#and to save his skin too tbh

[magnificentposting-fabrizioart]

I'm about to say the thing you were waiting for.

By the way. Still here.

Still not done with episode 16, but a few random comments.

First of all, THE thing.

We're now rooting for Hurrem hard. She's learning, actually trying and thinking, and at this point almost everyone else is worse tbh.

Especially Mahidevran.

The Leo Arc has begun. It will be glorious and dumb.

Matrakçi apparently having the key to Ibrahim's place like we were in Friends is hilarious.

Same as him being utterly confused by the concept of twins.

Matrakçi has never not been hilarious actually.

YAY MOCENIGO IS BACK (and keeps being bullied).

I loved the roasting of the Pope for selling indulgency because while correct on that, it was hilarious coming from Suleyman, ESPECIALLY when he decides to throw shade at religious authoritarianism and/or inner division, given what just happened with the letter from the Shah (amazing trash talk from both sides there. Suleyman, as usual, is as subtle as Orban's cannons).

Lastly the important stuff- I was not ready for loose hair nightgown Nigar.

None of my family was actually, my sisters took it just as I did, we're still recovering.

[en-chi-la-da]

WELL it took me a year but i finally finished no doubt in us 👍🏼

[xxplastic-cubexx]

97 poses me off cuz they shaved magneto why would you do that

Hes naked without his body hair 97 you had one job and youre pissing me off

[venomgaia]

i also have been testing pngtuber+ vs veadotubemini and heres rhe fruit of a 49 layer model

[madamechrissy]

✞ Forgive me For I have Sinned ✞

✞ Pairings: Priest Gojo x Fem Reader

✞ Word count - 5.7k

✞ Content/Warnings- You keep having dreams about Father Gojo, and he decides to try to save your slutty soul <3 NSFW, sacrilegious, confessional fucking, rosaries as bondage, lots of filling you w/love and light, oral (both receiving) fingering, explicit church sex, reader is a lil bimbo and innocent fr, Gojo has a HELL of a God complex (canon tbh) overall kinky asf

A/N- Booking the tix to hell-who's coming with!? I based off this drabble of mine: Priest! Gojo (you can read it first if you want!) Reader and Gojo are in their mid 20s. Enjoy!

It was hot outside, a scorching summer day, the type that made you want to jump in an icy cool lake naked, but in the sanctuary of this pristine church which is kept rather cool, you still have a drip of sweat beading down your collarbone. You’re wearing a pretty red summer dress, your little hat right next to you in the pew, as you watch him with avid attention.

Father Satoru Gojo.

The entire church is in love with him, enamored by him, there are admiring whispers even amongst the most vigilant catholics, the ones who would judge you for coming not in your Sunday best. They hid it well enough, acting as if they only cared so much because his sermons were so powerful, because he was so young and profound already.

But you know better, and they know better deep down, that Father Gojo was just gorgeous, a face chiseled to perfection, tall and broad shouldered, swoon worthy by all accounts. His husky voice and insane presence that shines brilliantly like a million diamonds certainly helps, but his face itself is so pretty it’s angelic.

When he looks at you with those brilliant blue eyes, swirling like a moody storm, all glittery behind those snowy white lashes? Well you feel…

You’re going to hell.

Last night you’d had this insane dream of him, where he has asked you to serve him on your knees, just as he would offer that eucharist and wine to you, but instead it’s his cum you’re swallowing. And you’re a good, God fearing girl, so, you certainly should not do or think of such things! And worst of all, with your priest, Father Gojo. He has vows too, yet you’d committed much sin already.

Just last night you’d awakened throbbing, having dreamt of pleasuring him, on your knees before him, and you’d been soaking wet and dripping down your shorts, even the sheet had a wet spot. You’d rubbed your swollen little clit in circles, gasping and arching your back, feeling fevered as you committed such sins, as picturing Father Gojo had you climaxing all over your own fingers.

You’d been so ashamed this morning! You’d splashed cold water on your face, staring at yourself in your mirror, shivering as the cool water dripped down your skin, knowing you should stay home, find some new church. You are full of impure thoughts and sin, and it’s all because of him, how could you confide in him that you feel this way, think this way?

What would he do if he knew? Cast you out or…

Stop it.

But as you’re crossing your legs, shifting your hips, you see Satoru Gojo’s full, pouty lips part, his eyes directly on you. You pause then, eyes wide, you must be imagining it, your sin surely is carrying over too far… but you test it, crossing your legs once more, and sure enough, his eyes follow your legs up, between your thighs, surely seeing your panties.

That gives you a fucking thrill you can’t describe, as does him licking his thumb, going to another page as he continues his sermon, women all over are fanning themselves, enamored by him. But perhaps none so much as you, picturing what’s under that cassock, under those white robes he wears, what that long, lithe body would feel like against yours.

You imagine your dream vividly later when he’s giving you the eucharist, placing the biscuit on your tongue as you hold your mouth open on your knees, then you see it, the hunger mirrored in his eyes. You tremble when he brushes a thumb over your lower lip, and your eyes drift to his lap, where you clearly see he’s hard. You gulp it down, looking up at him and taking the wine now.

Father Gojo looks down at you, white hair falling over a brow, finding your beautiful eyes are affecting him as much as your stance on your knees, his thumb finds your chin now, imagining shoving his cock between perfect lips. Surely, you are here to tempt him, to ruin him, you are sin itself, haunting his dreams, making him hard in the middle of church, right in his own service.

You look at it then, his cock under the cassock that’s becoming too tight, before licking your lip, eyes back up to his hungrily. You look like such a good girl, but your eyes tell another story, a story of wanting to get fucked hard, to be filled by him, wanting to have his cum all over your pretty face. He imagines that as the wine drips down your lips now.

Fuck he’s going to hell if he stays around you, surely even he has rules to uphold even if he certainly is God’s chosen. But… perhaps since he is God's chosen, it’s his duty to help a little sinful girl like you. And as you rise, holding his hand, and your breasts brush against his chest, you’re far too close, he vividly pictures yanking them out of that dress, tempting him to no end.

Of course you ask for confessional, and he’s dying at the thought of being so close to you, when all he thinks of is how good you look, how good you smell, and he is left to wonder, do you taste that good? Your pretty neck, your delicate collarbone, your pussy? Surely he should not think such things, but as he looks at you through the lattice of the confessional separating you both, he cannot stop his mind.

“Father Gojo… I fear my confession is most wicked.” Comes your breathy little voice, only serving to make Father Gojo’s thick length harden, picturing what your little moans must sound like when properly fucked.

“Go on, my pr- my child, you may tell me anything.” He says, coughing a bit, because he’d rather call you a pretty little slut, and he has no clue why the devil likes to try him so hard. It’s all your fault, truly. Pretty little thing.

“Okay… but…” You take a breath. “I have dreams of someone fucking me, someone I should not.” You say nervously, and watch him shift in his seat, you can smell his cologne so much in here, making you thirst more for him.

“It’s natural to have thoughts, my child.”

“No, Father Gojo… I’m playing with myself, thinking of him. Of… sucking him, or of him laying on top of me.” You hear Father Gojo making a choking sound, and you panic. “I’m so sorry! I…”

“Ahem, no, no… continue.” Father Gojo’s cock is straining, he can already feel precum sticking to his tip, picuring you touching your pussy, he bets it’s so pretty, bet it tastes so-

Sinful girl, aren’t you?

Surely that’s all this is, not… him wanting to sin! Father Satoru Gojo certainly is perfect, he’s God’s perfect creature, so if he wants this, it must be on you. Sin in a perfect little body with a perfect little face, and a voice that drives him to utter distraction. Surely, Father Gojo must try to save you.

“Father, I cannot stop thinking of him, he’s in all my dreams. What should my penance be, how many hail marys?”

Father Gojo has to stroke himself to adjust his huge, throbbing cock now, as he watches you through the lattice, biting your full lower lip, your head falling back, hair cascading. Hair he wants to pull as he fucks you from behind, making you arch your back to take more of his cock.

“I have to ask how you’re doing it… so that I can tell you your penance, so that I may try to save you.” He says, husky now, and you whimper softly, shifting on the bench, your pussy throbbing around nothing, picturing his cock filling you.

“How I do it, Father Gojo?”

“Yes, it’s… important to confess.”

“Well, I take my fingers, and I find my pussy with them, I roll them around my clit over and over, I get so wet that they slip- Father are you okay?” Satoru can’t stand it, he’s stroking his bare cock under his robes, resting his head against the wall, struggling not to cry out as he’s pumping.

“Ahem… indeed I am. So you finger your little pussy then?” At his words you’re a blushing mess, breaths coming more rapidly, your hands gripping the bench, dying for friction as you’re soaking your panties.

“Y-yes.”

“Do you slip your fingers in?”

“I… no! Um… no.”

“And you cum?”

“I… yes. I do cum. Imagining him.” You’re watching those robes rise and fall, then you know it, Father Gojo is stroking his cock right next to you.

“I see… I think I can help alleviate some of this, perhaps give you some guidance so that you do not afflict yourself so.” You want to touch yourself now, when you hear those breathy pants, your fingers clinging to the lattice.

“Yes, father, I need your guidance.” Cock, fingers, mouth… fuck you’re a full sinner, aren’t you!?

“Then come here, let us have our first attempt at saving you.”

Now you’re standing in front of him in the itty bitty room, face to face with Satoru Gojo, your Priest, and fuck if your nipples don’t tighten up, if your tummy isn’t clenching with desire. You’re nervously fiddling with your hands as he leans back, spreading his long legs as wide as they can in the tight quarters, his glittering blue eyes dilated as he licks his lips, making them glossy.

“You must show me how, and do not fret, sweet girl, it’s through god’s will of course, through me.” Father Gojo says, your breaths come faster as you slip up your sundress, and his eyes hungrily drink the sight of your bare thighs in. He leans forward, sliding those panties down, eyeing your glistening cunt now, his breath almost hitting it, making you jerk.

“Father… I cannot show you…”

“You can, I am here to help, have no fear.” He notices you’ve drenched your panties, a wet spot formed, sticky little strands of your arousal apparent as he pulls them down, hands touching the smooth skin of your thighs.

You put your hand on your pussy now, the other nervously holding up your dress, and you run your fingers in circles on your clit, crying out softly, as he lets out a low, guttural moan. You’re getting wetter as you play, as his large, sexy hands clench, the veins popping up out of the thin skin, and you’re trembling, imagining his long fingers working you instead.

Satoru is close to cumming as he watches your pretty face, your brows drawing together, your lips parted, eyes so dilated your pupils are taking over, just a thin ring of your iris left. Your lashes are lowered, and his hand stops yours now, as it’s playing with your soppy little cunt, you tremble before him.

“I see, I must help you, guide you. To get this… affliction taken care of. Yes?” You nod eagerly, then Father Gojo pulls you to his lap, and you’re straddling him, your hands sliding up to feel his strong shoulders under his robe, and he is touching your pussy instead, making you whimper. “Need me to save you, pretty little sinner?”

“Please save me. Please. Ah!” Satoru sinks two long fingers deep inside your eager little entrance, you gasp at it as he slips into your gummy walls, drippy and so tight. He’s paused, moaning and looking right into your eyes, you drown in his blue gaze, as your cunt drools down his hand. “Father Gojo… please…”

“Begging for it, are you? So tight, it’s so… have you had anything inside this perfect little pussy?” He huffs, feeling how you’re squeezing his fingers, then he hits some spot that makes you see stars, pumping up and down over and over. You cling to him, eyes fluttering shut. “Answer me, be a good girl for once, would you?”

Good girl for once.

There’s no hope for you.

“Nothing… no one… just you, Father Gojo. Mmm!” You’re covering your mouth as he keeps pumping, and he moans, dreaming of breaking you in all the ways he could, taking your innocence for himself. It’s surely what god is wanting, and who is he but god’s disciple himself? He thrusts those fingers knuckles deep, watching you fall apart over him.

“There, you’re loving this, fingers stretching your pussy, don’t you?” You nod weakly, gushing down his hand, you can hear the squishing wetness of your pussy as he now slides a thumb, rolling it over your clit.

“F-father Gojo!”

“Sinful girl.” He huffs, as you’ve buried your face against his neck, rocking against his hand, those long fingers fucking you so good it’s painful, moaning.

“Mmm! Father Gojo, I will… be good… for you…”

“Will you?” You nod weakly, as Satoru rolls your clit expertly, and you feel the pressure building, you’re panting, ready to combust. “I feel it, you’re so close, aren’t you?”

You’re nodding, hips grinding, now you’re soaking his robes, he’s picturing sliding his cock inside you, breaking you, until your sins are cleansed, and you’re picturing him taking you, defiling you in every way your hectic mind can picture. Both of you are about to cum, you’re not even touching Satoru though, you want to, fuck you want to.

“Close, m’close… p-please…” You’re begging for release, seeing stars as he works your now sloppy cunt.

“I've got you, you can let go, you're safe with me, let me see your sins so I can cleanse them.” He urges you on, bringing you higher and higher with those long, slick fingers.

“Father, it's... I'm gonna... mmm!” You're so close, soaking the sleeve of his robe now. And he's so ready to slide into your eager cunt, looking up at you behind snowy lashes.

“Show me how you sin, let me watch you cum, so I can... help you.” He whispers, and you fall apart then, pulsing around his fingers, and he groans as he watches you, pressing up so deep. You’re gushing so much arousal, he can smell your sweet scent, as you scream out into your little hand, shaking.

Satoru is now sliding his fingers out, you whine, wanting more, especially when he is sucking your juices off his fingers, making you gasp. His cheeks hollow, his eyes fluttering shut as he tastes you, your mouth drops open, breaths making you quicken, your heart pounding in your ears as you try to come down.

Your thighs are trembling over him, entire body lit up from cumming so hard, his snowy lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, before fluttering up, looking at you, your arousal coating his lips. “Oh my God.”

More sinning.

“You’re not being a very good girl.” He admonishes, but then his lips quirk up. “But, you taste too sweet to be bad. Or perhaps you yourself are sin.” Father Gojo whispers to you now, and you’re leaning closer, rolling your hips, making him groan, his hands gripping your little waist as your heat brushes against his cock. “Has it alleviated some of your… need, my child?”

He’s smirking at you, in a way no priest should! You sigh then, shaking your head. “No, Father, it’s only made it worse! You must help me more, I’m afraid now I’m thinking of sinning even more, and who I’ve been dreaming of.” You say then, it’s a whisper, as the room is hot from your breaths, smelling like sweet arousal.

Satoru blinks then, thin white brows going together, jaw clenching. “You’re thinking of fucking your own priest? That is a sin.”

“I know! It’s a terrible affliction. Oh Father, I’m going to hell.” You whisper, blinking back tears, still reeling from the aftershocks of cumming. Satoru arches his hips now, brushing his cock against your pussy, and you nearly scream out, head falling back, exposing your throat to him, and he pictures his hand wrapping a rosary around your neck, pulling tight.

You’ve dreamt of him too!? Surely this must be a sign.

A temptation.

But does he want to fight it? Your taste is all over his mouth now, as he feels your sexy little body against him, his hands brushing against your breasts, watching your nipples perk up. You look at him with intoxicated eyes, lips parted, your tiny hands clinging to his robes as you grind again, and he shudders at how fucking good it feels, your heat on him.

“I see… Well you must come to me tomorrow, and we will have to try harder, to save your soul.” He says huskily, you nod eagerly, as he helps you off him, his cock close to cumming, already twitching, he slides your soaked, ruined panties into his robes, you surely do not need them anymore.

“What if I have another dream father!”

“Do not touch yourself, I will help you when you come in, that’s so we can try to save you, yes?” You nod then, leaning close to his lips.

“Father, is it a sin to kiss your lips?”

“Not if you feel a calling, surely God wishes you to.” He murmurs, and you peck a sweet kiss on his lips, tasting yourself on him, before forcing yourself out of the cramped quarters, body on fire, leaving Satoru to finish stroking his cock, cumming as he shoves your panties against his face.

******

You’re dreaming of him again, of Father Gojo, this time his snowy white hair is brushing against your thighs, his tongue is lapping up all the dripping wetness, his big hands pressing into the plush of your thighs. You wake up throbbing, crying out, seeing how wet you are, as the ceiling fan whirls, failing to cool your overheated flesh. Father Gojo’s fingers made it worse, your affliction!

The next day you’re painfully turned on, pussy aching for more, you followed his instructions and did not touch yourself, instead you forced yourself to go back to sleep, now you’re in the nearly empty church, knocking at the door of Father Gojo’s office. You hear his deep voice speak.

“Come in.” You nervously walk in, you are wearing a shorter blue sundress today, and no panties. You know Father Gojo will see how sinful you are, but when you see his perfect face, and him wearing a thinner, lighter white robe, your pussy is already making your thighs sticky. “My child, lock that door, so we can have privacy… we would not want your confessions judged.”

“Yes, thank you Father.” You lock the door with a click, stepping to him, your heels clicking on the wooden floor of his room. He’s sitting in his chair, fingers steepled, studying your body carefully.

“Do you have any updates on your affliction, pretty girl?”

“Pretty girl…” You’re blushing worse now.

“I feel I must call you what the lord is telling me. Is that alright with you?” You nod nervously, standing before him, the desk separating you. “So how were your dreams last night?”

“They were of you again, Father Gojo. I’m so sorry!”

You cover your face in embarrassment, hearing the soft thumps of his shoes as he comes to you, taking you by your wrists, big hands enveloping the delicate wrists entirely. Your head tilts back to look at him, he’s so tall and big… you’re drinking in the sight of him, his black rosaries hanging across his broad chest.

“You must tell me these dreams, so I may help you. Perhaps they’re some sign that we must see.”

“You… you were licking me, between my thighs.” His nostrils flare slightly, those swirling blue eyes thirsty as he studies you, your thighs shift, his hands still tight on your wrists.

“Your slutty little pussy, I was licking it?” Your pussy is clenching, tummy coiling, at his nasty, sinful words, from such a pure man. You nod then. “I see, there’s no choice, we must see what enacting your dreams does. To try to save you.”

“Y-yes, father, I think so too.” You whisper, hands sliding up and down his chest, watching his Adam's apple bob under that white collar. “Does it ever get uncomfortable, Father Gojo?”

“At times. Take it off for me.” He turns and you undo the collar, when he turns back you see it, his strong neck, the muscles corded, you bite your lower lip, earning him pulling it from your teeth. “This dream, describe it, so I can help you.”

You’re a flustered mess, especially after his fingers yesterday, and all the dreams you’ve been having. You take several breaths now. “You were licking me.”

“More descriptive.” He murmurs now, sitting you up on his desk, shocking you, then he slides up your skirt and smirks, wicked priest that he is, blue eyes darting back up to yours. “No panties, your soul is so slutty.”

“I… well… Father Gojo!” Satoru’s rubbing your clit with his thumb, watching you writhe on his desk now, as he sits back in his black chair, scooting up, his breath right against you.

“You wanted this, to be bare in front of me, didn’t you pretty little sinner?”

“Y-yes, I told you, I’m going to hell, mmm!”

He’s kissing your thighs, your hands enwrap in his silky white hair now, his breaths higher and higher, eying your perfect, glistening pussy. He’s dying to feel you dripping down his tongue, dying to drink your sweet nectar flowing when he’s opening up the lips of your pussy, and you’re making those pretty sounds, you’re so pathetic already, he thinks.

“No, I will save you, don’t you believe in me, pretty? I alone speak for God, I’m the honored one.” His words along with his eyes, those glittery blue storms that see right through you, as if they know your every sin, wreck you now. He surely must be the honored one.

“You’ll save me, I know you will.” You whisper, caressing his cheek now, and he moans softly, just urging you on more.

“That’s a good girl. Now tell me, what did I do in this dream?”

“You licked me, here.” You touch your slit, and he slides his tongue up it now, making you gasp, his tongue is so hot and wet, you’re gushing just from that. Satoru moans, kissing right over your clit before swiping his tongue again. “Father!”

“Shh, lest they hear your sinful mouth.” He whispers, and you clench your teeth, nodding as you watch him, he is placing your feet on either arm of his chair. “And you did not play with yourself?”

“I swear I did not, Father Gojo! I listened. Please…” You arch your hips up, full pussy in his face, and Satoru begins to devour you now, spreading your lips and flicking his tongue on your little swollen clit over and over. You have to slap a hand over your mouth, his rosary is cool against your inner thigh as he works your pussy, just like your dream.

Satoru’s tongue is wicked, for such a holy man you think, and it does the most wicked things to you, no dream could prepare you, even his fingers had not. He sucks your clit into his hot open mouth, moaning as your juices coat his tongue, looking up at you as you cling to his hair with one hand, the other muffling your cry as you feel yourself begin to cum.

Soon you are cumming right on Father Gojo’s face, your thighs shaking on either side of his head, pussy pulsing around nothing, and he’s drinking you up, so lewd in the quiet church office. You’re jerking now, as he leans up, half his pretty face shining with your slick, making you flush at how much there was. Your hand eases down, now just gasping for breath as you look at him.

“And now, my child, how is this affliction?” He whispers, leaning up and laying atop you, pressing you into the wooden desk. You lean up, kissing him once more, earning his moan, tasting yourself all over him, he grabs you by the throat then, long fingers wrapping as he pulls back. “How hard do I have to work to save your slutty little soul, hmm?”

“I’m sorry, Father Gojo. It was so amazing… but I just want more, I fear I’m having more lustful thoughts of you now.” Your hand slides down now, cupping him where he’s thick and hard, and he squeezes your throat harder now, his thumb on your racing pulse.

“And what else is in that little brain of yours? What lewd fantasies of your priest, hmm?”

“Sucking your cock, that’s what.” He groans now, pulling you down and putting you to your knees. You look up eagerly, now Satoru is undressing, and you finally get glimpses of his body, of hard muscles and planes as he’s taking off his robes, now opening his pants for you, revealing a huge, thick cock. You gulp as you drink in the sight of it.

“And do you know what to do, how to serve me, my child?” He asks, you shake your head. “Yet you’ve dreamt it?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then it’s surely meant to be, hmm? First, slide down your top.” You do as he says, and he moans as he sits back in his chair, gripping your bare breasts. “My God,  you’re made to ruin me. Come here, open your mouth.”

You do as he says, and Father Gojo now guides you by your hair, hair he wraps around his fist, guiding you down on his cock. His curved pink tip is leaking white pearly substance, which you tongue out, earning his grown, his head falling back. You suck him eagerly, swirling your tongue, as his eyes watch you, lidded and dazed, tasting his saltiness and sweetness eagerly.

“You’re far too good at this, are you sure you haven’t been sucking cock, like a sinful brat?” You pull back with a pop, saliva dripping down your lips.

“No, I only want to serve you, Father.”

“Mmm, you’re so precious.” He whispers, before shoving your mouth back on him, and you’re bobbing up and down as he pulls your hair, using it to glide you up and down his length. Your eyes water, your nose starts running as his cock is choking you, your pussy throbbing even more. “Fuck…”

“Father, did you cuss?” You ask, pulling back, with a shy little grin, earning Father Gojo’s smirk.

“I’m allowed to, it’s all God’s words. Now are you finally satisfied, or do we need to go further? Do I need to break your pretty little pussy?” He murmurs, his words like a drug, running his thumb across your lower lip. You nod then, weakly, and his lips part, eyes studying you. “Then ask me, on your knees so pretty, like you’re praying.” He puts your hands in prayer position, blue eyes lighting up.

“Please, break me, Father Gojo.” He pulls you up now, kissing you deeply, tongues so unpracticed and messy, you’ve never really even kissed, but now you feel him, filling you once more with those two fingers as he bends low.

“Turn around and bend over, sweet sinner.” You turn, and now Father Gojo has slid your dress down, leaving you in just your heels, his big hands gliding down every line and curve of your bare body. “I said bend over.”

He smacks you sharply on your backside, making you gasp then whine out, as he presses your upper back between your shoulder blades, your face against his desk. He then takes your hands, putting them behind your back and wrapping them with his black beaded rosary. You whine out at the sensation, he pulls it so tightly it’s digging in, shoving the cross in your palms.

“Hold on to that cross while I fuck your innocent little pussy. Feel it against your skin as I do.” He says, whispering in your ear. You nod, feeling the sharp cool silver digging in, as the beads dig into your bound wrists. “Good girl, spread those thighs.”

You do as he says, and then his tip is in, stretching you, and you’re shivering, breaths coming faster and faster. Satoru shoves his cock inside you, tearing at your little barrier. You cry out at the pain, and he pauses for a moment, moaning, letting you adjust. “H-hurts…”

“Just a moment of pain to fill you with my light.” He murmurs, sinking deeper, and your walls are fluttering around his cock, earning his groan. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you? Did you want me to take it, your innocence?”

“I’ve w-wanted you, so long… played with… a long ah- time.” He moans now, sliding back out and in, you’re so wet and ready the pain eases quickly, as he takes you from behind now, pulling on your neck, pressing your bound hands firmer against your back, whispering in your ear.

“You sinned so long, playing with this pussy thinking of me?” You nod weakly, hiccuping on a cry as he’s pumping now, taking you over, stretching your tight cunt out so much, your skin burns, but you crave it.

You’re going to hell, surely.

But it seems worth it to be stretched by his cock so well.

“Y-yes… a long time. S-sorry Father…”

“Just Satoru when you cum all over my cock, hmm?” You nod weakly, then he fucks you harder now, thighs smacking your skin, his pelvis smacking your now sore ass cheeks, balls smacking your clit. “Ah, and you’re close already and your first time? You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Satoru!” You scream out so loud he’s palming your mouth with his huge hand, taking over your face, shoving his cock in and rolling his hips, making you climax so hard you cannot see. You weakly drool out of your lips onto his hand, as he feels your velvety walls fluttering around him.

You are made for this, for his cock, to take him. Your sweet virgin pussy is getting so filled by Father Gojo’s huge cock, but you’re already taking him so well. Father Gojo knows then that your dreams and his must be for a better purpose, to fuck you and fill you with all of his light, surely. You’re taking him more and more, cumming so hard your cunt is drooling everywhere.

He lets your face go, looking at your fucked out expression, your mouth is wide open, that drool dangling out the corner, your eyes are rolled back, lashes fluttering, your ass arching up for more. You’re such a sinful creature, but he knows your innocence was made for just him, clearly. You would not have anyone else, he would surely see to it.

It’s God's calling.

You’re pounded and stuffed by his huge cock, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, ass jiggling with the force, then Satoru pulls your chin to face him, he’s so fuzzy, you keep shutting your eyes.

“Look at me, my child, now.” He whispers, and you open your eyes, staring into his weakly as his thrusts slow.

“Y-yes, Satoru…” He moans at the use of his name from your pretty lips.

“I’m saving you, through… mmm… God’s wisdom.”

“Thank you, thank you!” You’re trembling, he’s rolling his hips and that tip is dragging on your spot, you struggle to focus on his pretty face, the sun from the blinds filtering in behind his head, and then he looks like an angel. The cross is digging in so much your hand is bleeding just a bit, but you truly couldn’t care, his cock feels too good inside you.

“Do you want me to… fill you…” He’s crying out then, grabbing you so tightly you can’t breathe. “With God’s love… and light?”

“Please, fill me Father- ah!” Satoru starts pumping faster and faster, yanking on your rosary so hard it breaks as he begins to cum, the beads flinging and clattering all over the wooden floor, the cross still digging into your broken palm.

“Going to put… so much… light in you… fill you-” He moans loudly then, and you feel hot liquid pumping inside, bringing you to cum with him, as it coats your walls, hot and sticky. “Feel it? Feel me filling you with it?”

“I do! I do… Father Gojo… feel it.” You whine out, rolling your hips to milk him for every bit of his hot white ropes.

“Oh… Mmm…” He’s pumping more cum inside you now, but you’re so wet and still convulsing, so it’s dripping down his cock with your arousal. Satoru exhales, pulling out and then wiping you up, turning you gently, gulping as he kisses you once more. “You were sent here to destroy me.”

“Father, I’m afraid… I only want to do it more.” You whisper, he groans, cupping your face, as you bring up your hand to him, where the cross has left red marks on your palm, he traces it, the perfect symbol of the cross, with little blood drops streaking. You wince in pain.

“I see, it’s a sign we must continue.” He says, and you nod eagerly, as he holds your hand in his.

“We must, Father Gojo.”

*****

The next Sunday, you’re sitting in the very front for the sermon, watching as Father Gojo is licking a thumb and turning a page, his blue eyes darting to your thighs, today you’re wearing a pink summer dress. Father Gojo has stolen a pair of your panties, he thinks you don’t notice, but you do, so you decide not to wear any again, opening your legs for a moment.

Father Gojo gets a glimpse of your bare, glistening pussy right in that church, making his cock hard in front of a room full of hundreds of his followers. Luckily the brown stand in front of him covers up such evidence, as he looks over at your face when you cross your sexy legs, you smile up at him, blinking innocently.

But you’re not innocent, not anymore, are you? No, you’re the worst sinner he’s tried to save, and he thinks he’ll have to work harder to save you. And when you’re riding his cock in the confessional later that evening, and he’s biting on your breasts, you’re riding him so well, moans muffled in the tiny room, he’s not sure he can save you truly, you’re too full of sin.

Father Gojo enjoys your slutty soul and your soaking wet pussy on him far, far too much, especially filling you with his cum light.

Serving Father Gojo is perfectly fine, it's God's will after all 🙏 Nanami and Geto drabbles coming some time too <3 Reblog if you're a sinner <3

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60569476

[kikuriki]

After a million years (or rather a few long months) I present you… A Splatoon picrew maker 

What’s so special about it you may ask? It has custom hairstyles AND you can combine parts of the hair and different gear to create unique OCs! 

Enjoy! https://picrew.me/image_maker/1781065

[mulloey]

the shop

your car has broken down for the nth time, but yunho’s there to save the day. just your luck you don’t have enough money to pay him.

mechanic!yunho x fem!reader

words: 2.7k

join my taglist

warnings: dom!yunho, sub!reader, paying with your body trope, you already wanted to fuck him though, probably inaccurate pricing for car repair services cus i can’t drive tbh, unprotected sex, degrading, choking, slapping, creampie etc. not proofread

—

You’re dizzy and delirious, putty in his hands as he holds you firmly in place, right where he wants you.

“Y-Yunho!” You squeal. You writhe in his grip a little but it’s far too strong to resist.

He’s got you bent over the hood of the car—your car—while he pounds into you like a desperate, starving man. His overalls are hanging around his waist, just low enough for him to pull his cock out; his white t-shirt is soaked in sweat and the oil-covered gloves on his hands rub painfully against the skin of your hips.

“F-fuck,” he grunts. Your hips collide painfully with the hood every time he thrusts into you and your ass bounces and reddens each time your bodies collide. “What a fucking cock whore. You do this every time you can’t pay the bill? Huh?”

“N-no,” you sob. “Just you, Yunho. Just… hngh… just you.”

“I don’t believe you,” he snarls. His hand comes down on your ass again, raw and painful over the marks he left earlier and you find yourself looking back on everything that lead you here—lead you to being bent over your broken down car while the hottest man you’ve ever fucking seen is slamming his dick into you like his life depends on it.

You suppose the first part—ending up at the auto shop—was inevitable. The car was fucked when you bought it, honestly, but there weren’t many other options for a broke college student. You lived in another district where rent is cheaper, so needed a car to get to class. Didn’t matter how good it was, it just needed to run.

Trust your luck that that seemed to be the only thing it wouldn’t do.

For a period you managed to get by fixing it yourself; Youtube tutorials and favours from friends were enough to deal with all the minor issues that came up, but as minor issues tend to do, they quickly piled up on top of each other until, the morning your presentation was due, you put the keys in the ignition, started the car and—nothing. It did nothing. You were the unluckiest person in the fucking world.

You’d called your best friend immediately, hoping he’d be able to find and fix the problem, but really, you knew it was past that point now—and if you didn’t before, the shock on Hongjoong’s face when he’d popped the hood was evidence enough.

“Jesus, woman,” he said. “You gotta get this thing to a repair shop.”

“You know I can’t afford that,” you snapped back. Instantly you felt guilty for your tone, he was just trying to help after all, so you tried to soften up a bit. “Joong, can you really not fix it?”

“No, I’m sorry. But I know a guy who owns an auto shop. He’ll probably let me use my friends and family discount on you. I’ll give him a call.”

Relief flooded your chest and you hugged him tightly, thanking him profusely even as he walked away chuckling to make the call. In the meantime you called your professor; you thanked God you were such a good student, never missing class or assignments—you doubt she’d have been so forgiving otherwise. “Come by during office hours tonight and you can present it then,” she’d said, and you thanked her with a smile.

Okay, you thought. You just needed to deal with this, do your presentation and the nightmare would be over.

How wrong you were.

—

The auto shop was, well, pretty much how you pictured it. Cars in various states of completion sat in the spacious garage, walls piled with wheels and various other parts, the uses of which you probably would never have been able to guess. The only thing that took you by surprise was the tall, young looking guy who came up and introduced you as the owner.

“Hey, darling,” he smiled. “I’m Yunho. Let’s get you all fixed up, yeah?”

You blushed at his words, and the deep, sultry voice that spoke them. You imagined that was his intention; the way his eyes flickered up and down suggested the attraction was mutual. Or maybe that was just his personality; maybe the flirtatious tone, the innuendo of his words and his intense, intimidating gaze just came naturally to him.

He walked you over to where he had your car laid out and ready to go. Popping the hood, he surveyed the condition with a serious, focused expression. In the heat of the garage, his face was sweating slightly, and he swallowed thickly as he looked everything over. It made the vein in his neck bulge, tension obvious. When he stood back up again he seemed cool and assured; the opposite of you. You felt… confused. Hot. Tense.

“It’s not a huge problem,” he smiled. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour to fix it.”

You didn’t expect that. “Really?” You lit up, overjoyed and he chuckled.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got a staff room if you wanna wait around. May as well, since I should be done pretty quick.”

“Oh, yeah.” That made sense; there didn't seem to be many cafes or places around here for you to wait in anyway—and even if there were, none of them offered the view that the staff room he led you to had; the large glass window looking directly into the garage. You’d be able to keep an eye on your car as he worked—and on Yunho.

He got to work straight away and though you knew next to nothing about cars, save for the Youtube tutorials on greasing brakes and whatever else, but his skill was obvious. His large hands, covered by thick, dirtied gloves, worked quickly and efficiently.

He clearly knew you were watching him, and he clearly enjoyed it; every now and then he would look up from the car, meeting your eyes and tilting his head with a small, smug smirk. When he stood up to unzip his overalls, revealing a thin white t-shirt clinging to his broad chest, you found yourself inching closer and closer to the window without realising. Only when your face was practically pressed up against the glass did you back away, blushing furiously as you sunk into your seat. What the hell was wrong with you?

You’d never been like this about a man. Not even close. No one had ever made you so needy, so hot, so desperate. You didn’t even know you could be affected by someone in this way, yet here you were; thighs clenched together, breathing heavily and your face so hot you were practically feverish. He’d catch your gaze now and then still, and the expression on his face told you he knew everything that was going on in your head—and your body.

The sight of him putting the hood back down was a mercy and a curse; your car was fixed, you could leave, and you could get away from this man; three things you’d been waiting desperately for all this time.

But…did you even want to leave? It would be the smart thing to do, and the sooner you could get him out of your head, the better. But everything in your body screamed at you not to go, to stay and see what happens—if nothing did, at least you’d know. At least you wouldn’t have to wonder for the rest of your life.

He gestured for you to come out of the staff room, proudly showing you your fixed car. Your attraction to him aside, Yunho’s skill surprised you; the old, battered vehicle almost looked new, and when he started the engine to check it worked it sounded clearer and healthier than ever. “Holy shit,” you muttered.

Yunho laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty good. How do you wanna pay?”

You sighed. You never liked this part; who did? It was always painful to part ways with the little cash you earned at your god awful waitressing job, but you had to do what you had to do. “Card,” you mumbled.

“Alright,” he smiled. “It’s 250,000won. I’ll get the machine.”

He disappeared into what you guessed was another staff room and you stood awkwardly for a moment. Even with him gone the air was thick, sweaty; tense. He returned with the card machine, holding it out for you to take and you put your card in with shaking hands, pressing down the familiar numbers. Well, there goes the last of your mone—

The machine made a high-pitched, displeased noise that you knew all too well. Declined. You made a noise of shock, shaking your head in disbelief. It can’t have declined. You knew you had enough for this. You had to have enough. What the hell is—

Oh. Fuck. When they towed your car here this morning and you followed in a taxi with Hongjoong. When you insisted on paying the fare to thank him for his help. Fuck. You need to be a worse friend.

You didn’t realise you were crying until you felt hands on yours; he grasped your shaking hands carefully, holding them steadily. His face was blank, but he seemed thoughtful.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Fuck, what do I– I swear I–”

“Hey, hey.” His voice was calm and soft but a little lower than before. “Relax, doll. We’ll work something out, yeah?”

“Work something out?” You echoed his words, voice shaking.

“Of course,” he smiled. He tilted his head and you saw his eyes raking over you again; but this time it felt less like leering and more like… an inspection. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Tell me.” His voice seemed to have dropped an octave, thick with tension. “Are you really out of money?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Are you really out of money?” He repeated it, slower this time as though he was trying to dumb it down for you. “Or did you do this on purpose?”

You shook your head fervently, your body heating up with embarrassment and desperation and shame and, well, pretty much everything honestly. “No, Yunho, I—”

“I think you did.” He was grinning now, eyes piercing as he stared you down. He was still for a moment, seeming to consider something before he grabbed your chin, yanking your head up to meet his eyes. The material of the gloves was rough against your soft skin and the tightness of his grip was even more painful. “I bet you put the wrong numbers in on purpose, huh? Didn’t you?”

“I…” You didn’t know what to say. You knew what he was saying wasn’t true, but fuck, you could already feel wetness pooling at the thought of what he’d do to you if it was. But he seemed to have made his mind up either way, so you decided to play his game—you widened your eyes fearfully, lip shaking as you said “I promise, I didn’t” in the most pathetic voice you could muster.

He knew what you were doing, and he fucking loved it. His smile widened as he leaned in closer to you. From this distance you could see his pupils were blown, eyes flashing with arousal. “I think you’re lying to me,” he whispers. “And you know what’s more, little girl?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

He tightened his grip, yanking your head upwards again to expose your neck. His other hand wrapped itself around your throat like it belonged there. “I hate liars.”

—

You don’t even know how long he’s been fucking you now; your sense of time has blurred and muddied and it could have been minutes just as much as it could have been hours. All you can feel or think about is the feeling of his dick fucking you open, hitting your cervix over and over; and the strong arms that move and manipulate your body to increase his own pleasure.

He grabs your hair, yanking it back painfully and forcing you to look at him. “That’s it,” he grunts. “You’re gonna look at me while I’m fucking you, yeah?”

“Yes,” you cry. “Yes, Yunho.”

“Good fucking girl.” His other hand wraps around your throat again, choking you just this side of too much. The head rush it gives you only sends you further into delirium, amplifying the other sensations. His deep, strained voice is fire in your ears. “Fucking stupid whore, aren’t you?”

He punctuates it with an extra hard thrust and you cry out again, voice strangled. “Yes, Yunho!” You scream. “Yes!”

“Say it,” he growls. “Tell me you’re a fucking whore.”

“I’m a fucking whore,” you repeat. To hear the words from your own mouth, to taste them on your tongue as he forces you to degrade yourself sends another wave of pleasure through you that pushes you closer to the edge. Yunho makes a pleased sound, rewarding you by loosening his grip on your neck ever so slightly.

“You’re my fucking whore,” he whispers. “Yunho’s whore.”

“Yunho’s whore.” You repeat it without thinking and you feel him throb again inside you at your natural submission. “I’m Yunho’s whore.

“That you fucking are. Bending over for me over 250,000 fucking won. You’re a cheap little slut,” he spits. “But only for me, yeah?”

“Yes!” You feel yourself about to come undone and just as you finally reach breaking point he pulls out, cock hard and leaking; before you can protest he picks you up without a word, flipping you onto your back before shoving his cock back inside. “Wanna see you properly when I come in you,” he grunts. “Wanna see those eyes go fucking dumb for me.”

He lifts your legs and pushes them back towards you. The stretch is painful and uncomfortable but it’s hard to care about any of that when he’s fucking you so deep and hard. The weight of his hands pressing down on the backs of your thighs will surely leave bruises but you don’t mind—you’d probably love it, actually.

Now that you’re facing him you can see all the small details of his face while he fucks you; the beads of sweat pooling on his forehead, the black hair soaked through with it, the narrowed eyes and clenched jaw as his grip on your thighs tightens even further. He’s practically pressing all his weight against you now and it’s a delicious, painful pleasure. You reach out to him desperately—though desperate for what you’re not quite sure—and he grabs your hands, bending down to pin your arms against the car as he takes you in a hot, wet, messy kiss.

“Pretty girl,” he chokes. “So fucking pretty.”

“Yunho.” You feel tears pouring down your cheeks, overwhelmed with sensation, with the feeling of Yunho on every inch of your body. He pulls his mouth away from yours to press sloppy kisses across your jaw and neck, teasing the skin with his teeth. “Think you can come for me?” He murmurs. “Just from being used like this?”

“Yes, Yunho,” you whisper. “I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growls. He moves a hand down to press his thumb against your swollen clit, making you buck against him. “Come on my fat fucking cock like a good little girl. Earn your keep, baby.”

The heat in his words and the pressure of his thumb on your clit are enough to send you barrelling over the edge; you come with a noise you didn’t even know you made and he follows quickly, releasing inside of you with a strangled cry.

It’s silent for a moment and time seems to still while you process what’s just happened. You whine when you feel him pull out of you and he chuckles, gently slapping your pussy. “What a good girl,” he muses. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He sends you on your way with his business card in your pocket and his number in your phone. It takes you two weeks to find the nerve to call him, and that’s only because your car’s been making a weird noise that you can’t figure out. To be honest, it’s probably something Hongjoong or one of your other friends would be able to solve, but it’s too late now; you’ve already pulled up his contact and pressed call.

“Well hello, sweetheart.” Yunho’s voice is as deep as ever, his tone teasing. “Was starting to think I wouldn’t hear from you.”

“Yeah, um.” You clear your throat awkwardly, feeling yourself heat up again. “My car— it’s making a weird noise. Can you take a look at it?”

“Of course,” he says, and you hear the leering smile in his voice. “Why don’t you come down now? It’s a slow day at the shop anyway.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“Great. Oh, and baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t bring your credit card.”

—

requests open! comments and feedback appreciated. love🖤🖤🖤

tags: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi

[moyazaika]

tbh jaded lawyer darling trying to save yan crime kingpin from getting his ass thrown into prison for life — yet again.

he’s lingering at the court’s steps, entertaining the news reporters with a dazzling smile, the entire world waiting with bated breath to see whether this is the day his billion dollar criminal empire comes crumbling down—

“the whole world knows you did it!”

“are you ashamed of yourself?”

“do you really think you’ll walk away a free man after today?”

that gets his attention.

“darling, don’t ‘ya worry about me,” he turns to the journalist, and tilts his head to the side, pulling out his lollipop from between those lips, curled in a sly grin. “i ain’t gotta worry ‘bout no fuckin’ laws when i got the world’s best damn lawyer on my side.”

a young man, then. thick glasses and braces on his teeth. far too thin and lanky, for all his balls of steel as he speaks up. “are you implying that your lawyer is an accessory to your crimes? a corrupt lawyer for a guilty man on his way to the gallows?”

he hears you approach before he can think to respond. the familiar, expensive echo of the dress shoes he’d bought you the first time you’d won a case, before you’re there where he thinks you belong; right by his side.

“alleged crimes,” you correct, and your kingpin turns to greet you with a million dollar smile. “now, my client will not be taking any more questions. kindly, fuck off.”

cameras flash instantly and countless more mics are shoved into his pretty face, still mesmerised by you, even when you grab him by the back of his collar (unironed, you notice with absolute dismay) and pull him inside, away from prying eyes.

“you’re being tried for sixteen drug and weapons counts,” you hiss, digging your newly manicured nails into his skin, as you pull the lollipop he’s sucking on right out of his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and toss it to the side, seething. “when will you fucking get serious!”

he only dumbly stares back at you with a slack jaw, and stars in his eyes. his voice dips an octave lower, deep in his throat when he speaks. “oh, i could get very serious if you wanted to give me a kiss. or, y’know, maybe you could act as a replacement to that sweet lollipop of mine ‘ya just—oh, fuck!”

when you stride into the courtroom later, in your neat, pressed suit and slicked back hair, nobody dares ask why the infamous ‘alleged’ crime lord is following after you with a bruise blossoming on cheeks that flush a deep, deep scarlet.

-

the judge announces the jury's verdict, and you don’t even look up from the documents you’re perusing when he’s found ‘not guilty’ in a court of law, yet again—

“jesus fuckin’ christ, i knew you were gonna save me!” your kingpin jumps up from where he’s sitting besides you, pressing his face into your shoulder as he breathes you in with an elated, shuddering breath. “can’t even imagine which ditch i’d be rottin’ in without ‘ya, sweet pea.”

“excuse me, sir.” you pry his hands off you with a detached air of reservation you reserve for when the two of you are in public, but the way your knuckles are white when you gather the countless files and papers of yours scattered on your desk tell him everything he needs to know about how pissed you are. “hands off.”

he knows he’s in for it when the two of you get home, and yet, he looks forward to the sight.

it’s always more… exciting than it should be; when you’ve got him shoved right up against a well, going off about how ‘irresponsible’ and ‘immature’ he is, nails leaving his skin bleeding from how deep you sink them into his body, too caught up in your own irritation to notice or, honestly, care.

and maybe, he thinks, as he follows you out, tonight he’ll go pay a visit to someone after you’re done with him.

a man’s got needs, y’know?

he’s high off the rush of his latest win when he walks up the porch steps hours later. it's really only the latest achievement in a long line he attributes solely to you and your efforts.

he’ll make sure to repay you one day, with all you’ve done for him. he’ll take such good care of you; let you do whatever you wanted to him, as a token of his appreciation for how hard you've worked to keep him on the streets he rules and out of the prisons he knows he belongs in.

in fact, his efforts start right here and right now; on the steps of a nice, suburban house, that belongs to the journalist with thick glasses and braces and a wiry frame. the white picket fence and 'keep off the grass' sign do little to deter the man outside. then again, the poor bastard could have had gates of iron, and he still would have found a way to creep inside.

he never knew being a journalist paid so well. shit, maybe he should’ve gone down this path instead of, y’know, running a criminal empire. this bastard's got balls of steel, for what he had the nerve to say about you. but it’s okay! hey! he’s here to take care of it for you!

you don’t ever need to find out what he’s done in your name. ♡

he’s very adamant about this, choosing to see the job to completion all alone, slinking away from your critical, watchful gaze—only once he’s made sure you’re knocked out by watching you sleep, crouched by your bedside, for a few hours—to make sure the problem’s all taken care of.

the kingpin rings the doorbell, and patiently waits for the door to open with his scarred hands held behind his back. there’s a glock in his left back pocket, and a silencer in the right. a swiss army knife curled in his fingers, because he’s always been creative.

yeah, can you believe that? his teachers used to tell him he would make a great artist one day. and he is, he likes to think. only that his canvases are a little less traditional, and not in the banksy way. you know how it is! life imitates art... or some hippie shit like that.

there's no rules in art for what you can paint with, right? or what surfaces you can carve up into pretty shapes...

and so, when the lock clicks open, and the handle turns, it’s exactly like he said; a man’s got needs!

so sue him! really, so what if his needs mean his heavy hands are clamping over the journalist’s mouth, twisted into a silent scream—

so what if he knocks the smaller man back, a fist flying to his face, those wide eyes and all, slack jaw stupidly hanging open in disbelief—

so what if he shoves him inside and kicks the door behind them shut?

your kingpin knows what comes with the life he chose, and sullying his name is one thing—but nobody gets to drag your name through the dirt and live.

he makes sure of that, personally.

-

“where did you go last night?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the weekly newspaper in your hands. there, on the front page, a greyscale photo of you and your headache of a client, descending the court’s steps after the verdict. “and why didn’t you ask for my permission before you left?”

the headline, in big, bold letters, splashed above the picture; INTERNATIONAL OUTRAGE AS INFAMOUS DRUG LORD EVADES LAW YET AGAIN. SHADY LAWYER TO BLAME?

“just takin’ out the trash, lovely. don’t you worry ‘yer pretty little mind about it.” as he says that, he abandons his own breakfast, suddenly snatching the paper out of your hands and ripping it up, but not before noting the name of the article’s author, tucking it away for later.

shreds of the weekly paper you hadn't even gotten to read yet fall to the floor, fluttering this way and that. you close your eyes and smile. “haha. funny. well, my ‘pretty little mind’ is telling me to throw the coffee in my hands all over you.”

“tryna mark me up?” he purrs, “if you really wanna wake me up, can i suggest somethin’ else ‘ya could throw at me? or on me, really. but—”

“i’m going to kill you in your sleep, one of these days.” you deadpan, turning back to your food. he’s like a little kid, and you’re not about to indulge him by giving him the attention he so desperately wants from you.

“'yer serious??" he grins, hands flying to his face in elation, a curious blush colouring his skin a deep pink. “you mean you actually wanna step into my bedroom— at night— of 'yer own damn will?“

you take another sip of your coffee, fingers trembling around the cup. don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what—

“damn... guess i should start sleeping naked, then.”

extra; what if darling was a prosecutor instead?

[dangopango00]

GIVE HIM SOME ATTENTION

What does he do when he wants some attention?

BLLK x S/O!GN Reader

Characters: Isagi, Bachira, Chigiri, Kunigami (Pre&Post WC), Gagamaru, Rin, Nanase, Sae, Shidou, Barou, Sendou, Nagi, Reo, Oliver, Otoya, Karasu, Yukimiya, Hiori, Kurona, Zantetsu, Raichi, Aryu, Kiyora, Kaiser, Ness (In that order)

CW: Suggestive as hell in Aiku & Otoya’s parts, A little angsty in Shidou, Reo & Ness parts

A/N: Idk all of them toooooo well but they’re all interesting to me so I’d like to try also I excluded some people who are irrelevant in my mindscape (i'm so sorry) (Nagi is honestly lucky to be here with the flopism he has been displaying smh) Gagamaru my goat ntm on him also added Zantetsu in honor of him finally getting his cover art

HCS UTC

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

Yoichi Isagi

I think if he’s craving attention he’d probably be a bit hesitant because it's embarrassing for him to ask (since he likes a lot of attention so he’d be asking all day LOL). In order to save himself the embarrassment he’ll usually just hold your hand and give you a serious look– if he can muster that (sometimes if he’s feeling shy he’ll just put his hand on yours while looking away). Well when he does look at you he thinks he’s giving you a serious look but surely all you see is him giving you puppy eyes.

Meguru Bachira

Oh if he’s craving attention YOU WILL KNOW. He’d probably cling to you as if you were a missing part of his body he was trying to reconnect. He’ll hug your arm or pepper you in kisses and he’ll seem way happier than usual because he’s just so glad to be around you. He’s a bit ridonkulous he might even jump on you, making you both collapse to the floor, or if you’re in a place with a hard floor he’ll instead pull you towards him and squeeze you like a giant teddy bear.

Hyoma Chigiri

He’s a bit tricky honestly. He has a good amount of pride so he doesn’t like to seem too clingy but that doesn’t mean he’ll back down if he feels like he’s being neglected. If he wants attention he’ll try to make you the one who’s embarrassed and craving attention by flirting subtly though incessantly. He’ll wrap his arm around you and lightly ghost his thumb over your skin or even ‘innocently’ kiss your jawline and then just as quickly as he started, he’ll stop and go back to whatever he was doing before so you’re the one asking for attention from him now.

Rensuke Kunigami (PRE Wild Card)

Honestly? Upstanding young man ass dude he’ll probably just start giving you attention until you reciprocate. He’s stubborn too so you know he won’t stop until you give in unless you’re seriously not in the mood for whatever reason. He’ll sneak up behind you and hug you and start kissing up your neck; eventually turn your head so he can kiss you on the lips if you’re willing to indulge him. The kind of guy who’d just lay up in your arms and gently lay you down with him after a long day.

Rensuke Kunigami (POST WC)

Ok I know he SEEMS insanely different but tbh I don’t think he’d change all that much. He’s probably a little bit more socially awkward because for a while all he’s done is train with little social interaction. When he wants attention, I think he’d likely use the same tactic but in a different way. He’d probably nip your neck or shoulder (not painfully; he is trying to be playful) and when it gets your attention, he’d start to pepper you in kisses or lay his head down on your shoulder if it's been a long day.

Gin Gagamaru

I don’t have a great grasp on this guy (despite being one of my goats 🥹) but I think he’d probably have like mannerisms for it like pointing at where he wants to be kissed and kisses you back when you oblige him. He also seems like the kind of guy who’d bring you something from his journeys in the wilderness as like a homemade gift and hopes you’ll give him the attention he seeks in return (you can definitely tell because he just stares at you as you open the gift, hoping you like it and then continues to stare expectantly when you do like it)

Rin Itoshi

Imo if Rin decided to get into a relationship with someone he’d dedicate himself to them just as he does soccer because he wouldn’t want them to be hurt the way he was hurt (someone you love acting coldly towards you) but he doesn’t really know how without cringing. SO his way of asking for attention would be somewhat sweet although awkward. I think he would likely try to do some semi romantic gesture like laying his head on your shoulder/in your lap (although he’s pretty tense) or just making general contact like touching knees or brushing fingers together and will absolutely WHIP his head away if you look at him.

Nijiro Nanase

Nanase is just a guy; another upstanding young man. I think he would probably flatter you if he wanted attention. He’ll probably start talking about the things he likes about you and how much he loves you, giving you a kiss on the cheek along with his praise as well. He is very aware of the fact that you think he’s the cutest thing to hit planet Earth and he will use it to his advantage!! Of course, he means what he says but if saying it out loud will get him covered in kisses he’ll say as much as you want because he’s never gonna run out of things to say.

Sae Itoshi

This guy… Is a real piece of work but, like his brother, I think if he’s willing to get into a relationship then that means he's willing to put in the effort but doesn’t know how, although he respects you a ton. If he’s craving attention I don’t think he’ll even realize it; he’ll just get really irritated when you aren’t around and when you are around he’ll stare you down so hard he could burn a hole through you but the fact that he doesn’t even look angry is what tips you off to what he wants. The look in his eyes isn’t insanely soft but it's not a hard stare either, he looks like he's daydreaming or zoning out tbh.

Ryusei Shidou

If Sae is a piece of work this dude is a whole project. It’s easy to say he’s like Bachira, which he is during the day, but I think it’d be more interesting to talk about him during the night. When the day comes to an end he said he “becomes nothing” so I think it would be the number one time where he craves attention and validation that he exists and you’re really there. It’s a somewhat vulnerable time for him but he plays it off like he’s just his usual clingy self and probably places himself in front of you at any opportunity. Looking down? He’ll lay on your lap. Facing forward? Well here he is in front of you. And by the time it’s finally time for bed he's completely wrapped his body around yours.

Shoei Barou

It’s kind of hard to imagine how he’d show affection in a relationship buttt I think similar to Kunigami, I think he would just give you attention until you give in. However, I think Barou is probably a bit more aggressive about it and he’d probably go up to you and kiss you, then pull away just enough to await your next move. If you take too long to decide though he’ll start kissing around your face: on your nose, your forehead, etc. He’s pretty bold but he is a tiny bit embarrassed/hesitant when it comes to feeling ‘soft’ with you so he’ll kiss you to distract himself from it.

Shuto Sendou

This guy is peak loserboy activity whew he is a huge sucker for being spoiled so he wants attention OFTEN. I think he probably just stands really close to you and complains about how his day was soooooo horrible and how he worked so hard but if being standoffish isn’t working he holds onto your waist for dear life or plops himself on your lap and hugs you, waiting for attention when he gets desperate. If he’s super desperate he’ll start kissing around your neck and complain even more. He even starts to say how betrayed he feels at how easily you’re ignoring his woes.

Seishiro Nagi

He’s pretty efficient in the way he shows he wants attention. Since he’s the spoiled type he’ll usually try to get your attention the normal way first: acting cute and laying his head on your shoulder or on your lap while he plays his game (he is expecting you to play with his hair) but if you don’t he’ll honestly be confused at first because he’s usually given whatever he wants. At first he’ll try to put your hand on his head but if you keep taking it away he’ll make you lay down with him and literally try to immobilize you by putting all his weight on your body; will even pretend to be asleep if you protest.

Reo Mikage

He’s a lot bit codependent so if he’s feeling neglected he’ll do everything he can to get your attention. He’ll usually shower you in gifts and/or take you on a romantic date. He’ll plan out a whole ass day of pampering just because he wants some attention. Please remind him he doesn’t need to do. All that. Because he often feels a bit useless if he doesn’t have time to do that. Not only does he feel useless but he’s somehow convinced himself subconsciously that he doesn’t really deserve your attention if he hasn’t done anything for you.

Oliver Aiku

If he wants attention from you, he’ll give you an insane amount of attention. Unlike Kunigami and Barou, he’s very forward and will text you, showering you with sweet words while he’s on his way to yours and when he gets there, he’s practically already all over you. He’s going on about how much he loves you and how he missed you so much all while kissing you wherever he can reach you. Tbh if he's craving attention, he probably just wants to have sex since he’s not a very clingy guy so he's probably already backing you into a wall and trying to undress you.

Eita Otoya

Honestly his appeal to others is usually him being the “cold but caring” type so, like Aiku, he’d probably text you before getting to yours but it’d be even more bare bones like, “i miss you” or “can I see u” even if he DOES genuinely like you he doesn’t really think deeply about his feelings and impulsively texts you when he wants attention. Unlike Aiku, he is a clingy guy and if he’s really desperate for attention he’ll still escalate it to sex if he can; just slower. Probably wants to lay his face in your chest or lap and makeout.

Tabito Karasu

Oh this smartass. He’s probably similar to Hyoma in the fact that he makes sure it's you who wants his attention by pampering you one minute and acting like nothing happened the next. However he does tend to like smart people so if you’re smart enough to see through his hot-and-cold act he’ll eventually hold you and hide his face in your chest, admitting defeat but he’d still be smiling because either way he wins. He’s already got you and he won't let go until you fill the quota of kisses you owe him.

Kenyu Yukimiya

He’s the type to feel a bit embarrassed about wanting attention at first but will be more forward if you don’t pick up on his subtle hints. His hints include sneaking glances at you or holding your hand whenever he gets the opportunity. He’s honestly pretty charismatic so I think that when being more forward he would probably kiss your hand and help you with anything you may need to get done or finish anything he may need to do so that you can completely focus on each other when there’s nothing left.

Yo Hiori

Honestly craving attention is a somewhat rare occurrence for him so it's a bit embarrassing, especially since you two are used to kinda doing your own thing. Probably gives you little ‘hints’ like starting off by asking if you want to play a game with him as an excuse to get you close to him. Another hint would likely be him invading your bubble whether it be by scooting close to you or hooking his leg over yours a bit or whatever it may be. If you still aren’t getting it he probably says something that tips you off while looking directly at you or glancing at you like, “Do you mind me being clingy?” or something along those lines.

Ranze Kurona

He’s such a sweetie he probably braids your hair if it's long enough (if it’s short he’ll still try a root braid if you want but he’s not very good at it). If not he’ll usually get you both stickers to mess around with, putting some on your face, others on various items and sometimes you put them in random hidden places as a nice surprise when you find them again. Typically this is enough to get the attention he’s looking for, but if you’re teasing him or simply forgot, he’ll lightly nip your shoulder or lightly graze his teeth over your shoulder (Since you two got together you have definitely encouraged him to be comfortable with his teeth around you)

Zantetsu Tsurugi

This guy often tries to be something he’s not so he’d probably try to do a bunch of romantic gestures that aren’t his style. Knowing him he’d probably put together some poems. They aren’t very good but it IS very sweet and he’d keep doing this for a while until the poems start to sound the same and he starts to get frustrated. He’d try learning an instrument, impressing you with his knowledge on a subject you like etc. until eventually he would just force himself to suck it up and ask you for attention outright and just straight up admit how much you mean to him because all these other things are draining and they aren’t him.

Jingo Raichi

He’s another guy who finds it a bit embarrassing to be ‘soft’ so when craving attention he’ll often ‘starve’ himself of it. Usually you’re the one who has to give him attention but if you haven’t for whatever reason then he’ll be angrier than usual that day with his teammates. He’ll probably give up by the time he gets home and just crashes into you grumbling about how his day has been SO unsexy. Probably won’t let you go until he falls asleep tbh and even then he still has a pretty good grip on you.

Jyubei Aryu

When he wants attention Aryu would probably start flaunting his beauty, pushing his hair back, striking poses, modeling clothes for you, whatever stylish thing he can think of– he will do it and then glance over at you to make sure you were paying attention. If that doesn’t work then he’d have you do some stylish things like he might have you try on some clothes he bought you or ask you to style his hair because he is “lacking inspiration” (He actually just knows you like playing with his hair smh)

Jin Kiyora

This dude is a freak, it's a lot bit funny. When he wants attention he probably asks you to watch a movie with him (You’re already suspicious that he didn’t put on Fight Club for the umpteenth time or another action movie). He honestly put it on as background noise and thought it looked boring so he’d probably just tell you to lay down with him and lightly kiss you until you get the picture (Spoil him). Can and WILL turn the movie off and hide the remote if you neglect him smh (He will not enjoy the returned energy next time he wants to watch fight club so for both of your sakes just give him some kisses).

Michael Kaiser

Complicated individual, rightfully so. If he wants attention he’d simply demand it. Bye. He would likely just pull you towards him without any further commentary, he might even look a bit annoyed. If you didn’t know him you’d think he was in a bad mood and upset with you but you know how he gets. However, he’s more clear when it’s been a long day and he’s feeling a bit beat down or unsure of himself. He’d just shove his face into your back or your midsection and let you play with his hair as he conks theee fuck out.

Alexis Ness

Another complicated individual whew. What is up with these codependent purple dudes who found the worst possible person to depend on? Ness has yet to find a relationship where he is properly loved and not essentially abandoned so if he feels like you’re slipping away he’ll panic and do everything in his power to convince you to keep him around. He needs a lot of reassurance tbh and spends a lot of his time in your arms. When he’s craving attention he’ll usually just be sulking around all day like a sad wet cat. Every now and again he turns to look at you wistfully and walks past very slowly like that damn homeless ant. Show him some love he needs it now more than ever ayayayay.

[gor3-hound]

FUCK YOU !! (AND, UH, FUCK HER TOO) — LOGAN HOWLETT + SCOTT SUMMERS

ft. scott summers x f!reader x logan howlett

a/n: deadpool and wolverine full throttled me back into my x-men era... rewatched the first two movies and binge wrote this over the course of three hours... it's pure, shameless smut with slightly gay undertones idk what to tell you... reader is basically in place of jean!!

cw: 18+ content, double penetration, almost cucking, cheating, reader is scott's girlfriend, logan is an asshole, competitive sex?? fighting, clawsTM, biting, marking, mild possessive behavior, p in v, mild scent kink, assholery all round tbh, creampies, threesome. gay crisis for a second x

word count: 2.3k words

Scott is starting to think Logan likes his things way too much. First, it was the way he looked at you when he was first brought to the school, eyes raking over your form. Scott wasn't blind – the visor didn't impair his vision that much. He remembers walking into the room when the both of you were alone. He could sense the tension between the two of you before his presence was even made known to you.

It wasn't until a while later he'd figured out Logan probably smelt him coming. Cocky bastard probably wanted to be caught.

Then, it was his motorcycle. His very own pride and joy. Returned with an empty tank, his keys tossed to him like it was nothing. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly behind his visor as he chucked the keys back to Logan. He barely managed to reign in his irritation.

“You gonna tell me to stay away from your girl?” Scott had told him to do so after that comment, despite having the faith in you that you'd be able to avoid Logan's charms. He was clearly wrong. Logan didn't seem like the type to have much respect, but this was just taking the piss.

“Been meaning to test if these beams could pulverise Adamantium.”

All he gets in reply is a shit eating grin from Logan as he pulls away from the heated kiss Scott had walked in on, his hands still gripping your waist. You really had the audacity to get all wide-eyes and shocked, like you weren't just about to fuck Logan with your ass perched on Scott's bike.

“Shit. Scott, I'm-”

“Sorry?” He cuts off, gaze very clearly still trained on Logan despite the way his shades conceal his line of vision. “Yeah. Save it.”

“Thought I could smell that shitty hair gel.” Logan huffs, bringing his head down to nip and suck at your neck, adding to the wide array of marks he's already left. And you fucking let him, tilting your head back and gasping like it's the best thing you've ever felt. Scott's gonna kill you, then Logan, then quite possibly himself. “How long’s it take you to get that done in the mornin’ anyway, pretty boy?”

“Right. Says the guy with kitty ears?” Scott bites back, taking a few steps towards the both of you. “I'm gonna give you about three seconds to get away from my girl and my bike before we see how good your healing factor really is.”

Logan fucking laughs, kissing his way up your neck and along your jaw so he can whisper into your ear, breath hot against your skin. “Stay put for me, yeah? Shouldn't take long, sweetheart.”

He pushes away from the bike, turning around to face Scott. Cocks his head to the side like a damn dog, rolling his shoulders as his claws shoot out from his knuckles. “Don't make me embarrass you in front of your girl, Cy-clops.”

Scott fucking hates that, hates the way he drags out his name as if it's stupider than Wolverine. Hates everything about Logan, if he's being honest. Hates how easily the man manages to get under his skin every single time.

“You're such a fucking asshole, y'know that?” Scott squares up, trying his best not to hurl a beam directly at Logan with the hopes he'd be able to send him flying through the garage wall. He's meant to be a team player. Level-headed. He's not sure how the older man always reduces him to this.

“That really hurts my feelings, bub. I thought we were a team.” Logan stalks closer, and Scott's vaguely aware you've gotten up, ready to break up a fight that never comes. Claws sink into the drywall beside his head at the same time he hears you tell Logan to ‘stop’. His back hits the wall, and then the asshole leans down, lips brushing his ear just like he had to yours moments prior.

“Y'know, I can smell the changes in your scent when you're pissed, happy... Can also smell it when you're turned on.” He breathes out, inhaling deeply just to tease the man further. “So either you're really into you're girl gettin’ passed around, or you wanna fuck me. Shit, or both. Which is it, pretty boy?”

“I don't want you to fuck my girl, Logan.” Scott grits put. His looks literally can kill, and he's becoming increasingly tempted to prove that to the other man. “And I definitely don't wanna fuck you.”

“C'mere, baby.” Logan coos, gaze flicking to you. He tuts when Scott goes to move, pressing his body against his to prevent him from getting too far. “Ah-ah. Stay there, pretty boy.”

You're at Logan’s side in a second, peering up at him through your lashes like an obedient dog waiting for its next command. Shit makes Scott's blood boil, his body going rigid against the other man's.

“D'you wanna kiss me, sweetheart?” He asks you, cocking his head to the side with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. And you fucking nod, like your boyfriend isn't right there staring at you. “D'you think he wants a kiss from me, too, sweetheart? Think he deserves it? Can't have been treatin’ you right if you came runnin’ to me, huh? Maybe I should teach him?”

“Yeah, think he needs it. He's always so stressed, never wants to do anything.” Now you're airing out your relationship issues? Fucking great. Scott's practically seething now, lips parting to say something – anything – to defend himself.

He doesn't get the chance before Logan's lips crash against his. He tenses up, ready for a fight. His hands come up to push the man away, but fuck he's a good kisser. It's a lot different from a girl – rougher. There's a drag of his stubble, a pleasant burn that comes from it. His teeth sink into Scott's lower lip before tugging, then he's forcing his tongue into his mouth. Scott ends up dragging him closer, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses back.

A growl rises in Scott's throat when he hears you giggle at his reaction, but he doesn't have much time to think on it, ‘cause Logan laughs all breathy and hot into his mouth, and it's making him short circuit. The growl quickly transforms into a low whine, his lips chasing after the other man when he starts to pull back.

His eyes open just in time to watch as Logan grabs you by your hair to pull you into a needy kiss, his free hand grasping at your hip to grind you against his rapidly hardening length. Scott feels his own cock twitching to life at the sight, a breathless ‘fuck’ leaving his lips as he reaches down to palm himself through his jeans. He hasn't been this hard in months – maybe ever. He feels like a horny teenager again, leaking pre-cum steadily into the fabric of his boxers. He isn't sure what to think of it. Humiliating, is what it is.

Logan's lips are on his again, his hands sliding under his shirt, tugging him closer. He feels his cock pressing against the hard ridges of Logan's muscles, feels your own hands join his in exploring Scott's skin, your lips pressing kisses along his neck and jaw.

“Relax, Scott.” You say, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. Relax, yeah. His dick is rubbing against another man's for the first time while his girlfriend is reaching around him to unbutton his jeans, and you want him to relax. This is a totally normal scenario that isn't throwing him head first into an identity crisis.

He gets lost in the hands on his body, the lips against his skin. Before he knows it, the three of you are naked and panting and pressed against each other. Scott feels like he can't breathe properly. His eyes dart between your body, and the fattest dick he's ever seen in his life. He doesn't know if he should be turned on or really, really insecure. His cock answers by jumping against his abdomen and leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum. Traitor.

Logan grunts as he lifts you up almost effortlessly, his arms resting at the back of your knees, using them as makeshift slings to hold you up against his chest, which is flush to your back. He quirks an eyebrow as Scott just stares, unmoving. “Well? You don't need me to tell you where to put your dick, do you? No wonder she's so pent up.”

“Asshole.” Scott says simply in response, stepping towards you. His words lack any real bite – he's too turned on to even think about being pissy. He fists his length leisurely a few times before lining up with your entrance, pushing forward inch by inch until his hips are flush with the backs of your thighs, your legs dangling helplessly at his sides.

You gasp and whine as Logan moves to slide in alongside your boyfriend, nails digging into his skin until Logan is buried to the hilt inside of you. Scott instantly peppers the skin of your neck with kisses, trying to soothe you.

“You alright, baby?” He asks, all soft and sweet. He's forgotten why he was mad at you in the first place, mind foggy with arousal as your cunt clenches around him.

“She's fine, bub. She can take it. Isn't that right, sweet thing.” Another whine, then a nod. It eases Scott, if only slightly, when he feels you relaxing against them. A beat passes, and then another. His eyes meet Logan’s and they both start to move – slowly, at first, before picking up the pace.

You're so much tighter like this, sucking him in desperately as he tries to find a rhythm with Logan. He can barely focus in anything but your heat and the way his cock ruts against Logan's as they both fuck into you. It's almost maddeningly hot, and he's feeling overwhelmingly anxious that he's going to cum in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

Scott leans down, his lips meeting yours as he rocks forward over and over. His lashes flutter as he sucks on your tongue, kissing you greedily. He feels a hand tugging at his hair, pulling him away from you before sharp teeth start to nip at his lower lip, a tongue bullying his way into his mouth. He sucks on Logan's, too, kissing him back just as hungrily as he did to you. He rubs soothing circles into your hips as he picks up the pace, coaxing you into relaxing further.

A growl rumbles Logan's chest when he feels Scott fucking you faster, his hips snapping against the fat of your thighs with more intensity, like he's determined to fuck you better than the other man. He's bigger, tip bullying your cervix with every thrust in a way that makes you tear up. His nose twitches as he smells the saltiness of your tears, then he's pulling away from Scott to lap them off of your face.

“Shhh, shh… you can take it, sweetheart. I know you can.” He coos softly, moving to nuzzle the crook of your neck, nose running along the skin like he's scenting you. Both men continue to slide in and out of your slick heat, grunting and groaning like animals as they chase their release.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” Your boyfriend coos. Scott needs you to cum soon, because he's barely holding on as it is. He doesn't want to leave you unsatisfied – especially now he's very aware Logan will gladly pick up his slack. His hand falls from your hip to make its way between your legs, thumb rubbing circles into your clit until your muscles grow taut. He grins, sucking a possessive mark over one of the hickies Logan had left earlier. Take that, asshole.

Your walls flutter and clench around both cocks as you reach your peak, a shaky moan of Scott's name leaving your lips as your head falls back against Logan's shoulder. Check and mate.

“Hear that, kitty claws? I'm still her favourite.” He huffs out, hands returning to your hips in an almost bruising grip as he ruts helplessly inside your tight heat, balls tightening as his orgasm rapidly approaches.

“S'only ‘cause she's lookin’ at ya, dumbass.” Really, it shouldn't be Logan's gruff, fucked-out tone that drives him over the edge, but it is. He blows his load a second later, forehead dropping against the crook of your neck as he fills you with spurts of hot, white liquid. He gasps against your skin, nails digging into your plush flesh.

Logan isn't far behind, grunting as he forces every inch of his cock deep inside of you, head tipping back as he releases. The tips of his claws threaten to breach the skin of his knuckles, but he manages to suppress them enough that they never fully unsheathe. He pants softly, chest heaving as he thrusts shallowly through his orgasm.

“Fuck.” He hisses, slowly pulling out of you. He lifts you off of Scott's cock, settling you down on the seat of the motorcycle so you can all catch your breath. Logan rubs soothing circles into your back as Scott steps forward, all but slumping against you as he embraces you.

“Did so good, baby. Was perfect.” He breathes out, pressing kisses along your bare shoulder. He pulls back just enough to look at Logan, who's already lighting up a cigar. “The fuck did that even come from?”

That shit-eating grin lights up the older man's face again as he takes a few short draws from the cigar in his mouth. He exhales the smoke, pulling it out of his mouth to speak.

“Trust me, pretty boy. You really don't wanna know.”

[gingersxng]

Pervy Boyfriend Mingi

WARNING: smut 18+

Pairing: f!reader x Mingi

Notes: sub!f.reader, rough mean dom! Mingi, big dick! Mingi, Mingi is a big pervert, perverted actions, inappropriate touching (which isn’t okay), degrading, manhandling, somnophilia, masturbation, name calling, oral (f&m receiving), public sex, shower sex, unprotected sex (don’t), nasty thoughts, threesome with yunho, double penetration, mingi loves your tits/ass, sex addicted mingi, 69, anger issues, Mingi uses reader like a rag doll, daddy kink, size kink, breeding kink, bulge kink, dacryphilia, reader gets nipple piercings, cock warming, orgasm denial. forgot anything? maybe.

Words: 973

Mingi who sneaks glances down your top at every opportunity he gets and gets dizzy at how your bra delicately pushes your tits together.

Mingi who can’t keep his hands to himself when you’re out with the guys and his fingers just so “accidentally” end up inside your cunt.

Mingi who needs to touch your breasts every time he’s near you and gives them small slaps from underneath to see them jiggle.

Mingi who tells you how sexy you look and how much he would love to see you fall apart under him, what a whore you are for him, the perfect sex doll for him to use.

Mingi who can’t stop staring at how your ass cheeks appears from your shorts/skirt when you bend down to get something..

Mingi who sneaks up behind you and places his hands on your ass/cunt and breasts while he whispers nasty degrading words in your ear.

Mingi who gets railed up in a split second because you’re running through his mind 24/7.. nasty thoughts that is.

Mingi who can’t leave you alone when you’re taking a shower and joins you to “save water” he also gladly helps to ladder you up then pushing you up against the glass doors taking you deep from behind.

Mingi who sits and waits for you to get out of the shower with a towel wrapped around you only for him to hook his fingers on it making it fall off leaving you completely naked in front of him.

Mingi who can’t take disobedience from you and explodes with anger when you tease him a little too much and ends up manhandling the shit out of you and fucks you until you’re crying and begging for him to stop.

Mingi who loves to push down his hand on your lower abdomen to feel how deep his cock is buried inside you, watching the bulge on your stomach moving under your skin as he thrusts in and out.

Mingi who goes crazy over the thought of impregnating you, filling you with his cum and giving you his babies. no condoms here!! then he fingers back the cum into your pussy so nothing goes to waste.

Mingi who loves when you call him names like daddy or big boy, he gets sooo horny when those words roll off your lips. you’re his babygirl ofc.

Mingi who makes you cock warm him when he’s working on his music and teases you by bucking up his hips into yours, if you’re making any noise he put his big hand over your mouth and growls in your ear what’ll happen if you don’t do as you’re told.

Mingi who denies your orgasms and uses you until he himself gets to cum inside you and then leaves you hanging without an orgasm.

Mingi who gives you a small piece of chocolate when you’ve been a good girl swallowing his big load.

Mingi who wakes up in the middle of the night rock hard so he pulls your panties to the side, spreads your cheeks apart and pushes his hard thick cock inside your small pink pussy, fucking you until he’s cumming hard.

Mingi who traps you under his big body and tortures you with a vibrator and laughs at your weak state telling you how dumb and fucked out you look.

Mingi who happily would share you with a friend especially Yunho!! showing him what a nasty fuck toy you are, they love to fuck your pussy together splitting you open til your eyes turn white. the more the bigger damage on you.

Mingi who’s not so much into that cuddly stuff, he’d rather have you jumping up and down his dick tbh.

Mingi who takes pictures of your pussy and tits when you’re asleep, or even record when his cock slides in and out of your cunt to later use to get himself off to when he’s at work away from you.

Mingi who loves to use his big size against you (not just his big frame) to cage you in against a wall or how he easily gropes your tits in his big hands, or even wraps one hand around your neck. “my little one”

Mingi who’s acting like an innocent and loving man outside the bedroom but get him inside those walls and he turns into a cold maniac.

Mingi who does his best to show love on a normal healthy level and you adore him for that… but when the blood starts filling that man’s dick he can’t be stopped.

Mingi who’s addicted to your little pussy, he loves how you taste and how your hole squeezes his long tongue. he’s knuckles deep inside you until your white cream coats his thick fingers. he also loves when you do the “69” you riding his face while deepthroathing him at the same time.

Mingi who made you get nipple piercings cause he just love how hot you look with them and it gets him more excited knowing they’re his to play with.

Mingi who knows you play with yourself when he’s at work but he don’t want you to know that he knows so he watches from the crack in the door, the way your body looks on your big bed as you finger yourself makes him light headed and the insides of his pants gets stained from precum.

Mingi who never leaves you alone and constantly walks up to you or laying himself on top of you pressing his hard cock against your ass, dry humping is also very appreciated.

Mingi who lifts you over his shoulder and smacks your ass with the biggest smirk on his face.

Mingi who after sex presses his big chest against your back hugging you close his head nuzzling in your neck… his cock still buried inside you.

[lechrts]

Tramp Stamp. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Intern!reader

Summary: When he catches sight of something that he wasn’t supposed to see. Something “so out of character” of you.

Word Count: 1.2k

Disclaimer/s: banter blah blah blah black cat x golden retriever tbh, Idk, flirty lando, Mean!reader because that’s all i know

Vera's Voice! a recycled prompt i had been wanting to use for an original story but i have no time since i cant be free of the shackles i call school and work so i just made it a lando imagine. YUHHHH. + sorry for my hiatus. Wassup. i hope u enjoy ^_^

The McLaren paddock was always buzzing with energy on a race weekend, but you barely noticed anymore. You were too focused on your job—an internship that demanded perfection, efficiency, and an unwavering dedication to details.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to have passed that memo to Lando Norris.

"You’re stalking me," You muttered, flipping through your clipboard as you strode through the garage, dodging mechanics and engineers.

"Following," Lando corrected, strolling beside you with way too much ease. "Completely different."

You stopped abruptly. He stopped too. You shot him a flat look. "You don’t even need to be here right now."

Lando smirked. “Aw come on, not enjoying our quality time?”

"Waste of time, actually." You scoffed, adjusting the clipboard in your arms. Lando gasped, pressing a hand to his chest like you’d just gravely offended him. "Wow. Harsh. I thought we were bonding."

You exhaled sharply, turning back to continue walking, attempting to wave him off. "Leave me alone, I’ve got work to do."

"And I have free time," He pointed out, easily keeping pace with you. "Which means I can spend it however I want."

"You want to spend it being an ass?"

"Of course." His grin was all mischief. "It’s my favorite pastime."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t slow down, weaving through the garage with practiced efficiency.

Lando, despite having no real reason to be there, stuck to your side like an overgrown puppy, dodging cables and stepping around mechanics with the kind of casual ease that made your irritation flare.

He lived to get under your skin.

"Hmm," He mused, leaning in just slightly, "You should try smiling more. I think it’d be good for you."

You didn’t even glance up. "You should try shutting up more. I think it’d be good for everyone."

Lando let out a bark of laughter. "So mean."

“Well, I’m certainly not trying to be nice.” You glance up, sending him a fake and sarcastic smile before your face deadpanned with cold eyes.

Lando clutched his chest dramatically. “You truly wound me.”

“God, save me.” You muttered, flipping a page on your clipboard.

Lando, of course, was unfazed and continued pressing. “To be honest, I think you secretly like this,” He mused.

You gave him a look. “Like what exactly?” Furrowing your eyebrows, not following where he was going with this.

“This.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Our little game.”

You stopped so abruptly that he almost walked into you. “What game? You mean me trying to do my job while you act like an overgrown toddler with too much money and free time?”

Lando grinned, rocking back on his heels. “So do you like it or no?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, turning sharply on your heel, and in your haste, your pen slipped from your grip.

It clattered to the floor and rolled just slightly out of reach.

Without thinking, you bent down to grab it.

But. There was a shift in the air. A second of silence too long.

Then—

“Oh.”

The single syllable carried so much smug amusement that your stomach dropped before you even straightened.

You turned slowly, and Lando was standing there, arms crossed, lips curled into a knowing smirk.

His eyes flickered downward—just briefly—before meeting yours again.

"Oh, correct me if I’m wrong," He drawled, "But was that a lower back tattoo?"

Your entire body stiffened.

You knew right then and there that your McLaren issued shirt had betrayed you. Probably riding up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the delicate little ribbon bow and butterfly inked on your lower back you had gotten back in high school.

Your fingers curled tightly around the pen, knuckles white as if you wanted to shove it into his throat. You fought to keep your face neutral, but the heat creeping up your neck was traitorous.

Lando’s smirk deepened.

You knew you should just ignore him. Keep walking. Act like you didn’t hear. But his tone—so goddamn amused and intrigued—was already sinking its hooks into you.

You straightened fully, lifted your chin, and shot back smoothly, “Maybe don’t stare at my ass?”

Lando’s grin was instant. “Not my fault it was right there.”

"You could’ve looked away."

"But then I would’ve missed the best part of my day," He quipped, eyes glinting with unfiltered delight. "Because never in a million years would I have guessed you had a tramp stamp."

You exhaled sharply, flipping back to your clipboard with forced nonchalance. "You saw nothing."

"I feel like there's a story behind it." He leaned in slightly, eyes practically gleaming. "And now I have to know."

"You have to shut up."

"Make me."

You inhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay composed. You refused to let him win.

Lando’s smirk widened like he could feel you getting flustered.

"Was it a dare?" He mused.

You ignored him, flipping a page.

"Drunken impulse?"

Silence.

"Rebellious phase?"

You turned sharply. "Lando."

"Hm?"

You briefly smiled, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Shut up."

"Can’t. I’m way too entertained at the moment."

"Oh, of course you would find this entertaining."

Lando grinned. "Come on, just tell me! I’ll drop it after."

"You never drop anything."

He sighed dramatically. "You know me too well."

“Unfortunately."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

"You know," He mused, rocking back on his heels, "It’s actually kind of hot."

Your brain short-circuited.

You nearly dropped your pen again.

"What?" You croaked.

Lando shrugged, far too nonchalant. "The tattoo. Didn’t expect it, but… yeah." He smirked. "Bit of a plot twist."

Your mouth opened—then closed. Then opened again. "You—I—what.”

He chuckled, watching your reaction unfold like it was the highlight of his day.

You refused to give him the satisfaction.

So, instead of responding, you lifted your clipboard and smacked him lightly on the arm.

Lando burst out laughing, clutching the spot like you’d actually hurt him.

"You’re an idiot," You muttered, turning away before he could see the hint of a smile threatening to break through.

Lando grinned after you, calling out, "I will get that story one day!”

And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as annoyed as you pretended to be.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @pedriache @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[withleeknow]

moonstruck.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst if you squint; they're in love <3, mentions of menstruation, there's a bit about orpheus and eurydice so you're not familiar you might want to look it up beforehand idk, not as edited as i'd like. not a lot of warnings here tbh it's just pretty mild and mellow saur 🤷‍♀️ (also i don't exactly love this but i hope you'll still tolerate it anyway lol) word count: 4.7k playlist 🎧: moonstruck - enhypen // this is how you fall in love - jeremy zucker ft. chelsea cutler // pansy - taemin // tightrope - zayn

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho is the kind of love that you thought only existed in movies and fairytales. Make-belief, too good to be true, out of reach.

When he rests his head on your shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep like he’s been doing for the past hour or so, you give into the urge to stare at him in wonder. An angel on earth, if there ever was one.

His long eyelashes that you could only dream to have, the slope of his nose, his pink pouty lips, his impeccably sharp jawline, and even his fluffy hair that’s ticking your cheek as you look at him as if you don’t get to see him like this every day. But that kind of beauty is something that demands to be showcased in the world’s most exquisite museum and admired by anyone who comes across it.

Minho is beautiful in every sense of the word.

And you adore him. You do. You love him with every single beat of your pathetic little heart and then some.

Surely, you must’ve saved a nation in one of your past lives to deserve someone as ethereal as him.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss against his forehead. The touch makes him stir awake, eyelids fluttering open as he groggily looks around and stretches out his limbs, in the limited space that he has anyway. His sleepy voice asks you, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. I think they said we still have about forty minutes before we land. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Minho shakes his head, covering his mouth when a yawn forces its way out. He straightens his back to his full height sitting down, then slumps against the seat a little bit. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while his hands find one of your own to hold in his lap.

He rubs the skin of your fourth finger for a moment before he eventually stills, lightly snoring again while you look out the window, gazing at oddly shaped clouds and blues and the reflection of the sun on the waters below.

–

After you’ve checked into the hotel, freshened up and readied yourselves to explore the scenery, Minho takes you down to the beach. It’s a little chilly, spring hasn’t yet settled into summer. Even with a light jacket on, you still shiver every time the wind rushes by like it’s playing with the waters. But it’s nice – the sea breeze in your hair and the sunlight on your face, your lover by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you walk along the shore together. The blue of the sea almost blending in with the sky where they meet somewhere out there on the horizon. Seagulls flying overhead, families enjoying their relaxing vacation, children playing in the sand way down the shoreline where all you can make out are blurry silhouettes dancing about.

It’s paradise on earth. It’s an escape that you desperately needed. Exhilarated doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when he told you that he’d booked a Jeju trip for your anniversary.

He’s always been the perfect partner. Always knows just the right thing to do for you whenever you need a pick-me-up. He may not seem like it, but Minho is beyond caring and considerate. He’s a man of few words but he certainly makes up for it with his actions.

“Hey,” he says, pointing somewhere ahead of you. “Remember what happened there?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes try to follow the direction of his finger, until they find a spot where two people are sitting, watching the water in front of them, content smiles passed between lips as they talk animatedly. “Didn’t you confess to me there?”

He smiles as the memory resurfaces in his mind. “Did you know I almost chickened out?”

You two started out as friends way before you got together.

Three years ago, just a few months after you’d both graduated from college, Minho asked you to go to Jeju island with him. You thought it was a little strange – though not that strange since you had been on trips with him before, but it was always in a group setting with all of your other friends. Never just the two of you.

Nonetheless, you agreed. You wanted to get out of the city anyway. You needed a change of scenery to clear your head and to recharge. Everything was starting to become too much for you - being 22 and in limbo. You felt like you kept falling behind no matter what you did. Everyone was moving forward and you were running in place no matter how hard you tried to get out of that slump.

Everyone around you was outgrowing you and your little life, and all you could do was pretend you were fine.

It was one of the lowest you’d ever felt, and you suppose that was why you said yes to Minho’s invitation. A vacation didn’t seem like it would help much, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A few days away, with nothing but the sun and the sea to help you get out of your own head.

A tropical paradise and Minho. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were worse things you could think of.

That, and the fact that there had always been something between you and him. Not crazy sexual tension or anything, but just enough of a noticeable spark. An inkling of something that neither of you ever acted upon.

“Did you?” you ask. “Didn’t you plan the whole trip back then to confess?”

“What? No. Why would I willingly do that when you could’ve rejected me? Then I would’ve been stuck in a hotel with you and on the plane ride back.”

You squint at him. “Then why did you take me on that trip?”

Minho shrugs. “Friendship trip to cheer you up.”

Years with him and he still makes you feel as warm as he did the first time you kissed. You gaze at him with what must be the world’s most lovestruck look plastered on your face. You reach up to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, then watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You did confess though,” you argue.

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t planned,” he tells you. “You just... We were sitting right there,” he tips his chin toward the same spot again, “and you had my jacket on because you were cold. You were watching the sunset and you looked so pretty. I couldn’t help it. Almost chickened out though.”

You stop walking, and this makes him stop too. Minho glances at you with his head slightly tilted, wearing a puzzled expression.

“You never told me that,” you say.

“You never asked.”

Pouting, you tug him toward you until he’s close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Minho is good, so incredibly good for you that sometimes you can’t possibly fathom how you even deserve him. He never meant to get anything out of it; he just saw that you were struggling and wanted to make it better for you.

Maybe you didn’t do a very good job at pretending, not if Minho could see right through you.

Before him, you had a fear of heights. Not the literal kind, but rather the kind of heights that often accompanies big leaps, big changes. A fear of falling, maybe that would be more accurate. Falling and failing and hitting rock bottom with no way to climb back up. A fear that you would always be stuck with this life forever, trapped in an existence you never asked for. A fear that no effort to escape your reality would be enough, and you’ll always be trailing ten steps behind even if you try twenty times as hard.

You pull him down so you could properly kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly like he was made for you, like he’s the only person you’re ever meant to kiss in this lifetime. You can taste his smile, minty and happy as he moves against your mouth, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you to his body by the small of your back.

“If I had known,” Minho pulls away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “telling you that would get me brownie points, I would’ve told you ages ago.”

You roll your eyes with affection.

“So all this time,“ he says, “you thought I asked you on that trip just to get into your pants?”

“You did get into my pants on that trip!”

“Let me remind you that I only wanted to do something nice for you. You were the one who almost jumped my bones right then and there after I said I liked you.”

You slap his chest as he throws his head back in a hearty laugh. Minho takes your hand in his once more as he drags you along, savoring the cool sea breeze and the golden daylight dancing on glittering waters before the sun bids you goodbye.

Minho is the kind of love that makes you want to curl up into a ball and ugly cry for an hour straight.

In a good way, of course. In the best way possible.

So that’s what you do, on a fine Tuesday afternoon, sitting on a couch surrounded by three cats as you wait for him to come home, perfectly sheltered from the harsh sun outside.

He returns eventually, toward the end of your crying session. When he sees the pile of tissues on the coffee table, soaked with your tears and snot, his heart nearly falls out of his ass.

Minho drops everything, rushing to you like you’re on the verge of spontaneous human combustion because clearly, this is a normal reaction to have when you come home to a girlfriend who’s been sobbing in the dark for god knows how long.

That, and the fact that said girlfriend doesn’t cry very often. Not by herself and certainly not in front of others.

Doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the occasional bouts of tears whenever shark week closes in, though.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Another rush of tears breaks as you look at him. You wipe your eyes and your nose with the tissue you’re currently holding, before throwing it on the table to join the pile you’ve accumulated.

You launch yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The sudden force takes him aback, makes him gasp a little.

He freezes as you cling to him like a desperate koala, before his hands slowly land on your back, rubbing slowly, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid he’s hurting you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

“PMS,“ you hiccup your answer out, to which Minho only responds with a relieved Ah, his hands now moving more assuredly on your body.

“Anything hurt? Sore?”

“No. Just… missed you today. Love you a lot.”

There’s something saccharine in his gaze when he pulls back and regards you with his big doe eyes, softened and endeared, yet there’s still a twinkle of mischief peeking through the sugary glaze.

He moves to make himself comfortable next to you on the couch but still makes sure to keep a hand on you so you don’t grow impatient.

Once he’s effectively squished between you and the armrest of the sofa, he says, “You missed me so much that you started crying? You could’ve texted me, or called. I would’ve come home sooner, crybaby.”

“I didn’t cry because I missed you. I cried because I love you.”

He pretends to think for a moment. “I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.”

You jab a finger at his ribs.

Sure, the mere thought of Minho brings tears to your eyes sometimes. It’s not really a secret anymore.

There’s something about him, just him, how wonderful he is and how all of the stars in the sky must have aligned themselves to make you and him happen. He’s the love of your entire life, there’s never been any doubt about it. Your other half, perfect for you.

You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you’re positive that you will never feel this way about anyone ever again. Your love for him runs so deep, so powerful that it overwhelms you at times, drowns you in nothing but affection for him and only him. A love that spreads like wildfire through your calm and sacred forest.

It’s cliché beyond words, that one day you would be having these thoughts about someone. You used to watch this kind of sentiment romanticized in movies, used to cringe and laugh at sappy lines in books and TV shows though there was always a part of you that longed for that kind of love.

You didn’t talk about it often, not even with the people closest to you. You always found it a little embarrassing to admit that you wanted love. To love and to be loved. There was something so utterly vulnerable in the act of yearning and isn’t it such a scary thing? To be vulnerable? You never saw the appeal in showing someone the deepest, darkest parts of you.

What if they leave? What if you bare yourself to someone and they deem you not worth staying for? How would you come back from that kind of rejection?

You suppose it always held you back - the fear of being open that goes hand in hand with the fear of being left behind. Maybe you have more fears than you’d like to admit.

Then came Minho.

No, that doesn’t sound right.

He didn’t come crashing into your life like a tidal wave and unraveled your every belief.

He was always there by your side, a calming presence that you could lean on when things got tough. A friend, a solid foundation. He’s the relief after every monsoon, the first day of sun after a long and harsh winter.

He saw you for who you were, all the messiest parts of you, and loved you anyway. In spite of your mess? Because of your mess.

He taught you that love isn’t always extravagant gestures and grand declarations that Shakespeare would applaud.

Love is acceptance. Love is staying with you on your gloomiest days and holding your hand through your dreariest moments. Love is lingering glances by the doorway before he goes to work because you’re half asleep but you’re still trying to reach for him even in your dreams.

It’s sharing joys and burdens alike. Reminders to eat and gentle wake-up calls. A photo of you in his wallet, a silly picture of him as your phone’s wallpaper. Giggling with him after he tells a joke not because of the punchline itself, but because his manic chortle is even funnier.

Love is Minho cradling your face in one hand and holding onto your shaking fingers with the other, his steady gaze holding yours, and his voice whispering gently in the darkest of nights, “Your storm is my storm.”

At the end of the day, love is pretty simple. Love is him.

“Do you ever think about Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Minho laughs, the sound vibrating where you lay your head, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing the skin of your waist over your shirt. “No, I don’t think about Orpheus and Eurydice.”

You figured as much.

Your fingers trace invisible patterns on his chest as you hum your acknowledgment. Then you ask, “If it was me, if you were Orpheus, would you look back?”

His hands pause their ministrations, a little taken aback by the question you suppose. Your brain tends to pingpong between the most random things sometimes.

“You know,“ he says with an even voice, though the corner of his mouth still curls upward in amusement. “Other people just ask the worm thing.”

“The worm thing is boring. And we both know you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm either.”

“That’s true. I don’t like worms,” you agree, chuckling while your boyfriend scoffs. “Answer the question, would you look back?”

There’s no right answer because you’re not expecting a correct response. It’s a hypothesis that can never be tested because you aren’t a nymph and Minho isn’t a bard with the ability to sway all life with his music. It’s a silly thought but it’s one that you’re curious about nonetheless, just to hear what he would say. Why not?

You’ve read many interpretations of the tragedy. In some, Orpheus hears Eurydice stumble and turns to catch her fall. In others, he can’t hear her at all. The story will forever be among your favorites, one of the things that never fails to turn you inside out no matter how many times you mull over it.

Minho is quiet for a moment. You think he’s about to shoot back with a witty retort that he always has up his sleeves, probably something about how he would find a loophole and trick his way out of the deal, or that he would personally fistfight Hades to get you out of the underworld. This wouldn’t surprise you at all.

Instead, he says, “Yes, I would look back.”

But regardless of how you choose to view the myth, the ending does not change. Orpheus always turns around.

He turns around because he loves her.

Minho’s fingers slip under your shirt to brush your bare skin, angling his head sideways so he could kiss your forehead. 

Maybe he’s just saying it for the sake of being romantic, for the sake of saying what seems to be the right thing. It’s an answer that you can never give substance to, but you believe him with all your heart.

You believe him. You do.

“If it’s you, I would look back.”

Minho is the kind of love that eclipses the sun and dims the light of the moon. The kind of love that drowns out all the noise and makes everything a little more bearable. Not just the most horrible things – your fears and struggles alike – but even the smallest, most mundane things.

If there’s one thing that you absolutely hate, it’s the smell of nail polish. You hate the way it lingers in the air even after the bottle has been capped, hate how the smell of toluene stains your fingertips even after washing your hands several times with scented soap.

Though, the only time you try to tolerate it is when Minho convinces you to stay in and pamper each other. Pizzas that he picks up for dinner and tiramisu ice cream for dessert. Face masks and fancy candles that you save for special occasions. SoonDoongDori napping on various surfaces in your living room, an old vinyl playing from the record player he got you for your first birthday you shared together after you started dating.

You each take turns doing the other’s nails on the carpeted floor. It’s become somewhat of a tradition that you indulge in every month, where you would spend cozy Friday evenings indoors just because neither of you can be assed to indulge in a “proper“ date night. Being hermits together sounds infinitely more appealing to you than any other alternative.

“I’m not done,” you say, snatching Minho’s hand back after he pulls it away to admire your work. You blow on his fingers to make sure that the layer of black polish you applied earlier is dry, then you’re reaching for a bottle of beige polish sitting amongst the ones scattered on the floor. You take a tiny brush from the nail kit - one that’s rarely ever touched because neither of you knows how to do nail art - and dip it into the sand-colored polish.

“What are you doing?“ he asks, watching as you trace some squiggly lines on his middle finger, the lighter color settling nicely on top of the black even if he has no idea what you’re trying to draw. “What is that?”

“Soonie,” you say simply. “When you flip people off, you can show them Soonie.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that his attention is fixed on you even though he doesn’t give you a response. You feel his gaze on the side of your face, soft and warm and never leaving for even a second. He doesn’t say anything while you work though, maybe he doesn’t want to mess up your concentration while you’re so engrossed in what you’re doing. He only chuckles at your answer, then nothing afterward.

You don’t mind the lack of conversation. It helps you focus better on what you’re doing because you’re no artist by any means. You can’t draw to save your life, let alone master something as intricate as nail art, but this is therapeutic. It’s perfect to help you unwind after a long week - doodling your beloved cat on your boyfriend’s nails while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls sets the ambience. You’ll get the ice cream when you’re done with your impromptu project, along with a little headache from inhaling too much of the polish scent perhaps, but isn’t that a small price to pay?

You take your sweet time with the teeny tiny details, like Soonie’s delicate whiskers and the darker strips of fur on his face. He still turns out a little wonky, a little lopsided here and there but it’s not like you expected it to turn out like a Picasso.

The real Soonie seems to sense a disturbance in the force when he wakes up from his nap and saunters toward you curiously. You pick him up and sit him in your lap so he doesn’t come too close to the fresh polish on Minho’s nails. “Look,” you say with a proud smile, pointing toward the small cat doodle. “That’s you.”

He studies it for a moment, focused on your portrayal of him but then he’s quick to decide that he’s not interested anymore before wiggling away from your lap to go join Doongie on the couch. You chuckle lightly, watching him as he walks off, wondering if this is what it will feel like when your future children enter their teenage years.

When you turn back to Minho, he’s still staring at you, a dazed look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, his hand resting limply on his thigh.

“What?” you ask. “Do you not like–”

“Marry me.”

The rest of your question dies in your throat, wilting away like cherry blossoms when summer nears. He doesn’t break eye contact, still that dreamy gaze when he peers at you. Nothing has ever changed in the way that he looks at you.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. You think anyone would be when their boyfriend drops a proposal out of nowhere while you’re doing each other’s nails in your comfiest sweatpants.

Everything that you’ve been afraid of comes bubbling to the surface, every doubt, every fear, even every fleeting insecurity. They manifest as a ringing in your ears, a buzzing in your head that makes it hard to think about anything at all.

But then he shuffles closer, closer and closer until his warm breath fans your cheek, his nose nudging your cheekbone gently. It’s similar to what Doongie does sometimes when you’re lounging in bed and he just wants some love.

When Minho takes your hand and laces your fingers together in his lap, everything stills. The rumbling comes to a halt, the distant thunder fading slowly into the background of your mind palace until it’s reduced to mere white noise. “Marry me,“ he says again, and his voice is so tender that you ache. Tender and sweet and so full of wonderful adoration. If you ever have to describe what love sounds like, you would say it’s him and his voice, right here and right in this exact moment.

“A little dramatic to propose just because I drew your cat.”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to your cheek before he ducks down to deliver another kiss on the side of your neck. Then he pulls back, just enough to get a clear view of you and your now glassy eyes.

“Bottom drawer in our bedroom,” he tells you. You can’t lie; you have half a mind to leave him here and go check. “I bought the ring two months ago, but I knew I wanted to marry you two years before that. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do it but I realized the perfect moment doesn’t exist, because every minute I spend with you is perfect. I love you so much. It’s not because you drew me my cat, by the way. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

“I love your weird brain and your blanket-hogging ass. I love that you’re crazy enough to listen to a song literally over a thousand times without getting bored. I even love you when you set ten alarms in the morning and still manage to sleep through all of them. I know you hate your smile but it’s my favorite smile in the world. Did you know my favorite color is the color of your eyes? The best part of my day is when I get to come home to you and the kids waiting for me. I want all of you forever. I promise I’ll love you twice as much on days that you don’t love yourself. When we’re old and gray and we look like raisins, I’ll let you go first so you won’t have to spend a single day alone. I’ll–” He stops when you let out a teary giggle, no bite in his voice at all when he says, “Please don’t laugh at me during my big romantic speech.” 

It only makes you laugh harder, though it’s just as emotional. If you focus on the other part of his sentence, you’ll only crumble into a million pieces right here.  “How very romantic of you to include the visual of us as raisins in your speech.”

Minho rolls his eyes – fondly, of course. When he pretends to squirm away from you, you tug him back by the collar of his shirt to plant an apologetic kiss on his lips which he eagerly accepts.

“Please continue,” you say, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me all the ways that you’ll love me.”

“You ruined it. I retract my proposal,” he grumbles, but his arms betray his words when they tighten around your frame, holding you close to him to steal another kiss. Then another, and another, until your faces are wet with tears and you realize that you’re both crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say through sniffles and tears. “Please keep going.”

“Make it up to me first.”

“How?”

“Marry me,” he repeats a final time. “I’ll give you a better speech on our wedding day.”

Years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail. How the cats’ peace is disturbed by your tearful giggles and the strange look they give you before wandering out of the room, in favor of somewhere without two crying idiots. How the record starts skipping but neither of you can be bothered to do anything about the obnoxious sound. How the material of his shirt feels when you bunch the fabric in your hands because you need to kiss him, need him to be as close as humanly possible.

You’ll remember the sob that he hiccups when you tell him through choked up whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and how his lips feel when they tremble against your skin. You’ll remember the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, because he’s always been your salvation for as long as you’ve known him. You’ll remember what happens after, later that night when he finally slips the ring onto your finger. The words he whispers into the crook of your neck, “You mean the world to me,” and the emotions in his voice when you both realize this is the start of the rest of forever.

You’ll remember everything, all of it, every clumsy touch and every graceless kiss. Ugly crying on the floor and yet, it’s more perfect than anything you can ever dream of.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 13.07.2024]

[unconventional-lawnchair]

"god I'm supposed to hate you, why don't i hate you?" with barty and potter! reader? 👀 the recent fic got me thinking sjdjkdkf

I Might Still Hate You

Barty Crouch Jr. x Potter!Reader

AN: I couldn't sleep last night, I'm blaming this. ANY excuse to write Barty x Potter reader tbh

Summary: An unexpected guest shows up at your house late at night.

WC: ~3k

CW: Small bit of cussing, implied child abuse

You couldn’t remember a single time Bartemius Crouch Jr had ever said something kind to you.

It was likely because he never had.

From the very beginning, you and Barty had been locked in a mutual loathing. Whether it was academic rivalry, dueling matches, or sheer social standing, the two of you couldn’t seem to share a room without bristling at the other’s presence. Maybe it was the way you refused to bow under his threats, meeting his sharp words with sharper ones of your own. Or the way he matched your challenges like a game he was desperate to win, his smirk always daring you to push him further.

But really, it was probably your name.

"Potter."He never just said it- he delivered it, each syllable like a whip crack, leaving something raw behind. You hated the way he said it, how his voice dipped just slightly when he drew it out, like it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to know but delighted in exposing anyway.

“You know, it suits you.” He had told you once, a wicked grin slashing across his face as you squared off in yet another argument. “All that self-righteousness. It clings to you, like perfume.”

Your glare had only made his grin widen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re exactly what everyone expects a Potter to be. And isn’t that exhausting for you? Always pretending you’re better than everyone else?”

“I don’t need to pretend, Crouch.” You had shot back, stepping closer, challenging him as you always did, smirking. “But maybe you should stop pretending you’re not desperate to prove yourself to me. ‘Clings to be like perfume’? Give me some room, maybe you wouldn't be so wrapped in it.”

That grin faltered just slightly, his eyes narrowing. For a moment- just a moment, you thought you saw something flicker behind his bravado. But then it was gone, replaced by his usual venom. Giving you an expression he saved just for you- unbridled hatred.

“You’re insufferable.” He glared down at you before slowly smirking himself. As if his lip didn't twitch into a frown at your remark.

“And you’re pathetic.” You drawled, running your quill along the bridge of your nose.

Barty had a way of getting under your skin. You told yourself it was just the rivalry. Just the mutual hatred that kept him in your thoughts, his voice echoing far too clearly in your head.

But you hated how sometimes, when he was close, your pulse raced for reasons you couldn’t quite name. How his cologne reminded you of your best days, because he was never far behind you.

Everything considered, everything he's done and said to you, there was nothing that prepared you for this.

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet halls of Potter Manor, startling you from your thoughts. It was late, too late for visitors. The rain outside battered against the windows like an unwelcome intruder. You hesitated for a moment before making your way to the front door, curiosity piqued and wand subtly gripped just in case.

Pulling open the heavy oak door, you were met with a sight that made you question if you'd somehow drifted into a dream or perhaps a nightmare.

"Crouch?" You uttered, eyes widening as you took in his disheveled appearance. His usually pristine hair was plastered to his forehead, rainwater dripping down his face and soaking his clothes. A dark bruise was forming around his left eye, the skin swollen and tender-looking. His nose was red, and whether from the cold or something else, it was clear he'd been through quite an ordeal.

He blinked at you, seeming just as surprised to find himself on your doorstep. "Potter.” He mumbled, but the usual sneer in his voice was absent. Instead, it sounded almost... defeated.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, a mix of concern and confusion lacing your tone.

He glanced away, jaw tightening. "Didn't realize where I was going," He shrugged. "Just walking."

"In the pouring rain? With a black eye?" You raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident.

"Brilliant observation, as always," He shot back, but the retort lacked his typical bite.

You sighed, stepping aside. "Well, don't just stand there. Come inside before you catch pneumonia."

He hesitated, pride warring with practicality, but the chill of the rain seemed to make the decision for him. He stepped over the threshold, dripping water onto the polished wooden floor. You closed the door behind him, the sound of the storm muffled but the tension between you both as palpable as ever.

You closed the door softly, turning to face him with a sigh. Barty stood there, dripping rainwater onto the polished floor, his gaze avoiding yours. Your mother was going to kill you. There was something unnervingly quiet about him, something unspoken weighing heavily in the space between you.

"If my brother sees you, he’s going to lose his mind.” You muttered, already thinking through how to avoid that particular disaster.

Barty snorted, the sound bitter but faint. "Wouldn’t be the first time a Potter tried to hex me."

"Well, I’m not in the mood to hear James shouting at two in the morning, so we’re going to avoid that, alright?" Without waiting for his reply, you grabbed his arm and began pulling him toward the stairs.

He stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you.” You hissed. "Now, shut up and follow me."

He opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, instead allowing you to lead him up the staircase. The house creaked softly underfoot, the storm outside muffling your steps as you tiptoed toward your room. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds, half-expecting James to come barreling out of his room with Sirius in a righteous fury.

When you finally reached your door, you pushed it open and gestured him inside. Barty hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "Your room?"

"Yes, my room.” You replied a bit snappily, exasperated. "Unless you’d prefer I dump you in the hall for James to find?"

He stepped inside without another word, though his posture was tense, his gaze darting around the space as though expecting a trap. You shut the door quietly behind you, casting a silencing charm for good measure.

"Sit.” You ordered, gesturing to the small chair near your desk.

Barty sat reluctantly, his wet clothes clinging to him and dripping onto the carpet. You grimaced. "You’re ruining my mum’s rug."

"Your concern is touching.” He drawled, though the usual venom was missing. He looked utterly miserable, and the bruise on his face seemed darker in the soft glow of the room’s light.

Ignoring his sarcasm, you rummaged through your wardrobe for a spare towel and tossed it at him. "Dry off. I’ll find something for you to wear so you’re not freezing to death."

He caught the towel with a raised brow. "I didn’t realize Potter hospitality came with wardrobe changes."

"Do you ever stop talking?" You shot back, digging through a drawer until you found an old jumper Sirius gave you and a pair of sweatpants James had ‘lost’. "Here. They're my brothers, but it’s better than sitting around in wet clothes."

He muttered something you didn’t quite catch, taking the clothes from you with a begrudging nod. You turned away, giving him privacy as he changed, though you couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air grow thicker with every passing moment.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Why are you doing this?"

You glanced over your shoulder, finding him standing there in the oversized jumper, his wet hair pushed back from his face. Without the rain and the usual sneer to hide behind, he looked... different. Tired. Vulnerable, even.

"You showed up on my doorstep looking like you’d been through hell.” You shrugged. "I couldn’t just leave you out there."

He scoffed lightly, but there was no real bite to it. "You’re a strange one, Potter."

"And you’re still unbearable," You mumbled, crossing your arms. "But here we are."

Silence fell between you, the storm outside filling the quiet. Barty’s eyes flicked to the window, then back to you. "Your brother-”

"Will stay asleep if you keep your voice down.” You interrupted. "I’ll deal with James or Sirius if it comes to that. For now, just... sit down and rest. I’ll grab some ice for your eye."

He didn’t argue, which was strange enough in itself, sinking back into the chair and watching you as you slipped out of the room. When you returned with a cold cloth, he accepted it without a word, holding it gingerly to his swollen eye.

"Thanks.” He mused after a moment, the word sounding foreign in his mouth.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, studying him carefully. "Who hit you?"

"Does it matter?" His tone was dismissive, but you caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched.

"It does if you’re going to keep showing up like this.. was it your father, Junior?”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. You sighed, leaning back on your hands. "You don’t have to tell me. But you’re not going anywhere until you’re steady on your feet, alright?"

"Afraid I’ll collapse in the rain?" He snarked, his usual smirk making a brief appearance.

"I’m afraid you’ll collapse on my doorstep and make me explain to my father why a random boy is here," You shot back.

The room settled into a fragile quiet, the storm outside providing a constant backdrop. Barty sat there, pressing the cold cloth to his eye, his face obscured by shadows and bruises. You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, watching him carefully. He was always so quick with a retort, so quick to lash out, and yet now he seemed... hollow, his usual sharp edges dulled by whatever had led him to your doorstep tonight.

"You’re staring.” He muttered, his voice breaking the silence.

"You’re in my room.” You countered, refusing to back down.

He huffed a faint laugh, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. "Fair enough, Potter. I didn’t exactly plan this, you know."

"You don’t say?" You deadpanned, tilting your head. "Because you seem like the type to storm through rain-soaked nights and show up unannounced."

"Better than staying where I was." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and his face darkened immediately, his jaw clenching as he turned his attention to the cloth in his hands.

You didn’t push him. Not yet. Instead, you sat back, letting the silence stretch just long enough to ease the tension in the air. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of malice in his gaze. Just exhaustion.

"I don’t understand you, Potter.” He scoffed softly, almost as if to himself. "Why are you doing this?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "You keep asking that. Do you really not get it?"

His brow furrowed. "We hate each other. Isn’t that the whole point of us? This... thing?"

"This thing? You mean our rivalry?" You huffed, raising an eyebrow. "It’s not like it’s my whole identity, Crouch. Believe it or not, I’m capable of basic human decency."

"Decency?" He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "You don’t owe me anything, Potter. Especially not that."

"No, I don’t.” You shrugged, leaning forward. "But you showed up here, soaked to the bone and bruised. I’m supposed to hate you, sure, but..." You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before you forced them out. "I don’t hate you right now."

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to find the trap in your words. "Why not?"

"Merlin, Crouch.” You muttered, exasperated. "I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you look like a stray Kneazle someone kicked into a gutter."

His lips twitched at that, and for a brief moment, you thought he might smile. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his expression guarded but less harsh. "Don’t pity me, Potter. That’s worse than hate."

"I’m not pitying you.” You snapped back. "But I am trying to figure out why you’re so determined to make everyone hate you, including me."

"Maybe I deserve it." His voice was so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. His usual bravado cracked further as he glanced away, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the towel.

You softened at that, the sharp edge of your retort fading before it could form. "Maybe you don’t.” You coaxed gently. "You ever think of that?"

He didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t bring himself to let the words out. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting back to you.

"You’re annoying, you know that?" he finally muttered, shaking his head. "You’re supposed to be this... untouchable, perfect Potter. And yet here you are, making it impossible for me to hate you."

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

"You hate me just fine most of the time.” You rolled your eyes, your voice quieter now.

He laughed, but it was a hollow sound, one that didn’t reach his eyes. "Do I? Or is that just easier than... this?"

"This?" You echoed, your heart pounding as the word lingered in the air between you.

He didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes said enough. Vulnerability mixed with defiance, like he hated himself for letting you see even a glimpse of what lay beneath his carefully crafted exterior. You opened your mouth to say something, anything but the words tangled on your tongue.

"I should go.” He said suddenly, standing up and tossing the towel onto the chair. "This was a mistake."

You were on your feet before you even realized it. "Don’t be an idiot, Crouch. You’re not going anywhere like this."

"I’m fine.” He snapped, but his voice cracked, betraying him.

"You’re not fine.” You shot back, stepping closer. "And you don’t have to be."

His jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You think you know me, Potter? You don’t. You can’t just... fix me with a towel and some kind words."

"I’m not trying to fix you.” You scoffed but your voice strained, soft but firm. "I’m just trying to remind you that you don’t have to do this alone."

For a moment, it looked like he might argue again, but then his shoulders slumped, and he let out a shaky breath. "Why are you doing this?" He asked one last time, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t have an answer, not really. All you could do was reach out, resting a hand on his arm. "Because I don’t hate you.” You said finally. "And maybe I never did."

His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting moment, the storm outside seemed to quiet.

“I hate you.” He whispered softly. Testing the words on his tongue.

“That's okay.”

“I hate you.” He spoke again, more determined as his brows furrowed at you in frustration.

“I can live with that, Junior.”

“I hate you.” He spoke in his normal tone, before his shoulders fell and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I'm supposed to hate you. Why don't I hate you?”

Your heart thudded painfully at his words. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and venom, was raw now, trembling with something unspoken. It wasn’t a question meant for you. It wasn’t even a question meant for him, not really. It hung in the air, heavy with everything he couldn’t say and everything you couldn’t answer.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his words carved into you, settling in places you didn’t want to acknowledge. "Maybe you’re not as good at hating as you think," you whispered softly, your voice barely cutting through the silence.

Barty let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Oh, I’m very good at hating, Potter. Comes naturally to a Crouch. You should know- you’ve been on the receiving end often enough."

"Then what’s stopping you now?" You challenged, stepping closer, the space between you shrinking to something almost unbearable. "What’s so different this time?"

His eyes flickered to yours, narrowing as though he was trying to figure you out, to dissect every word and find its weakness. "You’re insufferable," He muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. "Always so damn persistent."

"Stop deflecting, Crouch." You didn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down, standing your ground even as his walls threatened to rebuild. "Why don’t you hate me?"

"Because I-" He stopped himself, his jaw clenching, the frustration in his expression cracking further. He turned away from you, raking a hand through his damp hair. "I don’t know, alright? I don’t know. I’ve hated you since the first day I met you, but now-" He broke off again, his shoulders tense, his fists clenching at his sides.

"But now what?" You pressed gently, your tone softer this time.

"But now it’s harder.” He admitted finally, his voice so quiet you barely caught the words. He turned back to face you, his eyes meeting yours, and for the first time, he looked completely, heartbreakingly vulnerable. "I don’t know what to do with that."

Your chest tightened, the weight of his admission settling heavily between you. "Maybe you don’t have to do anything.” You took another step closer. "Maybe it’s okay to just... stop fighting it."

His lips twitched, not quite a smirk but not a smile either. "And what exactly am I supposed to do instead?"

"You could start by letting yourself be honest.” You replied. "For once."

Barty studied you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours like he was looking for an answer he didn’t want to find. Then, almost imperceptibly, he took a step closer, the tension between you reaching a breaking point.

"Honest, huh?" He murmured, his voice low. "Alright, Potter. Here’s some honesty for you- I hate the way you do your hair. I hate the way you hold a room. I hate the way you can wipe me across the floor in a duel and still challenge me in a classroom. I hate how you never stop talking- I hate how you make me feel. I hate that you make it impossible to look at you without... without wanting something I’m not supposed to want."

Your breath hitched, his words sending a jolt through you. The room felt smaller, the storm outside nothing compared to the one brewing between you.

"Then stop pretending you hate me.” You slipped your hands into your cardigan pockets, your voice steady despite the way your pulse raced. "Because we both know you don’t."

For a moment, he didn’t move, his expression unreadable. Then, with a frustrated growl, he reached out, his hand cupping your jaw as he pulled you closer. His lips hovered just a breath away from yours, his gaze locked on yours.

"You’re infuriating," he murmured, his voice rough, almost broken. "And I don’t know if I hate you or if I-"

He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to. The space between you disappeared, the storm outside fading into nothing as his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t soft or sweet- it was raw and desperate, filled with all the unspoken words and tangled emotions you’d both been avoiding for far too long.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I still might hate you.” He mused, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"That’s fine.” Your voice was breathless but steady. "I might still hate you, too."

But the way your hand lingered on his, and the way his grip on you didn’t falter but tightened, told a different story entirely.

[mya-valentine]

Can I request a fic for Kinich x fem reader please? during the archons quest IV (spoiler‼️ for people who didnt do the archons quest) reader almost died in one of the bases but traveler and Paimon (doesn't matter who tbh I love the twins) was able to save them just in time and Kinich hugged her not letting her go until he knew she was real and safe in his arms

Not a huge fan of angst but I'm okay with angst with comfort (happy ending)

From the Edge of Darkness

The Abyss Order had been relentless in its attack on Natlan, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. With the nation in ruins, every base became a battlefield, and the resistance fighters were pushed to their breaking point. The Traveler and Paimon, desperate to help in whatever way they could, had been moving from one war-torn base to another, always hoping to arrive in time to save someone—anyone—from the onslaught.

This upcoming base felt different, though. As they neared the next base, an eerie silence filled the air. No sounds of clashing weapons, no cries for help. Just silence.

Paimon’s voice quivered as she spoke, “Traveler… something feels wrong about this place.” The suffocating tension in the air made it hard to breathe.

When they finally reached the base, the scene that greeted them was nothing short of horrifying. Destruction had torn through the camp like a hurricane. Blood stained the ground, mingling with the ashes of burned tents and scattered debris. Bodies lay strewn across the battlefield, broken and still. Each life extinguished in a brutal fight to protect their homeland.

The Traveler moved quickly, scanning the area, their heart sinking with each step. Please, let there be someone left alive. They silently begged the universe, their steps quickening with each heartbeat.

And then they saw you.

Amidst the carnage, there you were—barely alive. Your body was crumpled against the remains of a wall, blood trickling from a wound on your side. Your skin was pale, your breath shallow. You were hanging on, but only just.

“There!” the Traveler gasped, rushing toward you. They dropped to their knees by your side, frantically checking your pulse, their hand trembling as they felt the faint, uneven beat beneath your skin. “She’s alive, but not for long!”

Paimon’s eyes widened in horror. “We need to get her out of here! Now!”

The Traveler didn’t hesitate. With great care, they lifted your fragile, unconscious body into their arms. They could feel how weak you were, how close you were to slipping away. Every second counted. “We’re taking her to the stadium!” the Traveler barked. “That’s where the medics are.”

Paimon nodded furiously, her tiny body flying ahead, guiding the way. “Hurry! We don’t have much time!”

The journey back to the stadium felt excruciatingly long, each second a battle against time. But the thought of losing you—of arriving too late—drove them forward.

The stadium came into view, its towering walls offering a brief sense of relief. Inside, it was the last haven for those who had survived the Abyss Order’s attacks. It was bustling with medics, warriors, and refugees, each one desperate to protect what little was left of their world.

The Traveler barely made it through the gates before shouting for help. “Medic! We need a medic!”

The closest group of medics rushed over, their eyes widening when they saw your condition. Without wasting a moment, they took you from the Traveler’s arms and laid you on a stretcher.

The Traveler stood back, their chest heaving with exertion, watching helplessly as the medics tried to save you. Paimon hovered close by, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. “Traveler… do you think she’s going to make it?”

The Traveler swallowed hard, unable to answer. “I don’t know, Paimon… I don’t know.”

---

Not long after, the stadium doors burst open, and Kinich, the man you loved, stormed in. His usually calm and stoic demeanor had crumbled, replaced by pure, unfiltered panic. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for you, the woman who meant more to him than anything in the world.

When he finally spotted the Traveler, his heart lurched. He saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the grim set of their jaw. He knew something was wrong. “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice shaking.

The Traveler’s expression softened with sorrow as they pointed toward the medic tent. “She’s there. It’s… not good, Kinich. I’m sorry.”

Kinich’s breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the tent. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat filled with dread as he rushed toward you. When he reached your side, his worst fears were confirmed. You were pale and still, your chest barely rising with each shallow breath. Bandages covered the wound on your side, but you looked so fragile, so close to death.

“No…” The word came out as a broken whisper. He fell to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they reached for yours. He grasped your hand in his, holding it tightly, as though if he just held on hard enough, he could pull you back from the brink.

Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision as he bowed his head over your hand. “Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

His body shook with the force of his grief, the tears falling freely now as he pressed your hand to his lips, praying for some miracle, some sign that you would wake up and tell him everything would be okay.

Hours passed, but Kinich never left your side. He couldn’t. The world outside the stadium continued to burn, but nothing mattered to him except you. He sat by your side, holding your hand, watching for any sign that you would wake. Every breath you took felt like a lifeline, fragile but present.

The medics came and went, their magic stabilizing your condition, but Kinich’s heart remained heavy with fear. He whispered to you the whole time, his words soft and broken. “I love you… please come back to me…”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you stirred.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was Kinich’s tear-streaked face hovering above you, his hand tightly gripping yours. You blinked slowly, your body heavy with pain and exhaustion, but you were alive. You were still here.

“Kinich…” Your voice was a soft, rasping whisper, but it was enough to break through the haze of Kinich’s grief.

His eyes widened, a sob of relief escaping him as he surged forward, pulling you into his arms. His grip was tight, almost desperate, as though he feared that if he let go, you would disappear again. His body trembled with emotion as he held you, his face buried in your hair.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, his voice shaking with disbelief. “You’re really awake…”

You nodded weakly, your arms coming up to wrap around him, though the movement was slow and painful. “I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice soft but reassuring. “I’m going to be okay.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with love and relief. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, though it was weak and tired. “I’ll try not to.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Kinich simply held you, his heart finally beginning to calm as he felt the steady rise and fall of your chest against his. You were safe. You were alive.

And as long as you had each other, nothing else mattered.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice softer this time, but no less sincere.

“I love you too,” you replied, your words filled with warmth and gratitude.

The world outside was still in chaos, but in this moment, as you lay in Kinich’s arms, you knew that everything would be okay. You had survived, and you had each other. And that was enough.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[anundyingfidelity]

PRIMAL — Weapon X!Logan

Summary: You are right where he wants and won't escape the subject's twisted mind.

Warnings: heavy non-con smut, dark stuff, mentions of being tortured, female!reader. Read at your own risk tbh, thank you if you do though. Someone pls write more Weapon X! Logan, I'm going crazy at this point.

GEN MASTERLIST!

He has you exactly where he wants. Between the concrete and his intimidating aura. Your eyes are glossy, chest going up and down, ready to be the next victim. His last one.

You study the Weapon X subject one more time. He’s broad and muscular, strong frame with adamantium bones, claws out his knuckles as he walks to you, full in his naked glory. Stains of blood start to dry off on his chest, abdomen and shoulders. And even though in other circumstances he would make a good-looking man, he is far from being one now.

He is not human anymore, he is an animal. And you had been part of the experiments since the beginning. For some reason, he had saved you last from all the personnel of the base. A twisted and sick choice.

Logan takes the last two steps towards you, closing the distance. He can smell your fear, sense the shaking of your whole body, the beating of your heart… He had been watching you, paying special attention to you each time he could. Your voice, your silhouette, your job, your routines around the lab. Everything you did he had learned.

And now, after killing and dismantling the place, leaving a horrid trade of bodies and red around, he feels like finishing everything with you.

He doesn’t know your name, he just knows you were part of them and he fucking hates it.

How could such a pretty thing like you could bear torturing a lost soul like him? He growls at the thought, leaning until his nose is almost touching yours.

You gasp loud, the echoes of your breathing filling the empty place. Your eyes shut and you feel tears running down your cheek.

“Logan…”

He replies with a deep groan again, taking in the scent of your neck and the salty sweat covering your skin. Oh and how he loves the reactions of your body as he traces his way to the shell of your ear with his nose.

“Please… You- you’re not like this…”

Begging would do nothing, he knows it. You keep begging and begging, calling his name as he takes in the features of your face, eyes barely opening. And when you cross glances, besides the fear on your gaze, he can sense something else building on you: arousal. It’s not the first time he’s sensed it on you, but sure he will take out his own suffering and frustrations on that.

“Logan…”

Claws come close, cutting your blouse and bra off. He rips the fabric with his hands before your trousers and panties come off the same way. You squirm and cry, but don’t make any effort on pushing him away because you know he would win the same. He’s massive, stronger, and dangerous. He’s a weapon you helped to build, and compared to him, you are nothing.

Probably he will get vengeance by tearing you apart, forcing you on the smudged, cold floor. He’s all over you, not quite giving kisses but bruises with his lips and teeth on your neck, biting on your skin, legs wide as he feels your wet cunt against his hard cock.

You cry his name, more like a moan, when he forces himself inside your tight walls without any preparation. He’s animalistic, erratic, growling, almost howling, like a dog in heat.

The scratch of your nails do nothing. He pounds harder into your abused cunt, tearing an orgasm out of you. He spills himself in seconds, feeling your walls around him sucking him completely, and he continues fucking you over and over his own high, increasing the sensitive feeling between your legs. And just as you think Logan is over by how quick he keeps rutting on you, hips making an obscene noise every time he buries balls deep inside your cunt, it feels like he goes faster, harder, that it becomes too much and you cling into him with nails and loud whimpers, sore throat crying into the void.

He comes a second time with a deep moan, filling you up once again and you do nothing but take it. Slowly, he pumps his white seed into you until he fully stops inside your abused, needy pussy.

The primitive need to kill now is replaced with a more primal urge, and you would be perfect for that from now on.