#even if its painfully obvious once you know

[trapper-faggot]

.

[sumarmz]

Someone take my phone off me because I have typed the words I'm in love with you to my crush and then deleted them immediately after but I get closer and closer to actually sending it everyday I'm gonna explode

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ stick with me ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. kang sae-byeok x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ finding out you’re also participating in the games & staying by your side throughout┊1.6k words

contains: mentions of canon-typical violence, open ending, season one spoilers, headcanons mainly, established relationship, sunshine (& kinda naive) x grumpy trope, sae-byeok being protective & the best gf, all of this is a little rambly like word vomit i hope you don’t mind

➤ author's note: squid game felt so empty without her like i adore all of the new women in season two but i missed her so much T-T

╰₊✧ even if she doesn’t show it through her expressions, she’s really upset to find you in this situation— not because she’s mad at you, but because she’s mad at herself. she wonders what kind of awful girlfriend she must be not to have noticed you were struggling through debt like she was. now that she thinks about it, she realizes how painfully obvious it was with your strange behavior when it came to working any freelance job you saw a sign of (you weren’t a pickpocket like her, you would never commit any crime intentionally), and being overall stingy when it came to spending money on yourself. she might unintentionally give you the silent treatment for the first few hours simply because she feels terrible about it all but still doesn’t want you to leave her side despite that.

“are you mad at me because i didn’t tell you?” you whined, sticking by her side like a baby duckling with its mama and gently holding on to her arm because she wasn’t looking at you. “sae-byeok… i just didn’t want you to worry about me when you already had so much on your plate…”

she merely blinked in response, stone-faced like usual, making it impossible to determine what was going through her mind. there was a sinking feeling in her chest, the feeling of failing one of the few people she cared about.

“it’s okay… i get it… i’ll give you some space— just come look for me when you wanna talk, i’m going to talk with some of the other people here…” 

she suddenly grabbed you by the hand and dragged you back before you could move away, wrapping her arm around your waist in a protective manner, “no, i’m not mad at you, i promise. just stick with me, okay? i wouldn’t trust anyone here if i were you.” yes, the majority of people here seemed to be middle-aged people who were simply down on their luck. no, she didn’t believe there weren’t any bad ones who would easily take advantage of your kindness in such a large group of people.

you didn’t seem to quite understand what she meant in the last part, but you still cheerfully pulled her in for an embrace once she confirmed she wasn’t upset as you always did when a miscommunication was cleared up. (you didn’t see it, but she cracked a little smile when she hugged you back.)

╰₊✧ pushes you away the second she spots deok-su and quickly tells you to stay away while he confronts her about a past you didn’t know much about, making a scene in front of everyone and progressively getting more aggressive towards her. of course, once he makes his first swing, you immediately run in and start yelling at him to leave her alone when there were clearly more pressing issues at hand. when gi-hun interrupts because he wants to also confront her about something, you had to restrain yourself from pushing him away because you were a pacifist at heart and had been taught to respect your elders no matter what all your life. 

╰₊✧ later when you two join the little alliance gi-hun formed, she makes them keep an eye on you if she has to part from you for any reason. she knows that bastard would make a beeline for you the second he sees you alone, and that bastard isn’t above playing dirty by hurting you or holding you hostage to get leverage on her. the guys find this to be so goddamn adorable and frequently tease sae-byeok for her obvious soft spot towards her girlfriend because they can tell she’s flustered despite how indifferent she may look. listening to you talk about her reminds them that she’s just another young woman who is trying to care for her loved ones and not the shady thief who works with gangsters they once thought she was. they also defend you guys from anyone being homophobic and swear that they will attend your wedding once they get out alive, noting they likely won’t have money for gifts after all the reward money goes toward paying off debt, but you tell them you would appreciate their presence anyway!

╰₊✧ after the first game when they vote all go home, she wants to make you swear on your life that you don’t ever go back to that dangerous place, but she knows how unrealistic that is. she now knows about the crippling debt you both have and it wouldn’t be long before the loan sharks will hunt you down to force you to do terrible things to pay it back. so on the last day of staying on the korean mainland, she coughs up the money to pay for a nice last date before the two of you willingly enter what you believe to be the closest thing earth has to hell.

╰₊✧ instead of the dangerous, loner vibe she has in the original, when she has you by her side, she has the aura of a mama bear— which is fitting considering you’re like a little cub. she’s very protective of you and gives everyone a look that says “hurt her and i’ll kill you” to shut down any possible schemes before they start and helps you out during all of the games because she doesn’t want to risk anything happening to you. it might feel a bit infantilizing to you, but she’s just so terrified at the concept of you getting injured or worse.

red light, green light - keeps you behind her at all times, verbally reminding you not to panic even though she can sense you freaking out. might even hold your hand and guide you through it all, telling you to close your eyes and ignore the sound of bullets as she pulls you through the finish line. 

sugar honeycombs - tells ali to keep you company while she goes into the bathroom to sneak around the vents (he’s your best friend, by the way, the energy is immaculate) and immediately has you pick the triangle shape when lining up (there isn’t too much she needs to do because it’s one of the easier games for you to do).

special game (night of murder) - wants you to hide under the bunkbeds at first, a good idea until people started tipping them over. it’s difficult to find you with the lights flickering and with deok-su after her, so she has you met up with everyone else at gi-huns bed to protect each other. this battle is also likely the first time you cause bodily harm to someone else in self-defense, which will probably fuck you up especially if they are found dead later on. you’ll have some minor injuries, maybe a fractured rib or some cuts, but you’re still alive and that’s all that matters to sae-byeok.

tug of war - might look annoyed at your optimism to win with all the women and the old man on your team, but trust me, she really appreciates it since she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if you suddenly shut down and because you seem to keep their heads ups with your infectious smile. there’s not much she could do to help you out here as it’s a team effort, but she was half-tempted to bribe you into a team with all men just in case (and also because you looked like you were about to start a fight with sang-woo over him insisting that they needed more men and wanting to kick ji-yeong off the team) yet ultimately decided against it which turned out to be the best decision. 

╰₊✧ the games strengthen your relationship through all of the blood and trauma, sticking together through it all and taking care of each other in the lowest moments. you two often share food and sometimes even sleep in the same bed if the other needs comfort, which would be very cute if your hands weren’t constantly trembling from fear and your skin didn’t have little specks of dried blood all over. sae-byeok is tough and has seen her share of violence, but it was all things she was trying to hide from you and keep you safe from ever since she entered this relationship with you. no matter how much you try to assure her that you can handle it, the sinking feeling of failure never leaves her.

“i’m… i’m really scared…” you sighed, cuddling yourself into her side. the barracks were so quiet you could hear a pin drop, yet there was the almost suffocating looming fear of death haunting the place knowing so many souls died within these walls. it always felt so cold even under the blankets with the powerful air-conditioning, but the warmth radiating off of sae-byeok’s body felt like a sanctuary. 

“i know, i know,” she assured. there was a part of her that wanted to admit that she was scared too as she rubbed circles into your back to ease you to sleep, she didn’t dare to even think of her biggest fear in case it manifested into reality. she wouldn’t know what to do with herself in case it came true, so she chose to bury the thought of it deep down where she prayed it would never show itself again.

she dreams of winning these games with you, using the money to pay off all your debts, helping her mother escape north korea, to go towards her brother’s future, to helping the both of you start new lives where you both were accepted— all things she thinks of to push back all of the dark thoughts and help her sleep in your arms, forever by your side.

request was [ Please could you do something about saebyeok x gf!reader? where they both went to the games 😪😪]

[luminnara]

Protector | Feyd-Rautha x reader

ANON REQUEST: your marriage to Feyd-Rautha is an arranged one, and your only task is to provide an heir. When you finally become pregnant, your new husband suddenly grows obsessed with you—but does he care about you, or is he simply protective of his progeny?

Warnings: pregnancy, labor, and related talk; canon typical violence

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Your marriage was one born out of duty, not love. You couldn’t even call it a marriage of convenience; there was nothing convenient about leaving your homeworld and traveling across an entire galaxy to marry someone you had never even met before. Yes, the Houses had agreed beforehand that you were to marry Feyd-Rautha, the Na-Baron of House Harkonnen, and immediately after the deal had been struck you had seen his face and read his writing, but you hadn’t met him until your wedding day.

You had chastised yourself for thinking it could be like the fairytales of Ancient Earth. You, a princess, your betrothed a handsome prince…in the stories of your childhood, he would have whisked you away, off to a great, shining palace full of magical wonders, and you would have lived happily ever after. Instead, your prince had proved to be disinterested in you, busying himself with his arena and his concubines, ignoring you most of the day. The Harkonnen fortress did not shine, nor did it hold any great wonders, and Giedi Prime felt far from magical, with its harsh black sun and polluted landscape.

After your vows, you had naively thought your wedding night would be full of romance. Perhaps you had been holding onto hope as a means to protect yourself, clinging to optimism to distract yourself from your harsh, sad reality. You had been all too eager to shed your dress and veil in Feyd-Rautha’s living quarters, though had not expected them to be ruined by his blade, and you had not expected him to greedily conquer you as if it were yet another battle in the arena. He had slept next to you that night, but had made it painfully obvious that he had no interest in holding you or even touching you, keeping far to his side of the bed while you remained far to yours. In the morning, you had awoken alone, and had realized that it was the beginning of a long and lonely road on your new planet.

Everyone expected an heir. That was the entire point of this marriage, a legitimate heir for the Harkonnen line. Anyone else could have done it—you were of fine breeding, yes, but any of the other Houses could have offered up a daughter to suffer at Feyd-Rautha’s side. Why it had to be you surely came down to the only things powerful men seemed to care about—money and spice. An allegiance with House Harkonnen protected your family, and your small share of spice harvesters on Arrakis added yet another drop into their vast bucket and one less smuggling operation to worry about. Your parents were happy. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was happy.

And you were miserable.

Two months after your wedding, your monthly cycle continued as normal, and you were forced to shamefully inform the na-Baron. After an annoyed sound and a grimace, he bent you over the nearest table and took you for a second time, leaving you to clean yourself up and cry at your husband’s callousness. You didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to care. You supposed he already had everything he could possibly want; wealth, concubines, a throne to inherit…you brought nothing of real value to him, save for the ability to produce an heir.

Time passed, and it became clear that Feyd-Rautha would have to touch you more than once a month if he was to have any hope of fathering a child. You cursed yourself for your apparent inability to conceive—fertility had been one of your parents’ selling points when negotiating with the Baron, and now, you couldn’t even do the one thing that was expected of you. It brought you to tears every night, the stress of being reduced to this and yet still being unable to perform your task. It was maddening, though you knew you were hardly the first woman to find yourself in such a situation. You did worry, however, that you may have been the weakest.

One evening, as Feyd performed his husbandly duties, he noticed a tear slipping down your cheek and paused. You felt a rough hand cup the side of your face and opened your eyes to find your husband staring at you with dark eyes, his head tilted to suggest he was curious.

“Tears?” He asked in his raspy voice that was still so alien to you.

“My apologies, na-Baron,” you looked away from him.

“You are crying.”

You stifled an annoyed sigh. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do not worry yourself with me, husband.” You said.

“Tell me.”

This was perhaps the longest conversation you had had since marrying him, and part of you didn’t want it to end. You looked at him once more, finding him still watching you with that unwavering, predatory gaze, and another tear rolled down your cheek and onto his hand.

“I am sorry I have not given you a child.” You whispered.

“Then let me put one into you.”

His tone sent a chill down your spine, frightening and exciting you all at once. That night, Feyd-Rautha did not let you sleep, shocking you with his determination. It was simply because the sooner you conceived, the sooner he could return to his own concerns, you reasoned.

Sure enough, your period did not arrive when expected, nor did the next. A medical test confirmed what you already knew—you were pregnant, with Feyd-Rautha’s child. A Harkonnen child, who would grow up to be just as ruthless and savage as its father, you thought.

Upon receiving the positive result, you immediately set off to tell the na-Baron. He should not be made to wait; you wanted him to know that the entire point of your union was finally achieved, and that you could both go back to ignoring each other as usual. As you walked, you had the worrying thought that he may not even keep you alive after the delivery.

“Na-Baron,” you addressed him upon finding him in his armory.

He looked up from the blade he was sharpening. “Wife.”

“I bring news,” you said, folding your hands in front of yourself.

“Then tell me, before I grow bored of waiting.” He returned to the hunting knife, looking away from you once more.

“I am with child.”

You watched as Feyd-Rautha paused, tilting his head to look at you. “My child?”

“Yes. Who else could it possibly belong to?” You asked, exasperated. “The physicians confirmed it just now. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He nodded slowly, looking back at the knife in his hand as he thought. “I see.”

Whatever hopes you had once had for him to suddenly flip his entire personality at the news were quickly dashed by his lack of emotion. You left him there, a hand over your mouth as you tried not to cry, returning to your bed to be alone once more.

-0-

In those earlier days of pregnancy, you were often ill, sprinting from bed to the wash basin nearly every day to be sick. Usually, you were alone; Feyd-Rautha rose early, spending his mornings training and sometimes killing his instructors. Whenever that happened, he would come back, wearing blood and a grin on his face as if he had just won some great contest.

Today, however, he was enjoying a rare occasion of sleeping in. He had begun spending his nights in the center of the bed, crowding you as you attempted to stay away from him. One morning you had even woken up to find his arm throne over you, his body closer than ever. Now, he was sleeping, and you would have been content to let him remain there were you not busy launching yourself over him as you ran to the adjoining wash room.

You missed the way your husband sat up, eyes wide and frenzied as he pulled a dagger from beneath the pillows. When he found the room to be empty and free of danger, he grew confused…until he heard your retching in the next room, and slipped out of bed.

“Wife?” He asked from the doorway.

“What?” You groaned, leaning your cheek on the cool basin.

“…are you alright?”

You sighed. “No, na-Baron, I am not. I mean…I am, I just…”

“You are sick,” he pointed out.

It took every bit of willpower you possessed to swallow down the part of you that desperately wanted to throttle him. “Yes. I am. It’s the pregnancy, the pills from the doctors haven’t been working—“

“This has happened before?” He interrupted.

“Most days, yes,” you felt another wave of nausea coming over you and hunched your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

You never expected to feel a cool hand brushing your hair away from your forehead, nor the feeling of your husband’s chest against your back as he held you.

“Harkonnen women don’t have this problem,” he commented as he held your hair.

It was the least helpful statement he possibly could have made as you vomited once more, and yet it was also quite possibly the best.

“If Harkonnen women have no hair, then what do you pull?” You asked wryly, too ill and too exhausted to hold yourself back.

Feyd-Rautha stared you, unblinking, before a smirk found its way onto his lips. “If you are feeling brave, perhaps I will show you one day.”

You let out a laugh as the nausea ebbed, leaning back against him. “Perhaps one day I will finally stop seeing my lunch so many times, and then you can regale me.”

-0-

Your sickness faded as your pregnancy progressed, thankfully, but Feyd-Rautha’s company did not. By the time you were beginning to truly show, he was refusing to leave you alone, demanding your presence wherever he went. As a result, you sat in on many a sparring session, and he made up his mind to abandon the arena until after the baby was born. His sudden change in attitude was shocking; he had never paid so much attention to anything before, and now, his hands were constantly on you.

“I must keep you safe,” he had said when you first asked about it, and had acted as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

You assumed he was protective due to the baby, the precious new heir to the Harkonnen throne. As its vessel, you were afforded some luxuries, but you fully expected that to change after the birth. For now, though, you were content to receive any and all attention your husband saw fit to pay you.

“That went well,” you said one day after the doctor examined you.

“He should not have touched you like that.” Feyd-Rautha growled.

“What do you mean? He’s a doctor,” you laughed, somewhat nervously.

“I did not like it.” His voice was tense.

“I could tell.” You grumbled, dropping your happy façade. He had nearly chased the doctor out of the room, hunting knife in hand. “Examinations are unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

“No more.”

“But—“

“No more strangers touching you.”

"Doctors help," you protested. "Don't you want your child to be healthy?"

At that, Feyd paused in thought. "...You may have a Harkonnen midwife."

"Because a Harkonnen doctor is too much?" You asked dryly.

He glared at you briefly before looking away towards the door. "Come."

You audibly groaned, one hand on your lower back. "Na-Baron, I am tired. I wish to retire to bed."

He looked back at you, and you caught an expression of distress on his face. "I need to train."

"You train every day."

"Yes." he said it as if it were obvious, but something in his tone suggested more; he made it sound urgent, as if it were something he had to do daily, and missing a single session would be disastrous. "Come."

You heaved a sigh and followed him.

-0-

In the months that followed, your unborn child grew, as did your body. You found yourself becoming large and bloated, your gait slowing as your flexibility waned. New maternity gowns were brought to you, an interesting mix of styles--the flowing, heavy garments of your homeworld meeting the simple, stark aesthetics of Giedi Prime. You found them strange, but at that point, you really didn't care; you would have walked around naked if no one would have stopped you. You spent your days feeling uncomfortable and awkward, with swollen feet and a sore lumbar region. Harkonnen servants brought whatever you needed, and your husband ensured--no, demanded--that all of your food be tasted by someone else while you watched so that there could be no chance of poison passing between your lips.

You wondered if this was simply some aspect of Harkonnen culture that the other Houses weren't aware of or never cared to talk about. Perhaps on a planet as harsh and toxic as Giedi Prime, infertility and infant mortality were more commonplace than the rest of the known universe. Perhaps this possessiveness was common among Harkonnen men, if conception was more difficult for their people.

Whether your theory was correct or not, Feyd-Rautha had certainly become even more attached to you. Not a morning went by when he wasn’t there next to you in bed, and as of late, he had begun waking you up by reminding you exactly how you had ended up like this in the first place. Before your pregnancy, he had acted as though bedding you were a boorish duty he had no choice but to perform; now that you were heavy with child, however, he was more than interested in you physically, constantly touching you with those rough, murderous hands.

You enjoyed the attention, and you enjoyed the way he squeezed and massaged you with surprising gentleness. He didn’t want to break you, you supposed, not right now; after the child arrived, perhaps, but not now. That was a grim thought, and one you had often—what was to come of your after the birth? Would Feyd-Rautha want more children, in case this one died some horrible, brutal, Harkonnen death? Or would you be disposed of, no longer needed after his legacy was secured?

You tried not to dwell on it.

One morning, you roused on your own, without Feyd’s interference. Wondering if he was even still there, you reached out to the side, feeling for him—and you nearly jumped when you felt bare flesh beneath your hand. When you rolled onto your back with considerable effort and turned your head to the side, you saw that your husband was there, still sleeping, and that what you had felt was his exposed chest.

You took the moment to look at him, really look at him. He seemed so peaceful like this, when he wasn’t fighting and killing. You had seen him take lives so quickly that his victims hadn’t even known they had died, and you had wondered how someone could be so dismissive of those around them. The first time you had watched your husband slit a throat, you had nearly vomited, and he had found your revulsion amusing; the most recent, however, you had simply sighed and looked away. You were desensitized, it seemed, just like he was, and now, you slept just as easily after watching him commit horrendous acts of violence as he did now.

Feyd-Rautha was handsome as far as Harkonnens went. His skin was smooth like marble, free of the scars and bruises one might expect to see on a warrior. His face, usually so harsh during the waking hours, was relaxed now, and you realized he was beautiful. You couldn’t keep yourself from brushing your fingers over his lips and feeling how surprisingly soft they were, though in a way, this felt wrong. Feyd-Rautha didn’t strike you as the kind of person who would allow this sort of touch, but when would you have this opportunity again? He always rose first in the morning and slept last at night. You never caught him with his guard down, and you kept your hands to yourself during the day. This was the only time you could marvel at him like this.

As your fingers ghosted across his cheek, he twitched, and you froze. Then, to your horror, an eye cracked open, and you knew that he had been awake all along.

When you moved to pull away, he caught your wrist, then covered your hand in his. He held your gaze for several long, strange moments, and you realized that he hadn’t simply been awake—he had been allowing you to touch his face, to explore him in a way you had never been brave enough to before. It felt like a gift, in a way. In his way.

“I apologize,” you breathed, unable to look away from him.

“Why?” He asked, voice deep and rough with sleep.

“I should not have touched you without permission.”

“I am your husband,” he said. “And you are carrying my child. You do not need permission to touch me.”

Somehow, you knew his words carried a deeper meaning. You knew you were one of, if not the only, one on all of Giedi Prime whom he had said those words to. And for the first time since marrying him, you felt that Feyd-Rautha was truly your husband.

-0-

He was with you when the labor began.

You had been lounging in your shared chambers, enduring the final week of your pregnancy. It felt bittersweet, in a way; you had no way of knowing then if you would ever be experiencing this again, and a part of you desperately wanted to hold onto it while the rest was fed up with feeling massive and uncomfortable every day.

Feyd-Rautha had been agitated all morning. It was as if he had known something was about to happen, and he had spent his time barely containing himself as he paced and sharpened knives, attempting to keep to himself and leave you alone and doing a piss poor job of it. You had been ready to chase him out of the room—or at least attempt to—when you felt your waters go and the panic set in.

That had been three hours ago.

Now, you were in your bed, and a shockingly-diligent Harkonnen na-Baron had yet to leave your side. He had briefly stepped into the corridor to bellow at the nearest passerby and your midwife had arrived very quickly as a result, but after that, he had sat down next to you and refused to go anywhere else.

“Is it agony?” He asked as you stood.

You shot him a glare. “I would not wish this sensation on even you.”

He was taken aback by your tone, impressed, even, by the venom in it.

“A short walk about the room may help,” the midwife suggested. “I will assist—“

“No.” Feyd-Rautha was up and at your side in an instant, taking your elbow. “I will.”

You didn’t care who did what, you just wanted it to be over and done with. The labor was progressing quickly, the midwife assured after another check once you were back in bed, and soon, you were wailing and grunting, your face was sweaty, and the na-Baron was staring in awe. You were focused on the task set before you, one hand on Feyd’s arm as you pushed with all your might, and so you could not see the way your husband was looking at you.

When your son was born and crying at the top of his tiny lungs, Feyd-Rautha cut the umbilical cord with a hunting knife and then he stared. It seemed that the entire time, he was incapable of looking away, his eyes glued to either you or the new Harkonnen heir. You supposed he had been too enthralled to order the midwife out of the room, and the woman was smart enough not to push her luck—she did the necessary examinations as quickly as she could, then handed the baby off to you, busying herself with cleaning what looked like a murder scene and gathering the afterbirth when it came. Then, satisfied with her work and the health of the child, she left, and you were alone with your husband and son.

You cradled the infant, tucking him against your breast and pulling the edge of your robe over him in an attempt to keep him warm. He was born pale, like his father, but with a soft layer of hair that made you wonder how much he might grow to look like you. The midwife had said it before she slipped out, and you had to agree—he was beautiful, and you smiled down at him.

A thud startled you and you turned to see that Feyd-Rautha had fallen to his knees at your bedside, looking at you with a reverence you had never seen in anyone before.

“Feyd?” You asked.

He looked between you and your son, and you saw then that something had changed within him over those many months. Gone was the dismissive, uncaring husband you had wed; this Feyd-Rautha had grown to become a protector, one who would fight until his muscles tore from his bones, who would bleed himself dry for you.

“You are stronger than I knew,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek much the way you had with him all those nights ago.

You felt a lump in your throat. “Come here. Join us.”

He did.

Feyd-Rautha sat with you there, in your bed, the very bed your first child was born in. He watched as your son woke from his peaceful, short nap, and he was privy to the private, intimate moment of his first feeding. He held the baby, staring at him in wonder and what may have been a touch of fear, supporting the both of you as he helped you to the bathing room when you were well enough to stand.

“A son,” he said, watching the baby sleep that night.

“Yes.” You mumbled, exhausted and nearly asleep as well. “Are you pleased, husband?”

“I would have been just as pleased with a daughter.”

That surprised you, and you glanced over your shoulder to see him propped up on an elbow, watching your son as he slept in his simple Harkonnen manger. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said, never once taking his eyes off the child. “I can teach a daughter to fight just as well.” Finally, he looked down at you. “Are you well?”

“As well as can be expected.” You sighed.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes, I am,” you answered him, sleep already dragging you down.

You barely felt his lips as he pressed a kiss to your temple, and you barely heard his voice as he said,

“I am as well.”

-0-

You had expected Feyd-Rautha to grow cold in the weeks following your son’s birth, but he never had. He was attentive, caring for you in a way that suggested he felt some primal urge to drag back great beasts for dinner every night but modern living prohibited that.

Now, you watched as he stood before one of the massive windows within the Harkonnen palace. It was evening on Giedi Prime, but the black sun casted no shadows over the landscape. Feyd-Rautha held your son, whispering to him, and as you watched, you wished the moment could stretch on forever.

“Husband,” you said, approaching him.

“Wife,” he greeted you, turning.

“On your evening walk together, I see.”

He chuckled. “I am showing him everything he will one day rule over.”

“I am surprised you haven’t taken him into battle with you yet,” you said sarcastically.

“I will strap him to my chest so that he might taste the blood of House Atreides,” he said with a grin.

“The youngest Harkonnen warrior the world has ever seen.” You smiled, leaning in to check on what appeared to be a perfectly happy, albeit possibile bloodthirsty, baby.

“What are you doing walking alone?” Feyd-Rautha asked.

“Looking for you.”

“And now that you have found me, what do you intend to do?”

You leaned into your husband, resting your head on his shoulder. “Drop the baby off with the wet nurse, seduce you, take you to bed and then have my way with you.”

“You have my attention.”

“I thought you might be interested in trying for a girl this time…”

In a blink, he had spun you around and was dragging you down the corridor, and once the baby was safely tucked in with a nursemaid watching over him, you did indeed have your way with your husband. And again. And again. And you realized, as you retired to bed that night, that you were truly glad to have been arranged to marry Feyd-Rautha, heir to the Harkonnen throne and father of your children.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 20 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: His punishment is less of a punishment and more something like your greatest fear. Your jealousy gets worse and you're almost sure - What you once had, is lost. It has to be. And you're alone again.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues, loneliness, isolation, jealousy, our girl is dying without him, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Loving him wasn’t hard.

In fact, it got easier with each day. Each day which he drew further away from you, your own longing grew.

It was more than that  - it was a painful ache in your chest, a biblical yearning for something that was far more complicated than your comprehension could manage to pick up on.

He was yours.

And he was slowly slipping through your fingers.

You knew when it had started – it was obvious. The crack in the façade, nothing more than a word you didn’t mean, a phrase you threw at him, before you could stop yourself.

And yet, you didn’t know if that was truly the moment.

His eyes brought the greatest change in the shortest amount of time. The way they stayed dark and distant, no matter the pained glances you shot him – that was when you realized it. Something had changed and it would change further.

Your loneliness came back tenfold. It was worse, far worse, now that you knew what it felt like to be held.

To be loved.

The way he ignored you was unlike the first time he did it. He didn’t directly reject your advances, he didn’t stay silent this time. His voice was there, like a soft cloud enveloping you, but it lost its warmth. Just like his eyes lost their sparkle.

He was angry. You saw the anger, scratching at the surface, waiting for a moment to pierce through the painful distance between you. But so far? It never did.

And oh, how you would have preferred if it did.

The days got longer. And so did his work times. You couldn’t tell if that was because of what had happened between you or if maybe it was simply, truly just his work. But whatever it was, you had that silent fear in the back of your mind, quietly prodding, always expecting the thought to re-surface.

He met someone else.

The voice was as soft, as it was cruel. You couldn’t tell if it was your mother’s or your own. Whoever it was, it was no less painful. The thought of it alone was enough to make you go sick with jealousy. What if it was true? What if his long evenings, his early outings meant exactly that?

What if there was someone?

Someone who was ready to be everything he ever wanted?

Someone who didn’t doubt him.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest and you doubled over on the couch, hiding your face against your knees. A few minutes ago it had been close to two in the morning. He had never before stayed out so long, never. Normally, it seemed to you, he made his way back to you as fast as he could. He was like a man starved, starved for your touch, for your attention. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, you could also tell how he reveled in your kindness. In your gentleness. Sometimes, he’d rest his head on your thigh, eyes closed and his lips parted in a soft sigh, as your fingers gently played with his hair and massaged his scalp. He didn’t allow it often, but when he did, he was vulnerable. It was a quiet understanding between the two of you. He didn’t give up his control entirely, not ever, but you got close. Close to the thin line that lingered between his need to dominate you at all times and his quiet desire to let loose every once in a while.

And now?

Now he was still out. Working.

And you still had no clue what the hell he was actually doing.

All you wanted was a name. A hint. Anything that proved to you that he was yours as much as you were his. You didn’t need a phone, didn’t need a chip to open the door, didn’t need anything besides him. The thought of being with someone else was repulsive to you. It had taken you so long to open up to him and nothing had ever changed it. Not the pain he caused you, not the fact that he played you like a puppet, pulling the strings of your life. In fact, the thought even brought you some comfort. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Someone. Someone on the other side of the world cared about you enough to do all this. The things he did, the things had to endure. And now you were here.

His.

Irrevocable. Inevitable.

You were his.

But a part of you, a quiet part of your mind which feared his rejection more than death itself, was uncertain. Was he yours? Was he still yours?

No, he didn’t outright ignore you. He kept asking about your condition, he still brought you your breakfast. But his glances got rarer. His touches accidental. And his warmth vanished.

He also didn’t outright leave your bed. It was still yours, still his. Sometimes you’d watch him in the middle of the night as he lay deep asleep, curled up on the other side, his arms outstretched, his expression peaceful. But he didn’t reach for you. Every brush of your hand against his, every touch was initiated by you. And at some point, you stopped. You couldn’t.

You felt like a burden. You felt pathetic running after him, practically begging for his attention, for his affection. Sometimes he gave in, other times he rolled over, pretending to be too deep asleep. But you knew the truth. He was angry. Most likely he was hurt. And now you were, too.

It happened out of your control. The way he fell asleep on the sofa more often than not. You found yourself forced to go back to your bedroom on your own, lying awake for what felt like all night, until your exhaustion eventually caught up. You still felt sick. Pasta was disgusting. But the exhaustion was worse.

Many times you’d fall asleep before he even came home, so you couldn’t really tell when that was. Other times, when you got really unlucky, sleep wouldn’t find you, no matter what you did. Just like that night.

You sat trapped on the sofa, unable to grasp the essence of the situation. What had happened? What had gone so incredibly wrong?

Was one damn mistake really enough to shatter everything, to shatter the love he claimed to feel for you?

He only kept you around because of the child. You didn’t want to have such thoughts, but you couldn’t help it. That was exactly what it felt like. There was no love, let alone passion.

He hadn’t touched you ever since. And you had a feeling he wouldn’t. Ever again.

Your need became unbearable.

Of course you weren’t the most sexual person in the world. Your life had been turned and twisted before you met him and the thought of sex had all but disgusted you – the fantasy was fine. But really doing it? Impossible.

Yet, every brush of his fingers, every kiss against your temple, every breath and every shiver he sent down your spine – every time he took you, either like a gentle lover from a soft, romantic tale or like a man starved and stripped of his composure and control – it all fed into your need. Every memory of every encounter you had with him so far kept playing on repeat in your mind, whenever you lay in that bed alone. Often times you caught yourself staring at him. It wasn’t intended, it was out of your own mind. You sat motionless and watched as he rolled up his sleeves, as he changed his shirt. Every time he undid his belt buckle, something broke inside of you.

He caught on it, of course. He wasn’t an idiot. But he didn’t act on it. Not once.

Sometimes, when your loneliness got to the point of being hopeless and painful, when you heard his quiet breaths from the living room -  you tried. You tried to close your eyes and remember the way it felt to be held by him, loved by him. The way his hot breath felt on your skin. His kisses. His ministrations. And even his anger.

All of it caused your body to go rigid, your thoughts to spiral down a dangerous path. Your hand trailed off every time. Casting a slow way down your chest, lingering between your breasts and going further down, until you finally reached the place where the ache was worst. The warmth, the dampness – it was all there. Sometimes you even went further, bringing yourself to the edge of ecstasy. Every time with only him on your mind.

And then you stopped.

Each time. You stopped.

You couldn’t. It felt like betrayal.

Not, because you weren’t allowed to touch yourself. You were pretty sure he didn’t care about that, maybe he’d even enjoy the thought of it. But to you, it felt like betrayal because you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

You didn’t deserve pleasure. That was what you told yourself.

Not, after you hurt him so badly.

And so you kept lingering somewhere in the middle, somewhere stuck between two worlds. The point where your memories met your reality and caused a storm of hopelessness in your mind and body.

You were so lonely. And slowly, it was breaking you.

You tried to keep yourself grounded. You kept thinking back to the life growing inside of you. He kept taking you to the doctor, lightly holding your hand with every ultrasound. But you could barely even focus on the doctor’s words. You used those rare moments to revel in the way he felt, the way it felt to pretend like nothing had changed.

Like he still belonged to you.

The reality was different. Colder. Endless suffering.

And nothing, not even the prospect of whatever was ahead of you, helped.

The soft sound of the door creaking open made you snap out of your thoughts. Your head perked up almost immediately and you caught sight of him, slowly closing the door behind him and tugging on his tie, a weary look in his eyes. He seemed surprised to see you there, his eyes widening for the briefest moment, but he quickly schooled his expression back into the mask of unyielding distance that he had created between you.

That you had created.

“You shouldn’t be up this late.” He immediately averted his gaze and set his briefcase down. After washing his hands and freeing himself from the confinement of his tie and jacket, he returned to the living room. But he still didn’t look at you, not really.

“Why are you still awake?”

“I was waiting for you.” The sound of your own voice nearly made you flinch. It sounded so hollow, so lifeless. Like your constant sorrow was slowly tearing you apart, slowly turning you into the shell of the human you had always meant to be. Maybe your mother had been right all along. Maybe you were simply unlovable.

At the sound of your choked whisper, his head finally did perk up and he looked at you with a small frown. The redness that marked your eyes, the dark circles. The way you hung draped over the couch like every movement hurt. Which it did.

He released a frustrated sigh. “What were you crying about?” After a beat, he added: “Are you trying to upset the baby on purpose?”

His words sent a painful stab through your chest for two reasons. One being, you loved your child. Despite everything. Despite you not knowing if you even truly knew the real meaning of love. You loved it. And you wouldn’t ever want to cause it any harm. And the other reason…that was far more selfish. You couldn’t help but wonder; is that truly the only reason he cares? Does he truly only care about the child now and is that the only reason I’m still here?

“I-“

“You should go to bed. It’s too late for you. Come on.”

“Please, I-“ Your voice cracked and you were sure, you saw the slightest hint of hesitation in his eyes. He didn’t want to be cruel. It was just in his nature. And you, you had provoked this. “I miss you so terribly.”

As quickly as the softness came, as quickly it was gone again and he scoffed. “I’m right here.”

Your lip quivered and you averted your gaze. “That’s not what I mean.”

He let out a long, exhausted sigh and sat down opposite you, his arms crossed defiantly. “What, then? What is there that’s so hard on you, huh? What makes your life so unbearable?”

That made you frown. Where did he get the notion to mock you in this very moment?

“I never said it’s unbearable. I just said, I missed you. And I meant it.”

He rolled his eyes and something inside of you broke again. He was too far gone. Maybe he…Maybe…

“You don’t love me anymore.” Your voice was no more than a horse whisper, and the hitch in your breath gave way to your tears. The quivering of your lip increased and soon, the dam broke. This weren’t hormones. This was your heart breaking.

You didn’t look at him, so you couldn’t have seen how his eyes softened a fraction.

“Stop being an idiot.” He murmured, but his voice was lacking any real malice. “You’re being dramatic.”

“It’s true.” You said quietly, too exhausted to try and act strong any longer. You felt pathetic, you were pathetic and you didn’t care. You were one lonely night away from feeling like you used to. The way you felt whenever your mother locked the door behind you, leaving you small and alone in the darkness. “You haven’t touched me in weeks. You can’t even look at me. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you still love me.”

His lips pressed into a tight line.

God, he was so handsome. All you wanted was to melt into him. You would have rather perished, died by his hand, than to endure another moment without him.

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous. We have one fight and now I don’t love you anymore? Can’t you see how childish that is?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. No. No, you had done enough damage. One stupid accusation had caused all of this, one idiotic question had driven him so far away from you. You couldn’t ask another one.

But you were sure. If you kept it to yourself a second longer, the ground would split up, casting the way to the eternal flames of purgatory and swallow you whole. That was what it felt like. That was how your fear made you feel.

“Did you meet someone else?”

Your voice was barely audible. It was no more than a faint cry, a pained whimper in the night. God, you had never been this afraid before.

What if there was someone?

What if he would never embrace you again?

What if the man who loved you, the man who did all these things for you, was gone? What if not even the evil twin was left?

You would have endured any punishment. The sound of him cutting your hair sounded delightful, all of a sudden. That meant he was reacting. He cared about you. He saw you. He needed you.

And your hair kept falling into your face all the time anyway.

When you looked up to meet his gaze, you didn’t see the quiet fury you had expected. He didn’t seem angry at all, just…

Confused.

His brows furrowed in a frown. “What?”

“If you did”, you choked out somehow, “I’ll accept it. I’ll find a way to live with it or no – well, it might kill me alright, but that’s fine. I’ll find a way. But I need to know. Please, I need to know. Just let me know, okay? Please, don’t lie to me. Please don’t withdraw, please-“

Your quiet despair quickly turned into something else entirely. Something cold and raw, something that was clawing at your sanity and you didn’t care. A dark force took your mind hostage and suddenly you realized, you were dying.

“I’m sorry.” You cried out, unable to lift your gaze. “I’m sorry for saying that, I’m sorry for ever doubting you, I’m so, so sorry for what I said that day. I know you would never harm me nor the child, I know. I don’t know why I did. I don’t know why I-“

Your breaths came quick, too quick to be properly controlled. You just existed. Melted. Burst.

“You think I met someone? You think I’m fucking someone else?” His voice was low and controlled, with a darkness lingering behind. A darkness only you could see.

“Please don’t be angry with me.” You kept muttering out in your despair, clutching at the cushions. You wanted nothing more than to be able to hold him, have him steady you, but you were afraid. Too afraid of his rejection.

If he’d reject you then, you’d die. You’d simply die.

Would at least death be gentle?

“I’m sorry I asked. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please…If you’ll punish me, punish me. I don’t care what you do, I don’t care how much of my hair you cut off. I don’t care how you much you hurt me, okay?! I’m your Hana. I’ll be your Hana for the rest of my life, I’ll be your girl. I’ll be your-“

His grip was sudden, unexpected and firm. And yet you recognized it.

The gentleness.

You inhaled sharply when you felt his hands gently circle your wrists. He turned them in his hands, slowly running his thumbs over the insides.

“Look at me.”

You couldn’t. You were shaking. Too afraid, too…lost.

He used one hand to gently tilt your chin up, giving you no other option than to look at him.

His eyes were serious, so serious, you hadn’t seen him like that in a while. But the cold. The cold was gone.

Not a little, not briefly. Entirely.

Before you knew, he had you wrapped up in his embrace. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him, into his warmth, his scent, his life.

You let out a startled breath, a quiet sob soaking into his shirt.

And then you broke.

You clung to him like a child, your grip tight and unyielding. It was as though you were trying to melt you into one person and he let you. He let you. He didn’t pull away, didn’t push you and he made no cruel remarks.

He simply held you. Tighter and tighter, until it was bordering on painful.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, while the other one ran soothing circles over your back.

“I’m so sorry.” You cried out.

He sighed deeply. “No, darling, no. I’m sorry.”

You froze and pulled your head back, just enough to be able to see his face. “What?”

He nodded, his expression solemn. “I shouldn’t have allowed your words to get to me like that. Deep inside, I knew you didn’t mean it. I should have been there for you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t.”

“Does that mean-“

“There is no one else.” He said calmly. “I spent the time questioning your little detective. I never…I would never…” He sighed again. “There’s only you for me. Get that in your silly, little head.”

Your lip twitched. It was almost a smile. Almost.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ever have thought that.”

He leaned back, keeping a firm grip on your shoulders as a lazy smile stretched over his lips. “I had no idea you could get so jealous. That’s…interesting.”

You shot him a dark look. But before you had the time to make another comment, you felt his lips press against your own. You didn’t even manage to close your eyes at first. No. You needed to make sure he was really there. Was it really him? Was this real?

Eventually your eyes did flutter shut, first one, then the other.

And your lips parted to let him in.

The kiss tasted like tears and relief.

The will to live flooded your veins in a way you had felt not often before. His kiss was deep. Bruising. Not gentle, not patient.

And you didn’t mind. No. You needed him. Needed him desperately.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, already half on your way to straddle his lap.

“Wait, wait, wait.” A dark laugh rumbled in his chest as he kept you firmly in place. You whimpered and looked at him with the most pleading look.

“What?”

He leaned back and regarded you with a long, soft look.

“You’re not Hana.” He murmured suddenly. “That’s not your name. And I don’t want that name to come over your lips again.”

Your brows shot up and you froze. “But I just-“

“I know why you said it.” He said calmly. “I understand it. But it doesn’t change anything. It’s just…not your name.”

A shiver ran down your spine, causing goosebumps to break out on your skin.

Did he really say that?

Did he…acknowledge it?

Was it in the past? Was the pain in the past? The uncertainty?

Or was this just a passing flicker of hope, that he might crush the next time you said something he didn’t agree with?

You had no time think about it, because he already had you on you his lap, his tongue parting your lips with the same fervor you felt.

It didn’t matter anyway.

He loved you three times that night.

___________________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: I know I said I wouldn't upload anything, but I guess this was a way of venting my own frustrations somehow. I'm not sure if it helped - I hope you'll like anyway. Thank you all for your sweet and kind words. You make me feel really seen and less lonely. I love you, guys.🤍

Ps. Sorry for the drama. But I'd totally die for that man, if I was her. Am I insane? Probably. But that doesn't change a thing for me.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ・h.j.

—you help han shave after a long day, leading to kisses and confessions.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・han jisung x reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, fluff, and some more fluff // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・839 // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・you shave his face, mentions of blades, hannie baby is really tired, kissesss, honestly nothing else haha.

𝐚/𝐧・I've been trying to just write and not over-edit everything until it feels like my fingers are going to fall off so I might make this a series where I post random thoughts that I haven't edited until my brain explodes :) sooo I only edited this once (everybody clap!) its probably painfully obvious (this took me 6 hours I literally don't know how)

"I feel gross," Han grumbles, lifting his head from your chest and rubbing his 5-o'clock shadow that very quickly turned into a 12-o'clock shadow when he decided to crawl into bed with you after work instead of completing his usual night routine. "M'just so tired, I don't wanna do nothin'."

You peered down at him, his self-conscious frown pressed against your shirt. His chest trembled every time he breathed—heavy with the type of exhaustion that settled deep into his bones, a feeling he knew all too well. Han carried the world on his shoulders and never asked for anything in return; you wished for nothing more than the power to release him from all this weight, and carry it upon yourself for a change.

"M'gonna do something, okay baby?" You whisper, planting a ginger kiss on his forehead as you untangle him from your arms and lift yourself from the mattress. It feels like hours until you come back, Han fidgeting restlessly when you slide back into his room with a silly smile and an impressive spread.

"Is that a charcuterie board?" Han laughs, your smile like a soothing balm to his fatigued muscles. You splayed out various shaving essentials onto the piece of wood, including: a razor, shaving cream, and a large bowl of water that makes him tilt his head, wondering how you were even able to balance all that on your arm.

You nod, seeming very proud of yourself. "Yes, indeed it is."

His face melts into a grin as you set yourself up, placing the board onto the bedside table and settling yourself atop his thighs. Han's thumbs brush mindless circles on your hips, like they always do. His eyelids flutter shut as you slather cool shaving cream over his jaw, basking in the relaxing essence of it all. He breathes, inhaling for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, allowing your gentle hands to ease every ache and pain from his body.

You glide the razor across his jaw, dipping it into the bowl of water every now and then to shake the hair off. The room is silent, save for the quiet hum of your heartbeat and the soft scrape of the blade, walls thrumming with the silent intimacy you two share. You had thrown open the curtains hours ago, now painting the room in splotches of light and cool air, which licks up his spine making him shiver. As if on cue, something stirs inside him, a feeling that blossoms inside his ribs, a warmth that spreads through his skin, making him want to get up and dance yet lay down and kiss you all at once.

This is far from the first time Jisung has experienced this strange phenomenon. It happened when you snuck into his practice room after hours, with nothing but yourself and a sharp tongue, lecturing the staff about his unrealistic schedule. It happened at the sight of your reassuring smile, front and center at one of his concerts. It happened when you kissed him for the first time, breathing life back into his body when it felt like anxiety had taken it all.

And it happens to him now, as you squint your eyes, lips pursed in concentration; you were so kind and attentive, so absolutely ethereal. The midnight stars hung over your head like a delicate halo, strokes of blue and gold sprinkled over your face, leaving him dizzy and breathless.

It hits him, suddenly, intensely, with a flutter in his chest and a trembling exhale—he feels stronger when he's with you. The revelation almost seals his windpipe shut, lashes collecting dew as he peers up at you admiring all the wonder you hold.

You finish, dipping the razor into the water once more before smoothing your thumb over his freshly shaven jaw, eyes sparkling with constellations only he could find.

"You make me feel stronger—" he breathes, the words slipping out before he can overthink them; part of him doesn't understand what he meant, but the other knew it just felt... right.

For some time, you are unable to respond, simply blinking, mouth slightly agape. The silence kills him, making him squirm awkwardly in his seat, suddenly feeling very embarrassed by his confession. And then you press your palms against his damp cheeks and rid the distance between you two.

It knocks the air out of his lungs all over again, no longer thinking about anything except for how your hair smells like vanilla and your lips taste like spring. You feel like the universe, clutched tightly in his hands, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

[anantaru]

DAY 21 — JEALOUSY

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — alhaitham, thoma, scaramouche, wriothesley

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, jealous & possessive boys, a lil insecure, fear of you leaving them, prone bone, oral (male! receiving), teasing & rough

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

indeed, it was a lot more convenient for alhaitham to pretend like he wasn't jealous right now, painfully so, and the thought of him even getting to this point was somewhat embarrassing to the renowned scribe— especially since you're giving him no reasons to be jealous in the first place.

with shaky fingers, you frame your hands behind his neck as you push him close for a quick kiss, and alhaitham found himself welcoming you with a roughness that manifested into ruthless ruts of his length shattering all sense of rationality in you when you jolt your hips into him, his cock continuously pushing into you possessively before dragging his palm down to grope your tits— his way of handling and pleasing your body was always enough to make you empty headed and crave more friction, even though alhaitham was rougher than usually this time around.

little do you realize that alhaitham couldn't look at your wide, pleading eyes, instead he focused on making you feel good, despite his head being full of constant bothering thoughts and emotions, his own glossed over eyes filled with deep annoyance.

what the man didn't wanted to happen was for you to suddenly believe that his obvious lack of attention and negligence was directed at you, but alas, it gave the impression away, especially when you whine out his name, alhaitham, alhaitham, again and again, but he doesn't even look at you, and it's like a mark burning into your skin when he stops himself at last, his cock still throbbing inside the confines of your walls but alhaitham wasn't moving an inch anymore.

"i-is something wrong?" you mutter, breathing and sniffling through your moans, "did i do something?" your gentle words of compliance  slip past his ears as he suddenly returns your gaze at last, his eyes open wide when the realization hit him. the heat in the air gets drained entirely and the mood falters a little, replaced with subtle touches, low breaths and at last, alhaitham's unwavering focus on you.

"no," he shakes his head immediately, "you did nothing," and here his voice softened, continuing, "you could never, you know that," he looks at you, and in return, you raise your eyebrows at him, utterly irritated, asking him non-verbally to explain himself and his difficult pondering— your cunt still pressed around his girth and it's more pleasurable than painful, yet neither of you was moving an inch, and it doesn't seem like you will for a while.

alas— as you might be utterly aware by now, alhaitham wasn't a man of many words, he preferred the easier route, and his heart was steady for once, thanks to you shaking his thoughts and calming him with nothing but your sensual voice.

and, truthfully, there was a part of him that enjoyed letting his desires out like that, to signalize you his desires despite him drifting off into his thoughts every now and then.

or, that in the end, any other individual fumbling their attempt to get to know you will fail, because as always, alhaitham never has to fear for any lack of loyalty coming from you.

𖧡 — THOMA

the mental picture of not being good enough for you creeped its way over thoma's psyche and body, while this particular thinking was making him much too jealous, too insecure and grumpy, truly, he absolutely loathed the feeling of it, it left a bad taste in his mouth and he hated himself deeply right now.

by now, it felt as though he had memorized every word that his negative emotions spoke to him, and it served as an evident contrast to the lustful temperature littering over your naked bodies as he plays with you, his red tip battering against your sensitive insides with such roughness that your entire body was bouncing back and forth the bed. 

"you're mine," thoma's repeated declarations ooze into you and scratch the deepest depths of your brain, "mine, fuck— and mine," it truly messes with your mind, his thrusts deep and precise making you cry desperately with quick snaps of his hips holding your breath away.

"yes.." you hiccup weakly, "forever... yours," and thoma groans loudly at your sentences, he was so glad that he cannot help himself but smile— even though of course, it didn't entirely melt away the troubling thoughts, they continue to pester him, how not when he was thinking about it all day long.

in spite of that, he wanted to prove himself until you're utterly trapped to the feeling of being overflowed by his throbbing length swelling inside, taking up all the sweet space until you're nothing but full of him— swiftly hiding your dampened face against thoma's neck, stifling your darling cries as he pushes faster, deeper, his painfully hard cock pistoling in and out until you're practically yelling his name in broken spells.

it only takes a couple more thrusts before he spills into you, your clenching walls trying to keep him in as your legs tremble while trapped in a frenzy, fluids mixing and oozing over his erection— and it's sudden, when you run your fingers over his scalp to drag him into you, and it immediately fills him with an emotion akin to joy, "i'm yours, thoma,"

perhaps, that’s all thoma needed to hear— remembering the fact that he was chosen by you, that it was only him who was allowed to touch you, kiss you, taste you.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"are you close? please tell me, please.." a hot breeze ignites the shell of your ear as scaramouche's warm, desperate heaves brush across the deepest parts on your body, each word of his spoken out so sinfully that it somehow showed a different, much more vulnerable side of him. he holds you close to his figure, one hand planted on top of your hips while the other was located on the back of your neck, sinfully pressing your head against the soiled pillows with your mouth gaped open, moaning out the pleasure.

the unforgiving, strong pace of his hips was never losing on strength, the intensity of his blows was maddening, merciless, and you could feel it all, he made sure of, the thick veins prancing around his shaft ripping through your bruised walls, sending a stimulating bolt all the way down to your spine.

"cry for me, come on," he breathes, his voice thick of lust, fuck, he was so worked up, so fucking mad at the fact that his own insecurities were playing cruel tricks on him, and he needed to make you cum right now, so he could release himself right after and bury every last drop of his seed inside of you, until you're overcrowded, your eyes brimming with warm tears due to the sheer impact.

now, kuni's broken inability to talk about his feelings and concerns was difficult to navigate through, but this is where everything changes— because after you whine out his name when his rough fingers slide down between your trembling legs, rolling two digits over your neglected clit as he glides his tongue over his lips before pressing his entire weight on top of you, with his mouth located right against your ear.

"i hate, hate, hate, hate, how they look at you," scaramouche really wanted to be gentle this night, he was really trying his best to not let his emotions run freely, but he just couldn't help himself anymore, so he grinds down harder, feeling everything, fucking you hard and deep and reaching the sweet spots he knew you'd roll your eyes back at.

completely lost in the feeling of you, his dripping erection ridges into your bruised walls as his cock repeatedly stretches you— he needed to feel you, more and more, endlessly craving your insides to tighten around his shaft and milk every last drop of him, until his troubled mind would stop racing into negative directions and perhaps then, he'll finally open up to you and tell you about his deep-rooted insecurities.

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

"hold still for me", wriothesley inhales deeply into his chest, the scent of pheromones and sweat driving him ferocious— he could feel himself twitch underneath your warm palm hungrily smearing his salty pre all over his shaft and it's uncontrolled, stimulating, when you pin a snug kiss on his rosy tip.

he places on hand against the back of your head as you part your mouth to take him, your nostrils filled with his scent that permeated every single part of him and made you push your thighs together in impatience— but it wasn't your turn yet, and you wanted to parade your hot mouth over his throbbing dick a while longer, until wriothesley realizes that you could do this perpetually, his lengthy cock in your mouth so you could give it the attention it deserved, your saliva streaming down and making it shine as the spit dribbles all the way down to his aching balls.

"you know you're the only one for me, right?" he laughs before hissing out in exhilaration when you fondle his balls, adding more strength towards the underside but holding them sensitively, you wouldn't want to hurt him, so you bob your head up and down, swallow his salty pre whilst massaging his balls in your hand, all the while parting your mouth as wide as you could, taking as much into your throat as would fit.

"and there's— fucking hell, no reason to be jealous, baby," you suddenly look up at him through pleading eyes, were you really this obvious with it today? well, granted, you cannot even describe the level of rage you would feel whenever someone would talk about your boyfriend, as if he was single, even though knowing full on well he wasn't— yet the good part? wriothesley might be the last person who'd ever give a damn about those pestering intruders, how you referred to them, and he was barely able to wait until he could bury your mouth to the hilt before spilling sweet nothings into your ears.

"fuck—," he grunts, clenched jaw tensing when he feels it move over your wet tongue tracing over his swollen veins, "fuck, just you wait— just you wait," before he spreads his legs further, so you could fit right in between his strong thighs better, and have enough room while being stuffed full of his cock prodding at the back of your throat.

as was anticipated, wriothesley was slowly turning louder and it's a melodious sound sending a warmth through your body, heightening the temperature on your drenched core slicking up your panties and puncturing it to a sizzling degree— but you're keeping yourself contained, all for him, for his delicious erection  slipping through and expanding, sealing you together as one.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[reignpage]

Basketball captain!Toji

Chicago Bulls: the virtue of training

warning: 18+ mdni, masturbation, teasing, grinding, edging, drawn out foreplay

basketball captain!toji has been really busy the past two weeks and it’s driving you wild. you’ve barely seen him, playoffs are coming up and his team’s busy training, running themselves ragged to prepare for the brutality of the season. you miss your boyfriend — he wakes up early and goes to sleep late, he’s in the gym once classes finish, and when he is taking a break, he doesn’t have the time to hang out with you, opting instead to watch recordings of previous games. 

you’ve only seen glimpses of your stupid boyfriend, and whilst you’re proud of him for being such a dedicated athlete and setting a good example for his team, you also hate him because no toji means no orgasms.

basketball captain!toji trained his girlfriend well. now you can only cum with his fingers, mouth or cock. he’s ruined you for anyone else, even your own fingers, not even your trusty vibrator is doing it for you. without him fucking you to sleep, you twist and turn, kicking your covers off and pulling at your hair cursing your stupid boyfriend. 

it’s a saturday, and you know he’s not training for the evening, a rare break for the team. so you let yourself in the apartment he shares with sukuna, knowing the pink-haired man’s out with gojo and geto. basketball captain!toji’s stare is fixed on the tv, eyes darting across the screen like a hawk, searching for flaws, for missteps to shout at his teammates for. 

the man never rests.

when you say hi, he barely grunts, and that makes you frown. 

basketball captain!toji has been torturing you with his absence and he doesn’t seem to be feeling the same, and despite your love for him, that hurts. so you decide to get him back for it. with a sly grin, you slide up beside him on the sofa, hand rubbing at his back. he’s still tense but he does soften ever so slightly.

it’s innocent at first, but then you’re pressing your tits to his bicep, revelling in the sudden flex of the muscles in his huge arm. basketball captain!toji throws a glance at you but ultimately chooses to ignore your obvious scheme. 

you amp it up, your other hand grips his thigh as you lean your head against his shoulder, pretending to watch the game but that hand is inching up his meaty thigh squeezing here and there until your fingers worm its way under his shorts. he’s so warm and you miss the feeling of his body pressed against yours. you sigh in his ears. 

basketball captain!toji is still ignoring you but he’s aware of every movement you make. he knows he’s been neglecting you and part of him feels bad, but the other part, the dominant part, has been waiting for you to crack. neither of you had cum in two weeks and he knew starting out that when you do admit defeat the sex was gonna be mind-numbing. he’s just been biding his time, clutching the base of his throbbing cock at night —when the need for your body, for your smile and moans overcame him — to stop himself from cumming. 

basketball captain!toji is saving his load for your pussy, so be sure to say thank you when he finally fucks you.

when your finger tips reach his inner thigh you gasp. he’s not wearing boxers. the fucking tease. you whine in his ears, nails digging into his skin, and his lip twitches. you remove your hand from his shorts and palm him over the thin material, he’s already so hard you don’t know why he’s still playing this game. 

your panties are soaked and your thighs are pressed together so painfully you think you might just combust. his big hand encloses your wrist and presses your palm harder against his bulge, rubbing the length with a grunt, and you think he’s going to cave, force your head to his crotch and tell you to suck. 

but instead basketball captain!toji is pushing you away and tells you off for distracting him. he gives you a pointed glare and says one word that makes your jaw drop in shock at his audacity. 

“behave.”

[xxsquiddkiddxx]

Viktor x Reader Headcanons

Pronouns for reader: Gender neutral, AFAB undertones if you squint

Relationship type: Platonic to Romantic

General Idea: Some silly little headcanons I have for Viktor because he's still my silly little princess. Even after the whole glorious evolution thing.

Content Warnings: S1 Viktor, no S2 spoilers, But there as little bit of s2 viktor's mindset, I'm projecting a little bit (a lot) but it's fine.

~☆~

I honestly see Viktor as asexual with light aromantic undertones (kinda like demiromantic, I guess??). He rarely ever developes romantic feelings. Like its a once in a blue moon thing.

Like... he has to know you for YEARS before something in his head is like "Oh... hey they kinda cute?"

However, when he DOES develop feelings that go beyond friendship, Viktor HEAVILY struggles with coming to terms with them. Not in like a "I don't DO feelings" type way, but more in a "Well... no... it could be this" type of way.

Oh, his heart rate speeds up a little bit when you two accidently brush hands? It must just be his nerves.

When he does realize that he has feelings for someone, it's kind of like that scene in Gravity Falls where Dipper is like "It's not like I stay awake at night thinking about Wendy" and it cuts to him laying awake thinking about Wendy XD

If he likes someone romantically, he talks about them a lot. Like as if trying to bring them up as much as he can. Like "Oh (Y/N) mentioned something about that book, said they really liked it" Or "(Y/N) actually said something similar about that topic" If he could yap about you for hours, he probably would.

Even if you're being PAINFULLY obvious about your romantic feelings towards Viktor, he will firmly believe you're just being friendly.

Why he does it is a mix between two things: one is that he's just not awesome with people. And second is that he firmly believes someone like you could never love someone like him back.

One night, Viktor had been constantly working without break, so you practically dragged him to his room by his ear and forced him to get some rest.

Viktor has a strong habit of having his workspace FILLED with old mugs, sometimes days old. He doesn't really mean to, just too wrapped up in Hextech to really notice.

He also struggles with meals too. Just like above, because he literally just gets too wrapped up in his work.

If Viktor actually confesses feelings, it's such an interesting experience. Because he doesn't just flat out say "Hey I have feelings for you". He stumbles over his words and rambles about something random in the middle of it. So you gotta help him out a little bit.

Viktor's love language is quality time. He'll make sure his seat is next to you when it can, he always yaps about what he's uncovered about Hextech.

Speaking of Hextech, if you just sit there and watch him work? He'd about die of happiness on the spot. If you, someone he really loved, took an interest to something he truly loved DOING? Perfect.

He used to get really flustered about physical affection. Like you held his hand one time and he about combusted. He was red in the face for hours. He got better with it overtime, of course. But for the first few months, he was pretty much bright red the whole time.

Dates are rare, neither of you have the time for it. But when you two do have dates of some kind, they're mostly stay at home type things.

You know that thing kids do? Like playing their own separate things together? Parallel play, I think it's called? Yeah you two do that a lot.

Viktor will be reading some papers and you'll be reading a book, your feet in his lap.

Speaking of, Viktor is such a reader omg He doesn't read a lot anymore due to his constant workload, but when he does, he reads a lot of like... old books. The ones with yellowing pages and smell nice? Yeah... those ones!

If you two slept in the same bed, he'd be all like... giggly and nervous the first few times. Just like affection, he'd get used to it. But it's still cute.

When you two are cuddling, run your fingers in his hair. He'll melt right into you regardless of the situation. It's like an instant relax button for him.

Him laying his head on your chest, and you running your fingers through his hair? Something about it just... works. It calms him down a lot and makes him feel at peace.

His favorite place to kiss is the crook of your neck. Especially if you're around his height (he's like... between 5'7 and 5'10. I don't remember exactly).

Or your temples. It's simple, it doesn't attract a lot of attention. And let's be real, it's underrated as hell.

He's not big on PDA, but he'll hold your hand in public. He likes holding onto just one of your fingers, like your pinkie or something like that. It, just like temple kisses, is simple and discreet.

He doesn't often say "I love you". He feels bad about it, but you don't mind. He often says I love you without saying it. Things like holding you while you sleep, kissing your forehead as you two read in each other's arms, weaving your fingers with his while he works.

He gets self-conscious a lot. He thinks you could do a lot better than him and that he's not perfect.

Please kiss this poor boy all over and tell him he's perfect as is 😭😭

~☆~

A/N:The Arcane brainrot has gotten to me... This is how I'm coping with the finale. But I've wanted to write Viktor or Sevika stuff for a HOT minute now. I've been in the Arcane fandom for YEARS (a fanfic writer even longer) but this is my first Arcane fic... wild XD

For more fics: my masterlist!

~Squeed

[nina-ya]

Synopsis: You and Zoro like each other and its painfully obvious to everyone but either of you. The crew has a plan to get you guys to kiss once and for all! Pairing: Zoro x Reader CW: None, fluff • ficmas masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

The Thousand Sunny was decorated top to bottom with twinkling lights and garlands. A towering Christmas tree, almost too big, stood proudly on the main deck, adorned with ornaments handmade by Usopp and Franky. The scent of Sanji’s cooking filled the air, booze was flowing, and conversations went on. 

Nami held court with Robin over cocktails, Brook played various renditions of Christmas carols as per Chopper's request, and even Luffy had managed to keep himself from wrecking the feast for once, though you could thank various crew members physically holding him back for that one. 

You hovered near the edge of the festivities, enjoying your drink while stealing glances at a certain green-haired man. Zoro leaned casually against a wall, half-drunken sake bottle in hand, expression softened by a faint blush from the liquor warming his cheeks. His disheveled green hair framed his sharp features like the holly wreaths that hung lopsided above the doors. You could hardly look away, even though he seemed completely unaware of the attention he was drawing- yours or anyone else's. 

Little did either of you know, the crew was plotting. 

“They’re impossible,” Nami muttered, swirling her drink as you glanced at Zoro for the fourth time in the last minute. Robin smirked, while Usopp joined the girls and leaned in to conspire. 

“We’ve got to make this happen tonight,” he whispered with a curt nod. “It’s Christmas! The mistletoe thing is perfect!”

“So what’s the plan?” Robin asked as she took another sip of her cocktail. 

“I already filled the others in, but the plan,” Usopp started, brandishing a small bundle of mistletoe from his pocket before distributing them to the girls, “is stealth. I have handed everyone one of these. And the moment they’re together, we just hold it above them! Easy!”

It turned out to be far from easy. 

Every attempt to catch you and Zoro under the mistletoe was thwarted. Either Zoro would move unexpectedly, or you’d dodge away to refill your drink. At one point, Brook planted himself in front of both of you, playing a Christmas carol trying to get you two to stay still and sing along, only for Zoro to slip away with a comment about needing more sake. Luffy’s attempt to dangle a mistletoe over your head ended in disaster when he thought the cranberries were real, and nearly choked after eating the styrofoam decoration. 

The crew’s determination only grew with each failed attempt. 

“Timing,” Nami hissed after yet another failure. “We need the perfect timing!” 

“Or a miracle,” Jinbe added with a chuckle.

Off to the side, of course, Zoro was growing suspicious. It wasn’t like him to feel so watched around the crew, but tonight, he couldn’t shake the sense that the others were up to something, and he was determined to figure out just what that is. It didn’t help that every time he looked your way, he caught someone whispering or shuffling toward you two,

He tried to brush it off, attributing the actions to just the crew being odd balls as usual, but he just couldn’t stop from feeling that something was just off. His thoughts were interrupted when he glanced over at you, both of your hearts skipping when you locked eyes. There was something about the way you looked tonight, standing in that doorway, that pushed aside those suspicious thoughts to make room to commit you to memory. Emboldened by the sake and the holiday cheer, he made his way toward you. 

Zoro moved closer, a faint smirk tugging on his lips as he noticed your expression soften in response. The buzz of the party faded, replaced by the sound of his boots thumping against the ground as he approached. He stood across from you in the doorway, leaning back on the edge. 

“You can’t avoid me forever,” he remarked, and you swear you could hear teasing in that tone of his. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” you quipped back, eyes flitting away rapidly as you attempted to keep your composure. 

Zoro, of course, raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by your playing dumb. His eyes traced your features, lingering just a moment or three too long, as if he was savoring the sight of you. A softness glimmered in his gaze-- there was just something about you that made his thoughts spiral until you entirely consumed them. 

The tension grew the longer you two stood there saying nothing. There was an undeniable pull, an unspoken yearning that neither of you dared name but absolutely felt. You found yourself leaning ever so slightly closer, almost involuntarily, and your heart hammered at the thought that maybe he felt it too. 

“I’m not that easy to dodge, you know,” he added, his voice a touch quieter, as if he was carefully crafting words that were meant only for you. 

Before you could respond, the sound of commotion snapped you out of the moment. You turned to see what the source of the disturbance was, and your eyes widened at the sight. 

A comically haphazard tower of crewmates had formed behind you, each precariously balanced on each other's shoulders. At the top, Chopper dangled a mistletoe in his tiny hooves with the help of Robin's ability to steady the human pyramid below. 

Zoro’s expression contorted into complete and utter disbelief and you could help but stifle a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all, though his disbelief morphed into a fondness when he saw the amusement dancing in your eyes. 

“Really?’ you asked, sputtering out a laugh as Zoro rubbed his face with a sigh. 

“Come on, just kiss already!” Nami yelled out as her arms shook from the struggle to support the human pyramid. You glanced back and forth between the mistletoe and Zoro until what they wanted you two to do finally hit. 

You were a deer in headlights for a moment, heat flooding your face. Your eyes darted around the room until they finally landed on Zoro, who was staring at the mistletoe with an expression caught between annoyance and resignation. 

Zoro sighed, his gaze flicking to you. The insistence of the mistletoe and the rising pleading of the crewmates gave you no escape. 

“Are we going to leave them hanging?” Zoro murmured, trying to hide his nervousness under a layer of confidence. 

You hesitated, biting your lip before taking a steadying breath. Closing the gap between you felt like leaping off the edge of the crow’s nest, though as daunting as it was, you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull he had. You leaned in slowly, aiming for a quick peck to satisfy the growing demand of your audience. 

Your lips barely brushed his when Zoro moved, surprising you. His hand came up to cup your face firmly, tilting it as he deepened the kiss. The way his lips moved against yours made your knees weak. The kiss was filled with the weight of all the things you never said to each other. Every confession you practiced in your head, every dream about each other, every second of yearning was all released into this one moment. 

The crew erupted into a chorus of cheers, whistles, and exaggerated whoops. You vaguely registered Luffy's laugh and Sanji’s indignant wails, but everything felt muffled compared to the racing of your heart. Zoro kissed you as if nothing else existed. 

It wasn’t until a loud crash broke through the noise that you both pulled apart. You turned to see the human pyramid in shambles on the floor, a tangle of limbs and complaints spilling out as Chopper flailed atop the pile, still holding the mistletoe. 

You looked back at Zoro, whose flushed face mirrored your own. His fingers lingered at your jawline before retreating, and he straightened up. 

“Well,” he said, “guess they got what they wanted.” 

You laughed, breathless and giddy, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. “Merry Christmas, Zoro.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, gaze softening. “Merry Christmas.”

[system-to-the-madness]

お米 Okome - Inumaki Toge x Reader

Pairing: Inumaki Toge x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff Word Count: 4 532 Warnings: mentions of blood and injury Summary: Inumaki hates that he can’t use his voice to express his feelings towards you

Masterlist

Inumaki Toge doesn’t usually struggle with his fate. If there’s a situation he doesn’t like, he prefers action over lament and puts his mind to work to find a way to change it. Sure, there are situations he can’t change, his cursed speech for example, then he works around those things, finds a way to deal with it somehow. He talks in onigiri ingredients, occasionally uses a notebook or his phone’s note app to communicate more difficult matters. Inumaki Toge doesn’t usually struggle with his fate.

Except now he does. His eyes fall on Yuuta and you, sitting on a bench underneath the Momiji, red leaves sparkling in the autumn sun. Even from the distance where Toge just stepped out of the building across the yard, he can tell how hard you’re laughing, can tell that Yuuta has the biggest grin on his face. He stops, several different thoughts shooting through his head all at once. He loves your laugh. He wants to make you laugh too. He can’t, because of his cursed speech. He envies Yuuta for being able to tell you joke and making you laugh like that. And suddenly he remembers this thing he read in a magazine, that said that girls like boys who can make them laugh, and his stomach sinks.

 Toge already knows you like Yuuta. Its’s obvious. Do you like him because he can make you laugh? Toge stops in his steps where he was about to walk over to join the two of you, his heart suddenly thrumming almost painfully in his chest. Do you like Yuuta? He watches his black-haired friend, watches as he lifts his hand and leans a little closer to you. You stop laughing and lean in too. For a terrifying moment Toge thinks he’s about to witness you, the classmate he may or may not have had the biggest crush on since your first one-on-one training session, kiss his friend. But you don’t. Instead, you listen to something Yuuta says that Toge can’t make out over the distance and burst into another fit of laughter.

Suddenly Toge feels like crying. He could never make you laugh like that. Not by whispering a few words into the narrow space between you, not by letting words roll over his tongue. He can write them down, or pantomime them, or fool around to make you laugh, but he can never whisper them.

He wants to talk to you about normal things too, about the stupid weather, or how pretty you look with that new hoodie, or how clever your answers in class were, or how annoying Gojo and this new homework is. He doesn’t want to have to use his notebook for every slightly more complicated conversation, but he can’t be sure you would understand him if he didn’t. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could use his voice to talk to you. Ever since he really, truly understood his cursed technique, he’s realized just how powerful and yet intimate voice is.

It’s something he’ll never be able to use to communicate his feelings.

Once, not long after Yuuta had joined the school, they, together with Panda, had talked about it. Or rather Yuuta and Panda had talked about his cursed technique, and he had listened. Panda had joked that if he ever wanted someone to kiss him, he could just use his cursed technique, which Yuuta had disagreed on, saying he’d need the other person’s permission to use his technique on them, otherwise it’d be harassment. Panda, who hadn’t thought about that, had quickly agreed, and the two had joked around a bit longer about the possibilities this offered. Toge thought about their words a lot. But there was something inside him, that wholly refused to use his technique for these purposes. It just wouldn’t feel right. Even if the other person agreed, or even asked him to do it, it would be like he’d take their will from them. He’d never do that for his own pleasure.

Toge gets pulled back into the moment by your voice calling for him. He blinks and looks up, finding you and Yuuta had turned to face him, waving him over. As much as he appreciates Yuuta, and as much as he likes you, he doesn’t feel like going over. He doesn’t want to hear the way your voice probably rises in pitch when talking to the special grade sorcerer, doesn’t want to watch Yuuta subtly touch you, doesn’t want to feel like he’s intruding on this moment between you, doesn’t want to burden himself with more heartbreak than he already signed up for.

He swallows thickly before he crosses his arm like an X in front of his chest.

“Okaka,” he denies, continuing his way as if he had planned on moving towards the dojo, instead of towards his friends.

He doesn’t dare to glance over to see your reaction. Are you disappointed? If you were, he’d feel guilty. If you weren’t, he’d be disappointed. If he’s being honest, he can understand that you like Yuuta. The guy is sensitive, and quiet, a good listener, great at giving advice. He’s funny and overall great company. And he’s crazy powerful. Otherwise he wouldn’t be a special grade sorcerer. And he saved your life when Toge himself was of absolutely no help whatsoever, instead almost throwing up from the taste of his own blood.

Toge is nothing in comparison to Yuuta. Sure, he has a strong technique. A strong technique he can use two to three times before his throat is bleeding. And he can be funny, or at least he’s good at making a fool of himself. And he can listen, but he never knows what to answer, worried that whichever advice he gives, it might not actually be helpful, or only make everything worse. So, if you like Yuuta, he gets it. If he were in your place, he’d also prefer Yuuta over himself. Not that you have to choose between the two of them, you could also be interested in neither of them. But the point stands: Yuuta is the better fit for you, and as much as Toge wants you to be happy, it breaks his heart.

-

“What was that,” asks Yuuta, tearing his eyes away from his retreating friend and looking at you instead.

You’re still watching Inumaki leave, his posture somewhat sunken in, hands buried in his pockets. He looks defeated and somehow you want to run after him, ask him what’s wrong. But that would be too pushy, too clingy, wouldn’t it? So instead, you swallow and turn back to Yuuta.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He’s been… weird lately.”

Yuuta nodded. “I know, right? And ever since that last mission…”

That last mission, on which Gojo sent the three of you. That last mission where Inumaki’s voice gave out before he could finish the command, which lead to the curse injuring you. That last mission where Yuuta had been the one who had finished the short fight in just a single blow. You knew better than to assume that Inumaki was jealous of Yuuta’s power. You knew he wasn’t. But still something seemed to have dimmed his formerly good relationship with Yuuta. And with you too. He avoided you, texted you less throughout the day, reduced his already limited vocabulary to the equivalents of agreement and disagreement. You feel like you’ve made a mistake somehow, said or done something that hurt him.

“Do you think he’d talk to me about it,” you wonder, your voice small, nothing left of the breathless laughter from a moment ago.

Yuuta chews on his lip as he considers your question, and you know he’s considering a few things he officially doesn’t even know about. For example that you like Inumaki, that you make an active effort to spend time with him, have conversations with him. You’re the one who understands him the best, understands his language the best, even without the notebook.

What you don’t know, is that Yuuta also knows the other side of the story. He knows that Inumaki uses his notebook with you the most, because he wants you to understand his mind. He knows that Inumaki spends a lot of time considering each and every conversation he’s had with you. Sometimes, it’s late at night, and Yuuta gets a text from Inumaki, telling him about a conversation he’s had with you and if he should have replied something else. It’s not hard to tell that Inumaki is absolutely enamoured with you, and you with him. At least it’s not hard to tell from Yuuta’s perspective. But the way Inumaki and you never seem to understand the affection the other is harbouring, Yuuta begins to think that it’s actually very hard to tell from either of your perspectives. Or you’re both just idiots. Which, honestly, as much as he likes the two of you, is more likely.

“I’m not sure,” Yuuta eventually answers your question. There’s a lot Inumaki is bottling up, a lot he doesn’t even tell Yuuta about, stuff Yuuta can only assume. “But I think he’d probably appreciate it if you asked. Maybe he won’t tell you what’s going on, but I think he’d be glad to know you care.” This is as much as he can do to be honest without giving his friend’s secret away to you. A secret, Yuuta doesn’t even know officially.

“Don’t you think he’d get annoyed? He looked pretty upset just now,” you ask. You’re torn between wanting to show Inumaki that you cared, and scared of getting sent away or even worse, him getting angry at you.

“I mean, if you’re worried about it, you can always give him an hour or two. But I don’t think he’d mind if it were you, checking up on him.”

You don’t question Yuuta’s phrasing. Everyone knows you and Inumaki understand each other on a different level, the speed at which you sometimes communicate in single words thrown back and forth leaving the others out of their wits and completely clueless what the conversation was about.

“I’ll give him five,” you decide, leaning your back against the wooden table and glancing up at the red leaves overhead. “If he gets mad at me, it’s on you.”

Yuuta laughs, knowing you’re not serious. You’re not the kind of person who blames others for the outcome of your actions.

“He’d never get mad at you.”

“He looked pretty mad at me for getting injured on that last mission,” you disagree with Yuuta.

“He wasn’t mad at you. He was mad at himself. He blamed your injury on himself, when he couldn’t stop that curse because his voice gave out.”

You winced at the memory of blood trickling down from the corner of Inumaki’s mouth. He had once told you that he sometimes got sick from the taste, and after the curse was taken care of by Yuuta, it had been easier to focus on Inumaki than your own state. You remembered how awful the bright red blood had looked against his unusually pale skin.

“It wasn’t his fault, and he knows that.”

“Rationally yes,” Yuuta agreed. “But he still blames himself.”

“I’m surprised he talked to you about that,” you admit, closing your eyes in the sun. Behind your eyelids the picture of Inumaki’s bloody and scared face haunts your memory. You open your eyes again. “He never mentioned anything like that to me.”

“He didn’t, but it’s obvious,” Yuuta said.

“Is it?”

He just hummed in agreement.

“What else is obvious?”

“A lot. But that’s not mine to talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you and Inumaki really should talk about some stuff,” Yuuta answers, “Like for example that you like him.” He almost feels bad at the way you freeze up beside him.

“I don’t,” you deny, but there is no force in your voice.

“Just saying,” Yuuta shrugs. “A lot of stuff is obvious. Just not to you and him.”

There’s a moment of silence and you have a feeling Yuuta knows what you’re about to ask, your cheeks burning with shame, but you ask anyway.

“Does he like me too?”

Yuuta turns to you then, his big eyes studying you for a moment intensely. “You don’t have to ask me that. You have to ask him.”

You exhale with a sigh a glance at your wristwatch: “Fine… maybe not today, tho.”

Yuuta chuckles, knowing that that’s going to be your response for every day to come, but he doesn’t call you out for it. He doesn’t know if he’d have the courage to confess his feelings if he were in your position either.

“Welp, his five minutes are up. I’m gonna see if he’s okay,” you declare, and stand up from the bench you had been lounging on. “Just-” you glance down at your classmate. “Just don’t tell him about this conversation, will you?”

Yuuta nods. “I can keep a secret,” he smiles, and you’re satisfied, before you head into the same direction Inumaki ran off to a few minutes prior.

He wasn’t in the dojo where you expected him to be after he had wandered off there, so left a little helpless, you began searching for him. After checking all the usual places, you finally spied him sitting hunched over on a bench next to the koi pond in one of the small, traditional gardens squeezed between the buildings. He looked lost in thought, so you made an effort to not walk too quietly as not to startle him. But when you reached the bench and he still hadn’t turned to look up you, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Was he mad at you?

“Inumaki-san,” you asked quietly, sitting down next to him with a safe distance. He wasn’t wearing his full uniform, instead of the black jacket he had pulled a warm, green vest over the white shirt sleeved shirt with the high collar that hid his curse marks. “Toge?”

At the use of his given name, he finally looked up at you.

Your breath stopped when you saw the sadness in his purple eyes. He quickly blinked it away, but you knew what you had seen, your heart hurting at the way he had seemed so lost. Maybe even worse was that he didn’t want to show his feelings to you, instead masking them up.

“What’s wrong.”

“Okaka.” Nothing. Why?

“Don’t,” you warned him, “Don’t lie to me. Please don’t.”

“Okaka, okaka!” I’m not lying!  He said it with amusement in his voice, but when you failed to smile, his eyes grew serious again. “Okaka.” Nothing’s wrong.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Shake, shake.” Yeah, yeah, I know.

“Do you want to talk to me?”

This time his answer took longer, and it was only quietly spoke when he answered with another “Shake.”

Instead of saying anything else, he began reaching for the notebook he always carried with him, but before his fingertips had even grazed the cover, you caught his hand.

“You can talk to me. I’ll understand you. No notebook needed.”

Toge looked up at you then, his eyes widened. What did you mean, you didn’t need the notebook? Would you really understand him?

“Tuna,” he mumbled, averting his gaze from yours, but from the corner of his eyes he saw you tilt your head. How the hell was he supposed to communicate his feelings with onigiri ingredients? He had words to agree and disagree, words to catch attention and swear, but how was he supposed to tell you his greatest wish was to talk to you without having to use this damn notebook, that he wanted to just use normal language, like everyone else? How was he supposed to tell you how much it hurt to see you liking Yuuta? “Okaka.” It won’t work.

“You can try. And if it doesn’t work, you can still write it down, okay?”

“Shake.” Okay. He reached his hand up, absentmindedly running his fingers over his curse marks peeking out from under his high collar. “Ikura.” I hate them.

He had more mumbled that to himself, but you nodded. “They don’t make life very easy, do they?”

“Shake.” No, they don’t. Toge focused on what he wanted you to know, that he wished he could talk to you without risking cursing you. “Furikake… saamon.”

Okay, this was new. Not just one, but two new ingredients. Rice spice and the other word for salmon. You furrowed your brows. “Can you say that again?”

“Furikake saamon,” Toge repeated, slowly, trying to convey his feelings through just these two words. This was never gonna work.

“You want to talk about your thoughts?”

His eyes widened at your correct interpretation of his words.

“Shake, shake!” Enthusiastically he nodded his head. “Furikake saamon! Nori nai!”

“Nori nai, nori na- you don’t want to use…”

“Nori!” He motioned to his mouth, then to the notebook in his pocket.

“Onigiri ingredients and the notebook? You don’t want to use them?”

“Shake, shake!”

He nodded again, and you could see how excited he was, his eyes shining with disbelief that he had managed to communicate something so out of context to you. Quickly he reached up and pulled the zipper of his collar down, so he could additionally use his mimic to tell you what he was thinking.

“Tarago Furikake.” His lilac eyes were widened expectantly, as he waited for you to decipher his words.

“You want to talk?”

He nodded, then pointed at you. “Tarago furikake,” he repeated, underlining his words with stabbing his finger into your direction.

“You want to talk to me?”

“Shake. Nori nai furikake tamago. Okaka.”

“I know. I know it’s difficult without the notebook,” you sighed. “But we’re managing. Right? It might take me a while to get used to it, but I we’re having a normal conversation right now, right? A bit like talking with someone in a foreign language, but not much different than that.”

Toge smiled, the sight making your breath hitch. You were used to seeing his eyes squeeze together when he smiled, but his mouth usually was covered by his collar. You couldn’t help but think that he was one of the most beautiful people you knew.

“Furikake nai, tamago, maguro, nori” he continued.

“Maguro,” you repeated the second last word, thinking what he might have meant. Quietly you mumbled the phrase he had just uttered, your eyes skipping away from his face and over the koi pond instead, as if the translation were written in the ripples on the water surface. Without talking, having to write everything down, he felt bad… like an outsider. Your eyes widened. Was this really what he had wanted to say? That he felt like an outsider? You looked back at him, seeing the shock on his face as he took in your expression.

“We’re making you feel like an outsider because you can’t talk to us? Toge-“

“Okaka, Okaka!” He quickly waved his hands around, signalling you had misunderstood. “Tamago. Maguro.” He pointed to himself.

“You feel like an outsider?”

“Shake!”

“Because you can’t talk to us?”

“Shake.” This time his voice was quieter, and he averted his gaze.

You exhaled quietly. You knew there was not much you could do to change the way he felt, nothing you weren’t doing already anyway. But to deny his feelings wouldn’t be right, even if you wanted to convince him that he wasn’t an outsider.

“I’m sorry,” you started. “I promise you, to us, you’re an integral part of the group, even if you don’t feel like you always are. Do you… do you have any ideas how we could help you feel more included?”

Toge shook his head. “Okaka,” he denied, and then pointing at himself: “Tamago.” It’s my negative feeling. “Tanaka-zuku mentaiko.” You’re doing everything right. There’s nothing you can do to change that. He hesitated for a moment before he added: “Furikake.”HHe hesitated for a moment before he added.

“Of course, we’ll keep talking to you. And you see that you can talk to us too. If I can learn to understand you, so can the others.”

Toge seriously doubted that, but he didn’t voice his thought, instead focusing back on what you had been talking about. “Tarago furikake mayo. Tuna-mayo furikake, saamon tamago, shiisamu. Takana-zuke tarago tuna-mayo shiisamu.”

You stared at him intensely, making his heart race. There was no way you had understood what he had just said. Was there? He was using words he had never used with you, or anyone at jujutsu high, before. He had sometimes used them when he had been younger, when he had talked to his toys as a little kid, finding ingredients for almost anything he could think of. That he still remembered them was a surprise. But there was no way you’d understand him like this, not even when he tried to embed the sentimental meaning of each word into his voice. Your eyes skipped over his face, as you were thinking hard, and Toge waited for the “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean, please write it down.” But it didn’t come. Instead, you answered him.

“I want you to be able to talk openly too. And I’d love to hear about the bad things you think and feel as much as about the good things. Because they’re part of you. Even when they’re hard, even when they’re painful and difficult to admit. But that’s why we have each other, right? So we’re not alone, so the difficult times aren’t quite as difficult. And you already make me laugh, you already make me feel happy. I’m always the happiest when I’m with you.”

You hadn’t used the word friend. The thought rang in Toge’s mind, and together with your last sentence it accumulated to the next words that spilled over his lips, words he had been certain he’d never actually say out loud. Words, which’s meaning he had thought he’d never communicate to you in any form or way.

“Tarago tuna-mayo furikake okome. Tarago tanaka-zuke okome.”I want to use my voice to tell you that I’m in love with you. I want you to be in love with me too.

The moment the words had left his lips, he wanted to make it all undone. What if you had understood him and didn’t feel the same way? All this time he wished you’d understand him, and now he hoped you hadn’t understood a word of what he had just uttered. The way you stared at him wide eyed was a good sign that you really hadn’t.

“Okome,” you asked, your heart beating in your throat. If you had thought rationally about the way he was listing food, you wouldn’t have had the faintest idea of what he had wanted to express, but somehow his emotions were swinging in his words, like the sounds accumulated to a meaning that wasn’t transported by words.

“Mentaiko,” he began, wanting to lift his hands to wave it off, to tell you that it wasn’t important.

But before he had completed the gesture, you caught his wrist with your dominant hand, raising the other between you, pointing at him.

“Okome,” you asked before pointing to yourself. Your voice was shaky, and you could see the moment Toge realized you had understood him.

His eyes widened and he paled a little, swallowing hard. You could see the fear in his eyes. He was afraid you’d turn him down, you realized, and your heart broke a little.

So, what did you do, when your best friend, who you had liked for far too long without acting on it, accidentally confessed his love to you? Using the word for “rice” nonetheless, the base ingredient for onigiri. Because just like one couldn’t make rice balls without rice, humans couldn’t live without love.

You repeated the gesture towards yourself, pointing at you again. “Okome,” you said, voice just as shaky as before, before pointing at Toge.

His eyes followed your finger, the way it was pointing right at his chest, where his heart was stuttering in excitement, and then doing cartwheels, as the realization began settling in.

“Okome,” he asked in disbelieve.

But you just nodded. “Okome.”

He acted quicker than you could really perceive. Your one hand was still holding onto his wrist, to stop him from gesticulating, his skin warm underneath yours, but with the other he grabbed the hand with which you had pointed between you and him. His fingers wrapped around yours tightly, pulling you towards him, pressing your hand right over his heart, while he leant in at the same time, connecting his lips to yours.

A shiver went through you, at the feeling of his warm body underneath his clothes, at his soft lips pressed to yours, at the strange tingling of cursed energy that radiated from his cursed mark. And then you abandoned all thoughts, and just acted on instinct, moving closer to him, wrapping your hand into the fabric of his vest, and kissing him like you had wanted to kiss him for such a long time already.

A sound of appreciative surprise erupted from Toge’s throat and you could feel him smile as he met your kiss with equal fervour, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of your lips. When you parted them just the smallest fraction, he didn’t hesitate to slip his tongue past them, exploring your mouth until both of you had to pull away for breath. You were breathing heavily, your mind foggy, fingers wrapped into his vest, holding on to something, otherwise it felt like the world would just slip away.

When you opened your eyes, you found he was already looking at you. His beautiful eyes were scanning over your face as if searching for any sign of discomfort, as if he expected you to scold him for kissing you. Honestly, at this point the only scolding he’d get was that he had stopped kissing you.

Unwrapping one of your hands from where you had clung to him, you brushed a strand of his bright hair out of his forehead, the curl soft against your fingertips. With a smile you leant forward, and pressed your lips to his left cheek, then the curse mark there, feeling the cursed energy sizzle through them. You moved on to his right cheek, then his forehead, the tip of his nose, his chin, peppering small kisses all over his face until he was full on laughing and took hold of your face with both of his hands, pulling you only far enough away from him to be able to look into your eyes. His were still crinkled in joy, but his voice was serious and heavy with how much he meant this single word phrase that left his lips without hesitation.

“Okome.” And then he kissed you again, slower this time, just to make sure you understood each little detail of what he felt for you. Inumaki Toge sometimes struggled with his fate, but as long as he had you to understand him, what else could he really ask for?

Tags: @nnasv @ashy-akuma @delzinrowe

[calthinez]

Pink, Sweet smelling dust

Paring: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: While on a witch hunt, you and Dean get some sort of dust thrown on you. After Dean ganks her, you two high-tail it to the bunker thinking the worst. Turns out that witch got her dusts mixed up and hit you guys with an aphrodisiac.

A/N: I heart Dean Winchester. The relationship between the two of you is unspecified and its implied that this is the first time you guys are having sex. I love the sex pollen au :P

Warnings: NSFW(18+) car sex, rough sex, unprotected sex

Your heart was beating so fast. You could figure out if it was from the fear of what was to come from that dust, or if it was from the dust. Looking up at Dean, he seems to be taking this a lot better than you, or he was at least pretending to.

The two of you were fast-paced walking to the Impala, not even caring to clean up the mess that was made. "Your heart beating fast, too?" You asked, voice laced with worry.

"Yeah, but don't worry about it. We'll be fine." Dean said as he fished his car keys out of his pockets. You couldn't tell if he actually believed that, though, or if he was just trying to make you feel better. The hunt was going fine right up until she blew pink, sweet smelling dust into your faces. "What the fuck was that?" Dean had yelled at her. She only gave him a dry laugh in response with a suspenseful "You'll see"

Dean had no hesitation when he shot her in the chest, only checking to make sure she was actually dead before grabbing you and high- tailing to the car.

Once the two of you got in the car Dean wasted no time putting the key in the ignition. You barely had time to buckle your seat belt before he sped off, causing the dirt on the road to fly into the air. Even with Dean going thirty over the speed limit, the car ride is at least half an hour long. You have no idea how your going to survive that, especially with the growing ache between your legs.

The only thing you can think about is your doomed fate. There was no time-limit on how long this would take before it ends the both of you. For all you know it would take only a minute.

Dean notices the anxiousness spread all across your face. He reaches his hand over the comfortingly pats your knee. You realize hes trying to make you feel less scared but you suddenly become hyper-aware of your body and how hot you feel.

Its just his hand on my knee. You think to yourself. There's no reason to get all excited from that.

He leaves his hand on your knee, and all you can think about now is where else he could put his hands. On your thighs? On your chest? In your mouth? Inside of you- You shudder and close your eyes tightly at that thought.

Its not that you haven't thought about Dean like that, you were sure just about everyone who met him has. You just never had it take such a big effect on you especially when you're right next to him.

Dean takes your shudder as a shudder of anxiety, so he trails his hand up ever so slightly and presses his fingers into the skin of your thigh.

The only sound in the car is the humming from the engine, none of Deans usual songs playing. At a time like this, you wish the radio was on to distract you.

You stick out your tongue to wet your dry lips. Deans hand that isn't on your thigh is gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are turning white. His movements are stiff and his eyes are locked on the road, not sparing you a glance. You wonder if he has the same problem as you, if he also has an ache between his legs. You quickly glance down to his pants and see that, yes, he does have the same problem, the large tent in his pants being painfully obvious.

Dean turns his head immediately to you when you let out a little whimper at the sight of his bulge. You avoid eye contact, desperately staring out of the car window.

"You okay?" he asks you, his gruff voice adding to the fire in your belly.

"Yup," you squeak out. What is this man doing to you? You can hardly think straight.

Dean doesn't believe you, not in the slightest. It takes a minute for the gears in his head to turn before he realizes; you feel the same way he does. He originally chocked it up to you being scared, but he knows that is not the case. Dean slides his hand up higher on your thigh, you suck in a quick breath at the feeling.

"You sure?" He asks you with an underlying tone of arousal. You look back to him as you angle your leg to lean towards his body. "Mhm." You mumble out.

The fingers on your upper thigh slowly creep to the junction of your hip and thigh, there Dean rubs small circles into your flesh. His touch is lighting you on fire. Your breathing picks up and the ache between your legs rapidly intensifies.

On the old dirt roads Dean pulls off to the side, stopping close to the trees that line the road. He puts the car in park and turns off the vehicle. There was no cars on the road this late at night, It was just you two.

"You feel it too?" He asks you, just incase this is actually just one big coincidence and he read into it too much.

You nod your head yes and unbuckle your seat belt, Dean does the same. There is a pregnant pause where the both of you just look at each other, unsure of what to do. You cannot take this feeling anymore, though. You almost pounce on Dean. You crash your lips against his as his hand come up to hold your jaw in place. The kiss is messy, unsynchronized with teeth bumping against teeth and tongues sloppily licking at each other's mouth.

Dean uses his free hand to push you back onto the flat seat of the car. It's a good thing that the car has the big bench seats or else this would be a lot more uncomfortable. You're now laying down under Dean, his hand roughly grabbing at your boobs. You moan into the kiss.

Dean roughly pulls down your pants, leaving you in just your panties. All embarrassment you might have had has been overshadowed by your need to be fucked by Dean. You bring your hand down to grip Deans hard cock through his pants, he lets out a hoarse moan at the friction. You make work on unbuttoning his pants and also pulling them down.

Skipping all foreplay it seems you both feel like you'll explode if you aren't fucking as soon as possible, hell, you actually might. You pull down Deans boxers just low enough for you to free his cock. You jerk him a few times before he breaks the kiss. "Can I fuck you?" He says, you're literally jerking him off but he just wants to make sure. Ever the gentleman.

You enthusiastically nod your head up and down, giving him the go-ahead.

He takes his cock in his own hand and uses his other hand to push your panties to the side, allowing him access to your wet pussy. He pushed into you, both of you releasing pent up moans. His cock is big, and you barely have anytime to adjust to his size before he roughly grabs your hips with both of his hands and starts thrusting into you.

Dean leans down to your neck to kiss and suck on your pulse point as you're moaning sweet praises to him, urging him to keep going. The windows start to fog up from both of your heavy breaths being released. Its an erotic scene, thats for sure. The both of you in the front seat fucking like you're depraved.

There's definitely going to be bruises on your hips, you think to yourself. You lock your legs around Deans torso. Deans moans are like music to your ears, going straight to your impending orgasm. Your nails scratch at his back.

"Fuck- I'm close." You moan out into Deans ear.

"Yeah me too, sweetheart." His pace never relents, though, even with his orgasm quickly approaching. If anything it speeds up.

You can feel the coil in your belly tighten like no other time before. Your hands are grasping and clawing at Deans shoulders as your back arches, pushing your chest to his.

The coil in your belly snaps hard. Harder than any time before. You screw your eyes shut and loudly cry out as you cum around Deans cock.

It takes Dean no time to be cumming, as well. He cums inside of you, not that you care you're too fucked out to be thinking about anything other than your orgasm.

You slowly release your legs' hold on Deans waist. The both of you trying to catch your breath from your climax. He slowly pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his pants. Dean sits back up-right on the seat and you follow suit. You fix your panties and pull your pants up.

The both of you just sit in silence for a moment, collecting your thoughts. You notice that you no longer feel anxious or ill, like the sex completly cured you... Oh. You think you figured it out. You open your mouth to say someting to the man next to you but he beats you to it.

"I think it was a sex powder."

[hyunjinsjeans]

He knows (Chan ver.)

Lee Know ver. | Changbin ver. | Hyunjin ver.

Masterlist

Synopsis: Chan is your husband and he knows you want to start a family, but how does he know? And what happens when he tells you he knows? This. This is what happens.

Type: Fluff 🧸, SFW 👍

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy

Word count: 1140

AN: this is my first piece of writing for anything K-pop-related on this site, please be kind! No proofreading, sorry!

You are married to this man. He defines himself by his job. He lived for it though, after working so hard to get to where he is he also enjoys it so much. So you can’t complain. But he does have one more thing he wants on his instagram bio. So far he is producer, singer, rapper and dancer. As of a year ago he is also husband. He knows the time is right. He knows you don’t want to pressure him but whenever you’re together he can sense the unspoken words flying around in the air between the two of you.

Oh yes, Chan knows. He knows how to read people, and you are top of the list of his favorite ones. He will read you like a book. He will understand even the things you don’t say, he will know the second you are ready. He will, however, wait for the right moment. Sometime when he knows he will have the energy, the free time and the emotional availability to do it.

He owes you his full attention if you are doing this together.

And once he seizes the opportunity he is going in for the kill. He proposes it in a serious tone. If it asn’t just the two of you, it would seem you were having a “family meeting”. He is straightforward about it.

“We should have a kid, Y/N. I think it’s time, I’m ready and you’re ready.”

And the words get caught in your throat because what the hell? You were incredibly ready. He knew this, you knew this. Your friends probably knew this.

From the way you cooed at any and every child under 5 whenever you spotted one, how little kids gravitated toward you at the park or at the movies and you always had a kind smile to offer them along with the helping hand finding their parents, to the way you seemed to constantly be handed strangers' babies at the grocery store or at airport lines.

It was no news. You always loved kids and after getting married and moving to your own home, you made it a point to have a guest room and an empty room. Chan had noticed. Why leave a room completely empty? “Just in case we need it someday” you had shrugged when he asked. But it was painfully obvious a few months into the move that you visited that room and stared at the empty walls with bright shiny eyes, with a smile that tugged at the corners of your lips in a way so subtle it was almost imperceptible, you always left the room with a sigh and a bowed head as if ashamed to have the plans you had for that room. Chan had witnessed it enough times to have you figured out. It brought a warmth to his heart, seeing how eager you were about the subject and yet you kept quiet because you didn't want to put any pressure on him, thinking he already had a lot to deal with as the leader of a very successful group.

So of course, the second he said those words you couldn’t help yourself. “Oh I was waiting for you to be ready!”

Chan lets out a joyful laugh, his eyes become tiny as his cheeks grow puffy with the glee in his reaction.

“I know!” He exhales, “but you didn’t say anything and I’m tired of it. When you want something -anything, please just tell me!” His expression softened "I'll always have time to listen to you, and there's nothing you can ask of me that I wouldn't give you."

He is leaning on the kitchen table while you’re sitting opposite him. You push yourself back on your chair and look at him with a side smile on your face, the rice cooker making its beeping sound to signal dinner is ready.

“How am I supposed to drop that one on you?!” You laugh as well, it’s clear you are not really arguing “Am I supposed to say “hey Chan, I want a baby” or what?”

“Well… yeah.” He scratches at his neck, “that’s okay, it’s a good way to start talking about it.”

You huff and look away, but ultimately you are pretty happy he brought it up. He knows this as well; there is no hiding your enthusiasm, you're practically buzzing.

“I do want to have a baby, Chan” you lean forward on the table, your elbows on the hard surface while you hide your smile behind your hands.

Chan sighs, stilling his laughter as he pulls the chair back to take a seat and stare at you. He poses his arms and hands the same as yours, mirroring your actions.

“I want that too”, he mumbles, shy but true.

“Can we have that?” You wonder, your eyes falling on his hands, soft yet strong.

Chan has held you many times, and supported you through different times. You know he can be a perfect constant to hold on to, but you wonder if his career can take this. If he can be there for you for this. Because if you are honest, your biggest fear is that he will put too much pressure on himself if he tries to be a leader and a good partner to a pregnant wife at the same time. You have always known him to be the kind of guy to step up without anyone asking him to. You have learned from him to be the same, to grow stronger for Chan to have someone to support him as well...but this time you have to be realistic, how much can you share the weight of things once you are also worried about the safety of a baby? How much stress can you take from him while getting ready to have a kid.

He drops his hands on the table, you have moved your gaze from his eyes to his hands to the table. You are doubtful, you are pulling away from him as you speak.

“We can.” He assures you, reaching out to pull your hands in his. “We can do this.”

Chan brings you back with his words, his tone is honest and bright. His eyes are full of joy and excitement.

You feel the warmth of his skin on your skin and look up with hope, your trust in him is so complete you nod, you don’t even think about it as you reply. You would die for your husband. You would take all the pain, all the responsibility, and hardships for him. And so would he for you. This is why doubting what you two can accomplish together is ridiculous, you shake your head from all those doubts and squeeze his hands between your own.

“Let’s do this.” You whisper.

--------

Likes, Reblogs and Comments are welcome! Thank you for reading!

[simp4eshal]

mornin sweetheart

spencer x reader

warnings: smut, fluff, reader has a messy room, kinda unrequited love but not really, it’s okay (I wrote this in one sitting when I woke up)

Spencer Reid yawned as he stretched his arms above his head, the soft cotton of his t-shirt caressing his skin. He'd been dreaming of something important, something urgent, but the details were already slipping away from him as he opened his eyes. The unfamiliar room came into focus, the pale blue walls, the messy piles of clothes on the floor, and the faint smell of lavender that seemed to permeate the air. As he sat up, taking in his surroundings, he noticed something that made his heart skip a beat.

There, in the corner of the room, was a figure. A familiar figure, wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy shorts and a lacy bra that left little to the imagination. It was you, it had to be. The way you moved, the way you held yourself…it could only be you. He couldn't help but smile as he watched you go about your business, tidying up the mess with such ease and grace.

With a contented sigh, Spencer patted the bed beside him, picturing you sitting down with him, maybe even leaning against his side as you continued to work. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he felt a stirring in his pants that he hadn't experienced in a few hours. Unable to resist any longer, he reached down and began to adjust himself through his sweatpants, his breath coming faster as he imagined what it would feel like to have you here with him right now.

As you bend down to pick up a stray shoe from the floor, your back arches ever so slightly, revealing the smooth curve of your ass, and Spencer's gaze is drawn to it like a magnet. He watches intently as you straighten up again, your breasts pressing against the thin material of your bra, and feels his heart race in his chest. He wishes he could touch you, feel your skin against his own, taste your lips again. But for now, he'll settle for this - the sight of you, looking so damn sexy and beautiful in your room.

Suddenly, you glance over your shoulder at him, your eyes meeting his in the mirror above the dresser. There's a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and Spencer feels like his entire world has just shifted on its axis. In that moment, he knows that he can't wait any longer. He pushes himself up off the bed, his erection now painfully obvious through his sweatpants, and crosses the room to stand behind you. His hands find their way to your hips, gripping tightly as he leans forward to nuzzle your neck.

"You're so amazing," he whispers, breath hot against your skin. "I just want to take care of you..." He trails kisses down your spine, feeling the soft curves of your ass press against his groin as he does so. His cock twitches in response, and he knows he can't hold back anymore. With one swift movement, he spins you around in his arms, crushing his lips against yours, his hand moving to unbutton his sweatpants as he does so.

You moan into the kiss, your own desire matching his as your fingers dig into his shoulders. You arch your back, offering him access to your bra, and he gratefully accepts, yanking it off and tossing it aside. Your breasts spill free, and Spencer's mouth waters at the sight. He cups one in his hand, rubbing his thumb across the hardened peak, and then takes it into his mouth, sucking greedily. You cry out, your hips bucking against him as your need spirals out of control, wild for him only.

He pulls back, panting, and looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me you want this," he growls, his fingers finding their way between your legs. You nod frantically, and he groans as he feels how wet you already are. Without another word, he pushes you back against the bed, climbing on top of you. You struggle a bit to get rid of your shorts, but once you do, his hands find their way to your core. As he caresses your entrance, and somehow free his cock of its confined space, and thrusts his hips forward, sliding across your lips before burying himself deep inside you. Your moans mingle with his as you both lose control, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that feels so right, so perfect. Almost too much.

Spencer looks down at you, his eyes full of love and lust, as he begins to move faster, harder, deeper. Your nails scrape down his back, leaving little red lines in their wake, and he feels the familiar tightening in his abdomen that means he's close. With a final thrust, he comes, his body shuddering as he releases himself into you. You wrap your legs around his hips, holding him tightly as your own orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure washing through your body.

You look up at him, your chest heaving, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Spencer," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your hearts hammering in your chests. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his cock still buried deep inside you. "I love you," he whispers back, his voice rough with emotion. "I've always loved you." Silence grows between the two of you as you look at him, your eyes lightning with something more, but something you couldn’t say yet. And he understood, a small, calm and almost sad smile taking over his features.

As you both lie there, tangled together in the afterglow of your passion, he knows that there is more. More to the both of you, and that he’ll wait.

[hannieehaee]

Lunaaa, how have you been? Hope you’re well

How do you think svt would act when they’re interested but can’t tell if reader is into them too?

crushing on reader but unsure if it's mutual

content: implied mutual crush, some nervousness and embarrassment, fluff, etc.

wc: 848

a/n: this was such a cute concept thank u for requesting!!

masterlist

seungcheol -

for some reason i feel like he'd be so awkward and sheepish around you. he'd wanna flirt or make his interest known, but he wouldn't know how far he could go before embarrassing himself. it'd be one of the few instances in which he'd be in out of his depth.

jeonghan -

he's chilling. he knows most people he meets either find him attractive or are attracted to him, so he would probably convince himself (rightfully so) that you'd like him back. and even if you didn't like him back, he'd be confident he could get you there with his humor, looks, personality, etc.

joshua -

he'll be incredibly chill about it. i find it hard to believe that he'd ever feel insecure about a crush, even if he wasn't sure if it was mutual or not. seems the type to want to either confess or be very obvious about it in order to gauge your interest. from his experience, the feelings would probably be mutual.

jun -

would be a little on the shier side. the only way he'd really interact with you would be through forced proximity such as mutual friends or a shared job. he'd latch onto this to try and gauge your feelings and become closer to you, wanting to at least form a friendship and then maybe try and let it grow into more. his crush would grow bigger the closer you got.

soonyoung -

he's shy but at the same time he's so painfully obvious. would not outwardly confess but he'd be sosososososo obvious that it'd be impossible for anyone to not know about his crush. he'd be the only one unaware of how obvious he was. in his mind, he'd be playing the long game, attempting to get to know you so it'd be easier to make you fall for him back.

wonwoo -

i cant imagine a world where wonwoo's crush isnt 100% reciprocated and he's not completely aware of that fact. butttt at the same time i think he might be a little unaware of his surroundings at times, so there's a chance his own crush on you would blind him from your mutual crush on him. he would not flirt, but would rather just be a little extra nice to you, shyly trying to get closer than he would with any other friends.

jihoon -

having a crush on its own would make him into such a blushy, fumbly mess. he'd stammer his way through every sentence with you, blushing and avoiding eye contact at all costs. would never even consider the crush being mutual, so he'd destine himself to shy interactions with you until you make the first move.

seokmin -

for once in his life, he'd be so shy and sheepish, having to reel in his super friendly and bubbly personality due to fear that if he got too close he'd be too obvious about his crush. would still be super sweet to you, but any outsider would be able to tell he treats you differently from everybody else.

mingyu -

even if he wasn't sure whether it was mutual or not, he'd still flirt with you as much as he could, but would still try and be sorta lowkey about it. would make his crush everyone's business (except for you), not letting his uncertainty deter him from continuing to stay as close to you as possible.

minghao -

i think he's probably very good at reading people, so he'd be able to easily gauge whether you liked him back or not. he'd want to be friends first, both to get to know you better and to make sure you were interested too. would not be too obvious about it and maybeeeee even a little bit shy, earning some teasing from your mutual friends.

seungkwan -

he'd be soooooooo shy god. so shy and awkward about it all, not knowing how to go about finding out if the feelings were mutual. he'd probably be more likely to ask a mutual friend to talk him up to you so he could check to see if it was safe for him to ask you out without humiliating himself. he'd probably be very annoying about it to his friends lmao always talking about you and being overall lovesick.

vernon -

as chill as he'd want to be about it, he'd still be kind of overly self-aware while around you. his eyes would always find you whenever he said a joke, trying to check for any signs that you favored him in a crush type of way. he'd try to hang with you alone, but would usually chicken out, not wanting to be too obvious without knowing whether or not you were also interested.

chan -

i dont think he could ever hide a crush, specially not with all his friends making it super obvious. he'd ask his friends for help to see if you liked him back, which would prove to be a mistake bc it'd just make it all the more obvious. would not be embarrassed by his feelings but by being too obvious and lame about it lmao.

[hqbaby]

fourteen — kiss me again

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 2k content. profanity, sexual content [elevator sex, fingering, oral f receiving]

Once the adrenaline of the last few minutes has dissipated, you and Sukuna find yourselves painfully awkward as you stand in the elevator, placing a respectful distance between the two of you.

“How—”

“Do—”

You both stop talking, looking at each other with nervous smiles. You laugh to try and ease the tension, but somehow it only makes it worse.

He nods at you, wringing his hands. “You go first.”

You look away. “Nothing,” you say. “I was just gonna ask how—”

The lights go out around you and the elevator comes to a sudden halt. You stumble at the unexpected stop, but Sukuna grabs you before you fall.

“Did it just—”

“—stop? Yeah,” you say, squinting your eyes as they adjust to the darkness. “The power’s been fluctuating recently and the elevator’s been doing this.”

You become acutely aware of the fact that you’re pressed flush against your best friend’s chest, so you right yourself and pull back, his reluctant arm loosening its grip on you.

“How long does it usually last?” he asks.

“Not more than ten minutes,” you tell him. The ache of your legs makes itself known and you sit on the floor. There’s no use standing while you wait. “Sorry about this.”

You can see him shake his head, your eyes adjusting to the dark. “It’s fine,” he says, carefully sitting down next to you. He’s still pointedly far away from you. Not too much to be strange, but enough to not touch you, even by accident. “I guess we wait.”

You hum. “I guess.”

The two of you sit on the floor of the tiny box, occasionally shifting to stretch your legs, to look at your hands. The tension is terribly apparent, but neither of you has the nerve to address it. Every time you look over at Sukuna, he looks away, and when he tries to look at you, you turn to your side.

This little song and dance goes on for a while until—

“Do you just wanna talk about the kiss?” he asks bluntly.

You let out a relieved groan. “Yes please,” you say, scooching closer to him. “So? What did you think?”

He snorts, peering at you as you come close enough to brush your shoulders against his. “Of the kiss?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Am I a good kisser? I’ve never really asked anyone that before because it’s pathetic, but I’ve been dying to know.”

“I dunno,” he says teasingly. “Pretty sure I carried the kiss.”

You punch his shoulder. “You did not.”

“Felt that way to me.”

“You’re such a loser,” you tell him. You grab his shoulder and shake him around a little. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

He plucks your hand off and interlaces it with his. A romantic gesture with anyone else, but a regular occurrence between the two of you. “You know, you’re a really annoying person.”

“Fuck you. You love me.”

His grip on your hand goes slack for a second as he looks away. You know that it’s dark right now and there’s really not much to see, but you spy the catch in his breath. You see the way he grows skittish as you tighten your hold on his hand. And there’s another thing, even more miniscule but incredibly obvious to you.

“Are you blushing?” you say loudly.

He pulls his hand away from yours and snarls at you. “What the fuck?”

“You are!” you say with a gasp. You point a finger at him, all childish and giddy. “You’re fucking—”

You’re cut off by his lips on yours. It’s harsher than last time. A stark contrast to the gentle nervousness of your last kiss. This time, it’s rough and wet and messy. And you hate to say it, but it’s incredibly hot.

You kiss him back, your hands going to his hair as he finds your hips, pulling you closer to him. You’re so caught up in the feverish haze of it all that it takes you a while to hear the voice screaming in the back of your head. What are you doing?

You press your hands to his chest and push him away. You blink at him in the dark, short breaths leaving your lips as you find him staring at you with an intensity you don’t think you’ve ever seen before.

“Sukuna,” you say quietly. “Are you sure about this?”

His eyes flick over to your lips then back to your own eyes, staring at him all wide and uncertain. “I—I don’t—sorry,” he says. “Do you not—Do you not want to?”

There’s something so sweet about the way he stumbles over his words, his hold on your hips going from confidently sexy to horrifyingly self aware. He leans back with parted lips. It’s like he’s waiting for your rejection, waiting for you to turn him down.

You lift a hand to cup his cheek and you chuckle. “I want to,” you whisper, leaning closer until your eyelashes flutter against his. “I just… this is a lot for me.”

“I know, I know,” he reassures you. His hand rubs your hips in small soothing circles as he looks at you sheepishly. “This is a lot for me too.”

You close your eyes and brush your lips against his. “Kiss me again?”

You hear him laugh. “Anything for you, tiger.”

The kiss is tender this time. Closer to your first kiss, but with the assurance that this is something you both want. You melt against him, hands roaming through his hair, across his shoulders, over the plane of his chest. He touches you softly, letting his fingers linger on the small of your back, up your spine, behind your neck.

Kissing Sukuna is like breathing, catching a second wind again and again with every touch of your lips to his.

You move against him, rocking your hips gently, little waves touching the shore. His tongue slips out and brushes against the bottom of your lip, a silent request that you indulge. Your hands are on his neck now, playing the short strand of hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him ever so close to you.

His touch trails down your back and lands on your thighs, fingers lifting the fabric of your skirt to touch your burning skin. His hands rub your skin, every now and then getting close to the space between your thighs, but never touching, never giving you what you really want. He’s so careful, so sensitive to doing the right thing and as much as you want to applaud him for it, you can feel the heat growing in your core. The frustration beginning to inch through your bones,

You detach your mouth from his and ever so quietly, you ask, “‘Kuna, can you—can you touch me?”

His hands graze over the fabric of your panties. “Here?” he asks softly, slipping a finger over the wet fabric.

A moan escapes your lips at the sudden contact and you hold on tight to him. “Yes,” you say. “Please.”

“You don’t need to beg, tiger,” he tells you. He pushes the fabric to the side and runs his finger along the stripe of your cunt. “All you gotta do is ask.”

He moves his mouth back to kiss you as he slips a finger inside of you, swallowing your whimpers. “Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he says, more to himself than to you. He presses his thumb on your clit, forcing a squeal out of you as he drags his finger in and out, in and out. “Do you like that, tiger?”

You press your face into the crook of his neck, panting as he works between your legs. “More, ‘Kuna.”

“Greedy girl,” he murmurs as he kisses your head. “I’ll give you more. I’ll give you everything.”

He pulls his hand off of you and you jerk back in confusion at the sudden loss of contact. “What—”

He guides you backwards and makes you sit on your knees. You place your hands on the floor behind you to prop you up, raising a brow in confusion. Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, he ducks his head between your thighs, pushing your skirt up as he laps at your pussy.

“Oh shit,” you gasp, throwing your head back as his tongue sucks at your clit. Your hands fly to his hair and you pull, moaning when he slots a finger back inside you.

He pushes the digit deeper and curls it against a spot that sends you reeling. “Right there?” he asks, still intent on eating you out.

You keen with every move, with every brush of his finger against your walls, every kiss of his tongue on your throbbing clit. It’s too much, it’s not enough. The only thing on your mind is Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna.

“Are you close, tiger?” he asks. He slides a second finger into you and you moan, your hold on his hair only growing tighter. “You gonna come for me?”

You’re so caught up in your pleasure that the only thing you can do is nod and whimper. “‘Kuna, I’m so close,” you tell him. “Gonna come for you.”

“That’s my girl,” he says. He pulls his mouth off of you and replaces it with his thumb, rolling your clit beneath his finger as the other two continue to curl inside of you. He pressed his lips to the span of skin on your stomach where your shirt rides up. “Give me a kiss, tiger. Please.”

You open your eyes and groan at the sight of his cheek pressed to your stomach, looking at you with pleading eyes as his finger moves sinfully between your legs. You sit up, wincing as the movement sends his fingers diving deeper into you, and you grab his collar, pulling him closer to kiss you.

The kiss is more heated now, what with you getting closer and closer to your high, but it’s just as sweet. Just as gentle as earlier.

He moves his unoccupied hand to your neck, holding you close to him. “Come for me, tiger,” he sighs against your lips. “Want my girl to come for me.”

His words send you over the edge, a wanton moan tumbling out of your lips as you grab his collar, the only thing grounding you as your high descends on you, all intense and hot and positively electric.

Sukuna kisses you through your high, moving his hand from your neck to your back, fingers drawing up and down your spine.

When your orgasm fades, you pull your lips away from his and find him smiling at you. Not his usual teasing smirk, not his smug little grin, a smile of pure unadulterated joy.

“You good?” he asks, drawing his hands away from between your legs and letting them settle on your waist.

You giggle and nod. “I’m good.”

The two of you end up laughing, out of relief mostly but also a happiness that neither of you thought was possible. You settle on Sukuna’s lap, still facing him as he holds you to his chest, soaking in every bit of your presence, your touch, your everything.

“Thank fuck for broken elevators,” he muses aloud.

You chuckle. “Yeah,” you say, tilting your head to look at him. “Thanks for always showing up when I need you.”

He pecks your cheek, still smiling. “Anytime, tiger.”

You snuggle into him, wrapping your legs around his waist as you place your head on his shoulder. You’re about to close your eyes when you feel something poking at your ass—the something being his painfully hard dick.

“Is that…?” you ask, unmoving.

“Yup,” he says, voice a little strained.

“Do you want me to—”

“Nope.” Sukuna clears his throat. “Let’s, uh, wait to get to your apartment. Just ignore it.”

“It’s kinda hard to ignore.”

“Ignore it, tiger,” he says again, holding you tight so you don’t make any sudden moves. “It can—yeah, it can wait.”

You smile into his shoulder. “Whatever you say, ‘Kuna. Whatever you say.”

notes. this is for all the sukuna girlies 😩