully curious to discover how far he can push you before you fall completely.

He arrives at the gallery nearly an hour early, content to peruse the art nearest to the entrance and sufficiently prepare himself. It’s been several years since he has studied art in any meaningful way. He was more prone to it in the years before Oh Il-nam and Gi-hun’s Game, but he was more prone to many things back then – holiday phone calls to his brother, flowers at his wife’s grave. He doesn’t have time for such things anymore. Still, he finds the familiarity of the art, the artist, and the solemnity of viewership a comforting thing.

When you appear several minutes before noon, short of breath and clearly frazzled, In-ho finds it difficult to suppress his smile. You make your intentions so clearly known without ever realizing how transparent you are. Eagerness is written across your face so plainly, it may as well be a brand. Your eyes light up when you spot him, like a child encountering their favorite toy. Only – no, that’s a poor comparison. As young and foolish as you may be, you aren’t a child. A pet, perhaps. Clever enough with the capabilities you’ve been born with, but ultimately submissive to the hand of the master that feeds it.

“Hi,” you greet him with a flash of a smile. You’re already pulling off your coat only to grip it in your mouth while you start rummaging through your backpack, all before he can get more than a simple ‘hello’ out in response. Hardly a minute later, you’re settled with a notebook and pencil in hand, and your coat shoved haphazardly into your backpack. “Okay. Ready.”

He allows himself a moment of genuine amusement. “You seem eager.”

“Always eager to learn, Young-il-nim,” you answer with a little tap of your pencil against your forehead.

He takes the initiative to open the gallery door for you, reveling in the small victory of your poorly hidden surprise. “I take it you haven’t studied much Surrealism before, then?”

You shake your head. In-ho is keen to observe your expressions, but already you’ve tilted your face away to analyze the first painting, a popular Dalí piece that makes a clear impact on you. You murmur your way through the informative sign plastered beside the canvas with furrowed brows and inquiring, contemplative eyes.

“That’s so sad.”

He scans over the sign, confirming the information he already knows – a commentary on the Spanish Civil War of the 1930’s, made by an apolitical artist who chose to side neither with the fascists nor the Republic that rose up to fight it. What is it about political neutrality that is so heartbreaking to you? Or are you, perhaps, more drawn to the hollow grief portrayed in the painting itself?

Before he can find the words to ask, you’ve already taken the initiative to expand upon your remark. “His sister was killed by one side and his friend by the other. But he still didn’t take a side.” The hand holding your pencil is hovering lightly over the sign, fingers almost but not quite touching the words – as if you were afraid to touch it and mar its tragedy with your own simplistic worldview. “I can’t even imagine that.”

Something akin to sympathy flares up inside him before quickly turning to the flush of displeasure. Not anger, not yet. “Imagine what?” he prompts.

At last, you turn your face and allow him the chance to swallow every minute, flickering micro expression. “Any of it. Losing your family to the people who are meant to help you and then losing your friend to the people who want to hurt you.” The knot in your throat bobs when you swallow. How curious that you seem to be so deeply affected by something you have no true understanding of. “I guess I wouldn’t know which side to choose either, but I can’t say that I’d want to side with the fascists.”

In-ho nods, unsurprised. No, he can’t imagine that you would either. He tries not to think too hard on the implications – of the painting, of your sudden swell of emotions, or of the memories already pressing hard against the interior of his skull.

Your head tips down as you scribble a few notes in your book, followed by the click of your phone camera. He glances over your handwriting, a mix of Korean and your native tongue, before you eventually step away, turning to the next piece. He stays, only for a heartbeat or two, eyes lingering on the canvas before finally deciding to trail after you.

Most of the pieces in the gallery are somewhat familiar to him, though he doesn’t care for all of them. Some are too fantastical for his tastes, some are too nonsensical. Others leave him feeling perplexed, as they once did when he was younger, more bereaved and less inclined to the logic that rules his life now. And then – then there are the pieces that remind him of the Games. Chess pieces in vast, unending landscapes. Peering eyes devoid of faces, studying the audience the way the VIPs study the players. Staircases that lead to nowhere and doors that open to nothing, tangling together like the labyrinthine maze of pastel walls he has come to call both his home and his work.

Your reaction to each of them is as predictable as ever. “‘We often believe we're being led to a higher place when perhaps we're not going anywhere,’” you read. Your pencil taps against the corner of your mouth. “Well, that’s a bit grim.”

He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes – barely. “Is it?” Surely you can see the logic in such an argument, even if you don’t agree with it? Or must he spell everything out for you?

The gears in your head begin to turn, slow and steady. “It sounds more like depression to me than an actually viable outlook on life. Maybe you aren’t going anywhere because you’re holding yourself back, you know? You’ve closed all the doors that you can escape through and now you’re ramming your head into the wall, wondering why nothing’s happening.”

In-ho’s exhalation is heavier than it usually is, the tone of it caught somewhere between amusement, contemplation, and disbelief.

“Not that I’m judging him for feeling that way, Mister…” You lean in to check the name of the artist. “M.C. Escher.”

“I suppose you find it hard to relate to – feeling hopeless?” It’s not entirely fair of him to say and he is more than aware, but he wants to see that spark in your eyes. He wants to hear you explain yourself. Prove to him how miserable the world is, that your vision is flawed.

But where In-ho had expected anger, he instead finds something more subdued. The subtle tilt of your head, betraying the indignation you feel at his assumption. The flexing of the muscle in your jaw. The deep inhalation that makes your ribs expand. You make a sound in the back of your throat, a quiet hum overflowing with enough emotions that he can’t possibly translate them all. “I didn’t say that,” you murmur. “I just… prefer to be optimistic instead. When I can be.”

You don’t seem to like the labyrinthine staircases leading nowhere and he wonders, not for the first time and far from the last, how you would fare in the Games. Optimism is beloved by the naïve – it won’t get you very far. How would you have fared in his Game? In Seong Gi-hun’s? How quickly would your optimism have killed you?

He takes another opportunity to study you as you shoulder past him, still clearly upset by his remark. You are such a sensitive thing. How do you manage to survive in the world burdened by the weight of your own sympathies? Is it Gi-hun’s money that eases your heart, makes it easier to ignore the death and corruption all around you? Is it your own ignorance that makes life bearable?

His hands twitch with the sudden desire to pull you apart and discover exactly what it is that makes you tick. What mechanisms lie beneath your skin? Would you cry if he pulled them out one by one? Would you rage?

“I’m sorry,” he says, coming up behind you as you move to the next collection of works. “I’ve upset you.”

“No,” you reply, too quickly for it to be anything other than a lie. “I just wanted to look at the others, that’s all.”

You’re a terrible liar, at least when you’re agitated. In-ho rests his hand on your shoulder, his tongue already sharpened with the blade of a few clever words, when he happens to look up and catch a glimpse of the painting you’ve chosen to study. It hits him all at once – the empty nights, the cheap bourbon and even cheaper whiskey, the agonizing pit in his stomach, the hospital bills – and suddenly, In-ho finds that he can do little more than stand there, his mouth agape, and sway against the current that threatens to sweep him off his feet.

René Magritte. L’Empire des lumières. He would know it anywhere.

He’s distantly aware of you turning to look at him, your shoulder twisting under his hand, your voice curling around the shape of a stranger’s name, but it’s little more than a vague, hazy noise in the back of his mind.

A brightly illuminated sky dotted with pearlescent clouds. (He thinks of the arenas, splattered with blood.) A darkened street. Trees silhouetted against the clouds. A house, lonely and empty, its reflection in the water below unfocused. (He thinks of the apartment he’d had with his wife, how empty it was when he returned home from the Games.) A single lamppost illuminates the darkness of the house. One. Alone. Sturdy and strong, blazing against the emptiness.

“What is it? Young-il-nim?”

“My wife...” The words croak out of him, unbidden, unwanted. He shakes his head to try and clear his thoughts, but he can’t shake the memories.

Your hands drop – wherever they had been on his person previously, he doesn’t know, nor does he care. All he sees, all he knows is the apartment he had holed himself up in after she died. Some small, cramped shoebox that offered less personality, less freedom, than the rooms he offered to his own soldiers. The two little fish on his desk, long dead by now. The books he left behind. The card from his first Game – the only thing left of her. The paintings.

The paintings.

He can still remember the first time he saw them. Drunk on grief and so violently angry at the world, he had stumbled his way through Seoul, reliving the old haunts from the happier days of his marriage. The theatre, the mall, the academy he had graduated from, the gallery where they met… He remembers his face being wet with spit and tears. He remembers peering in through the darkened windows, searching for something that no longer existed. He remembers the paintings, the isolated lamppost standing tall in a sea of hopelessness. He remembers thinking he may as well be that lamppost, trying desperately to illumine an abandoned house haunted by the Games that had stolen his hope, his humanity, his last moments with the only person in the entire world who could have saved him.

In-ho pries desperately at the air around him, trying to relearn how to breathe even as he’s swept below the current. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s left you behind, that his surroundings have shifted. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

He should have known better. Magritte is one of the most popular artists in the genre. He should have expected to see his works, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He was so focused on his game, on luring you further into his trap and wielding the victory over Seong Gi-hun’s head. He was so busy playing the Front Man that he had forgotten Hwang In-ho.

“I need to apologize.” It’s the first thing he says when he sees you again, almost two weeks later.

You wave him off very politely, but he can tell that you’ve already started to close yourself off to him and that simply won’t do. After everything he has suffered and endured to lure you and 456 into his trap, he will not allow his plans to crumble over a past he cannot change.

“It’s alright, Young-il-nim. I could tell you were upset. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Your eyes are sad for the first time since he’s met you. “I was worried.”

For a moment – the briefest, most fleeting of seconds – he allows himself the indulgence of your compassion. He may not need it, but it is a balm on the freshly torn open scar of his grief all the same. He covers your hand with both of his in thanks. The words don’t come for a very long time.

“My wife died eight years ago.” And he can still see her face even now, even after everything he’s done. “We met in a gallery, like the one here. She loved art, loved the theatre and music. She was… bright.” Like a streetlamp illuminating the darkened eaves of his heart. “After she died, that painting was the first thing I saw and it–.”

He’s struck by the onslaught of tears poking at his waterline. He shouldn’t be telling you any of this. Yet some ancient corner of his heart that had shriveled up the night he held her death certificate in his hands is crying out, desperate to be heard, and for once, In-ho doesn’t have the strength or will to fight himself.

“It reminded me of what she was to me – a light in an unforgiving world.” He swallows hard as the world swims all around him. He can feel your gaze on his cheek, your fingers curled around his. “I hadn’t expected to see it again and I reacted poorly.”

The swiftness of your reply nearly guts him. You press your body closer to his, from your shoulder down to your knees as you lean in, voice soft and eyes misty. “You didn’t… you didn’t do anything you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” You rub your thumb over the back of his hand and all In-ho can do is stare. “I’m sorry you had to relive that. That’s… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

It isn’t worth much, but the apology is kind and he appreciates it for what it is.

“What was her name? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Min-jung.” Her face flashes across his memory again – the wide eyes and bright smile he had fallen for so instantaneously, the laughter, the joy. “Kang Min-jung.”

You repeat the name to yourself with a reverence he doesn’t expect, but then, he hadn’t expected any of this. For all the control he tries so desperately to cling to, In-ho is wildly out of his depth. He feels unmoored and listless.

“It’s a beautiful name. I’m sorry you lost her.”

He nods. “As am I.” It’s the truest thing he’s said in years.

“Is there…” Your mouth tilts into a frown as you search for the right words. “Is there anything I can do for you?” The inclination of his head and the exaggerated lifting of his brows encourages you to explain further. “I just feel bad. You wouldn’t have reacted like that if I hadn’t invited you with me.”

There, he realizes. It’s an opening, a crack for him to slip his fingers into and apply some pressure. A glimpse at control. After two weeks of drowning in memories and grief, In-ho relishes the thought.

“You have nothing to apologize for, [___]. But I would like to make it up to you, if I can.”

“You don’t have to–”

He raises his hand with a smile. “I would like to.” And because you are the naïve, optimistic thing that you are, you will say yes. “Allow me to drive you home today.”

The first time he enters your apartment is a bit surreal. It had been a hired hand to install the camera that he studies you through and he’s learned quite a bit that way – your practically non-existent breakfast routine, the things you watch on your TV (you’ve rewatched the same show at least five times in the last month and a half, surely there’s something more fascinating you could be doing with your time?), and sometimes he can even catch a conversation or two between you and Gi-hun. Those occurrences are always so interesting. But actually stepping into your living space provides In-ho with even more context to the knowledge he’s already gathered.

You have a very specific taste in candles, not wholly unpleasant but perhaps a bit of an acquired taste. There is an entire wall of your living room that has been unviewable until now, mostly wall décor of the variety people your age tend to obsess over like pop groups and Western franchises, but there are other things too. A photo album of your time spent in Seoul. A crisp, dried-up plant that might once have been green. Little trinkets you’ve clearly purchased at some hole-in-the-wall tourist trap. And the amount of books you own is surprising. Old textbooks from classes long since passed, well-worn Korean workbooks, even romance novels that would make any sensible person flush with shame.

“It’s just down there,” you say, pointing vaguely to your right as you shrug off your backpack. “The door doesn’t always close fully, so you have to push it a little hard.”

He nods his thanks and starts down the hall. There are two doors: one to your bedroom and one to the toilet, though there’s only one that he actually finds interesting. He manages to sneak a glance into your room as he passes, but the shades are drawn and the door is only slightly cracked, so there isn’t much to see. In-ho thinks that one of his cufflinks may eventually find its way inside.

The bathroom is as uninteresting as he had suspected it would be, though small things still catch his eye. He cannot truly recall the last time he was so thoroughly surrounded by the presence of another person. Your scent lingers in the hair products, body wash, and body spray, your personality sparkling in the bits of jewelry scattered on the counter. Your favorite color is made apparent in the towel, toothbrush cup, and floor rug, and even your underwear preference jumps out at him. You must have left them on the floor after you showered this morning.

In-ho feels a surge of memories flaring at the base of his skull, begging to be released, but he pushes them back. This isn’t domestic. This is business, plain and simple. The comparison is superficial at best and he will not entertain it.

He flushes the toilet to keep up appearances, washes his hands, then quickly undoes one of his cufflinks. It rolls quietly down the edge of the door until it finally stops somewhere inside your room, and he smiles to himself, just for a moment, to revel in his success.

You flash him a smile of your own when he re-enters the sitting room. “All better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

You’ve curled up on the sofa in his absence, scrolling absently through your phone as he meanders toward the front door. “Oh, are you- are you leaving already?” And don’t you sound so distraught at the idea?

“Unfortunately, yes. I have a business meeting in a few hours,” which is a blatant lie, “and I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He goes to adjust his jacket sleeves one at a time, waiting patiently, patiently for you to rise from your seat and bid him farewell.

“Aw. Well, good luck with your meeting, I guess.” You reach past him to open the door. “Don’t work too hard, now. You might hurt yourself.”

In-ho chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He fixes his other sleeve, fingers fumbling with the empty space where there ought to be cool metal, and he halts mid-step.

Your eyes drift to the open part of his shirt sleeve where his wrist is exposed. “You okay?”

He schools his face into something more serious. “My cufflink is missing. I… I could’ve sworn I still had it in the car.” As if he actually cares about something so trivial.

Much to his delight, your entire expression crumples. “Oh no! D’you think you lost it somewhere in here, or…?”

You accept the lie so easily, it’s no wonder that 456 was able to approach you. Are you truly so gullible that you cannot see through even the simplest of manipulations?

“I’m not sure,” he hums.

“Can I see?”

True confusion wrinkles in his brow when he looks at you. “What?”

One of your hands lifts to point at his right arm. “The other one. Can I see what it looks like?”

In-ho nods and offers his hand without hesitation, twisting his wrist to allow you a better view, but he finds himself stilling as you draw nearer. Your expressions are always genuine, but often some level of restrained or distanced. You like him, but you try not to show it. Yet now, as you had only an hour before, all that hesitation seems to dissipate in the wake of this small inconvenience.

And then you touch him. It is a brief and unassuming thing, merely the press of your fingertips on his forearm as you tilt his wrist toward you, but for In-ho, you may as well have shot him point blank. Some strange uncertainty passes over him, accompanied by a tightening in his chest and a hesitation in his lungs.

“I’ll take a look around in here,” you say, as casual as you ever are and entirely blind to his current state. “Maybe it fell off when you came inside.”

The collar of his shirt feels too tight when he swallows. “I’ll check the bathroom.”

You aren’t afraid of him. The realization is akin to the detonation of a bomb. Here, in this moment, he is not Oh Young-il. Young-il is a vulnerable dream wrapped in just enough mystery to keep you coming back to him time and time again. In this moment, he is the Front Man, he is a man with decades of police training and cunning drilled into his skull. And you aren’t afraid of him.

He wanders into the bathroom with unseeing eyes, his forearm tingling in the same spot where you’d touched him. Your toothbrush stares back at him, unblinking and undisturbed by the intensity of his glare. How many years has it been since someone looked at him and was visibly unafraid? How long since he has felt the touch of anything beyond the clinical sting of forceps and his brother’s bullet in his flesh?

Hyung…

He squeezes his eyes shut against the sound of Jun-ho’s voice, the frayed nerves around the edges of his bullet wound suddenly twisting in agony.

“I’m going to check outside!” you call from the sitting room. “Be right back!”

This is ridiculous. Even as he shoulders his way from the bathroom to your bedroom, he can feel himself growing more and more agitated. The overhead light flickers on as he swoops down to grab his cufflink. You’re nothing more than a pawn in the grander game. You have no clue how incredibly unremarkable and minuscule you are. His gaze flits over framed photos of your friends and family, the unmade bed, the hamper of folded laundry and the lazy pile of dirtied clothes just beside it. You’re nothing, no one. He could squeeze the life out of you right now and no one but 456 would even miss you.

The tendons in his hands constrict, suddenly curling his fingers into fists. He could do it. You would fall apart so easily in his hands.

He looks to the small, cluttered table beside your bed. A clock, a bodhisattva figurine (likely from any number of the temples across Seoul), a phone charger, a book. You are so painfully mundane. Killing you would be a favor, to himself and anyone unfortunate enough to know you, and it would shatter Seong Gi-hun. That much he can be sure of. So –

In-ho pauses mid-step. His pulse ticks just below his ear. He turns.

The book on your table is brand new, he can still see the price sticker along the spine and the receipt you’ve manufactured into a bookmark, but that isn’t what draws his eye. It’s the painting on the cover, the name of the artist that makes him feel as if he’s just been dragged to the lowest depths of the ocean.

René Magritte – L’Empire des lumières.

He would know it anywhere. He spent five whole years staring at the damn thing from inside the four cramped walls of his shithole apartment. The first painting he saw after…

He rushes for the exit as fast as his legs will carry him.

“Did you find-? Are you okay?” You’re standing just inside the front door, your phone in hand and the flashlight still turned on, peering curiously at him.

He very nearly drops his car keys when he tries to snag them from the table. “I have to go.”

“Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t reply, can’t reply. There aren’t words. But your voice lingers long after you’re gone. Other things linger too, other pieces of the past that haunt him no matter the time or distance spent trying to disconnect himself. He feels flayed apart and exposed. He feels raw. He feels… angry.

He buys himself a bottle of whiskey on his way back to the hotel, the cheapest, shittiest brand with the most bitter taste. He drowns himself in it. He spends the entire night locked inside his hotel room, his insides pulling at his outsides, fingers itching to pull the trigger on a loaded gun. You, Gi-hun, himself, he doesn’t care who dies, so long as the influx of memories and regret and utter fucking loneliness dissipate and he is allowed a moment of peace.

But for a man like Hwang In-ho, for the Frontman, he knows there is no such thing. Peace is a luxury only afforded to a few, usually the rich fucks who fly themselves to the island to bet on lives and bloodlust.

You likely think you have that same peace, bloated as you are with Gi-hun’s money. You hadn’t been so different from him before 456 came into your life – a student with a dream, low on funds but high in hopes – except you had found favor where In-ho had not. There was no rich, pathetic billionaire with a guilty conscience to spare him several hundred thousand won when his wife and child were dying. There was no mercy to be found in the cruel and selfish loan sharks, doctors, or police chiefs. There had only been the Games and their unfaltering equality.

His lip curls into a snarl as he downs the last of the whiskey. Equality. 456 had shattered that illusion, but In-ho knows exactly what to do to piece it back together. After all, there’s only one place in the world where true equality exists.

[traveler-at-heart]

Secrets

Summary: You try to keep your relationship a secret!

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

It was fun at first.

The thrill of sneaking around, secret glances, hidden touches. It had been quite a ride to get to where you were with Natasha, and knowing how the team could be, you both wanted to keep your relationship to yourselves, at least for a little while.

One of your secret spots were the stairs. With a building so big, it was natural that everyone took the elevator. It was the perfect place to meet the redhead and more often than not, the conversation progressed into an intense make out session that left you breathless.

“Is the elevator broken?” Steve asks as you come back from one of your little escapades. You jump at his presence, your mind still thinking about the feeling of Natasha’s lips on yours.

“Uh… no. It’s working just fine. I like to take the stairs to… exercise”

“That’s a nice idea. Maybe I’ll try it one of these days” he nods.

Cap and his obliviousness, sweet old man. He has no idea you’re all flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with coming up the steps.

Still, you think nothing of it. He was probably trying to be nice when he said it was a good idea. The next day, when you’re lost in Natasha, intoxicated by her supple lips and the way they move against your own, you miss the sound of heavy footsteps and an off key whistle.

“Crap” Natasha is the first to react, breaking apart. You turn to look down, Steve taking the steps two at a time.

Fit bastard.

“Morning!” he says, too happy for your liking.

“Oh, hi, we were just…”

“We?” he echoes, and you look around. No trace of Natasha.

“I mean, me. I was just taking a break. I think I’ll go back to taking the elevator”

“You sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, just a bit agitated. Nothing to worry, Cap”

Steve nods and smiles.

“I told everyone about your great idea. I think people will start using the stairs more”

“Oh, that’s just peachy”

Once again, he is oblivious to your actual feelings. After he’s gone, Natasha jumps from behind the staircase.

“Jesus, how did you manage to do that so quickly”

“Well, you always have to be ready for a quick escape, detka”

Natasha leans forward and pecks your lips, but before she can do anything else, you drag her back to the hallway.

“You heard Cap. Our secret spot is no longer secret”

—

So far, you haven’t found a decent replacement for the stairs, except for a supply closet. And by God, you are not that desperate.

As you cook dinner, Natasha comes up behind you, and you relax against her.

“I’ve missed you” she says against your shoulder, placing small kisses that tickle you.

“I missed you too, love”

A hand goes around your middle and she toys with the hem of your shirt, lips kissing your neck, and that sweet spot behind your earlobe that makes you shiver.

“Nat” you moan, and you don’t know if you want her to stop or keep going.

Yelena answers that for you as she steps inside, eyes widening. You draw blank, because honestly, how can you explain this?

Natasha takes matters into her own hands, literally, as she hugs you and pretends to do the Heimlich maneuver.

“She’s choking” Natasha says and Yelena scrambles around.

“Oh, my God, Y/N, please don’t die”

The redhead pretends to help you, squeezing your middle and you cough.

“I think I’m…”

Unfortunately, the blonde is too freaked out and pushes Natasha away, thinking she’s helping you.

As she presses against your sternum, you are suddenly out of breath and you swear you can feel your ribs cracking.

“Ok, I’m fine, Yelena, thanks” you break free of her hold, sure that your sides will be bruised next morning.

Yelena doesn’t let you cook anymore, so you end up with a dinner of mac and cheese, and Natasha’s sister sitting in the middle while you three watch tv.

“I’m sorry” Natasha says when her sister gets up to grab another soda.

“Just for the record, this isn’t the type of choking I had in mind”

—

“They’re gonna be here any minute” you say against Natasha’s shoulder.

“I know” she bites your neck and you sink further into her lap.

The Quinjet, out of all places is where you find some privacy. The rest of the team will join shortly, as you have a recon mission.

But you can’t keep your hands to yourself and you end up naked, straddling Natasha’s lap as she moves her fingers inside of you.

“God, you look so pretty like this” she says against your chest.

“Nat, more” you plead. It’s too much and too little at the same time. She listens, moving her hand faster and your hips match her pace.

“God. Yes” you collapse in her arms.

“Request to open gate” FRIDAY informs and you curse, because you want more than a second to catch your breath.

Sneaking around is getting old now.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up” Natasha says, helping you up. She looks proud when your legs shake.

“Shut up” you say, which only makes her smile wider.

While the team enters the Quinjet, you go back to the bathroom with Nat as you hurriedly put your suits on.

“Red? Y/N?” Tony calls for you.

“Here” you raise your arm, feeling a bit tense. Maybe you pulled a muscle.

Stark nods your way and starts the Quinjet, while Steve goes over the plan with everyone else. You stay seated, vaguely aware that something feels different but you can’t tell what it is.

“Be careful” Natasha says when you part ways, squeezing your hand.

Your job is to keep an eye on the guards at the south gate and stop them if they are called to attack the intel team.

Which unfortunately does happen, so you run to shoot, kick and punch at every one of them.

There are two guards left, and as you reach for your gun, something incredibly unexpected happens.

Your suit opens right in the front, revealing your red lacy bra.

“What the fuck” you shout, looking down.

The guard in front of you opens his mouth, completely enthranced by your cleavage.

“New strategy?” Tony flies over, knocking him down. He sends the last man standing across the room.

“No! I don’t know what happened!”

You try to cover but the leather is not giving in.

“Ok, well. We’re done here so you can put all that” he gestures to your chest. “Back in the Quinjet”

Rolling your eyes, and with your arms crossed in front of you, you walk back to the jet.

As you lock eyes with Natasha, you finally notice how her own suit is loose on the shoulders.

You switched when you were getting dressed.

“I like this new look” Sam wiggles his eyebrows and Natasha sends a widow bite straight to his ass.

“Oops” she shrugs her shoulders as he glares.

Feeling a little better after that, you go inside and find a t-shirt to cover up.

When you leave the bathroom, everyone is silent.

“Ok, it’s not like you all haven’t seen boobs before. So get over yourselves. Except Steve, he gets a pass” you bark at them.

“I’ve seen boobs before” he tries to say but no one pays attention.

Natasha stays silent and you think she might be upset or reconsidering this whole thing.

You expect the worse as you land and she leads you back to your room.

“Nat…”

The redhead holds her finger up, taking your shirt off and sinking her face in your breasts.

“Really?”

“Mine” she grumbles, her hands squeezing possessively.

Well, at least some good came out of it.

—

The atmosphere is tense.

Clint, Wanda, Peter and you are playing Jenga.

Honestly, you are the one at a disadvantage here. With Clint’s aim and the enhanced individuals, you don’t stand a chance.

The way Natasha looks at you from across the room doesn’t help either.

It’s been a few days since you were together. Fury called her for an urgent mission and you had to resist the urge to sneak into the Quinjet and beg her to fuck you against the console.

And now, she’s back and you can’t wait for the night to wrap up so you can wrap your legs around her while she eats your…

“Gah!” Wanda screeches, knocking over the tower. “My mind, my eyes”

Crap.

“Wanda, a word?” you plead, dragging her out of the living room while Clint and Peter stare.

“You” she slaps your arm. “And you” she glares at Natasha as she approaches, pushing you both to her room.

“Sorry, we are keeping it a secret for now”

“But your thoughts are so loud” she massages her temples, clearly distraught. “I was so focused on the game and still I could hear everything, see everything”

“Sorry” you grimace. “Do you think you could… not tell anyone? For a bit”

“Oh, trust me, I’m very eager to pretend none of this happened”

“Thanks, Wanda” Natasha says and the girl nods.

“It’s nice to see you both happy. Just try to keep your thoughts to yourselves”

“We’ll try”

Wanda nods, walking out. Natasha’s quick to push you against the wall, eyes darkened by lust.

“Wanna tell me what was on your mind?”

“Can you at least wait for me to leave the hallway?!” Wanda screams from outside.

“You have ten seconds, Maximoff”

“Thanks, I hate you”

—

You figure a little distance from everyone will do you good.

So, you get tickets to a Yankees game and spend the day in the city with Natasha.

Even if you are only a half hour away from the Compound, among the sea of people, no one looks at you when you hold her hand, or share a kiss in the middle of your walk.

“This is nice” you smile, bringing her hand to your lips.

The first half of the game is slow, but you enjoy the time eating popcorn and making comments with Natasha about the score.

During the break, several people in the audience are featured in the screens. A girl chugs an entire beer while the crowd goes wild.

“Damn” you laugh, but the next image you see is you, next to Natasha.

The kiss cam.

“No, we’re fine” you wave your arms and the crowd boos. “Ok, not nice!”

“Don’t be such a baby” she smiles, pulling you closer.

“Pretty sure Steve and Bucky are watching the game back home”

“You jump, I jump” she leans forward, allowing you to decide if you wanna do this or not. As your lips meet in a short kiss, everyone starts clapping and cheering you on.

“Are you sure about what we just did?”

“Very. I’m tired of hiding. You make me happy. What’s wrong with that?” Natasha says and you smile against her lips.

“You are so getting lucky tonight”

But before you can kiss her again, both of your phones go crazy with texts from everyone on the team.

Tony: Is this why Wanda asked me for a way to erase her memory?

Sam: Now I know why you electrocuted my ass, Red!

Wanda: DONT COME NEAR ME

“Still think we made the right call?” you roll your eyes as the texts keep coming.

“Absolutely, detka” she says before kissing you softly.

Yeah. It’s gonna be ok.

[pukefactory]

hello! i love your writing so much and wanted to know if i could request Goob from Dandy’s World play fighting with/tickling reader? all fun and fluffy, nothing nsfw. he just makes me happy and seems like he’d be fun to play with, with his long arms i feel like he’d trap reader and noogie them playfully or tease them before letting them get him back.

no pressure of course! 🌸

꒷꒦⋆⑅˚₊ CUTE AND DEADLY ₊˚⑅⋆꒷꒦

↻ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons About Goob Tickling You!

↻ Character(s): Goob The Fluffy Craft (Dandy’s World)

↻ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

↻ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

↻ Image Credits: @pluginpet & @gloomy-collective

⋟ Goob doesn’t just hug—he traps! The second he spots you, those long, cable-like arms shoot out to ensnare you in a hug that quickly turns into playful roughhousing. He’s got you now! Wiggle all you want, he’s not letting go!

⋟ Goob is a big fan of noogies. The moment you’re in his grasp, he ruffles your hair with those big, clawed hands, giggling the whole time. “Ahhh! The ultimate Goob Noogie Attack! Hehe!” His excitement is contagious, even when you try (and fail) to squirm away.

⋟ His arms may be strong, but they’re also flexible. That means he can wrap you up and wiggle his claws right into your sides at the same time. “Tickle tickle! Ohoho, you’re so squirmy!” He’ll cackle as you try to fight back, but Goob never loses a tickle war… unless you pull a surprise counterattack!

⋟ If you somehow manage to slip free and go for his sides? Oh boy. Goob shrieks in laughter, flailing those noodle arms wildly. “AHH! NO! NOT THE TICKLES! I’M TOO FLUFFY FOR THIS!!” The moment you let up, he flops onto the floor dramatically. He has been defeated! (But only for now…)

⋟ No matter how a play fight ends, Goob always finishes it with a huge, crushing hug. “Hehe! No hard feelings, buddy!” You’ll probably get lifted right off the ground while he sways side to side. He lives for hugs, after all!

⋟ If you challenge him to a “fair” play-fight, Goob fully commits. “Ohhh, you wanna go?! Hah! I’m the champion of tickle battles!” He’ll bounce in place, wiggling his claws menacingly before charging like a giggling whirlwind of chaos.

⋟ Sometimes Scraps walks by and just sighs. “Goob. Stop terrorizing them.” But Goob gasps dramatically. “Terrorizing?! Me?! Nooo! I’m just giving out free fun!” (She’s not convinced.)

⋟ Goob has zero warning system. He’ll just randomly decide to pounce, arms flailing as he declares, “HUG ATTACK!!” Even if you try to escape, it’s too late. You’re already trapped in fluffy chaos.

⋟ The best part of play-fighting with Goob? His laughter. He’s all big grins and breathless giggles, totally in the moment. Whether he’s winning or losing, he’s just so happy, and it’s impossible not to smile along with him.

⋟ No matter what, Goob always ends a play fight with a triumphant grin. “That was so fun! Can we do it again? Pleeease?!” Even if you’re still catching your breath, how can you say no to that face?

Writing commissions are now open! I will create nearly any type of story, including OC x Canon or general imagine-style pieces. Please refer to the pricing details below.

Payment is required before I begin working on your commission. PayPal only.

If you’re interested, please send me a DM. Refer to my pinned post to see what fandoms I write for, as well as any additional information.

[stsgluver]

synopsis. there’s just something about watching gojo put that blindfold on.

wc. 570

"it's bumpy at the back. "

"still? but i thought i fixed it?"

"well you clearly didn't. i think it messed up on the first wrap around, you might have to start again."

"can you take a picture or something to show me where it is? i can't feel it."

"no."

satoru turns to you and you don't need to be able to see his eyes to know he's got them raised suspiciously at you, if the smirk on his lips is anything to go by. "no?" he taunts, crossing his legs as you both sit on your bed facing each other. "why not? i've made the same mistake three times now. "

you shrug dismissively, "you're a big boy, don't give up now. i'm helping you." you cover your mouth and look to the side as if though that would stop satoru from hearing the small laughs.

maybe it's because it's so early, or maybe it is just that attractive, but there was just something about watching your boyfriend cover his eyes with bandages that just makes all the stars align.

he always holds one end of the bandages between his teeth, using both of his hands to gather up his undercut before he begins smoothly wrapping it around his head. he never makes a mistake. like everything else he's ever done, the outcome is flawless.

it doesn't matter how many times you've watched him do it, the butterflies that spiral in your stomach never cease.

however, admitting such attraction to such a mundane thing (that he has to do to y'know not deal with the skull-splitting migraines) is embarrassing. especially when you know satoru and the fact he will never ever let it slide.

the hope that maybe he'll be more disgusted by the fact you called him 'big boy' to press you further on the matter is quickly extinguished. "i think i already have," he counters in a sing song voice, "someone likes watching me!"

you almost choke on your spit, coughing as you check the watch on your wrist that's not there, "would you look at the time? you have class!" trying to slip off the bed is futile because satoru's reflexes are three times as quick as yours and he doesn't hesitate to grab your arm.

"class can wait," satoru lifts the bandages above his right eye, giving you a glimpse of his raw power as he eyes you playfully. leaning in dangerously close to you, his breath tickles you as he speaks, "c'mon baby, just admit it."

there it is. baby. the pet name is enough to shatter any self-control you still somehow manage to have left and you lift your head to try and kiss him. keyword: try.

"uh uh, say it," he teases, his tongue poking out to swipe across his pretty lips as he holds you back by less than an inch. if you wanted to swipe your tongue across his lips too, you could.

your cheeks heat up and you cross your arms with a huff, "i like watching you put your blindfold on. happy?" satoru thinks he's going to implode because he doesn't think there's enough space left in his body to cope with the sheer adoration he has for you. he settles for a

"ecstatic." satoru kisses you again, this time with more eagerly as he drags your body towards his lap just to have you closer to him.

[misseviehyde]

CONFISCATED - PART 2

Beth cursed as the clutch on her car made another unpleasant grinding sound and the automobile leapt forward a few inches. Yanking the gear stick hard, she managed to regain control and finally pulled off into the traffic at a reasonable crusing speed.

This car was a total piece of shit, but since finalising the divorce with Lawrence she'd been struggling financially and the last thing she could afford right now was a new vehicle.

Lawrence and her had split up amiably enough and he always paid his alimony on time, but Beth knew they were both struggling to manage. Bella was at a difficult age and their separation had affected her most of all. She seemed to think money, popularity and status were all that mattered and she was addicted to her mobile phone.

Beth was still hopeful that Bella would mature and realise there was more to being a woman than how you looked and what you could get out of men. She herself despised gold-digging bimbo's and was uncomfortable when she had found Bella looking at breast enhancement websites.

Bella had inherited Beth's flat chest and she seemed determined to find a way to cheat nature. She'd already told her Mom she was determined to get implants as soon as she was able - although she'd gone suspiciously quiet about it recently, almost as if she'd found some other way to get what she wanted.

Beth just wished her daughter could be happy the way she was. She didn't want her daughter becoming a spoiled gold-digging, fashion obssessed bitch.

A ripple suddenly seemed to pass through the air. A faint vibration that made her shiver and the hairs rise slightly on her arms. Beth's mobile phone on the passenger seat suddenly buzzed and the screen lit up.

CONNECTED TO BRAT APP. DOWNLOADING SOFTWARE.

Beth didn't look at her phone, she assumed it was just a message and she would read it later.

BRAT APP INSTALLED. CONNECTED TO ACCOUNT LOREN. UPDATING... UPDATING... UPDATING...

Beth's phone began to throb as an upload bar began to rise on the screen.

And on the steering wheel her nails began to lengthen into slutty acrylic claws...

***

"Mmmmh, OMG I'm like sooo fucking hot," giggled Loren as she admired her slutty reflection in the mirror. Moments had passed since she had pushed the button on Bella's mobile phone and the electrifying transformation had taken hold. She was still tingling with the orgasmic pleasure of becoming such a bitch. She felt fucking yummy.

Loren could taste sexy pink lipgloss on her lips, she could smell girly bodyspray rising from her clothes and she could feel her long blonde hair tickling her neck and shoulders. Her stupid cock was gone, replaced by a superior pussy. Her large perfect breasts hung heavy and pleasingly obvious on her chest. Her ass was perfect and her long sexy legs went on for miles.

And it wasn't just the physical changes. It felt like her head had been dumped in a bucket of water. The rush of the change had disorientated her and reset her mind. She was thinking in terms of female pronouns, she could only think of herself as Loren now.

She still remembered that a moment ago she'd been Lawrence, Bella's Dad - but now that seemed almost like a crazy memory belonging to a different person. This new persona that Brat App had created had taken control. The man she had been was gone.

Or was he?

As Loren examined herself, she felt some aspects of her old personality resurface and fight back. It isn't easy to completely alter someone and as enticing as this new body and mind was, some element of Lawrence was fighting back.

Looking down at Bella's mobile phone... NO... Loren's mobile phone now, Loren saw that the Brat App was open. There was a menu open.

REFUND PERIOD - 24 HRS. CLICK HERE FOR A FULL REFUND AND REVERSAL OF ALL CHANGES. AFTER 24 HOURS YOUR REFUND IS NULL AND VOID, ALL CHANGES BECOME PERMANENT.

Loren's finger hovered over the button. So... she COULD go back to being Lawrence. She could end this with a single click and reverse all the changes.

But then again she had 24 hours. So why not use them?

Loren knew she'd regret it for the rest of her life if she didn't take advantage of this new body. She felt new hungers, new desires. She was a teenage bitch now and she wanted to know how that felt. She closed the menu. She definitely wasn't ready to end this yet.

Thoughts of wearing slutty clothes, manipulating and controlling boys, bullying other people they began to run through her evil new mind. The Lawrence part of her was uncomfortable at these wicked thoughts, but he was currently too weak to fight as Loren took control.

She picked up her phone. She needed some porn or something. She was horny. She stopped as she saw there was another menu running in the app, she looked at it curiously.

MAKING REALITY ADJUSTMENTS TO SUIT UPGRADED LIFE. ADJUSTING FAMILY RELATIONSHIPS. BITCHY RICH MOM PROGRAM RUNNING.

Loren looked at the app nonplussed. What the fuck did that mean? Was someone else being transformed? She wondered who and a slight tingle of excitement thrilled through her that another person was being corrupted in order to make her life better. It felt good to be the centre of attention.

The thought made her tingle and she brought her hand down to her pussy. Mmmmh oh yeah...

She opened the app and her lips twisted into a smile as she saw a name. Beth.

Loren saw that there was now an avatar of Beth on the screen. Upgrades were already happening, but she had the power to adjust things to.

She began to finger her tight pussy as she began to fuck up Beth...

***

Beth groaned and her car swerved as a sudden pulse of pleasure shot through her body. "Wh... what the fuckkkk?" she hissed, her body tingling pleasurably and her head spinning.

She looked down.

Her hands seemed different somehow. The nails long and slutty, the fingers dripping in expensive rings. Her usually pale skin seemed tanned and smooth. No... wait, this is what her hands always looked like. She loved a sexy, expensive manicure.

The car beneath her was changing. The seat became expensive leather, the interior more sumptious. The gear box became automatic and Beth leaned back and purred with satisfaction.

On the seat the phone throbbed and the upgrade bar rose higher.

She loved driving this Mercedes... just like she enjoyed all expensive things. Money, wealth and power were all that mattered. It was a lesson she was teaching her daughter Loren, oh and possibly that other wretched daughter of hers Bella.

No... wait... who the fuck was Loren? Bella was her only daughter? No...Bella was the daughter she hated and wish she'd never had.

Beth groaned as conflicting memories and feelings throbbed through her mind. Reality bent and buckled as the Brat App adjusted her to suit it's new narrative. Loren needed a Mommy. A rich, spoiled, mean bitchy Mom. Bella was no longer important. She was being relegated to the unpopular daughter.

In this new reality, Beth was an evil gold digger who only cared about money and status. She doted on her daughter Loren and bullied her othet daughter Bella relentlessly.

Beth moaned in pleasure and her seat belt twanged as her tits began to inflate.

Beth's chest began to tingle. She had no idea that across town Loren was pushing the button for bigger and bigger implants. She wanted her Mommy to be absolutely massive.

"Fuck yessss!" moaned Beth as her once flat chest blossomed out and two massive silicone milkers stretched and grew out. Her clothing transformed to accommodate her new bust as her lips filled with collagen and her hair became silkier.

"I looooove my big tits," she hissed.

Beth remembered now - her massive fucking boobs made her SO much better than other women. She was better than them in every way.

When Lawrence had died, the money from the insurance had paid for these tits. Soon after she'd married a millionaire, a rich black man named Logan. Now she was super happy with him. He was successful and he spoiled her rotten.

Beth... no... that wasn't her name. Bethany... she went by Bethany... recalled all the cruel and evil things she had done to get ahead. She loved being a bitch and she'd taught her daughter Loren everything she knew.

Latex, big tits, sex appeal - it was all a woman needed. She loved being a cruel fuckdoll who took everything she wanted.

Her silver Mercedes Benz purred beneath her hands... her designer dress hugged her body. She effortlessly cut through the traffic not caring about speeding. The police were in her husbands pocket as was half the city.

She owned this town.

Driving through the electric gates of a private mansion, Bethany pulled up and swapped seats with the Butler. He would park the car in the underground garage for her.

Striding into the house, her panties wet at the thought of how Logan would fuck her later she glanced around. "Where is Loren?"

"Your daughter is in her room Madame," whimpered a pathetic maid. Bethany made a mental note to have her punished later.

"Where is my husband?"

"By the pool Madame."

Bethany smiled and adjusted her massive tits within the tight latex dress she was wearing. "I will go see him first then..."

***

Loren moaned... her pussy exploding as she squirted again.

"Ohhhhh fuckkkkk."

Making Beth into an evil latex bitch was so wrong. Turning her against their own daughter was perverted. Loren loved it.

Doesn't it feel good to live only for pleasure and being a bitch?

Loren slid her three fingers back into her tight pussy and began to moan again.

"Noooo this is wrong, this is fucked up," she hissed - but doing nothing to stop. "I shouldn't be doing this."

You love it. You are Loren now and you are all that matters.

Loren glanced down at the Brat App. She still had plenty of time left before she had to activate any refund. She needed to experience more... she needed to learn more about her life as a teenage bitch.

The house had changed around her to a mansion and she now had a bitchy Mom. Going to her window she looked down at the pool where her Mom was riding her step-dad like a pornstar.

It was fucking hot.

Loren giggled and smirked. Being an evil little bitch suited her. She still had so much to find out before deciding if she should go back to being Lawrence.

And most important of all - she had a sister to take care of. Loren squirted again... then wiping her sticky pussy clean, she walked to the wardrobe to get dressed.

It was time to find more out about being a bitch and have a little heart to heart with her sister.

End of Part 2