#and with this one i can clearly see how it fits the song perfectly (and the song the standout on the album) while being MEH about mv

[ikjun]

sorry i am broadcasting my thoughts in real time but i am sitting at work thinking about the k.will mv and the way one part of me really loves it because it serves the story of the song so well and i am a sucker for that while another part of me obviously doesn’t need to see another bury your gays trope … though even then you can see they put a lot of love and a lot of effort to make this mv beautiful even if it’s a tragedy and i don’t know both of these things can exist i guess

[winxanity-ii]

LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?

ship: fashion designer!gojo x fem!model!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (fem. receiving hand-job/fingering; overstimualtion; p in v ; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos) word count: 6.6k (i'm gagged cuz i swear it wasn't that many words as i was typing 😭😭💀) A/N: Hey, bubbly-bear! just wanted to let you know i've moved from my my alt account to my main one, so i'm posting your request here…

Request:Hello! I had a lil gojo x reader idea but if you aren’t vibing with it please dont feel like you have to write it, or change it how you see fit! BUT I feel like Guess (ft. Billie E.) By Charlie xcx is so Gojo coded and I would love to see a fic based off of it if possible :)

p.s. mwaaaaahhhhh, thx you so much for being my first request, hope i did you justice 😩✨

This line from the song just stood out to me and i just had to write it:

I wanna try it, bite it, lick it, spit it Pull it to the side and get all up in it Kiss it, ride it, can I fit it?

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

"Turn your head like that—yes, perfect! Raise your chin a little more. Hold it!" The head photographer's voice cut through the organized chaos, every word precise and demanding. "Lighting! Can we adjust the back light, it's catching too much glare!" Another barked command as assistants scurried to fix the harsh spotlight casting an overexposed halo on you. "Makeup! Fix the lipstick; it's smudged." The pace had been relentless, as it always was on set. The camera had clicked, capturing each second of your endurance, but all you could focus on was the way your body ached.

Your feet, crammed into designer heels, screamed for relief, and your back burned from holding poses longer than it felt natural. You shifted your weight slightly, hoping no one noticed as the clicks of the camera went on like rapid fire.

"Alright, people, ten-minute break!" Finally, the head photographer clapped his hands, giving everyone the much-needed signal to stop.

A bell rang faintly in the background, and your shoulders slumped as you let out a groan.

You dropped the strained pose you had been holding for what felt like an eternity. You rolled your neck, feeling the tension snap and release in your joints.

The lights dimmed slightly as Kugisaki Nobara and Itadori Yuji sauntered over from the swimwear shoot, and you couldn't help but notice how their outfits screamed for attention—both in completely different ways.

Nobara was in a skimpy two-piece swimsuit, the top barely enough to cover her small bust, accentuating her slim waist. The delicate straps dug into her skin as she pulled at them, clearly annoyed, though the outfit highlighted her toned frame with every step she took.

The bottom piece clung to her hips, just barely covering enough to maintain some modesty, with high-cut sides that emphasized her long legs.

Despite the discomfort written across her face, Nobara moved with confidence, her slender figure not going unnoticed by the photographers still milling around.

She scrunched her nose. "This swimsuit is killing me," she muttered, fingers fidgeting with the ties around her waist. "Honestly, whose idea was it to make swimwear this uncomfortable?"

Yuji, in contrast, had an air of ease about him, rocking a pair of matching swim trunks that coordinated with Nobara's outfit—an intentional design that somehow made their shoot feel like a playful, couples-themed editorial.

His bare chest gleamed under the studio lights, each of his perfectly sculpted abs on display as though carved by a sculptor. His body was toned yet muscular, the kind of physique that didn’t need fancy clothes to stand out.

With sun-kissed skin and that infectious grin, Yuji could have made wearing anything look effortless.

"C'mon, Nobara, we don't have that much longer. Besides, you look great," Yuji said, his voice lighthearted as always.

Nobara rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, says the guy who could wear a trash bag and still smile like it's no big deal."

You let out a quiet chuckle as Yuji gave you a wink before being called away to review some of the shots. He shot you a playful smile over his shoulder as he walked off, his broad back flexing slightly under the pressure of moving around in the hot lights.

"Ugh, I swear, if Yuji keeps this up, I'm going to barf," Nobara muttered, shaking her head as she sidled up next to you, arms crossed over her chest.

The two of you made your way toward the refreshments table, where the scattered models and assistants buzzed like bees around a honey pot.

You could feel the material of your own outfit shift as you moved, the delicate knitted vest you wore slightly hugging your upper body. It was all part of the 'clean girl' aesthetic your stylist had chosen for you—a knitted cream-colored vest over a crisp white blouse, paired with a pleated schoolgirl skirt that swayed with every step.

It was simple, yet chic—the kind of outfit that made you feel both elegant and casual at the same time.

Yet, despite its light, airy look, the long hours standing in the heels were starting to make your feet scream. The snug fit of the vest only heightened the strain on your tired muscles, adding to the sense of exhaustion.

Nobara leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming as if she was about to share the juiciest tidbit of gossip she had yet. "So, did you hear about Kaori and that photographer? Apparently, they got caught in one of the back dressing rooms."

You raised a brow, barely hiding your amusement. "Kaori? The one who's been eyeing everyone since day one?."

"Oh, and you didn't hear this from me," Nobara continued, lowering her voice even more, "but Sumi told me that Yuji's been getting cozy with that new model, Megumi. You know, the quiet one? Well, they—"

You groaned, cutting her off. "Don't you ever get tired of knowing all the messy things?"

Nobara rolled her eyes dramatically, her lips curling into a smirk. "Never~" she said, before nodding toward the side entrance. Her voice took on a mischievous edge as she added, "Just like I know you never get tired of denying that your new stylist wants to fuck you."

You practically choked, your eyes widening as the words hit you. "W-What?" you sputtered, your face heating up. You let out a shaky laugh, then coughed, trying to gather yourself. "Stop saying that…"

Nobara's smirk only grew wider, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Oh, come on. The man practically undresses you with his eyes every time he's around. You can't tell me you don't notice the way he looks at you. The man's got designs on more than just your clothes, babe."

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you averted your gaze, unsure how to respond.

It was hard to deny that your stylist's hands lingered just a bit too long during fittings, or that his gaze seemed a little too intense when he adjusted the fabrics on your body.

The clean, tailored looks he designed for you always felt more intimate than the pieces he created for other models. But surely, it was just part of his meticulous nature, right?

"I-It's just professional," you stammered, glancing down at the drink in your hand, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the growing knot in your stomach. "He's focused on the designs, Nobara. That's it."

Nobara snorted, giving you a knowing look. "Yeah, okay. If by ‘designs’ you mean figuring out how to get under your clothes, then sure. But I mean, I'm not complaining. If I were in your shoes, I'd fuck him."

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over you both, and you didn't need to look up to know who it was. You felt his presence before you saw him.

There, leaning casually against the side of the refreshment table, was Gojo Satoru, the man in question.

His signature smirk played on his lips as those piercing, ice-blue eyes of his scanned over you over his shades, and you could practically feel the heat of his gaze as it lingered on your skirt.

"Ladies," Satoru drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with charm. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything too scandalous?"

Nobara raised an eyebrow, giving you a teasing look before stepping back. "Oh no, nothing at all. We were just talking about your... designs," she said with a sly grin before stepping back. "Guess, I'll leave you two to it," she teased, nudging you as she walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone with him, heart racing as you met his eyes. His grin only widened, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"So..." Satoru murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in slightly. "Anything you'd like to confess?"

Your throat went dry, and you could only shake your head, praying that he hadn't overheard Nobara's playful remarks.

But judging by the gleam in his eyes, you had a feeling he probably had.

Your heart raced as you tried to compose yourself, swallowing back the nerves rising in your throat. You forced a smile, though it felt shaky at best. "I don't have anything to confess," you said, attempting to keep your voice light. "Is there anything you need help with?"

Satoru's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming as he straightened up, his hands casually slipping into the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers. "As a matter of fact," he drawled, "you could help me with something."

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Before you could ask what he meant, two of Satoru's assistants appeared at his side, as if on cue, each one wearing the kind of professionalism that didn't quite mask the urgency in their steps.

Without explanation, they began to gently but firmly usher you toward the changing quarters.

"W-Wait—what's going on?" you stammered, glancing over your shoulder at Satoru, who followed behind leisurely, his long strides giving him an air of complete control. "Why am I changing? I thought my shoot was almost over?"

"Oh, nothing much," Satoru sing-songed, his lips pulling into a mischievous grin. "I just had a chat with the higher-ups about pushing up the date for a few of our theme releases. Ya'know, rearranging which models get which looks."

Your confusion only deepened, and you blinked owlishly, trying to make sense of his words as you were guided toward a small room at the end of the hallway. "But—what does that have to do with—"

You trailed off as you stepped into the changing room and saw the mannequin sitting in the center. It was draped in an outfit that made your breath catch in your throat. A short leather miniskirt, sleek and shimmering, paired with a crop bodycon top that clung to the mannequin’s torso like a second skin

The entire ensemble was a bold combination of black and silver, with metallic bangles adorning the arms and a choker embedded with silver and black accents.

But what truly caught your attention was the soft sheen of baby blue that ran through the outfit—a shade that was eerily similar to the blue of Satoru's eyes.

You stared at the outfit for a moment, taking in the platform boots that completed the look, their towering heels intimidating yet alluring. The whole ensemble screamed nightlife, clubbing, a world of flashing lights and pulsing music.

It was striking, to say the least.

The assistants wasted no time, setting down various items on a nearby table while preparing the room for your quick change. But you stood frozen, blinking again as realization slowly dawned.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an almost lazy amusement.

"You're joking," you muttered, half in disbelief.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

You glanced back at the mannequin, the black and silver catching the light in a way that made the outfit seem even more eye-catching.

The baby blue accents shimmered faintly, bringing your thoughts right back to Satoru, his confident smirk and those eyes that seemed to follow your every move.

The outfit looked like it had been designed for you—and only you.

The assistants were already moving around, gesturing for you to start changing, but your mind was still reeling. "You... moved up the schedule?"

"Had a feeling this look was perfect for you," Satoru said casually, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. "Wanted to see it on you sooner rather than later."

You bit your lip, nerves fluttering in your chest as you stared at the mannequin once more.

The way Satoru's gaze lingered on you sent a shiver down your spine.

It was as if this entire thing had been orchestrated just for his amusement, his design, his vision.

The assistants handed you the top, a fitted crop that shimmered in the light, the baby blue accents standing out against the metallic silver.

You reluctantly grabbed it from them as they moved off to remove the other pieces from the mannequin.

The room felt warmer all of a sudden, like the air had thickened, and you couldn’t shake the tension prickling at the back of your neck.

You lifted your gaze only to find Satoru already staring at you, his eyes locked on yours in a way that made your breath hitch. You cleared your throat, your voice shaky as you tried to break the spell. "Shouldn't you leave? I need to change."

Instead of moving, his lips curved into that trademark smirk that always made your stomach flip. "I'll have to stay and oversee things. You know, just to make sure nothing goes wrong. I can swoop in and fix anything if needed."

Your face burned, heat rushing to your cheeks as his words lingered in the air.

You weren't naïve. You'd worked with dozens of stylists before, all of them meticulous, always staying to make sure the fit was perfect. But none of them ever made your skin tingle the way Satoru did.

None of them ever watched you like they were imagining a thousand different things beneath the clothes. And none of them ever made you feel like you were burning alive from the inside out with just a look.

Heart pounding, you turned away, hoping to escape his gaze. You began undressing, slipping out of your current outfit.

Each movement felt amplified, like you could feel the air around you, charged with tension. You reached behind yourself, trying to steady your breathing as you fumbled with the zipper.

You could practically feel his eyes on you, mapping out your body, lingering on every curve as if he could see right through the fabric.

Your skin prickled, the sensation of his gaze making it hard to even think straight. Every breath felt labored, every second stretched too long.

As you reached behind to unclip your bralette, your fingers trembling slightly, you felt a pair of hands cover yours—large, warm, and deliberate.

The shock froze you in place, your breath catching in your throat.

"Allow me to help you with that…" His voice was low, velvety, and it sent a shiver down your spine as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear.

The world narrowed to that moment, the heat of his presence overwhelming your senses. His fingers gently brushed against yours as he unhooked your bralette, the touch feather-light but filled with an unspoken promise.

You couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the room suddenly too small, too hot, with Satoru towering behind you, his hands so close, too close.

Every nerve in your body screamed in protest, but your heart betrayed you, hammering in your chest as a low pulse of desire curled through your veins.

His hands slid away as he stepped back, giving you room, but the mark of his touch lingered long after he'd let go.

It left you breathless, the space between you charged with something dangerous, something unspoken that hung heavy in the air.

Satoru's smirk never wavered, his eyes still locked onto yours in the reflection of the mirror. "There..." he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. "...All done."

You stuttered out a soft, breathless, "Thank you," barely able to get the words out before Satoru turned on his heel. His presence seemed to consume the room, but as he barked an order to one of his assistants, the pressure finally lifted.

"Adjust the lighting for the next setup! And I want the backdrop changed in five minutes!" Satoru's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. With one last glance over his shoulder at you, he strode away, leaving the room in a whirlwind of activity.

As soon as he was gone, it felt like you could finally breathe again. The air in the room cooled, the weight of his lingering presence fading, though not entirely.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled the leather skirt up over your hips, the fabric snug against your skin. Satoru's assistant helped you with the bodycon top, tugging it into place, adjusting the hem and smoothing out the fabric as it clung to your curves.

The outfit was bold—almost too bold—but it fit like a second skin, highlighting every line of your body in the way only Satoru's designs could.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of camera clicks, flashing lights, and endless posing. Hours slipped by, the sun gradually lowering as the shoot continued, stretching longer than expected.

Nanami Kento, the photographer overseeing everything, was a perfectionist. His no-nonsense attitude left no room for error, and his eye for detail was unmatched.

He had insisted on waiting for the natural dusk light, arguing that it would complement the metallic sheen of your outfit and bring out the best in the overall composition.

You had worked with Kento before. His bluntness and unwavering pursuit of perfection made him a tough taskmaster, but he was one of the best in the industry.

Shoots paired with him always led to increased success. His images captured not just the clothes, but the mood, the essence of the model wearing them.

He and Satoru were at the top of their game right now, the dynamic power duo behind many successful campaigns, and you couldn't deny how they both pushed you further than anyone else ever had.

"…And… that's a wrap!" Kento's voice finally cut through the endless camera clicks, sharp and definitive. The faint ring of a bell followed, signaling the end of the shoot.

You exhaled a long, relieved breath, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders.

The shoot had taken the remainder of the day, from midday to the last golden rays of dusk.

The combination of Satoru's exacting demands—making you pose in just the right way to show off the outfit—and Kento's insistence on perfect lighting meant you'd spent hours standing, twisting, and holding uncomfortable poses.

The tightness in your back and shoulders made it clear how long you had been at it. Your feet ached in the platform boots, and your muscles screamed for rest.

As the assistants began to pack away the equipment, the space slowly emptied out. The other models and staff had long since finished their own shoots and left, leaving only you and a skeleton crew behind.

The studio, once alive with chaos, was now eerily quiet, the low hum of final tasks being completed the only sound in the background.

You peeled yourself away from the set and made your way back to the dressing room, feeling the tightness of the leather skirt with every step.

The corridors were deserted now, with most of the team having wrapped up hours ago. The silence was almost jarring after the noise and flurry of the day.

You were exhausted, every muscle in your body protesting as you moved.

Finally, you reached your dressing room, the door creaking slightly as you pushed it open. The sight of the empty space—the vanity mirror now bare, clothes and shoes scattered—was a welcome relief.

The day had been long, but now you could unwind.

As you closed the door behind you, the quiet settled over you like a blanket, offering you the peace you desperately needed.

You stumbled into the room, barely keeping yourself upright as exhaustion weighed down your limbs. Practically dead on your feet, you began peeling off the clothes that had felt glued to your body for the last several hours.

The crop top slipped off first, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

You didn't care where it landed as you walked over to the couch in the center of the room, facing a large squared mirror. Each step felt like a weight being lifted from your sore muscles.

A cool draft brushed against your bare torso, making you shiver slightly as it passed over the sheen of sweat from the long day. Your fingers worked at the accessories next, unfastening the bangles around your wrists and dropping them carelessly.

The metal clanked against the floor, loud in the otherwise quiet space. You massaged your sore wrists, the cool air soothing the raw skin where the jewelry had pressed tight against you.

Your fingers then moved to the choker at your neck, tugging it free and letting it fall beside the rest, relieved to feel the soft touch of air against your throat.

Your mind began to drift, wandering somewhere far away from the chaos of the day. You thought about what you'd do when you got home.

Maybe snack on those yogurt bites you found at the grocery store earlier that week. Or maybe you can finally binge-watch that series you'd been meaning to catch up on.

The thought made you feel a little lighter.

Hell, you can even spend tomorrow doing absolutely nothing, you have nothing booked!

You were right in the middle of imagining your lazy day ahead, fingers working the clasp of your bralette, when the door creaked open behind you.

"Hey! I'm—" Your arms instinctively rose to catch your slipping bra before it could fall completely. Your heart raced, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

You looked up at the large mirror in front of you, eyes wide, only to lock gazes with Satoru, lounging casually against the doorway as if he had all the time in the world.

"—undressing," you finished, your voice dropping to a shaky whisper.

Satoru's lips curved into a faint smirk, his gaze shameless as it raked over your disheveled appearance. He tilted his head slightly, looking over his shades at the scattered accessories and top on the floor. "You know," he said, his voice light with a playful edge, "you really shouldn't leave my designs lying around like that. It's almost disrespectful."

For a moment, you thought he'd bend down to pick up the items—his creations, after all. But instead, he strolled right past them, making his way toward you.

Your breath hitched, your body freezing in place as his steps closed the distance between you.

Satoru's eyes, usually filled with playful mischief, were darker now, more intense as they followed the lines of your form.

He moved with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt. And as he reached your side, standing just behind you, his presence loomed, filling the small space with the heat of his gaze.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the cool draft that had once been a relief now doing little to cool the flush rising across your skin.

Satoru stepped even closer, the heat radiating from him making the cool draft on your bare skin feel like a distant memory. His presence was overwhelming, filling the small room until all you could focus on was the warmth seeping from him and the way his gaze lingered on your reflection in the mirror.

"You know," he began, his voice soft, almost idle, "a lot of my best designs… they're not the ones I spend weeks perfecting." His words drifted through the air like a secret. He raised a hand, his fingertips brushing lightly against the faint indents the choker had left on your neck. The touch was barely there, yet it sent a shiver running down your spine. "No… the ones that really stand out," he continued, "are the ones that light up in my mind every time you fall into my vision."

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in closer, his chest now just inches from your back.

The heat from his body wrapped around you like a second skin, and you watched him through the mirror, mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes as he spoke.

His hand, warm and deliberate, trailed slowly down your arm, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that felt both comforting and dangerous.

"You're my muse," he said, almost as if speaking to himself, lost in the thought. "Every second I spend watching you, seeing you wear my designs, it's nothing but inspiration." His hand continued to drift lower, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist before sliding back up, pulling you just slightly, coaxing your body into his.

Your breath grew heavier, chest rising and falling with each shallow inhale as you were drawn back against him, the solid warmth of his chest pressing into your bare back.

Your gaze flickered to the mirror, watching the scene unfold before you—his hand resting lightly on your waist, his eyes tracing the outline of your form as if committing every curve, every inch of you, to memory.

You could feel his breath, warm and steady, fanning against your ear, and it made your head spin, your thoughts running wild.

"Every touch," he murmured, his lips brushing just above your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Every glance…" His voice dropped, becoming something darker, heavier. "I can't stop thinking about how perfectly you fit into my designs. Like you were made for them—or maybe… they were made for you."

His hand trailed down your arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, and you watched him in the mirror, breath hitching in your throat. Then, his lips ghosted over your ear again, the warmth of his breath making you tremble as he purred, "But you know… I keep thinking about something else…"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you felt him shift closer, his chest now flush against your back. The air between you crackled with tension, thick and almost suffocating, and yet you couldn't pull away—you didn't want to.

His hands pressed against your waist as he lowered his voice to something almost sinful. "…How perfectly you'll fit around me."

The words slipped from his lips, dripping with raw, undeniable desire, every word reverberating through your skin, hitting you like a tidal wave. Your breath stilled in your lungs, heat coursing through your body as your mind raced.

Wait a minute—what's… b-but—

His arms tightened around you as his mouth hovered near your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me you feel it too," he groaned, his voice low, growling with need as his fingers dug into your hips. "Tell me you want it… just as badly as I do."

Finally, your mouth seemed to catch up with your thoughts. "S-Satoru—"

Your voice once again falls away as Satoru's arms tightened around you, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. You felt his chest rise and fall rapidly, pressing into your back, his grip around your waist possessive, firm.

Then, in a voice so raw, so desperate it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered, "Can I... have you?"

The words tumbled from his lips in a near whimper, laden with a hunger that bordered on pleading. His breath hitched, his forehead brushing against the back of your neck as if even he was losing control of the space between you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, your mind trying to process everything, yet failing to hold onto any coherent thought. His words, the way they sounded so needy, left you breathless.

You watched him in the mirror, his reflection almost ghostly in the low light of the room. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust as they lingered on your form, and his lips, parted slightly, looked dangerously close to speaking something sinful, something that would push you over the edge.

The room was silent except for his panting breaths in your ear. You could feel his need in the way his arms wrapped around you, in the way his fingers pressed just a little too tightly into your skin.

"Say yes..." he breathed, his voice low and pleading, his lips now trailing down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat with every soft, almost teasing touch. "Please... just say yes."

Your breath caught in your throat, your body frozen in place as your mind blocking out everything else but Satoru.

The sound of him, the feel of him, the way his voice came out in that almost whimpering tone—it consumed you, leaving no room for anything else but him.

Finally, a breathless, barely audible "yes" escaped your lips, the word trembling from your mouth like a whimper, your resolve crumbling under the intensity of the moment.

It was as if a switch had been flipped in Satoru. His wicked smirk grew, a gleam in his eyes as he dipped his head lower, pressing a soft kiss to your neck before dragging his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your skin.

The heat of his breath against your neck sent shivers racing down your spine, making your entire body tense.

"Good girl~" he purred softly into your ear, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Before you could even catch your breath, he pulled you down onto the couch, his movements fluid and effortless. You landed in his lap, your back pressed firmly against his chest, legs bent and pulled up on either side of him, facing the mirror.

our thighs immediately began to burn from the stretch, the leather skirt you wore sliding up all the way, exposing the lace underwear beneath—the same light blue that matched the bralette you'd worn earlier.

The delicate fabric contrasted sharply with the heat of the moment, and your face flushed in embarrassment as your eyes caught the sight of a small wet patch there.

Your heart raced as you tried instinctively to close your legs, but before you could, he gently tapped your thighs with his fingers, his smirk never faltering. "Aht aht," he scolded lightly, his tone playful but firm, making it clear that he was in control.

His arms slid under your legs, lifting them slightly and pulling them farther apart.

The stretch made you gasp, thighs burning as he forced you all the way back against his chest, your body now fully reclined into him.

His grip was strong but not painful, holding you in place as his breath ghosted over the side of your face.

In the mirror, you saw it all—your legs spread wide, your flushed face, and Satoru's darkened gaze fixed on you, his expression one of total control. His was voice, low and teasing, rumbling against your ear. "Look at you... perfect," he murmured, holding you tightly against him, his arms securing you in place, his presence overwhelming.

The reflection showed more than just your vulnerability—it was the power he had over you, and the way he reveled in every second of it.

Satoru's left hand slowly trailed down your body, his touch feather-light at first, but purposeful. The cool air kissed your skin as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of your underwear, his hand pressing firmly against your most sensitive spot without pulling the fabric to the side.

The sensation made your breath hitch, and your entire body tensed as his fingers began to move, rubbing slow, deliberate circles along your slit, teasing and drawing out every bit of tension you’d been holding inside.

His fingers trailed gently up and down, gliding over your skin as if he were mapping you out, testing your every reaction. He found your clit with ease, rubbing small, teasing circles that sent jolts of heat through you, the slow rhythm making it impossible to think straight.

Your thighs twitched, the stretch around him making the sensation even more intense. The heat of embarrassment flooded through you as your body reacted, and when you turned your face away, unable to watch the reflection of what he was doing to you.

Satoru clicked his tongue softly in disapproval. "Uh-uh," he murmured, his voice dark with command. "Eyes on the mirror. Watch what I do to you."

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your gaze reluctantly shifted back to the mirror.

His hand kept moving, the slow rhythm intensifying, the way he touched you sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. His reflection was smug, pleased, as he watched you fight to keep your eyes open and focused on what he was doing.

It was an order, and disobeying felt impossible.

When his finger slipped inside you, your body jolted slightly, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His movements were slow, deliberate, each stroke inside you making it harder to think.

One became two, both pumping in and out of your clenching heat with a slow, deep rhythm. He kept his other arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in place against his chest as he worked his fingers deeper.

His breath was hot against your ear as his grip on your body tightened, his voice a low groan as he spoke. "You know what I can't wait to do?" His words sent a new rush of heat through you, and he chuckled softly at your reaction. "I can't wait to taste you... spend hours learning every inch of my muse's body. Watching you come undone again and again and again."

The promise in his voice made your mind reel, the intensity of his touch and his words leaving you breathless, your chest heaving as your pulse raced.

A particularly well-angled thrust had your back arching, a breathy moan slipping free. "That's it..." he praised, curling his fingers so they can brush against your G-spot again. "You're so wet for me... So responsive."

His thumb joined the fray, rubbing firmer circles over your clit that had your hips rolling mindlessly to meet his touch. He worked you higher and higher, stoking the flames of your pleasure until you were teetering right on the edge.

And still, he demanded you watch. Compelled you to observe the wanton display you made, his dark gaze devouring you from over your shoulder.

"Come for me," Satoru growled against your lips, his fingers pumping furiously now. "Let go. Now."

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath and whiting out your vision. You shook and shuddered in his hold, a cry of ecstasy torn from your throat as he wrung every last bit of pleasure from your spasming body.

Satoru swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing you deeply as he continued his ministrations.

Only when you collapsed bonelessly against him did Satoru still his hand, drawing his glistening fingers from your depths. He brought them to his mouth, maintaining eye contact through the mirror as he licked them clean with a shameless moan.

"Delicious~" he purred, voice rough with satisfaction. "My perfect muse."

You felt weightless, the tension from the day—hell, the whole week—melting into nothingness as the lingering echoes of your orgasm left you in a daze. Your body felt loose, relaxed, like all the stress had finally evaporated, and for a moment, you simply existed, floating in the aftermath.

Then, you felt your thighs shift wider, and a small, confused sound escaped you before you even realized it.

Satoru's low chuckle filled the quiet room, dark and amused. "You didn’t think that was it, did you?" His voice dripped with mischief as his hands moved to adjust you in his lap. He shifted beneath you, pulling his pants down slightly as he repositioned you, pulling you higher onto his lap.

The movement pressed you closer to him, allowing you to fully feel him underneath you, hard and insistent. His hand returned to your underwear, the long digits returning to rub away at you.

The sudden pressure made your back arch instinctively, a small whimper escaping your lips from the mix of sensation—equal parts pleasure and the discomfort of being played with beyond your limit.

"Silly girl," he tutted softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. His hand returned to your waist, the grip firm yet tender, as he tugged your underwear to the side, filling you in one stroke.

You both froze for different reasons—your legs trembled as you felt the stretch, trying to stay tethered because he had to be the biggest you'd ever had, while Satoru groaned, overwhelmed by the tightness that enveloped him.

"F-Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed.

You let out a broken whimper, arms growing weak and giving out beneath you. You collapsed slightly forward, your forehead resting against his thighs as you tried to adjust, to find some relief from the pressure.

Satoru growled softly at the sight, his hands gripping your waist with more purpose. He pulled you fully down onto him, your hips flush against his.

"S-Satoru..." you moaned, your voice shaking, tears welling in your eyes as the sensation became overwhelming.

His hips jerked forward in short, deliberate movements, and your body responded, helpless to the rhythm he set. "T-that's right, baby, say my name..." he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hands guided you, pulling you back down with each upward thrust.

He lifted his hips to speed up the movements. You could only cling to his thighs, breathless and powerless against the force of his desire.

Satoru kept going, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer, filthy words laced with desire. His grip on your waist was tight, almost bruising, as he held you firmly in place.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room—wet, slick noises and the rhythmic squelching with every movement.

The intensity of the moment wrapped around you, heightening every sensation, your body overwhelmed by the pressure building inside you.

Your second orgasm was approaching too quickly, the wave of pleasure rising fast, almost too much to handle. Desperation washed over you, and you tried to scoot forward, to slow things down, but Satoru's response was immediate—he went faster, his thrusts growing erratic.

You let out a choked cry, begging for him to slow down, but he only groaned in response, his pace relentless.

The sensation was overwhelming, and then it hit you, like you were thrown over the edge. Your eyes fluttered closed as the blinding pleasure rocked your entire frame.

Your body shook, every nerve alight as the intensity consumed you. You could hear Satoru cursing under his breath as you trembled in his arms, your body a quivering mess in the aftermath.

And then you felt it—the heat of him filling you, spreading through your lower body in a rush of warmth. Satoru let out a long, drawn-out groan, pressing himself flush against you as he reached his climax. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving as he stayed close, savoring the feeling.

Before you could catch your breath or say anything, Satoru moved again. He pulled you back slightly, and you gasped, the sudden movement sending a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you.

His hands snaked under your thighs, lifting you carefully from his lap. He groaned softly as he watched his release spilling from you, leaking out as he admired the sight.

Satoru gave a low whistle, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "What a sight to see," he hummed, his voice thick with amusement. One of his hands trailed down to your entrance, his thumb gently grazing over the sensitive skin.

He played with your sticky entrance, his fingers teasing, before pressing back to plug up the fallen release. Your thighs twitched in response, a shiver running through you at the sudden sensation.

You called out his name for what felt like the third time, your voice weak but pleading. "Satoru..."

He let out a tired but satisfied chuckle, his hand pulling away as he finally relented. "Fine, fine," he murmured, lifting you effortlessly in his arms. He settled you down on his lap again, this time pulling you close to his chest, cradling you as his arms wrapped securely around you.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his breathing slowing as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

The night grew quiet, the tension fading into a comfortable stillness, but even as you relaxed against him, your mind wandered.

As the night went on, you couldn't help but think: Nobara was fucking right.

A/N: lolol, sorry for the influx of smut guys, promise this won't be like an everyday thinjg.... 👀 anyways, hope this was up to your standards and wasn't too bad bubbly-bear, i tried my best to make it work to the song...😭

[ama0310]

Bubblegum Bitch

Character: Aaron Hotchner

Requested: No

Type: Song Fic, Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch never thought he'd fall in love again—until he met Y/N.

Author's Note: Based on Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA

***************************

Meeting the Unit Chief should have been terrifying, but for you, it was exhilarating. Strauss had recently transferred you to the BAU from the Counter-Terrorism Division.

You suspected she added you to the team to ruffle the Unit Chief's feathers. It might have bothered you if it hadn’t come with a nice bump in your paycheck.

The moment Hotch saw you, he knew you were trouble. He just didn't realize how much trouble until your very first case.

Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

You stood before the mirror in a dingy motel bathroom, applying the finishing touches to your makeup. The skin-tight leather mini dress hugged every curve, transforming you into the perfect bait for the unsub who had been terrorizing local nightclubs.

Hotch's reflection appeared behind you, his face etched with worry. "Y/L/N, I really don't think you're ready for this."

You turned, cocking an eyebrow as you placed your hands on your hips. "And why is that, sir?"

Hotch's response was immediate and brutally honest. "You're still new, never been face-to-face with an unsub, let alone undercover. You're reckless, difficult to control, and frankly, a loose cannon. Need I go on?"

I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out

A smirk played at your lips as you sauntered towards him, invading his personal space. The scent of your perfume mingled with the tension in the air. "Look, Hotchie," you purred, noting how he stiffened at the nickname, "I was transferred here for a reason. I know what this job entails. So be my boss and let me do it."

You could see the internal struggle playing out behind Hotch's eyes. His professional concern warred with something else – an attraction he was clearly trying to suppress. You were a walking danger sign, and part of him was drawn to that fire.

"First," he said, his voice low and controlled, "don't call me that. Second, I'm not trying to offend you. I simply think Emily might be better suited for this operation. You can take points next time."

You scoffed, taking a step back. "Next time? With all due respect, sir, I fit the victimology perfectly, and you know it. I've spent the last hour transforming myself into exactly what this creep is looking for. If I don't do this, he'll likely claim another victim before we can catch him. So again, Hotchie," you emphasized the nickname, watching him bristle, "let me do my job. Don't make me have to disobey orders."

Without waiting for a response, you slipped on your stilettos and brushed past him, the warmth of your body tantalizingly close for a moment before you were gone.

Hotch watched you go, a mix of admiration and trepidation swirling in his gut. You were brilliant, fearless, and undeniably effective. But you were also unpredictable, pushing boundaries at every turn. As he followed you out, preparing to oversee the operation, one thought echoed in his mind:

Definitely trouble.

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored I'm the girl you'd die for

Over the past few months, you had become the team's radiant beacon of positivity, your presence a cure for the often-dark nature of their work. Even the usually stoic Hotch, though he'd never admit it aloud, had fallen under your spell.

It was impossible not to be drawn to your infectious energy. Each morning, you breezed into the bullpen, a whirlwind of warmth and enthusiasm. Your greetings were accompanied by compliments, tailored to brighten each team member's day. After particularly grueling cases, the aroma of your famous blueberry muffins would fill the office, a comforting reminder that there was still sweetness in the world. You even patiently endured Spencer's lengthy tangents, sparing the others from information overload.

As the team prepared to head out for a new case, you sprinted across the parking lot, your laughter echoing off the concrete walls. "Shotgun!" you called out triumphantly, playfully shoving past Spencer to claim the coveted front seat next to Hotch.

Your friendship with the young doctor had blossomed quickly, bonded by your shared status as the "kids" of the team. While the others sometimes found his endless stream of facts overwhelming, you delighted in his knowledge, often engaging him in spirited debates that left the rest of the team both amused and bewildered.

The unit chief's lips twitched, fighting back a smile as he watched your antics. Spencer, mock indignation coloring his voice, appealed to their leader. "Hotch, come on! She rode shotgun last time. It's my turn, isn't it?"

Hotch cleared his throat, his tone stern but his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. "Y/N, you know the rules. It is indeed Reid's turn to sit up front."

You turned to face Hotch, unleashing the full power of your most irresistible puppy dog eyes. Your lower lip jutted out ever so slightly as you pleaded silently. Behind you, Spencer let out a resigned sigh, already knowing he'd lost this battle. Your ability to wrap Hotch around your finger was legendary among the team, even if the man himself was loath to acknowledge it.

Hotch held your gaze for a moment, visibly wavering. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he started the engine, tacitly allowing you to keep your place.

Victorious, you twisted in your seat to face Spencer, sticking out your tongue in a childish display of triumph.

"Y/N!" Hotch's voice held a note of warning, though it lacked any real heat.

You straightened immediately, your voice dripping with faux innocence. "Sorry, sir!"

The apology was hollow, and you both knew it. As Hotch pulled out of the parking lot, you caught the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Your sunny persona had once again melted the ice around the unit chief's heart.

Oh, dear diary, I met a boy He made my doll heart light up with joy

The realization hit you like a thunderbolt – you were hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Aaron Hotchner. For the first time in your life, you felt a fear that chilled you to your core.

How could someone like him ever reciprocate such feelings? The cons seemed endless: a decade age gap, your extroverted nature clashing with his stoicism, your wild spirit at odds with his controlled demeanor. Not to mention the professional boundary – you were his employee, AND  he was still navigating the aftermath of his recent divorce.

Your newfound awareness of your feelings for Hotch led to a desperate attempt at avoidance. It was hard, given how intertwined your lives had become over the months. For a week, you'd been dodging his texts, offering only cursory greetings, and maintaining a physical distance that felt painfully unnatural.

Hotch noticed the change immediately, and it gnawed at him. Your vibrant presence had become a constant in his life, a source of warmth he hadn't realized he'd come to depend on until it was suddenly gone.

He found himself missing the little rituals that had naturally developed between you. The morning car rides, once a practical solution to your car troubles, had evolved into a cherished start to each day. Your habit of bringing him a piece of candy during lunch breaks, with the excuse of "sweetening up his day," never failed to bring a smile to his face. Most of all, he missed the casual physical contact – the way you'd unconsciously place your hand on his arm when standing close, a gesture that grounded him more than he cared to admit.

As the week progressed, Hotch's concern deepened. Had he unknowingly offended you? He wracked his brain, trying to pinpoint any misstep. Perhaps the latest case had affected you more than usual, or maybe you were simply exhausted. Whatever the reason, he was determined to lift your spirits.

During his lunch break, Hotch made his way to your favorite café. The aroma of freshly baked goods enveloped him as he ordered your usual – a ham and cheese croissant and your preferred coffee blend. Back at the office, he noticed your empty desk and quickly left the bag before retreating to his office.

When you returned from the restroom, steeling yourself for an afternoon of paperwork, the sight of the familiar bag on your desk stopped you in your tracks. With trembling hands, you opened it to find the still-warm croissant and perfectly prepared coffee. Atop the container, a piece of candy was taped to a note that read: "To sweeten your day up! – Hotch"

Your heart swelled, a mix of joy and ache flooding your chest. Looking up, you caught Hotch watching you from his office window. Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't help but offer him the radiant smile he'd come to cherish.

In that moment, the truth was undeniable. You were completely, utterly, and hopelessly in love with Aaron Hotchner. As your eyes locked with his, a flicker of something – hope, perhaps? – passed between you, hinting that maybe, just maybe, these obstacles weren't quite so impossible after all.

Oh, dear diary, we fell apart Welcome to the life of Electra Heart

Aaron Hotchner never imagined falling in love after Haley left. His life revolved around his job and Jack. He didn't need anyone else. That is, until you entered his life.

You were the first to sense something was wrong when he didn't answer his phone. Racing to his apartment, you found it covered in blood. With Penelope's help, you tracked him to a hospital, learning he'd been stabbed nine times.

When he opened his eyes and saw you, Hotch thought he'd died and gone to heaven. You looked angelic - an angel he couldn't bear to see harmed.

So when George Foyet shot him in his own home, Hotch realized he needed to end whatever was blossoming between you before you got hurt.

But you made it difficult.

The moment he was released, you were there every day, before and after work. Groceries, cleaning, anything to ease his burden. You knew how hard it was for him to send Haley and Jack away, how alone he must feel. You were determined to show him the team - and you - were there for him. For anything.

Driving him home after the Darrin Call case, where he'd recklessly entered a house without backup, your anger finally boiled over.

"What the hell were you thinking, Aaron?" you demanded, following him into his apartment. "No gun, no vest, no backup. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Hotch turned, his face a mask of stone. "I knew the profile. I had it under control."

"Under control?" you scoffed. "If it were anyone else, you'd have suspended them! This isn't you, Aaron. What's going on?"

His eyes flashed. "What's going on is I'm the Unit Chief, and I don't answer to you. I think before I act, unlike some people."

The barb stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said coldly. "Just find it ironic you're lecturing me on recklessness."

"I've never walked into a hostage situation alone and unarmed!" you countered.

"I don't have to explain myself," Hotch snapped. "Especially not to you. Get out."

Your eyes widened. "No. We're talking about this. You're spiraling, Aaron. This obsession with Foyet-"

"Stop. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know you're not alone in this!" you pleaded. "The team needs you. I need you."

Hotch laughed bitterly. "If you haven't noticed, I am alone. My son is gone. I have no one. And I won't rest until Foyet is dead."

Tears welled in your eyes. "You have us. You have me. We can figure this out together."

"There is no 'we,'" Hotch said, his voice cold and final. "There never was."

The words hit like a physical blow. "Don't say that. You know that's not true."

For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing the pain beneath. But then it was back, harder than ever. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

You stared at him, hurt turning to anger. "Go to hell, Hotchner," you spat, before storming out, leaving him alone with the wreckage of what might have been.

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss

Your relationship with Aaron had crumbled to dust. Since that night you stormed out of his apartment, you'd made it your mission to avoid him at all costs. Difficult, considering he was your boss.

You understood he was facing unimaginable challenges - the loss of his ex-wife, becoming a single parent. Part of you ached to support him, but you both needed space.

That space stretched into a year.

You'd left transfer papers on his desk days ago. Despite your love for the team, staying had become impossible. It wasn't fair to you or Hotch. Counter Terrorism Division beckoned - a fresh start.

You hadn't told the team yet, dreading their reactions. You'd become their wild, sassy, overdramatic little sister. But tonight wasn't about goodbyes. It was Spencer's birthday, and Derek had chosen a club to celebrate. You wouldn't miss it for the world.

Arriving in a hot pink mini dress and matching heels, you spotted the team immediately.

"Happy birthday, Boy Genius!" you exclaimed, hugging Spencer tight.

"Please," he whispered, "get me out of here. Derek's trying to set me up with his friend."

You laughed, ruffling his hair. "No can do, Spence. It's your night. Go crazy. I promise not to film anything too embarrassing."

Turning to greet the others, you froze. Hotch was there. You hugged everyone but him, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Damn, girl! You're on fire!" Penelope gushed, clearly tipsy.

Emily nodded appreciatively. "I'm borrowing those heels."

"You know how to make a girl feel special," you winked. "First round's on me!"

An hour later, you were dancing with Penelope and Spencer, the alcohol buzzing through your veins. Suddenly, Spencer spun you – right into Hotch's arms. You glared at Spencer, who mouthed 'Karma' with a smirk.

The tension was strong as you and Hotch swayed silently. You wanted to escape, yet craved his touch.

"You requested a transfer," he stated, his voice low.

You quirked an eyebrow. "Did you sign it?"

"No."

You pulled back, stunned. "What do you mean, no?"

"We need to talk first."

Anger flared. "You're unbelievable," you spat, pushing past him and out of the club. He followed close behind.

"Y/N, please-"

You whirled to face him. "There's nothing to say. It's been a year, Hotch. Whatever we had is dead."

"You don't mean that," he insisted, his eyes burning into yours.

The alcohol amplified your emotions. "I do. I'm over it. Over you. There's nothing left to talk about."

"Then I'll talk, and you listen," he said firmly, gripping your shoulders. "There was a 'we'. Everything I said that night – it was a lie. To keep you safe from Foyet. He was targeting everyone I loved. I couldn't risk losing you."

Your heart stuttered. "You... loved me?"

"I still do," he breathed, cupping your face. "This past year has been hell. Not having you by my side – our carpool chats, sneaking candy, just... you. It was torture. I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."

You wanted to resist, to make him suffer longer. But the alcohol, the longing, the raw emotion in his voice – it was too much. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

You both exhaled, tension melting away. It felt right. It felt like coming home.

"I love you too," you murmured, then pulled back with a stern look. "But you've got a lot of making up to do."

He pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. You deserve the world, Y/N, and I intend to give it to you."

Your lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, full of promise and the weight of a year apart.

As you parted, you whispered, "This doesn't mean I'm not still furious with you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch

Again, you were trouble. Even after two years together, you definitely kept him on his toes. Not transferring and working alongside your boyfriend made for an interesting way to live.

“What you did was stupid and reckless, Y/N.” Aaron's voice was stern as the team boarded the jet to head back home. The case had been a success, but it came at the cost of you getting into the unsub’s car without any weapons. Fortunately, you had your team.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Y/N. I’m serious.”

“Ooooo, Mom and Dad are fighting,” Spencer teased from across the jet.

“Shut up, Spencer,” you snapped, making him raise his hands in mock surrender. Then, you turned to Hotch. “You know damn well I needed to get into his car. If I didn’t and you caught him, he would’ve acted like he was just trying to get with me.”

Aaron rubbed the side of his head. Migraines. You gave him migraines. “The plan was for you to walk down the street, and the moment you were alone with him, we would get him. You went rogue.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Well, technically we were alone, and you did get him.”

He was about to argue again, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him your infamous puppy dog face. “Aaron, I’m okay. You know I did what I had to do to catch him. I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m not sorry for helping bring him in.”

He sighed, knowing you were right, and he could never stay mad at you. “I hated every second of it. My heart stopped the moment you got into that damn car.”

You smiled and pecked him on the lips. “Hey, you always said I was going to give you a heart attack.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes before he kissed you. “You have, and you most definitely will again.”

“Hey, that’s what you love about me.”

“That is true.”

[perfectlyoongi]

HUSBAND!NAMJOON who writes you a song as a marriage proposal. as intelligent as Namjoon could be, when he was nervous it was difficult for him to express himself verbally and he knew perfectly well that in that request he would run over every word and choke on them; that's why Namjoon decided to open his soul in the most natural way for him: the song was small, brief, just a verse and a chorus, but every word was beautiful, peppered with the love he felt, ringing with a melody of hope from an eternal future by your side. “i’m not very good with words, i hope the song is enough for you.”

HUSBAND!NAMJOON who hires a painter to portray your special day. yes, photographs were beautiful, faster, saving every moment and action they could; but, for Namjoon, there was magic on a canvas, in how each brushstroke was like a fragment of your dreams and hopes, the vivid colors complementing each other and appearing as an omen for your married life. “i think a portrait of us is more intimate. i think it’s with oil paints that you can clearly see our love and happiness.”

HUSBAND!NAMJOON who writes your initials in the corners of his music sheets. Namjoon felt like it was nonsense, a small, insignificant and quite embarrassing detail, but, in a way, he couldn't stop himself from doing it; like a lucky charm, your initials decorated the various pages with a touch of magic, as if the letters designated for you blessed Namjoon's mind and all his work. “i know it doesn't make much sense, but i feel like it really helps me. at least it always gives me strength when i see your initials in my art.”

HUSBAND!NAMJOON who gives you a bouquet of flowers every monday, even when he's on tour. Namjoon wanted to make sure you had a good week, he wanted to motivate you to get through five more days of intense work and complex people; so, he came up with a simple solution that, in addition to filling your living room with sweet smells of passion and longing, also brought with it bright colors that painted the gray days that could lie ahead. “i hope you have a good day today. don't forget that the world only makes sense because you are in it. i love you.”

HUSBAND!NAMJOON who goes on sunset walks with you. if when you were dating the two of you shared the sunrise on a bicycle, now in your marriage your attention has turned to the sunset, as if a natural representation of your love — at sunrise your love was still blooming, but now, already together with promises and vows of eternity, your love was based on a sea of reds and oranges that forever warmed your hearts. “i feel so complete with you. i still can't believe we're actually married. you just make my life better.”

HUSBAND!NAMJOON who takes you on surprise dates. it wasn't because you were married that Namjoon was going to stop dating you; without telling you, or simply spontaneously, Namjoon would take you to dinners or aquarium, ceramics classes or evening picnics, the possibilities seemed endless and Namjoon swore to you that he would explore each one of them with you. “just because we’re married doesn’t mean the romance is over. i hope you know that i will take you on dates even if we are eighty and use canes.”

HUSBAND!NAMJOON who swore an eternity of love for you. in any adversity, Namjoon promised you that your love would not weaken; in any opportunity, Namjoon promised you that your love would only grow; in any future, Namjoon promised you that your love would never end, for you were chosen by the stars, blessed by the gods — there was nothing that could ruin your love. “the dust of the universe are crumbs of our love that could not fit into our hearts in this life.”

[thepixelelf]

warnings: coarse language. jihoon is so in love it's probably unhealthy. wc: 1092

love triangle au requests

[who's this guy who's everything I'm not?] There is a universe out there where Lee Jihoon is able to say everything he wants to say, when he wants to say it, and exactly how he wants to say it.

But that universe isn't this one.

No, in this world, Lee Jihoon is standing like an idiot in front of the person he came all this way for, in a city he's never stepped foot before, with his mouth opening and closing like those dogs moviemakers would give peanut butter to to make them look like they're talking.

"Jihoon," you say, blinking as if it'll make the mirage he must be disappear. "Holy-- What are you doing here? When did you..."

From your open doorway, you tilt your head to take in Jihoon's appearance. Sweaty. Floundering, and yet with a determined furrow between his eyebrows.

His passport and boarding pass in hand, and a distinct lack of luggage.

"...Did you just fly in?"

He opens his mouth. Closes it again.

God damn it. He got on a plane for this and his tongue still doesn't work -- the same way it didn't when you asked who left the only valentine on your desk in eighth grade. The same way it didn't when your prom date ditched you for some girl, and you finally told Jihoon after his three weeks of torment that it was a ruse you and your date came up with to get that girl jealous all along. The same way it didn't when you told him you applied to a university in a city he'd never even heard of, and to your surprise but not his own because he knows you're capable of anything, you got in.

Today should be different. He clamours, "I-- I had to..."

"Where's your stuff?" you ask incredulously, but there's always... that behind your words. That which made him feel like he could trust you to watch his intricate sand castle in the playground. That which made him go to you with his first ever song lyrics in middle school, when no one else has ever seen them, ever. That which he feels vibrating in his bones or maybe even deeper because you care. You care when you go, "Do you literally only have the clothes on your back?" Even if it sounds blunt. "I swear you've had those shorts since forever. And-- wait, where are you staying? Have you eaten? You're always stupid about hydration, too."

He wants you to shut up so he can talk. But god, he loves when you tell him you care in the most words possible.

"I gotta put some water in you, hold on--"

You go to back up from the doorway. Jihoon's hand shoots out to grab your wrist before he can think about the fact that now that he has you in his grasp, he definitely has to speak.

Shit.

You process his hand around your wrist slowly, your eyes blinking slowly like a cat before they look up at his face. He loses all thoughts again.

Well, not all. It's more like his brain fills to the brim with how your eyes look when your face is this close, and it literally can't fit anything else, much less what to say next other than wow.

And he probably shouldn't say that.

But what... (the sunlight is hitting your irises so perfectly) ...should he... (even the concern seeping into your expression is cute) ...say...

"Jihoon--?"

Whatever question you're sure to have asked is cut off when a strong hand separates Jihoon's from your arm, and he breaks his gaze away from you to see a handsome but clearly unwelcoming face. The man regards Jihoon with a certain cautiousness as he wedges himself between you and him, almost pushing you back into your home with a protective arm.

"Are you okay?" he asks you, though he doesn't take his wary eyes off Jihoon. "Who's this?"

You seem a little thrown off. "Uhh..."

Jihoon looks this man up and down, taking in his white tank top and the buff, tan arms that it shows off. His cropped hair isn't styled, but somehow it looks good on him anyway. He's tall.

Annoyingly tall, because to see you, Jihoon has to lean to the side rather than just look over Tank Top's shoulder.

"Who's this?" Jihoon asks right back.

You meet his eyes and come back to the here and now. "Right, uh." Poking your finger into the man's stupid naked bicep, you point at him. "This is Mingyu, my--"

Tank Top interrupts you with, "Husband," as soon as you say, "--roommate."

Your pointed hand transforms into a fist, and you punch it into Tank Top Mingyu's arm. "Hey," you say when he recoils, covers the apparently instantly sore spot, and pouts at you. "I'm fine-- He's an old friend."

But Jihoon can't really focus on that. He's too busy processing.

...

...

...

Husband?

"This is Jihoon," your voice says from somewhere far away. "I've probably mentioned him before."

"Oh." Tank Top straightens up, and after faltering for only a second, his eyes brighten like your words flipped a light switch. "That Jihoon?" He turns towards Jihoon. "Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry! I just thought, I mean, you know..."

This new Mingyu acts like one of those golden retriever boys from the internet.

You love dogs.

Fuck.

Puppy Mingyu holds out his hand to shake.

Jihoon just stares at it. Then looks at you.

"Husband?"

You shove your way back in front of Mr Sunshine and lightly touch Jihoon's arm. He can barely breathe. "No, no, that was just... I mean, well, kind of-- but also not really because, well..." Pausing, you think for a moment and torture Jihoon for one million years. "Okay. We're roommates, but Mingyu started telling people at work that he's married so people would stop hitting on him or trying to set him up with their kids... except that was obviously stupid and now I'm kind of caught up in that lie and occasionally picking him up from company gatherings pretending he's my, uh, 'husband'."

"Oh." Jihoon nods slowly; he's underwater, ears plugged. "Okay."

Mingyu drops his hand after a couple seconds of zero reciprocation. "Haha, uhm, anyways... Did you want to come in?"

"Oh." Jihoon nods again. "Okay."

Your touch on Jihoon's arm becomes a little stronger. "You look a little pale. Come in and let me get you that water, yeah?"

"Oh." Yeah. "Okay."

As Jihoon ambles into your home -- your shared home with some guy who introduced himself as your husband but isn't your husband but chose you to be in his marriage but it's a fake marriage but -- he wants to say the things he's always wanted to say. Fuck, he's been wanting and wanting forever.

But he can't.

Not only because he can't form the words; that's been his problem since the beginning and was supposed to be his last hurdle today.

No.

He can't because your fake husband smiled at you in front of him.

And that smile looked nothing like a lie.

--

part 2 (mingyu's pov)

[hearts4golbach]

Can I request carrington x reader where his Lon term partner (reader) didn’t like flowers, so he makes her paper ones himself? Like those paper bouquets you see in like, booktok

Thank God for Tiktok.

pairing:

Carrington Bornstein x Fem!Reader.

a/n:

pre established relationship 👅

not proofread

warnings:

none.

word count:

1.0k

To say Carrington had been crafting for hours was an understatement. the sun had gone down a while back. He was sitting in his moonlit room surrounded by miscellaneous crafting tools and books. tomorrow was your birthday. no, he hadn't been procrastinating. he had ordered you a gift but stumbled upon the idea to make you paper flowers. you preferred not to get real flowers. You were always so upset when they inevitably died.

so, he was glued to his bed (pun intended), making you an immortal bouquet of paper flowers.

previously, he had rushed out of the house to go find some books he could cut up. clearly, he didn't own any, and he wasn't about to steal one of Johnnies' comics. he settled on going out, possibly to goodwill or target, to get a book or two for his project. he wandered to the arts and crafts section, getting a hot glue gun and sticks. he also found a pack of pipe cleaners and some ribbon. everything he had chosen was a perfect match for his vision. and with that, he was all set.

it had been about three and a half hours since then. he was about to finish the very last flower, then he'd have a set of exactly twenty. he mentally praised himself for how well they actually turned out. he even curled out the edges of the paper to imitate real flowers.

setting the last one in the pile, he admired his work. he couldn't help but smile to himself, dreaming of your reaction at dinner tomorrow night.

Carrington grabbed a handful of the dark green pipe cleaners and began attaching them to the paper flowers. thoughts of your bright smile plagued his mind.

he knew you'd be somewhat shocked at the present, considering he wasn't an arts and crafts type of person. when it came to you, he was up for anything.

he envisioned how the bouquet would look in your bedroom, grinning to himself whenever he realized it'd fit your aesthetic perfectly.

he sang to himself softly. the song that was playing reminded him of you. he was slightly relieved when gluing the stems on didn't take as long as the flowers themselves. he held the fairly large bouquet in one hand, a stupid smile plastered on his face. he tied a bow around the stems as perfectly as he could before setting it on his desk carefully.

as soon as he crashed into bed, he fell asleep almost immediately. ignoring the ache in his knuckles and the slight pounding in his head, he drifted off to sleep.

the next morning went by fast. he had a couple of 'business' things to figure out with Jake and Johnnie, which went by a lot quicker than he had figured. by lunchtime, he was anxiously waiting by his phone for you to respond. of course, he knew it'd take forever. you were at lunch with friends, and you were coming over straight after. it was a sort of nervous excitement. he couldn't wait to see your reaction to his gift.

Carrington decided against sitting there for another hour. he went to the bathroom and adjusted his hair. his curly dark brown locks hung in his face, complimenting his bright blue eyes. he tried to do something different with his hair, but there wasn't much. he knew you wouldn't care. You loved playing with his messy hair.

finally, his phone rang. your name and photo popped up on the screen. he scrambled to his phone and answered on the first ring. "Hi, baby." he greeted.

"Hey," he could hear the sudden smile in your voice, which made him grin. "im leaving now. Am I still good to come over?"

"Yeah. yeah, of course." he furrowed his eyebrows together, very expressive as he spoke even though you couldn't see his face.

you hummed and said goodbye before ending the call. you sped over there, so excited you drove over the speed limit without even realizing it.

meanwhile, Carrington prepped your present. he wrapped it in sparkly black, silver, and light blue wrapping paper. he taped the small card on top and grabbed the faux bouquet. he waited downstairs on the couch, holding the items in his lap.

whenever you arrived, you walked quickly up to the door. you knocked a couple of times before entering, which had become your usual routine.

Carrington jumped up and pulled you in for a hug. you felt contentment wash over you as his hands rested on the small of your back and his head in the crook of your neck.

he placed a kiss on your neck. "Happy birthday." he pulled away, beckoning you over to the couch. "c'mere."

you silently followed him over. he handed you the small box, which was neatly wrapped. "What's this?"

"What does it look like?" he laughed, "it's a present."

"I told you I don't need anything," you scolded, a sincere tone in your voice.

"I wanted to get you something. open it!" he urged.

you rolled your eyes, a contradicting smile on your face. in the box, there was a beautiful necklace. it had 3 charms on it, your initial, Carringtons' initials, and a small heart. you pouted your lower lip and looked up at him. "I love it."

"im really glad," he grinned, handing you two more things. "Read the card later." he was embarrassed to see your reaction to what he wrote in person.

you sighed, "Fine." he finally handed you the bouquet.

your jaw fell to the floor as you looked at the beautiful, handmade flowers. "You made this?!"

he nodded, a prideful smile on his face. "I thought you'd really like them since you're a bookworm."

you paid no mind to his joke. you were absolutely starstruck by the flowers. "they're so beautiful, Carrington." You couldn't contain the soft smile that threatened to appear. you placed a soft, slow kiss on his lips. "I love you."

he placed a kiss on your forehead. "i love you." All he could think was, 'thank god for tiktok.''

[carveredlunds]

"He looked like a boy, masquerading as a gentleman": A meta on Amadeo, Venice, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and standing on the cusp of adulthood

TW: Discussions of SA, underage SA, human trafficking, slavery, and NSFW content

From a historical perspective, Armand's life as a teenage enslaved boy in Venice in the early 16th century gives us a chance to discuss the culture of male-male attraction in Venice during this period, specifically the contemporary understanding that older men could be attracted to young boys. This historical grounding can, in turn, offer insight into why Armand is trapped on the cusp of adulthood, how this manifests itself in his physicality, and how his story can be cautiously and sensitively used as a mirror for the real experiences of enslaved people in Venice during this period. I will be referring to him by his birth name (Arun), the name Marius gave him (Amadeo), and the name the Children of Darkness coven gave him (Armand), where appropriate.

In 1496 in Venice, illegal sexual relations between young boys and older men were so prevalent that 'special patrols [went] searching for boys who were patientes (sc. passive partners), monitoring schools for fencing, dance and song, where youths might be found in the evenings, and once again looking for companions of unequal age.'[1] This was roughly 27 years before Arun was purchased from a brothel by the vampire Marius de Romanus. Due to Armand's fractured memories of this period, it isn't clear when he was forcibly trafficked to Italy, but it is likely that he was bought by Marius in around 1523 at the age of 15 (assuming he was born in 1508, given that he says he's 514 in 2022).

As a physically attractive enslaved boy, Amadeo would have been understood as an object of desire ("object" in a literal sense, with no personhood of his own) to the older men around him. In his recent study Forbidden Desire in Early Modern Europe: Male–Male Sexual Relations, 1400–1750, historian Noel Malcolm discusses the contemporary evidence for the attraction of men towards adolescent boys. Malcolm explains that older men desiring teenage boys was a common and accepted part of Venetian culture, provided one did not act on those desires, and that attractive young men were often described similarly to women in surviving sources and contemporary literature.[2]

The important thing to note here is that teenagers were supposed to be desired before they started to show signs of maturity, when they could almost be considered sexless. As Malcolm writes, when 'a young man's looks became properly masculine (with facial hair, developed musculature, etc.), that is, fully differentiated from a feminine appearance, was precisely the time when he ceased to be seen as desirable by the great majority of older men.'[3] Due to poor nutrition, this might have occurred later for teenagers in the 16th century than it does today, but it was usually between the ages of 17 and 23.[4] Given that Amadeo was an enslaved child, and therefore probably not well-fed, he was likely late to develop. Putting aside the fact that in the books Armand is 17 when he's turned, Queen of the Damned offers some evidence for this:

'Did Daniel know that Armand had been a boy when all this had begun for him? Seventeen years old, and in those times that was young, very young. Seventeen-year-old boys in the twentieth century were virtual monsters; they had beards, hair on their chests, and yet they were children. Not then. Yet children worked as if they were men.'[5]

In light of this, it is worth mentioning that Armand has the slightest hint of facial hair. You can see this clearly in close-up shots, for instance these ones in my gifset. Here's one clear example:

With his long hair, his high cheekbones, and his thin frame, Amadeo would have fit perfectly into the feminine, feminised, youthful archetype that Malcolm describes. It would have been socially acceptable for older men to be attracted to him in Venice in the 16th century. According to Malcolm, 'When early modern writers described good-­looking boys, the terms they used were drawn from a standard repertoire that existed primarily to describe female beauty: coral lips, pearly teeth, ivory skin, and so on.'[6]

Obviously, the last point doesn't apply to Amadeo. Instead, he would have been desired because he was exoticized by the Italian network of artists that Marius "donated" him to (that is to say, his Otherness would have been sexualised, as a young boy possibly from Bengal as @depressedraisin suggested here). This exoticization is apparent in how Amadeo is portrayed in The Adoration of the Shepherds — kneeling, enraptured, with a look of subservient wonder on his face. (For an incredible meta which delves more deeply into this aspect of Armand's history, I recommend reading "Armand, colonialism, and the weaponisation of anti-Blackness" by @shesnake.)

If we assume (besides his obviously lightened skin), that The Adoration is a fairly accurate portrayal of Amadeo at 20 years old, then the main difference between him at 20 and him at 27 is his slight facial hair. As discussed previously, the appearance of facial hair was a marker for young boys growing out of their desirability and into adulthood. Turned at 27, Armand is now stuck in this liminal space between boyhood and adulthood, and this is visibly apparent in his facial hair. His youth is mentioned in the show on a few occasions. When Louis first sees Armand in 2.01, he says that he 'looked like a boy, masquerading as a gentleman'. Madeline calls him 'young man' in a patronising tone in 2.06.

Interestingly, Armand's youth is mentioned more often than his race, though in the 18th-century flashback in 2.03, Nicolas asks Lestat, 'do you know this gypsy?' This is the only microaggression we've seen Armand face so far, but it offers a tiny glimpse into the kinds of comments that Armand will have faced for his entire life, both as a human and as a vampire. Obviously, Armand is not Romani, so the racial slur of "gypsy" does not apply to him (not that it applies in any context, but I mean it's literally inaccurate). However, this erasure of origins is common in contemporary historical references to people of colour. As historian Imtiaz Habib writes in Black Lives in the English Archives, 1500-1677: Imprints of the Invisible, Black people were often referenced in early modern sources using 'cryptic citations', referred to interchangeably as '"blackamore", "moor", "barberee", "barbaryen", "Ethiopian", and "Indian".'[7] Regardless of their country of origin, they were lumped together as one people.

In this way, Armand's lost origins could be seen as a representation for the surviving fragmentary evidence for people of colour from across the globe in English archival sources. He himself describes his memories in 2.04 as "fragments". This may be read as a metaphor for the sparse and fragmentary surviving archival evidence for enslaved people's experiences in the early 16th century, especially enslaved children. Where the evidence does survive, it is limited, and enslaved people's stories are usually recounted through the lenses of their white owners or observers, with their own voices lost to history.

There is another aspect of Armand's life which may be mirrored with the life of a real specific enslaved person. In Contested Subjecthood: Runaway Slaves in Early Modern Venice, historian E. Natalie Rothman recounts the story of Omar, an enslaved boy from Zara, living in 17th century Venice, who was given the name Pierantonio by his enslaver.[8] He had a long history of service since childhood, and had been baptised in 1648 when he was 10 years old, and, at the age of 32, was seeking permission to be married. Rothman writes that Omar's story:

'suggests ways in which enslavement as a child could actually facilitate effective forms of social, as well as spatial mobility, while curtailing others. His long years of service as a baptized slave were eventually rewarded by formal manumission [release from slavery], the acquisition of a trade, and insertion into a network of patronage that secured his ability to forge new kinship ties in Venice.'[9]

Likewise, it was Amadeo's long and loyal service to Marius, since childhood, which ultimately allowed him to become a vampire ('facilitate effective forms of social, as well as spatial mobility'). If Amadeo had not been Marius' property for as long as he was, if he had not had "skill", as he puts it, then Marius would not have shared the Dark Gift with him. It might be a slightly clumsy comparison, but vampirism could be seen as what Rothman describes — the reward of a trade and new kinship ties. However, though he had been rewarded, Amadeo was not yet freed from his service to Marius. He was now frozen in that place between boyhood and adulthood, having not quite lost what made him special to Marius, but not being the same boy he was.

Finally, this liminal state is manifested not only in his slight facial hair, his long hair, and his youthful features, but it is also realised in The Adoration. I made a gifset overlaying a quote from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde with scenes of Armand looking at his portrait, which is relevant in this discussion. Armand is almost Dorian Gray in reverse. He might have lived for five centuries, but he a part of his soul is still trapped in that portrait, in a position of unwilling subservience. The fate Dorian Gray laments has happened to Armand. He has grown older, and taken on the countless sins of his vampiric life, but his picture has remained the same — frozen in servitude, representing that young boy who was adored for his beauty.

Bibliography

1. Noel Malcolm, Forbidden Desire in Early Modern Europe: Male–Male Sexual Relations, 1400–1750 (University of Oxford, 2024) p. 44. 2. Ibid., pp. 179-81. 3. Ibid., p. 180. 4. Ibid., pp. 46-7. 5. Anne Rice, Queen of the Damned (Warner Books, 1996) p. 102. 6. Malcolm, Forbidden Desire, p. 179. 7. Imtiaz Habib, Black Lives in the English Archives, 1500-1677: Imprints of the Invisible (Taylor & Francis Group, 2007) p. 2. 8. E. Natalie Rothman, Contested Subjecthood: Runaway Slaves in Early Modern Venice, Quaderni storici, NUOVA SERIE, Vol. 47, No. 140 (2), Riscatto, scambio, fuga (AGOSTO 2012), pp. 425-6. 9. Ibid., pp. 426-7.

[eevees-hobbies]

don't know if this counts as a request but ..

do you think kaji is into dacryphilia ? him n suo gives me sadistic vibes , to be honest .. ><

HAHHAHAHA, my first thirst. Bless you for this. I love this, anon!

Look, I need you to get out of my brain, ok? Because, yes, especially Suo. I’m writing a Suo smut fic currently, and your headcanon fits perfectly because it has devolved into the intense level of intimacy that he shares with you. I don’t want to give too much away, but…

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Hayato Suo, Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji, Dacryphilia, smut, overstimulation

—

Being loved by Hayato Suo is to be consumed by him. You better be someone who can handle the marathon of lovemaking that comes with him, or you’re going to feel like you just might fucking break. 

It’s another level of love and intimacy; his tongue in the most sordid of places, his fingers unforgiving as they stroke your core, which has grown far too sensitive long ago. Maybe he’s teasing you because that's his nature, or perhaps it’s the manifestation of his addiction to you because, god to honest truth, he can’t get enough of any part of you, so he needs to savor the experience. I believe it is the latter more so than the former. 

No one would blame you if hot tears formed at the corner of your eyes and started to pour down your cheeks as you beg him for release because fuck, Suo, it’s too much. 

And you know what Suo will do? He’ll smile in your face, kiss those big, cute tears away, and say he knows you can take it—his girl can take anything. And to no shock to you—because you’ve done this song and dance before—he’ll continue to flick his wrist as his fingers curl against that spongy spot of your cunt, stealing orgasm upon orgasm from you. I really hope you can handle it because it either stops when not being inside of your abused cunt is just too painful for him, or time necessitates a quickie. If those conditions aren’t met? Good luck, friend. 

Deep down, you know that seeing you cry is part of the experience for him. It’s just as arousing as seeing you come undone on his cock, so your whimpering and hiccuping through tears is an un(fortunate) reality of being intimate with Suo. 

—

Now Ren Kaji? I think in any other scenario where Kaji finds you crying, he’s seeing red and hunting down the fucker who made you cry.

If he makes you cry because he snaps at you after having a bad day? He feels like absolute shit. 

The exception? When he has you folded over on yourself in the mating press position. He’s so deep in your guts you swear you can taste the tip of his dick on your tongue—you aren’t thinking clearly to consider the complicated logistics of this, too busy being fucked stupid.

And so when something finally snaps in you, something that makes your body tremble, and your core tighten because he’s fucking you like he hates you, you feel warm streaks pour from your eyes, sliding through your hair because the position he has you in has gravity pulling them back. You’re crying so hard that everything in front of you, including Kaji, is a blur.

The first time this happened, he stopped, concerned that he had hurt you, but you assured him that this was anything but pain that you were experiencing, so now he’s familiar with making you a crying mess as he fucks you into the bed.

And, fuck, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it hot. Because you crying means he’s doing a good job—he’s giving it to you so good and knowing that strokes his ego an unbelievable amount. 

And fuck, you love his cock this much that you’re a crying mess? Damn, what is he going to do with you? He’ll grit his teeth and fuck you harder because the way you cry, the way you turn into a cute blubbering mess, makes him feel like a god, and he wants to see how many tears he can get out of you before either of you breaks.

—

Yeah, I think they’re into it.

Keep the thirsts coming!

[bigfootsboytoy]

It was creepy. Eddie knew it was creepy. He knew it was weird. It was bad enough that he spent all class watching Steve goddamn Harrington while he scribbled in his notebook, but fishing through the trash to find the paper that the king had torn out and crumpled up? It was a new low.

But...he had just looked so focused. The poetry unit is the one most people hate. Even Eddie has been fudging it for the most part, and he actually kind of likes writing when there's a chance he can turn the poems into songs later down the line. But Harrington? He spend the class period in the zone, barely looking up from his paper while he crossed things out, found the perfect words.

And Eddie has a tiny, miniscule, all-consuming crush on the guy. So he wants to see what the hell kind of poem he was writing, okay?

He manages to find the paper (the trash wasn't actually all that full, thank god), and he smooths it out as carefully as he can. Steve's name is written in the corner of the page, and at the top in big letters, he just wrote "Poem." There's little doodles, some words written on the sides where Steve was clearly debating the right one. And then there was the poem itself.

Wild curls, shaking chains, Those shining teeth, that lion's mane. Stalk your prey, the one called king, Stuck in a cage, scared, stupid thing. You are the one, free and proud, He hides away, smiles for the crowd. Silver rings, painted claws, He watches, wishes, holds applause. Devil's tongue, wicked smile, He should be tame, you make him wild.

It isn't about him. Couldn't possibly be about him. There had to be plenty of kids at school with chains and rings and wild curly hair. Eddie was the freak, the weirdo. More than that he was a guy! There was no universe where King Steve wrote a poem about Eddie Munson, nomatter how coincidental some of the descriptions are.

There's words crossed out in some places where something else was almost used. Twice instead of saying 'he', Steve almost wrote 'I' or 'me.' Even if he hadn't, 'the one called king' is pretty obviously reffering to him. That bit isn't what gets Eddie's heart racing, though. It's the description of the other person. Wild curls, chains, rings, painted claws? Every single thing applies to him. Eddie fits the description perfectly and realizing that makes a swarm of vicious butterflies take up residence in his stomach.

Knowing that doesn't stop Eddie from pocketing the paper. It's probably about some edgy girl, and that's fine. But Steve threw the paper away, so it's not like he'll miss it, and Eddie isn't above a bit of daydreaming. It couldn't hurt to pretend, just for a little while, that Steve wrote it for him.

[god-has-entered-my-body]

Summer 75 // Summer Heat - Matty Healy

A/N: challenging myself to actually get through most of these xx

-day two-

content warnings: smut, fluff, sub!Matty, dry humping, kissing, grinding, praise, degradation if you squint, gets super sappy i can't help myself, matty cums in his boxers, no beta we die like men

Sweat beads on your forehead as you desperately search for a fan, water, anything to cool your skin down. A heat wave was truly the last thing you wanted, hoping that the cold, harsh British weather would live up to its reputation. So now here you are, riffling through your shared wardrobe to find something bearable to wear in this blinding heat, the absolute mess of t-shirts and tops and go knows what else making it impossible to navigate anything. 

You can hear shuffling and noises coming from downstairs, and you assume Matty is in a similar predicament, probably already stripping off his shirt and tossing it somewhere off to the side. It's a well known fact how much he hates heat and sweating in general, and honestly, you can't blame him.  

Music fills the room as you turn on the radio, bobbing your head to some pop song you don't know the name of. Giving up on finding a proper outfit, you pick out a bikini, running your fingers over the smooth material. Small rhinestones adorn the edges of the two-piece, the strappy bits fitting snugly against you, thin and breathable. 

Shorts hang low on your hips as you go down the carpeted stairs, your feet light on the ground. Your hair is up and out of your face, cool air hitting the back of your neck. Matty’s hair is clearly visible over the top of the sofa, long curls splaying out over the furniture.

His highlights are significantly grown out, and you make a mental note to re-dye them when you get the chance. He doesn't hear you approach at first, only noticing you when you sit down, the dip in the sofa alerting him of your presence. 

His breath audible hitches as his eyes rake over you, and he sits up slightly straighter, both his hands on his knees, gripping them. Now, you can't really play innocent here, you know that well enough. The top you’re wearing isn't padded at all, giving him a perfect view of your tits.

No matter how long you've been together or how much he tries to deny it, Matty goes weak everytime he sees any part of your body, acting like it’s the first time he’d ever seen it. You find it endearing, seeing him react this way to you, your ego swelling the longer he blatantly stares at your chest. 

“Alright?” your tone is teasing, raising your eyebrows at Matty as he shakes his head, as if that would get rid of the dirty fantasies running rampant through his mind. There's not much distance between you, but you still jump a bit when you feel his hand on your thigh. The look in his eyes is undeniable, lust clouding them over.

“Yeah, ‘m perfectly fine.” his hand trails up further, playing with the hem of your shorts. The straps of the bottom piece of your bikini are visible over the waistband, a sight that has all the blood in Matty’s head rushing south.

Not in the mood for slow and sensual, you sit up, draping one of your legs over Matty’s lap, trapping him under your weight. A filthy smirk dances on his lips as his face is met with your chest and he looks up at you, biting his lip provocatively. 

“This for me, darling?” his hands find either side of your waist, pulling you down on top of him. Your fingers thread through his hair feverishly, tugging lightly as small gasps leave Matty’s lips, his sounds like music to your ears. 

“Bold of you to assume that, I was just hot.” you mutter, your lips inches away from his. Matty gives in first, crashing his lips against yours with such a force that it genuinely knocks the wind out of you, leaving you breathless. 

“You look so hot in this, pretty.” his fingers snap the strap of your top against your skin. Perched in his lap, you set both of your hands on his broad shoulders, gaining the small bit of leverage you were hoping for. You can feel your nipples harden as he grazes his fingers over your tits, shamelessly feeling you up. 

“Fuck, I want you.” Matty is breathless as he takes your bottom lip in between your teeth, biting down hard. 

“Yeah?” your hips grind down into his hardening cock, the friction against your clit deliciously hot, a small gasp spilling from your lips. Matty doesnt fare much better, choked moans filling the room as your lips connect with his neck, drawing even more sounds from him. 

“Let me take this off you, please.” he toys with the strings of your top, reaching round your back, eyes begging you to let him untie it. A subtle nod tells him all he needs to know, the material pooling in his lap as it falls off you, Matty’s eyes comically wide. He incoherently mutters against your chest as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling around it, making you moan. 

Your skin feels hot, hotter than before, and you speed up your movements in his lap, feeling the steady build of your orgasm in your core. Matty’s hands snake their way around your waist, pulling you impossibly close as you grind down on to him feverishly, chasing your high. 

“Please, fuck– i’m so close.” he whimpers against your mouth, cock twitching in his trousers, precum painting the front of his underwear. 

“Gonna come in your pants? Make a mess like you’re fucking fourteen? God, you’re so pathetic, so perfect for me.” your switch between praise and degradation is dizzying, desperate whines spilling from Matty’s lips as one of his hands grips the flesh of your arse, small sparks of delicious pain shooting up your spine, making you moan. 

“M’close too, let me hear you baby, let me hear you come.” you gasp as he licks into your mouth, tasting every inch of you like it's his last meal. You can feel his hips stutter, the feeling of your cunt against him almost too much.

“Fuckfuckfuck like that, just like that–” you moan, and Matty rolls his hips again, the added friction against your clit hurling you over the edge. You press onto his chest for stability as his brown eyes stare into you, glazed over and right there. Riding out your orgasm, you kiss down his jaw, biting into the tender skin as Matty whole body twitches underneath you, his eyes rolling back as he spills into his boxers, choked whimpers leaving his lips. 

You kiss him softly, doing your best to work him through his high while you come down from your own, whispering sweet praises into his ear. 

“So pretty for me, did so good. Like it when I'm mean to you sometimes, right? Fuck, you’re so hot, love you so much.”

Matty can only nod in response as you pull back, trailing your fingertips over his heaving chest, tracing his tattoos. 

He looks utterly fucked out, sweat rolling down his face, his lips angry and bruised, dark, unruly curls falling over his face. You let your hand find his cheek, cupping it lovingly as you gaze into each others eyes, enamored with each other  

“I love you more than you can imagine, thank you for this.” he mumbles softly, nuzzling his face into your palm.

“I don't deserve you.” you say, kissing his forehead and pulling him into a tight hug. “I love you too.” 

“Wear that top again, you look gorgeous in it.” The change in topic makes you giggle into the crook as his neck, pressing light kisses to the skin. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Got me so fucking hard, thought I was gonna pass out.” you graze your nails over his spine, feeling goosebumps form in your wake. 

“Flattery gets you everywhere, Healy” Matty chuckles at your words.

“I can see that.” 

Your hands thread into his thick hair, scratching at his scalp as you breathe steadily, basking in each others presence.

[vlcimor]

I am not over (and probably never will be) these two parallels. And no one talks about it enough, so I had to draw it (forgot to post it, surprise) for my own sanity. Does it help? Absolutely not, not at all.

Let's talk about it for a bit, okay?

The first drawing is the scene from the end of the 4th episode of the 1st season, right after Ed's and Izzy's (first mate at the time) conversation about plans with Stede, the full crew of the Revenge, and the future. We can see Ed's expression and OH BOY. He is hiding under the mask of Blackbeard to survive. He is exhausted, bored, empty and so done being "The dreadful pyrate Blackbeard". He just wants to be Ed, who fancy fine fabrics and sweet and soft things. It's completely opposite to Izzy's expression, who is behind him and smiling, clearly delighted by Blackbeard's persona and his great plans. On top of it all, the song "The empty boat" by Caetano Veloso playing in the background (I love love love this song), and it fits so well with Ed's emotions.

The second drawing is the scene from the 1st episode of the 2nd season, right after Ed and Frenchie (now first mates) spoke about future plans. Ed let himself be soft and got hurt because of it. Now he's trying to be Blackbeard again, trying to fit in some "norms" of "manly man," trying to survive in a world where liking soft and being soft means dead, and he is failing miserably. He is everything he doesn't want to be. Also, even Stede's name is not mentioned, you know it's all about him. Ed is hurt, tired, and heartbroken. Ed is not the only one who see this. Basically, the whole crew can see how unstable he became after coming back to Blackbeard/ The Kraken persona. Frenchie´s expression shows it all. He stands behind him on his right side, the same spot where Izzy stands in S1. But his expression completely different from Izzy's - sad, afraid, unsure. Once again on top of the scene, the song "Pygmy Love Song" by Francis Bebey (one of my favourite songs from S2) perfectly shows all Ed's emotions.

I am so sorry for this long, boring post. I simply LOVE these two scenes and everything about them, and I needed to share my thoughts with you. I hope it makes sense and my grammar is not too bad.

[thesturniolos]

tiny red dress pt 1

m.sturniolo x reader

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

warnings: nsfw/, alcohol, swearing, arguing, angst

this is for my fave @sturniolosstar 🤗🤗, merry christmas hun <3

summary: reader goes to a party in an outfit matt doesn’t approve of and things escalate prettyyyyy quickly..

tags: @strniohoeee @sturniolopepsi @kirby0strombolli @sturniolotripletsarehot @freshlovehacker @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @chrisdevora @christinarowie332 @mattslolita @mattsgirlforeva @chrisolivia4l @mattsturn @sturniolosluvv @sturnsclutter @sturnsblunt @sturnsbaby @sturnsreader @sturnsbae @byechristopher @bluesturniolo333 @recklesssturniolo @klarasmith @pr1ncessm1ng1 @oversturn @ilovemattsturn @thesturniolos @estelleswrld @strawberrysturniolo @struniolos @sturniolooooo @sturnsstar @dailysturniolo @deatthmatch @cabincorematt @mattsturniolosgf

i can feel his gaze from half way across the room piercing through my burning hot skin, he’s been like it all night ever since he started an argument about my dress choice.

it’s a dark red dress with a lace detailing around the neck and at the rim, clearly too ‘revealing’ as matt begged for me to wear something else.

the dress fit perfectly against the curves of my body and i had the perfect pair of heels to go with it, it would make no sense for me to go and find another outfit.

it’s the famous christmas party of boston and it’s something everyone looks forward to, especially me. which is why i bought my outfit months prior, i just kept it a little secret from my boyfriend and for good reason as his reaction was very much not surprising.

when i walked out from our shared bathroom, he eyed me up and down before shaking his head and scoffing. was it not pretty? i’ve worn things like this before and he barely even cared.

“seriously, matt?” i walk over to him, adjusting the straps of the dress and reaching my hand out to touch his.

before i can get to him, he walks out of our room and down the stairs, slamming the door of our house.

getting that mad over a dress? come on.

driving to our friends house, he didn’t speak one word to me and when i tried to apologise he turned on the aux to blur my voice.

storming into the house party, i quickly found my way to the middle of the dance floor and soon forgot about our stupid argument once i got distracted with the boundless amounts of fun i was having with my friends.

dancing wasn’t really my thing but after a few drinks i was quite happily moving my hips to any song that came on the speaker, my friends jokingly pushing against me as we formed a small circle directly in the middle.

but peering from the kitchen island was matt and boy was he angry, his fist clenched against the cold marble, a red cup in the other pressed to his lip, staring directly at me.

as we make eye contact, a guy appears in front of me, blocking my view of matt.

he had blonde hair, slightly long and fluffy towards the front of his head, green eyes and was wearing a tracksuit, holding a drink in his hand.

he looks down to my legs and smirks, “hey pretty”

i turn around to face my friends but they’re nowhere in sight, “i have a boyfriend”

he looks around. “i can’t see him.”

“and?”

“well, you’re all alone and i can’t help but notice how good that dress looks on you.”

“i don’t know if you’ve noticed but every other girl in this place is wearing a dress nearly identical to mine and to be honest, you’re the only one sticking out here with your tracksuit. it’s not exactly party attire.”

“glad to know i stuck out to you.”

“that’s not what i mea-“

“nice to meet you, matt sturniolo.” suddenly, matt appears from behind him and holds out a hand to shake. “i don’t believe we’ve met.”

“i think you’re right, bud. can i help you?”

“yeah, back away from my girl.” he moves in front of him and pushes me back from him slightly.

i bump into my friend and she pulls a look upon seeing the heated situation.

“well if she was your girl, then what’s she doing talking to me?” matts jaw tenses and he looks behind him to face me and i shake my head. “a skimpy red dress and dancing like that, she’s kinda asking for it”

and with those words, matts fist collided with his face and he falls back, holding his nose and looking down to see blood dripping onto the floor.

“next time i see you, make sure you stay away from me and her and if we do cross, make sure you shut your fucking mouth.” matt pushes past the crowd, leaving me in the middle surrounded by my friends and the guy staring at me angrily.

before he can say something to me, i try and follow matt to where i can only assume he’s walking back to the car.

“matt! just wait!” i yell, desperately trying to get through the vast amounts of drunken people blocking my every move.

by the time i’m out of the house, he’s already slamming his door shut and i run to my side to open it.

his head is rested in his hand and his arm is perched onto the door, his knee is bouncing and the silence in the car is so loud that i can hear the cogs in my brain whirring.

“matt, i swear i wasn’t talking to him-“

“but you were.” he snaps back, still not looking at me. “i was watching you talk to him, do not try and bullshit me.”

“he came up to me, it’s not like i went up to him.”

“that’s not even the point. you knew he wanted you, why did you carry on talking to him? do you get some kind of thrill from knowing he liked you?” he’s staring at me now and he’s angry. his brows are furrowed and he’s thrown his hands in the air.

“what the hell? why would i- what’s wrong with you? why would you even think that, matt!”

“because you turn up to that stupid party in the shortest little dress that is literally guaranteed to make any guy look. i told you. i told you that i didn’t like it and you still went and wore it.”

“because you can’t control what i wear, matt. that’s my decision.”

“you promised that shit wouldn’t happen and hell, it did.” i’m angry now, how is it my fault boys can’t keep shit to themselves?

“don’t try and blame this on me, matthew. i didn’t ask for him to look at me or talk to me, i was dancing with my friends, enjoying myself. is it such a crime to wear a dress? a literal dress.”

he sits in silence and his hands are on the wheel in front of him, knuckles white from the pressure.

“you’re mine, do you know that?” his voice is gravely and hoarse, he doesn’t look at me but it’s the most assertive he’s ever sounded.

“what?”

“you belong to me. nobody can look at what’s mine.” his eyes are dark and his grip on the car loosens and he reaches over to grab my jaw.

“you understand that?” his hold on my face and the intense eye contact between the two of us creates a pool in between my legs as i squeeze my thighs together to relieve some of the tension.

i nod and he shakes his head before looking towards the road in front of him again. we were nearly home, thank god. i needed him and i could tell he needed me, this was about to be so good.

“i need words, not those pathetic responses- use your mouth, i know it’s capable.” i stare stunned, he’s not usually like this. in fact, this new attitude he’s suddenly picked up is working miracles on my heart as it beats in my chest a hundred to the dozen and the heat from my face travels down my body.

“i understand.”

a silence settles within the car and i shuffle around, quickly getting agitated from the throbbing feeling as my thighs fail to make me feel any better.

“keep moving those legs you slut, it’s the last time you’ll be able to for a while.”

[mylonelydreaming]

For me, Link being "unhealthily obsessed with Zelda and finding her to the point Ganondorf is a footnote" isn't something that I think is "bad" at all, but precisely what makes this version of him remotely interesting (to me) when Nintendo is otherwise so adamant about keeping him a stoic knight most of the time.

It adds a different layer to him, turns him from this perfect, bland stoic boy into someone who only outwardly appears that way, appears like he has everything together, but is in fact flawed inside and a little broken from what has happened to him. A little off. That makes him much more interesting to me. It gives him a major character flaw that can be exploited by his enemies, and what do you know, Ganondorf and the Yiga Clan do exactly that (they even remark on what good bait she makes).

I also find it interesting to think about when he became this way. Was it the years he spent with her in-between games? Was it well before that, when he was aimlessly chasing that "beautiful voice" even before he remembered who he was? Was it some point before the Calamity? Did he become a knight in the first place not merely to follow his father's footsteps, but to one day protect her? I find this compelling to think about. Is making a specific person your life's purpose unhealthy in real life? Yes. It's also very interesting in a story.

And also on that note, isn't him becoming at least a little too obsessed with her a completely natural thing to happen?

For me, if you take away Link's (yes, I'll admit, unhealthy although I kind of like that), obsession with Zelda, then all that is left is the exact ways that people who hate not only zelink but Link himself describe him as all the time: A robot who feels nothing but duty.

And sorry, but I just find that very boring. Dull. Unexciting. I also, then, can't see why on earth Zelda would have feelings for Link if she's just a duty to him and her acts of affection, like sewing him a new tunic, are never returned. Frankly, I think she deserves a lot better than that, to have her feelings reciprocated and a happy ending after all that she's been through.

And to be honest, why would any writer make her feelings unreciprocated when she's basically the main focus of these two games? How does that make any sense? I also doubt any professional game dev working on a deadline would waste precious time writing and coding dialogue about it into the games if it supposedly wasn't meant to mean anything? I honestly rather dislike people brushing off things like Kass's song, because it ignores that it was purposefully written by the game's creators to tell the player something. It not only feels disrespectful to whoever wrote it, but ignores an extremely common convention of video games. I don't think it's really very fair to call it "bad writing" simply because it delivers the information like a video game and not like other visual mediums would have. Video games have always demanded the player to read things, investigate and read between the lines. Especially so when they are more focused on gameplay, which is exactly where Nintendo's focus lies.

And when it comes to "it should have been more obviously shown", well, look how people complain even when it's subtle? If you're someone who hates it, why complain about the romance not being overly blatant? Isn't that good? I mean, clearly an even bigger fit about it would have been thrown if they had been even more obvious, so personally, I think that the way Nintendo went about it was perfectly fine.

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Twisted Monsterland: Messy Toddlers

Little kids can always cause a mess, whether it’s with paint, markers, food, or dirt and mud. It’s a fact of life, and while a hassle to clean up, it can be fun!

So what happens when you have a tiny human living amongst the monsters in Twisted Wonderland who tends to get messy? How about we take a look at some of the dorms and see!

//At Savanaclaw//

Mini!Yuu: *playing in a mud puddle, singing random things as they smoosh and stir the mud with their hands*

Grim: “What’cha doin’, Yuu?”

Mini!Yuu: “Makin’ mud pies for everyone!” *pulls out clumps of grass before sprinkling it over the mud pile* “Time to add the sprinkles~!”

Grim: “What a waste of perfectly good grass…”

Ruggie: *walking up to the two* “There you are, Bugaboo. What’cha playing with this time?”

Mini!Yuu: “I made a mud pie!” *scoops up the pile, globs falling onto their clothing as they hold it up to him* “Try some!”

Ruggie: “Oooh, looks pretty tasty.” *pretends to get a piece and chews, grinning as he gives a thumbs up*”"Mmm…perfect blend of flavors, though you might wanna ease up on the seasoning. Shishishishi~!”

Mini!Yuu: “Hooray!”

Ruggie: “Wouldja look at the time? It’s almost time for you to head back to the teachers, and you’re a mess.” *hoists them into his arms* “Come on, it’s bath time.”

//At Diasomnia//

Mini!Yuu: *playing with finger paints on a canvas*

Lilia: “I’ll be right back, little one. Silver? Would you keep an eye on the little one while I’m gone?”

Silver: “Of course, father.”

*ten minutes later*

Lilia: “I’m back.” *pauses before snorting, smiling at the sight of Silver asleep on the couch with paint on his face and tusks* “My, my. Had I known you needed a bigger canvas, I could have gotten a white tarp for the floor.” *glances over at Malleus before bursting out laughing* “Oh! It looks like you two are having fun.”

Malleus: *sitting nearby with mini!Yuu standing on his lap, painting his horns with bright colorful flowers* “The Child of Man wished to do face painting.”

Mini!Yuu: *has paint on their face that looks like scales and sticky fake stones on their forehead like Malleus’* “I’m making Mr. Horns feel pretty!”

Lilia: “So you are, little one. And what are you supposed to be?”

Mini!Yuu: “Silver made me look like a dragon, just like Mr. Horns! Rawr!”

Lilia: “And a mighty little dragon you are~!”

//At Pomefiore//

Mini!Yuu: *scribbling on a wall in the hallway with a pen they found, singing a happy song as they’re drawing swirls*

Epel: *comes across Yuu and yelps* “Yuu, no! What are you doing?!”

Mini!Yuu: *startled* “Drawing?”

Epel: “Oh no…oh no, Vil is going to throw a fit if he sees this!”

Vil: “If I see…what?”

Epel: “Ack!?”

Rook: “Ooh, it looks like mon chou is showing their creative spirit!”

Mini!Yuu: *nervously looks between the wall and Vil’s stern stare* “Am…I in trouble?”

Vil: *hums for a moment before kneeling down, pulling out his own pen* “Your form is good, though perhaps we can add a little something to this one.”

Mini!Yuu: “What?”

Vil: “I’m thinking…leaves would be a good start.” *begins drawing, creating beautiful shapes following the swirl that get bigger and bigger* “What else should we add to it?”

Mini!Yuu: “Mmm…flowers!”

Vil: “Very well. Will you help me draw them?”

Epel: *staring wide eyed between them and Rook as the two continue drawing, leaning in to whisper to Rook* “Am…am I dreaming? Vil would have gone bonkers if any of us ruined the walls!”

Rook: “Ah, but why stifle the creativity of our little mon chu when they are clearly expressing their individuality? Even Roi du Poison sees the beauty in this.” *goes to kneel next to them, pulling out his own pen* “May I join in?”

Epel: “…huh.”

(Later, the art is still on the wall, a mix of child-like drawings mixed with elegant and fun pictures depicting rabbits, apples, and a peacock)

//At Heartslabyul//

Mini!Yuu: *sitting on a stool, watching Trey mixing dough into balls for bread and trying to mimic him with their own ball of dough*

Trey: “Oh, I need to get the butter out of the fridge. Sit tight, okay?” *dusts hands off and goes over to the fridge*

Mini!Yuu: *hums as they look at the one they’re working on* “Mmm…needs more flour!” *reaches for the bag of flour, trying to lift it up*

POMF!!

Mini!Yuu: *coughs as they’re covered in flour, the bag on the ground and the counter coated in flour*

Trey: “Huh?? Pfft…I should have known something like this would happen.” *reaches out to pat away some of the dusty flour* “Guess when we’re finished baking, it’s bath time again.”

//----------//

That’s all I can think of off the top of my head, but these are just some cute things that came to mind~

The Pomefiore part was actually based on this one post I came across, though I could only find the pictures. While I had initially thought of it happening at Heartslabyul or even Scarabia…I just got soft thinking of Vil indulging mini!Yuu and helping to create good art QvQ/)

[wooataes]

Real Eyes, Fake Lies (Part Six)

Pairing: soulmate!Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: angst, Hanahaki!AU, filler chapter before next big plot point 👀, Marvel spoilers i guess?? Jihoon sucks when it comes to talking about things, sus Jeonghan, swearing, feelings of self doubt?

Summary: What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

A/N: Just a short little filler chapter for you guys before the next big plot point! A few cute little moments and a lay off the angst for a bit too! Some new characters will drop next chapter, and I can’t wait for you all to read! Thank you all for loving this story as much as I love writing it 🫶🏼

-Tae 💜✨

If you’d like to be tagged, shoot through an ask!

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Y/N: Meet me at the auditorium after you finish class? I’ll be helping the Jeongyeon and the girls with their Vocal project and then we can go to the library.

Jihoon rereads your text for the fifth time as he makes his way towards the auditorium with a sigh, looking up at the sky as the sun tries to peek out from behind the clouds. It’s a Friday afternoon, Ji-ah has just sent him off with a kiss and a smile as she leaves campus to take the train back home to her family as per usual, leaving him alone for the weekend. He winces into direct sunlight with a scowl before trudging inside the large building.

Jihoon blinks at the sound of five distinct voices harmonizing together on the empty stage, and he recognizes that the voices belonged to your five girlfriends, Jeongyeon, Jihyo, Momo, Dahyun and Nayeon. He spots you sitting at the piano at the side of the stage, playing a simple melody as the girls sing into the empty theatre. He is captivated at how well the girls’ voices all blend together.

“Heaven forbid someone whisper ‘he’s part of some scheme’,” Jihyo sings. “Your enemy whispers,”

“So you have to scream!” The girls harmonize, and Jihoon’s eyes widen as you sing alongside them from the piano, still playing flawlessly.

“I know about whispers,” Momo’s voice is soft and delicate.

“I see how you look at my sister...” Your voice is clear as a bell as your voice projects through the room. Jihoon feels like time has stopped as he hears you.

“Don’t!”

“I’m not naive, I have seen women around you,” Dahyun’s voice is deep and angry, singing with emotion, your voice harmonizing behind her. He can’t keep his eyes off you.

“Don’t think I don’t see how they fall for your charms,” Jeongyeon and Jihyo sing together, facing each other and locking eyes.

“All of your charms!” Everyone sings together.

They’re good, Jihoon thinks to himself. Really good.

“I’m erasing myself from the narrative,” the girls all sing in a ladder, overlapping each other with precision.

“Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted when you broke her heart,” their harmonies are on point, Jihoon can feel goosebumps rise on his skin.

“You have thrown it all away, stand back and watch it,”

“Burn~”

The harmony echoes through the empty seats, Jihoon now sitting at the end of the front row to listen.

“Just watch it all burn,” he keeps his eyes on you, singing full heartedly as you keep playing the piano without missing a beat. Your eyes are glued to the sheet music in front of you as the rest of the girls stay put in their spot.

Jihoon stays quiet in stunned silence as you, alongside your friends sing the rest of the song together in perfect harmony. He’s shocked at how polished the performance is, you all have clearly put a lot of time and effort into it.

“If you thought you were mine,” it’s almost like the girls were competing with each other for the best belt for the finale, but at the same time their voices overlapping fits the song perfectly.

“Don’t.” The song stops sharply and abruptly.

The girls are all looking expectantly at you, and you turn on the chair to smile at them.

“I think you’re ready.” You beam. “Like seriously, that was the best you’ve all sounded yet.”

“Really?” Momo smiles back at you, taking both of your hands in hers.

“Really!” You nod excitedly.

“I personally think we only sound this good because of you.” Jihyo smirks, hugging around you from behind, your laugh echoing in the room as she plants a kiss on your cheek gratefully.

“Oh hush, you.” You swat her hands playfully as the others laugh with you.

Your laugh is foreign to Jihoon, but he wouldn’t mind hearing it more often, he decides.

“I agree with Ji.” Jeongyeon hums, bumping her hip with yours. “Your voice was just what we needed to make it perfect. It’s a shame that you have to hide behind that big piano though. We need you center stage with those golden pipes.”

“Then who else will play the music, silly?” You snark back, smiling.

“We can easily find a backing track, miss smarty pants.” Dahyun raises her eyebrow as Nayeon points to her with wide eyes.

“She has a point, Bug.”

“And risk the performance fucking up because we trusted a machine?” You cross your arms with a pout. “I’m happy behind the piano, you know that.”

“Excuse me!” Jihyo’s voice now booms towards your soulmate, who was now sitting up, startled at the volume of her voice. “This is a closed practice! Women only!”

“I..”

“Yah! Have some decorum!” You throw a bottle of water at her with a laugh. “It’s just Jihoon. We need to go study for Film Studies.”

You roll your eyes with a grin as all the girls rush to grab you. But you’re faster, jumping off the edge of the stage and leaning beside Jihoon with your backpack in hand.

“No fair! You don’t get to steal her away!” Momo whines and stomps her foot, making you laugh and wave at the girls.

“Unfortunately, he does. Unless you want me to fail and stay behind for a year.” You smirk as they all relent. “Good job today, my loves! Same time next week yeah?” You blow them all kisses as they repeat the gesture back to them. “Sorry, did I take too long?” You ask your soulmate quietly as he trails out of the auditorium behind you.

“Uhh, no.” He finds his voice after a beat of silence, cheeks slightly pink. “Not at all.” Your angelic voice is still ringing in his ears.

“Sorry about them,” You wave your hand back at the building. “They tend to make goodbyes a drawn out affair so I tried to be quick.”

“It’s fine.” He nods, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, walking to the campus library with Jihoon in silence.

Jihoon watches you from the corner of his eye as you walk together, suddenly more withdrawn and quiet. If you were a flower, Jihoon would’ve thought you just wilted right in front of him.

“Do you think people will sit back and think about that?”

“This is exactly what this project is about!” You chirp, pushing the laptop towards him. “Think about it. Tony Stark is obviously a fan favourite, both in the comics and the cinematic universe.” You’re pointing out graphs on the screen. “Everyone was on his side when Civil War came out. I bet you were too.”

“I mean, yeah, I suppose.” Jihoon raises his eyebrow at you.

“Which brings me back to my point.” This is the most animated he’s seen you be towards him, scribbling down on a notebook in front of you both. “Bucky is not to blame for Tony’s parents death. Yes, he is the one who caused their deaths, but he was under the mind control of Hydra. He was not in his right mind to control his own decision making due to the fact he was literally being controlled by these crazy bastards.”

Jihoon opens his mouth to speak.

“I know what you’re about to say,” you counter before he speaks. “You’re going to say ‘but he still did it.’ I mean, he did do it but if I hypnotized you to be a killing machine that you literally couldn’t stop yourself from being said killing machine, would you have the power to stop me? The answer is no. Bucky didn’t deserve the witch-hunt he was faced with, and Steve was completely justified in protecting his best friend. Bucky even felt guilty about it when Tony confronted him.”

“Tony was Steve’s friend too, though.”

“Who he knew for what, five minutes?” You quip back. “If your childhood best friend made a mistake and spent his entire life in agony against his will, tried to defend himself from your new friend of two years, who would you be picking?”

“… you make a point, Choi.” He hums, nodding his head sagely. “Yeah, okay, this is good. This will get them talking.”

“And it’s perfect, because we can discuss both sides!” You smile. “Even though I’m on Bucky’s side.”

Jihoon lets out a chuckle, with a little smile on his face. “I’m happy with that idea if you are?”

“Really?” You sit up straight, blinking owlishly. “You don’t have any ideas?”

“I mean, I had a few ideas but they were all pretty one sided. This idea works well because we can say the views from both sides.”

You blink again before giving Jihoon a little smile. His heart skips a beat involuntarily. “Okay, let’s do that then.”

“I can work on the Stark side and you can work on the Barnes side and we can discuss?” Jihoon pulls out his own pen and paper, starting to jot down a few notes. “We should only do a few ideas now and next week we can meet up to watch the film to draw out some points.”

“Sounds good to me.”

You nod your head quickly as you both get to work, the only sounds between you both being your pens and the occasional clicking of the keyboard of the laptop between you both.

Every so often, Jihoon feels like he can feel your eyes on him, but every time he sneaks a glance, your eyes are firmly on your notebook, diligently writing line after line of dot points on your page. It must be his imagination.

Every few moments, he spots you reaching up and rubbing at a spot on your collarbone like you have an itch, and he feels his curiosity growing but decided to leave it be for the sake of the project.

“I heard you were helping out with auditions..” you trail off softly as you walk by Jihoon’s side, two hours after your study session had begun. The sun is setting in the sky now as you shove your hands in your pockets. You’re standing on the outer side of the sidewalk, feet ghosting over the lip of where the concrete meets the road.

“Sure am.” He drawls, kicking at a rock on the pavement. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” You shake your head quickly. “I was just going to ask how it’s going.” Your eyes stay focussed on your feet. Jihoon spots your neck flushing pink.

“It’s not bad.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know how you can work with some of those actors. Almost all of them can’t sing for shit.”

You let out a cough as you seemingly choke on your own saliva, a laugh escaping your throat. “They’re not that bad, Jihoon-ssi.”

Jihoon feels like it’s so formal when you address him now. There is still the occasional moment you will call him simply Jihoon, but never Oppa. Not since the incident.

“They are bad when you have to hear the same rendition of ‘Mamma Mia! Here I go again. My my, how can I resist you?’ for four hours.” He groans, your amused smile growing on your lips as he speaks. “Why didn’t any of your friends audition? They sound a whole lot better than anyone else who sang.”

At the mention of your friends, you perk up a bit. “Believe me, I’ve tried. But they’re happy in their little show choir. I insisted that they would easily get the main role if they just showed up to audition, but they argued with me every step of the way.” You sigh, shrugging your shoulders. “So, I gave up.”

“Hmm, pity.” He hums. “It would’ve been better than who they’re deciding for callbacks.”

You nod along with him, and just as you’re about to respond, Jihoon beats you to the punch.

“You would’ve been good, too.”

Your cheeks immediately flush a deep red, turning your head to look away. “Uhh, thanks.”

“I mean, it isn’t a compliment.” Jihoon retorts. Your shoulders sag. “Well, I mean… it is, I suppose.” He immediately tries to mend things. “But coming from someone who sadly has perfect pitch, you, Jeongyeon and the others were the best singers I’ve heard all month.”

“Thank you, Jihoon-ssi.” You smile softly at your soulmate before flinching and taking a quick step towards him.

You were standing a bit too close to the road as a car sped past you, almost knocking you off your feet if it wasn’t for Jihoon to catch you by the loop of your backpack. He swiftly maneuvers you to walk on the inside of the path, now standing in your original spot without blinking an eye or missing a stride.

“It’s fine.” He acts like nothing happened. “And, if it’s too much for your rehearsal, or whatever.. I’ve been trained in piano since I was in middle school. So, uh… I could play the backing track for you if you wanted to focus on singing with the girls… if you wanted.” It was his turn to turn red as he walked, stammering. He truly didn’t intend on offering this to you, he just let it slip out like word vomit. “I don’t have anything to do after school on Friday’s since Ji-ah usually leaves for her family, so I mean if you guys wanted I could help out.”

He was babbling and probably repeating himself now. Oh god, can you please shut him up.

“Oh..” your eyes are wide as you stare at him. “I mean, I can check with the girls… but are you sure? You really don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Jihoon feels it. Your nerves begin to swirl in the pit of your stomach, the doubt and worry running through you as you question everything.

“It’s fine.” He insists. “Really, I love playing the piano anyway so this is just like a holiday for me. Honest.”

“Then, yeah.. sure.” You nod slowly as your walking slows as you reach the block before your house. “I’ll ask the girls and see. Thank you.”

“Sure.” He hums, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

“And… uh… before you leave.” You pause at your front gate. Jihoon stops and turns to face you, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Soonie told me to ask you… usually this time of year leading up to Cheol’s birthday, we usually go on a big camping trip. This year we’re going to Busan and Jeonghan has told us to invite anyone who we think would want to go.”

You’re kicking at the invisible dust on the ground. “Soonie knew I was meeting up with you for the project so he told me to ask if you and Ji-ah want to come. It’s in a couple of weeks from now so you don’t have to decide yet, but the offer is there.”

“Oh, that sounds fun.” He nods slowly. “I’m from Busan, so that’d be nice.”

“And you guys wouldn’t have to worry about getting a ride there!” You insist quickly. “Jeonghan is hiring a bus so you guys can just tag along- wait, what did you say?”

“It’d be fun..?” Jihoon repeats himself before you let his words process through your brain. You blink and nod your head quickly.

“Oh, okay. Good.” You step inside the gate. “I’ll get Soonie to text you the details?”

“Sounds good, thanks.” Your soulmate nods again, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Thanks for walking me home, Jihoon-ssi. Have a good night.” You bowed your head before turning around, rushing to the front door of your home.

“Goodnight.” Jihoon mumbles, the door already closed behind you. Once he knows you’re not going to go out again, he turns around and continues his walk home.

“Ladybug? Is that you?” You hear Jeonghan’s voice coming from the kitchen.

“Yeah. It’s just me, Oppa.” You call back, stepping into the room and giving him a quick hug.

“It’s late. Did you walk home on your own?” Seungcheol steps into the room at the sound of your voice, hand on his hip.

“No, I had to study with Jihoon-ssi, remember?” You lean against the counter with a little smile. “He walked me home, it’s on his way.”

“Oh, how chivalrous of him.” He cooed playfully, making you roll your eyes.

“Oh please.” You wave your hand. “He probably only did it because you would’ve murdered him if he didn’t walk me home, or had someone organized to get me.”

“This is true.” Your brother smirks, reaching out and ruffling your hair. You have a small smile on your face that doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeonghan, who watched you with a raised brow.

“Hannie-Oppa,” you turn to said man. “Jihoon and Ji-ah are confirmed to be coming to Busan too, Soonie invited them.”

“Ji-ah?” Cheol asks, tilting his head.

“His girlfriend.” You mutter, Jeonghan’s eyebrows raising so high up that he’s surprised they haven’t touched the ceiling.

Girlfriend. Interesting.

Real Eyes, Fake Lies Taglist

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[lomlhwa]

pose for me (j.wy)

pairing: boudoir photographer!wooyoung x model!reader

preview: you take a job as a model for a world renowned photographer. obviously, your boudoir photo shoot wasn't supposed to escalate to a sex tape.

tags/warnings: fem reader, boudoir photography, sex tape filming, big dick!wooyoung, pet names (good girl, baby, pretty girl), breast play, oral (m. receiving), cum eating, marking, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie

trigger warnings: all filming and photography is CONSENTED explicity, multiple times.

wc: 1.6k

song recs for this fic: desire by ateez, tail by sunmi, no manners by superm, cyber sex by doja cat

a/n: the header is actually what inspired the whole plot of this fic. don't ask why i chose woo for this one either. bro just gave the right vibes ig. enjoy photographer wooyoung

this is it. unit 6 of the apartment building the photographer’s manager had directed you to.

this is actually pretty surreal to you. you’re meeting up with world renowned photographer, jung wooyoung. he’s known for photographing celebrities but he hasn’t done that in quite some time.

he’s shifted his expertise to boudoir photography for up and coming models. you just so happen to be one of those models. 

but, you’re not really here to make a name for yourself in the modeling industry. you’re really here to just meet wooyoung. you’ve heard… things from other models in your company. things about how their sessions escalated to technically unprofessional events.

now, of course you’re not here to try and lose your career. but you want some proof towards the rumors of wooyoung’s skills. 

and size. 

you knock on the door. four times. you hear some shuffling behind the door before a beautiful man opens the door. the wind is almost knocked out of you when he opens the door.

“y/n?” you nod, holding out your hand for a handshake. “you must be mr. jung” you smile. “please, call me wooyoung. this is only a mildly professional environment” he steps out of the way, ushering you into his apartment. 

you move to take your red heels off but wooyoung placed his hand on your shoulder. “i think those heels will suit a set of lingerie i have” he says, his voice sounding silky smoothing. he sounds like honey in your head. you nod, leaving your heels on. 

you shimmy your coat off and put it on a hanger. he hands you a lacy, shimmery set of red lingerie. he was right, your heels do suit this set. “you can go put it on in the room down the hall. that’s my make-shift dressing room for models.”

you walk down the hall and walk into the room. you close the door behind you and make sure to lock it. yes, you’re partially here to get laid but you’d like to be consensually naked in front of him rather than because you’re being watched.

you finish putting on the lingerie and examine yourself in the mirror. you look good. you look… fuckable. you put on some light red makeup and some red glittery gloss. you pout your lips in the mirror. kissable. 

you put on the fluffy white bathrobe left in the room for you to wear until the shoot officially starts. you walk back out to the main room to see wooyoung setting up a pink backdrop and adjusting the props. the props include; broken up angel wings to make you look like a fallen angel, a halo painted black, and a mattress that’s been cut into and parts have been splashed with black and red paint. clearly, he planned a whole concept for you. you appreciate this aspect of his work. 

“oh, you’re ready?” wooyoung says, finally noticing your presence in the room.  you nod, sudden nerves hitting you. “the set fits perfectly” you smile. “i followed the exact measurements you sent me. i would hope it fit” he laughs lightheartedly. 

you walk further into the room, walking over to the section of the room with the backdrop. you examine the props that he prepared for you. they’re quite interesting to look at. they really suit everything you’re already wearing. 

“are you ready to get on with the shoot, y/n?” his voice breaks the silence so suddenly that you jump a little. “yes, i’m ready” you remove your robe and stand in front of the ripped up mattress.

“how do you want me first?” you break his longing gaze on your body. “on your stomach, head in your hands, legs up behind you” he explains. getting into seductive positioning immediately was expected. 

you get into the requested position and try to get comfortable. he places the painted halo on your head, adjusting it to be slightly crooked. he hesitated for a moment before running his thumb over your bottom lip. he smudges your red gloss over your chin, making it look like you’d been kissed a whole bunch. 

“that’s better” he says, his voice low and almost seductive. you smile at him. you hope you look good. good enough to fuck. 

he walks away from you, getting behind his camera. he adjusts it a few times before seeming satisfied with its position. he clicks a few photos before groaning. are you doing something wrong? 

“you don’t look, fallen angel-ish enough” he says, sliding his fingers through his hair. he sighs, contemplating what to do to fix what he finds to be lacking. he stands there, looking at you and thinking. you almost wish you could read his mind. what is he thinking right now? “get up” he says. you roll off the mattress and get up onto your feet. “is something wrong? what’s-” he cuts you off with his lips on yours. his tongue darts out, almost like he’s trying to get a taste of your cherry red gloss. if he could, he would probably be eating your lips. 

“i know what’s missing” you whisper into his lips. you slide your hands down his body, ending up on your knees. you fumble with his belt buckle for a moment before getting undone. you slide it out of the loops in his pants and place it on the floor. you undo the button on his dress pants and slide them along with his underwear down to mid-thigh. his cock is… big, to say the least. the rumors about this part are true. 

he rushes to grab his camera. he turns it on the recording setting. “mind if i film our little encounter?” he asks. you shake your head. “i don’t mind at all” you smile sheepishly at him. 

you take him into your hand, stroking him softly. you look up at him with big doe eyes. your messy lips and big eyes almost made him cum on the spot. he bites his lip as your hand speeds up its motions. he throws his head back, his own hand coming to rest on the back of your head. 

you stick your tongue out, licking the bead of pre-cum that had gathered on his tip. you take his tip into your mouth entirely, swirling your tongue around it. you take your hands of and nudge your head down his length further. he takes this opportunity to fuck your mouth. 

saliva builds up in your mouth with every pass of his cock in your throat. you can’t even take all of it in your mouth, even with the tip passing your uvula. you cough around his length, more saliva spilling out of your mouth. a puddle is gathering on the floor between your knees. 

he holds your head steady as his seed spills into your throat suddenly. you gag, the saltiness overtaking your tastebuds. you remove your mouth from his half-hard length, swallowing his seed. you wipe your mouth, the gloss staining your hand.

wooyoung helps you off your numb knees, holding your hand up to his mouth. he licks the gloss remnants off the back of your hand. he adjusts the recording camera to face the mattress. he then connects his lips to yours, nibbling on your lips. he backs you up towards the battered mattress. he helps you lower yourself onto the mattress. 

he removes your bright red panties and throws them across the room. he settles himself between your legs. he doesn’t intend to enter you just yet. he has a fascination with your breasts. he has since you took your robe off. he wants to touch them.

“arch your back” you do as told and he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. he does it with one hand. impressive. he discards your bra with your panties. wooyoung trails his hands over your hardened nipples. he tweaks one of them, a whine leaving your mouth. he alternates between each of your breasts. poking, prodding, tweaking. 

he leans down to connect his mouth with the plush skin. he leaves dark blue and red marks all over your bare skin. the hairs all over your body stand on edge as he does this. your hands tangle in his black locks, tugging just barely.

when he finally disconnects from your bitten chest, a trail of saliva leaves you connected. the sight makes you clench around nothing.

he readjusts himself between your legs. he palms himself before aligning with your hole. he looks at you with a sweetness in his eyes as he sheathes himself in you. his mouth hangs open in a small ‘o’ shape. you arch your back, the movement causing slight twitches throughout your body. 

he slams into you harshly. your entire body jolts with each movement. your own mouth hangs open, gasping moans coming out of it. fast, panting breaths cause your chest to rise and fall rapidly. 

‘woo- ah, wooyoung please” you wrap your legs around his waist and try and get him as close to you as possible. your back twitches, alternating between being flat and being fully arched. your nails dig into wooyoung’s forearm. 

“cumming, fuck, woo gimme cum” you beg. you pout your lips, licking over your lips. your swollen, fucked out state sends him over the edge. he groans your name, spilling himself intp you. you cum along with him, a loud cry of his name escaping your own mouth. 

he gets up off of you, pulling his underwear and pants back up his legs. he hands you your bra, which you quickly put back on. he stops the recording and picks his camera up off the tripod. he positions the halo back onto your head and snaps a photo of you, all covered in makeup and sweat.

“perfect shot.” 

© lomlhwa 2023