#he craves validation and no one does it like you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rinnstars · 4 months ago

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special!

how he changes because of love

bllk boys (nagi, rin, otoya) x reader: fluff, drabbles, not proofread + likes and reblogs r appreciated <3

nagi seishiro

to everyone else, nagi is lazy to his very core — seen by his constant napping during class or being piggy backed by his own teammates (reo) and doing the bare minimum all whilst beating everyone else.

yet with you, he’s the opposite of lazy with you.

nagi wakes up early for you to meet you on time at your bus stop that he almost every morning runs to in a hurry with his uniform wrinkled and in a mess that he lets you spoil him by tidying it for him, letting his eyes wander at your focused ones and relaxing at your soft and warm touch in contrast to his cold ones. and nagi is the opposite of his usual self when he goes the extra mile — only writing notes for you during class when you’re beside him too busy falling asleep as his hands moves faster as though he’s playing his games on the paper to capture all the information on the board as the teacher wipes it off, only buying food for you and bringing right to your table in contrast to his usual self who has his food placed in front of him who already finds merely chewing a pain, only carrying your bag as you two walk home, not minding the extra weight on his back when its for you. after all, if it’s for you, he thinks its worth it: anything’s worth to see your beaming face that practically shines with the way the sun shines on your face as though youre an angel, anything’s worth to be able to be by your side who to him is practically an angel in disguise with the way you make his heart flutter and his face warm that to him is no longer a hassle especially when your eyes are simply drawn to him as though a magnetic, anything’s worth to see your eyes brighten when he does those little things that seems so uncharacteristic to everyone else. but you know better he thinks, he’s only like this with you.

and its even more obvious when nagi truly brings out his ‘genius’ for you — when he does his 200% and pulls out all his best moves that he had half-assed all these times when he sees you watching him play football against other school, his motivation linked to your attention and eyes fixated on the way he moves as though playing only for you, when he’s so focused in finishing a game for you or even playing a game to carry you, with his eyes practically firing up with hypothetical fire burning up, so focused his veins on his hands pops a little and his lips slightly bleeding from how hard he was biting it, only to immediately turn puppy like when he turns to you to look for your validation once he’s all done, when he sits up all straight when he patiently and gently tutors you for homework as though he’s ever bothered to do any of those and not simply wing it. nagi doesn’t really think its cool, its just a part of him, barely acknowledging people’s ossips about his talents: bringing his volleyball team to the nationals (little do you know he simply joined because you and him liked a certain volleyball anime and watched it together), acing all the exams despite practically being asleep in most of the classes (he’s really not asleep, simply looking at you as he lies his head on his table and looking at you through drooping eyelids and secretly admiring you as you focus in class). and perhaps he does all things for one reason: nagi loves you and wants you to give the attention and validation he craves: eating up your each and every praise that sounds so right with your sugary sweet voice that gets his adreadline pumping as though ready to finish another game, eating up your reactions from your wide eyes and ‘o’ shaped lips to him flexing his talents in contrast to his sloth like being majority of the time, and most importantly eating up the way you look at him as though he’s your entire world.

itoshi rin

to everyone else, rin is completely and entirely consumed and fixated on football: evident from how his every action revolves around his passion from his football books that he reads solely to analyse techniques underneath his desk during class, from how he skips his school club to go to his out-of-school football training team a hour away from school in a bus that comes every thirty minutes, and.. from the way he’s strangely always around you..?

not to say other’s analysis seems to be wrong: rin’s nothing less than passionate about football, but he thinks he can be his raw self with you and let you mold him to whatever you want if it means to see your smile: only evident in yours and his stash of polaroids photos.

polaroids featuring rin’s face plastered with colourful stickers of stars, hearts, emojis and disney princesses as he uncharacteristically smiles as though he was a little kid with a bright beam and crescent shaped eyes with flash on that he’s sure his classmate or his teammates wont even recognise in contrast to his usual fixed grimace on his face, one that makes him smile especially when he remembers your giggles as you paste it on his face: remembering your soft and gentle touch that touches both his skin and his heart too and the way you stick your tongue too when youre all focused that makes his heart flutter and stomach filled with butterflies. polaroids that featured both you and him secretly in his wallet that he can’t help but be magnetised to and look at before every of his game for motivation and even kiss it for good luck where you and him have stupid and silly hair clips clipped onto both your hairs that you both clipped onto each other on his bed, room that was always silent now lively and filled with yours and his chatter and giggles as you both acted like little kids again that makes him wish he didn’t have to ever grow and stay right here with you forever, beaming at the camera as you press your lips on his cheeks that practically leaves a mark on his heart. polaroid that was secretly downloaded by him to become his wallpaper of you and him on his bed sitting down together, for the first time taking the lead and using your polaroid that he’s paid for and taking a picture of you and him from the stupid 0.5 angle you always do of him and laugh at, capturing a silly picture of you and him to brighten his day and for him to not go homesick when he leaves you for a few months, yours and his forehead hilariously big that he can’t help but let out a ugly laugh, letting his hand wrap around your frame as you two laugh at the picture.

and rin’s sure if they look a little closer, perhaps they would see the truth without those polaroids — with the way his lips moves upwards whenever youre with him and his eyes soften when it drifts to you in contrast to his usual frown fixated on his pretty face, with the way his voice seemingly becomes softer as he replies to you in contrast to how he practically ignores his classmates and teammates words, letting them drift out of his ears immediately, with the way he goes above and beyond all whilst still trying to put up the nonchalant facade they all fell for: the way his face flushes pink whenever you linger a little too close even though you’ve been together for oh so long yet you still make him want to lie down in his bed and yell against his pillow and kick his feet like a teenage girl in love, the way his usual glare melt so obviously when his eyes lands on you whether your hands or your eyes like youre his very entire world, and even the way he seems like a puppy if you look hard enough whenever he walks home with you, hands tugging at yours, head on your shoulder, holding yours and his bag even despite hours of football practice.

otoya eita

in contrast to his very very infamous reputation: a player, a jerk, simply “dating” to have fun — its a cycle that otoya has lived by through his school life, reputation stained by upset exes that throw paint against his at first pristine reputation: liking someone’s cute face or personality, going with them for one or two dates before losing interest and becoming bored and restart the cycle.

and yet, there’s something about you that’s simply so magnetic that he thinks you, along with football, could be the constant in his life for once in his life.

a routine: its not something otoya is used to, but with you, he feels oh so at ease. he finds routine as something exciting now: walking with you to the convenience store after school for lunch and getting a new snack each and every time with you whilst enjoying your voice that he thinks he can never grow tired off with each and every of your movement in your pitch and octave as you ramble away that makes him still smile unconsciously, waiting for you outside of class as he plays a game of finding you with your class position always switching, smiling unconsciously when he sees you whether you are focused in class, playing games underneath your table or even doodling in your notebook, going out with you during the weekends and practically remaking memories in the different places he liked and eventually grew tired of — from the old arcade that he used to go as a kid that now is practically abandoned that you and him hung out, drinking soda and laughing before running away together, from the secret corner in the school library he used to attempt to focus and do homework and doing yours and his assignment together where he finds out that rather than getting distracted by the new influx of people, he’s getting distracted by how you look so adorable as you write another essay with the way you bite your lips as you focus of course only until you flick his forehead for not focusing, to even a small shop by his neighbourhood and enjoying his favourite childhood snack that he thinks taste even sweeter now that youre next to him that he eventually grew tired of after eating ten of it once when he was five. you make all things he’s grown tired of new again: his old earphones he left in the corner of his desk at the excitement from obtaining a new headphone he now use in order to share music with you on the bus as your head lies on his shoulder as the music blasts in both your ears that makes his heart flush at the thought of you and him sharing the same song (he thinks he’s becoming oh so sappy in contrast to who he used to be), his rainbow beads that he collected as a kid before abandoning it in his house storeroom he made bracelets with you in his bedroom as you two made matching bracelets that he has never removed from his wrist since you put it right on him, and even his childhood favourite fried rice that he ate too much of and despite learning how to cook it never cooked it again until you came by his house for the first time and tried it with him wanting to oh so desperately to impress you, tasting even more addicting with you sharing his now new favourite food with him.

he thinks he’s changed now that he’s with you: a constant in his ever changing orbit. and just like football, otoya dedicates a part of his life to you, falling into a habit with you: in the same way he practices football every afternoon everyday in a fixed time frame in order to keep constant. otoya reaches yours and his bus stop at 7am every single day, he kisses your cheeks the second he sees you reach the bus stop, boarding the bus and sitting at the very same duo seat or standing at a specific seat every single time, sitting at one specific table or a specific spot of the field area every lunch period. and he feels the same feeling too whenever he sees you: his heart fluttering as his face flushes oh so subtly, his stomach filled with butterflies that makes him all giddy and nervous and excited, how he feels as though he’s straight up in a shoujo romance manga as the protagonist as you practically sweep him off his own feet just with your presence alone. and when you walk home with him, every single day, he prays to whatever god out there to thank them for letting him be the one to hold your hand — for giving him one more constant in his life that thankfully looks at him back and not curse him instead from his previous love failures.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi rin fluff #nagi seishiro x reader #seishiro nagi x reader #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro fluff #rin itoshi fluff #otoya eita x reader #eita otoya x reader #otoya x reader #otoya eita fluff #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff

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esote-rika · 3 months ago

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lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well.

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since.

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything.

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals.

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing.

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic.

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together.

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.”

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions, you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak.

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him.

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost.

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him.

That’s inaccurate.

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification.

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body.

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat.

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices.

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body.

Soft. So damn soft.

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat.

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience.

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh.

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock.

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his.

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face.

There’s nowhere else he would rather be.

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed.

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock.

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs.

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust.

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him.

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!”

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.”

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds x you #waldorf!reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #sub spencer reid #virgin!spencer reid #erika after midnight

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inkievoid · 9 months ago

Text

[Any Leon but DI came to mind when writing these]

Leon but he does that little motion when you're out together. Sticking his hand out, making grabby motions so you don't get separated in the crowd.

Leon but he always lifts your chin to give you forehead kisses cause he loves seeing that little lovesick look in your eyes when he pulls away.

Leon but he always orders extra of whatever you like on his plate while you're out to eat. Giving it to you so he can make your meal just a little bit better.

Leon but when he wraps his arms around you to give your neck kisses, he always rubs his chin on your skin because he knows you like the feeling of his stubble on your neck.

Leon but he says he can never tie his tie correctly. But he always leaves the top buttons undone on his shirts because he knows you like to see his defined collarbone and chest.

Leon but he's always bringing you back gifts from assignments. Big or small he always loves watching you gush over the random things he says he thought you'd like.

Leon but he always matches outfits with you. He knows it's cheesy but he likes looking like you belong together. He's been alone for so long that he craves the validation of looking like you belong to only him.

Leon but he never forgets important dates. Even if he's away or knows he'll have to reschedule something, he always makes sure you get your favorite flowers delivered to your door along with some of your favorite treats.

Leon but he's always lost in thought. Daydreaming of the day he'll get you to say yes to him. The perfect ring he gets you, big or small. He knows you'll love it because it's a sign of his love regardless.

Leon but he's down on one knee. Somewhere beautiful and private so he knows you aren't under any pressure to say yes. The last thing he wants is to drive you away. Here he is, ring in hand, asking those four words he's been thinking about since the day he met you.

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #🌿 ivy writes #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy

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fear-is-truth · 2 months ago

Text

THE BOWERS GANG . . . as boyfriends .ᐟ

content warning: mentions of domestic abuse. patrick is a warning himself. toxic relationship

HENRY BOWERS

henry craves validation like a starving dog. if you so much as compliment him, he’ll spend the rest of the day thinking about it.

needs to feel like a man around you. if you ever imply he’s less than masculine, he takes it personally. even something small, like opening a jar for yourself instead of asking him, will put him in a pissy mood.

if you get mad at him for something he did (e.g. for bullying little kids) and give him the cold shoulder? he doesn’t know how to handle it, so he either storms off or does something stupid & reckless just to get your attention back.

carves your initials into the kissing bridge the summer you started dating.

when he gets jealous (which is often), it’s not just petty annoyance—it’s irrational rage. at you, at the perceived “threat”. he won’t hesitate to start a fight over it.

deep down, he doesn’t believe he’s good enough for you. although he covers it up with arrogance and acts like you’re his property, there’s a constant fear in the back of his mind that someday you’ll realise you can do so much better.

when his old man beats the shit outta him, henry doesn’t go home. sometimes he crashes at victor’s, but more often than not, he ends up at your window, one hand gripping the frame, the other cradling his ribs. he never says what happened; just a curt “lemme in.”

you’ve gotten good at patching him up. cleaning the cuts, pressing ice to the bruises. he always hisses when you touch him, tells you to quit babying him.

some nights, henry climbs through your window reeking of cheap beer, barely making it inside without cracking his skull open. flops onto your bed fully clothed, mumbles nonsense into your pillow. you pull his boots off, and let him sleep it off. in the morning, he’s already gone.

wants to be the kind of guy you deserve, but he doesn’t know how.

genuinely believes you’re the only good thing in his life. (you are)

VICTOR CRISS

as the second in command of the bowers gang and your boyfriend, he’s fiercely loyal to both henry and you. this sometimes puts him in uncomfortable positions.

won’t actively go looking for trouble, but if someone messes with you, he’ll put them in their place.

his stoicism can be unsettling. he’ll stand by and watch seemingly unbothered when henry does insane shit, and he’ll never intervene unless he really has to.

respects that you don’t like the bullying. obviously, victor doesn’t stop when he’s with the rest of the gang, but when you’re around, he keeps it to a minimum.

has a dry, deadpan sense of humour, but when he’s with the guys, he can get a bit mean-spirited. might tease you more than usual, especially if henry or patrick egg him on, but he always apologises and tries to make it up to you afterward.

probably the only one in the group who would genuinely apologise if he upset you.

actively listens when you talk. not much of a talker himself, but he remembers practically every tidbit you’ve ever told him.

asked you (somewhat awkwardly & tentatively) to help him re-bleach his hair, rubbing the back of his neck like he was already regrets asking. but when your fingers started combing through his hair, spreading the bleach, he say still, eyes closed, maybe enjoying it a little too much.

he’ll shrug off his jacket and hand it over when you’re shivering. if you try to say no, he just gives you a look like don’t be dumb.

tries to teach you how to skateboard.

actually pretty good at school. he’s not a nerd but he’s smart and pays attention. if you ever get stuck on something, he’ll help.

patrick often points out how much time vic spends with you, calls him pussy whipped whenever he ditches the rest of the gang to walk you home or helps you with homework. victor gives little to no reaction, just rolls his eyes and ignores them, but the tips of his ears go pink.

PATRICK HOCKSTETTER

patrick doesn’t believe in love—hell, on some level, he doesn’t even believe you’re real. no one is, not really. the world is just a dull, empty playground for him to fuck around in. but whatever he feels when he looks at you, it’s close enough.

he’s interested in you, the way a biologist would be interested in a new insect specimen.

has zero sense of boundaries. he touches you whenever he wants—grabs your ass when you walk by, hooks a finger through your bra strap before letting it snap back, slides his hand up your thigh under the table, all while looking you dead in the eye.

loves playing with his zippo, always flicking it open and shut, rolling the flame between his fingers. sometimes, he’ll hold it just inches from your face, watching how your pupils dilate, how you go perfectly still. “relax,” he drawls, letting the fire dance inches from your cheek. “i’d never ruin that pretty face. unless i felt like it.”

will flirt with (harass) other girls in front of you just to see your reaction, and if you retaliate, he finds it hilarious.

there’s no jealousy with him. if another guy looks at you, pat doesn’t get mad, he just gets amused. sidles up behind you, slides a hand up your side, grins at the poor bastard watching. “she’s cute, huh?” he says, almost conversational. “wanna see what she looks like on her knees?”

loves it when you grab his hair during sex.

pain doesn’t register for him. he plays super rough—yanks your hair hard like he’s trying to rip off your scalp, grabs your wrists so tight that it bruises. he doesn’t understand why it hurts you, but he likes it. very much.

he’s a total freak. into bdsm, knifeplay, wax play, blood play and more.

his nicknames for you are slut and bitch.

patrick’s version of a date is breaking into abandoned breaking into abandoned buildings, to spray-paint obscene words on the sides of houses, to steal shit from supermarkets.

says the creepiest, most out-of-pocket shit when he’s feeling “introspective”.

disappears for hours without telling you where he’s going, then shows up like nothing happened.

the only reason he even sticks around is because you amuse him. if that ever changed, he’d drop you like nothing.

BELCH HUGGINS

reg is definitely the least cruel one in the group. by no means a saint but compared to the others, he’s a damn angel.

loooves his car. when you hang out while he’s fixing up his ride, he’ll put you to work—“hand me that wrench. no, not that one. jesus, do you even know what a wrench looks like?”

would drives you anywhere, no questions asked except for “where to?”

loyal to a fault. once he’s decided you’re his girl, you’re stuck with him. through thick and thin, through blood and bruises, he’s got your back, no matter what.

big on physical affection.

actually plans nice dates.

remembers and celebrates your anniversary and valentine’s day.

is the kind of guy who, after a couple months of being close, is already picturing forever with you.

takes you to meet his family early on—his mom, his siblings. just randomly brings you over like “c’mon, ma’s makin’ meatloaf.” it’s just that simple.

his mom simply adores you. dotes on you, tells you embarrassing stories about reginald as a kid.

#it 2017 #bowers gang #henry bowers #victor criss #patrick hockstetter #belch huggins #henry bowers x reader #victor criss x reader #patrick hocksetter x reader #belch huggins x reader #bowers gang x reader #bowers gang headcanons

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candy69gurl · 1 year ago

Note

Noncon w gojo but reader is resisting the whole time so he ends up tying them down. And he’s not even trying to be nice about it, he’s degrading her and choking her all that stuff 🤭

BREAKPOINT

PAIRING yandere Gojo Satoru x f!reader

WARNING non/con, unhealthy relationship (red flag Gojo), use of vulgar words, manipulation, humiliation, fingering on kitchen counter, bondage (hands only), blowjob, cumming in mouth, raw sex, breeding kink, orgasm denial, forcing to say stuffs, clit rubbing, pussy eating, nipple play, choking, degradation, lactation kink, multiple orgasms, oversensitivity, creampie, manhandling, so much yanderee

NOTE twitter link here.. sorry for posting late

Dating Gojo, the incredibly good-looking and powerful guy, isn't as simple as you'd think. He frequently reminds you of your perceived inferiority compared to him, and that he could find someone better.

Every time you're with him, he's makes you feel insecure. He keeps putting you down for your mistakes and flaws, always reminding you of all the things he can do that you can only dream about. He often says mean things about how you look and what you can do, making you feel like you're not good enough for him. Even though he's rude and acts like he doesn't care, Gojo still wants you around, making sure you know he's more important in your life.

He's always flirting with other people, which makes it clear he doesn't respect you. When he's with his friends, he completely ignores you, leaving you feeling invisible and unimportant. Your feelings never seem to be a priority for him. It's clear he's more focused on other things, yet he still wants you to stay. You're beginning to realize this relationship isn't healthy for you, but you still crave his approval and validation, hoping he'll see you as worthy.

Your best friend advises, 'You should leave him, girl.'"

"But I love him," you counter.

"But does he love you?"

You stay quiet. Gojo's words may say one thing, but his actions speak differently. Your best friend is right; you realize you need to do something about it. So you send him a text asking to meet at your place, you need to talk to him over this.

Satoru arrives at your house, his long legs carrying him up to the door with an air of confidence. Knowing he's the strongest sorcerer in the world makes him feel untouchable. As he knocks on the door, a thrill of excitement courses through him, anticipating what awaits inside. The familiar scent of your perfume greets him as you open the door, and he smirks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

He takes off his dark blue jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a nearby chair. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, taking in your appearance before he speaks in a low voice, ... "Been missing my dick, huh?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you snap, glaring at him. He smirks, stepping closer to you, his body heat enveloping you as he looms over you.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Satoru repeats, a hint of amusement in his voice. He raises an eyebrow, letting the question hang between them, challenging you to elaborate. When he doesn't get an immediate response, he crosses his arms, sitting on your couch and regarding you with a cocky grin.

"So, why the fuck did you call me if you're gonna give me this attitude? " he asks, feigning ignorance. His eyes gleam mischievously, daring you to confront him about your issues head-on.

You stand there, silent for a moment, searching for the words to express your frustration. Before you can say anything, Satoru turns away, sauntering towards your kitchen like he owns the place. He opens the fridge, pulling out a beer and cracking it open with a satisfying sound. Your heart pounds in your chest, your frustration mounting as he drinks it so casually.

As he turns back to you, he raises an eyebrow, the unopened beer in his hand. "You gonna talk, or are you just gonna stand there?" he asks.

"This...this relationship isn't working," you finally manage to utter, your voice wavering slightly. Satoru freezes mid-drink, the beer halfway to his lips. The surprise in his eyes fades quickly, replaced with a cold, hard stare. He sets the beer down on the counter, taking a step towards you.

"Break up?" He repeats, the word hanging in the air like a challenge. "You think you can just toss me aside like an old toy?" He growls, his eyes burning with anger. The force of his personality filled the room, making it hard to breathe. Satoru leans in, his face inches from yours, his blue eyes burning with a fire that matched his temper.

"You better think twice about this, princess," He snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "Once you break things off with me, you'll be all alone. No one is going to love you."

"I'm sure," you say firmly, standing your ground despite the fear in your chest. Satoru's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flickering in their depths. He steps back, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

"Did you find someone better than me?" He asks, his voice dripping with disbelief and accusation. The air around you thickens, the tension palpable. Satoru crosses his arms, leaning against the counter, his expression a mix of amusement and contempt. "Tell me... Is his dick bigger than mine?"

You shake your head, your voice trembling as you reply, "No, I just..." Satoru cuts you off, gripping your wrist harshly and pulling you towards the counter. You gasp in surprise, trying to pull away, but his grip is too strong.

He pushes you down on the counter, his dick pressing against your ass, the intensity of the contact leaving you breathless. His eyes bore into yours, the challenge in them undeniable. "Does he fuck you better than me?" he growls, his lips grazing your ear.

You struggle against him, your heart racing as you beg him to let you go. "Please, Satoru...let me go!" You plead, your voice shaking with fear and desperation. Satoru chuckles, his grip tightening around your wrist.

"Not until you realise, what a huge mistake you did by making me mad." he growls, grinding his erection against your ass harder. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to defy him.

Satoru pulls down your pants, revealing your ass. He smacks it hard, the sting of his hand making you yelp in shock. Before you can react, he slides his long, cold fingers inside you, groaning softly at the wetness he finds. His eyes gleam with satisfaction as he mocks you, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, well, looks like someone wants more of my cock even after saying she wants a break." He chuckles, twisting his fingers inside you roughly. His eyes are full of malicious.

You can't help but moan in spite of yourself, your body betraying your intentions. Your mind screams at you to fight back, but your body responds to his touch, betraying your resolve. Satoru's grin widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Looks like you can't resist me, princess," he taunts, thrusting his fingers deeper inside you. "Maybe you don't want a break, maybe you just want me to praise you while I go down on you."

Satoru grips your head tighter against the counter, his fingers thrusting into you relentlessly. Your body buckles under the onslaught, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. You moan loudly, unable to hold back your pleasure.

Within moments, you're screaming his name, your body convulsing as you cum hard. Satoru watches you with a satisfied smirk, his thumb rubbing your clit in time with his fingers. He continues to thrust into you, milking every last drop of your pleasure.

Satoru carries you mercilessly to your bedroom, leaving you with no time to rest. He quickly sets you down on the bed and his hands rich to unzip his pants. Desperate to get away, you try to crawl away, but he grabs your ankle and uses his weight to pin you down. With a flick of his wrist, he removes his blindfold, revealing his piercing blue eyes. Your heart races, fear and desire warring within you as he takes his blindfold and ties your hands above your head, effectively immobilizing you.

"Please, stop!" you plead, tears streaming down your face as you beg him to release you. "I'm sorry, I take back everything I said! I don't want this!" Your words hang in the air, heavy with regret and fear.

Satoru leans down, his gaze hard and unwavering. "The only sorry I accept is by your mouth showing me how sorry it is by sucking me off." He growls, his finger tracing the shape of your lips. Your heart races and your body trembles at the command.

He pulls himself in front of your head, and you hesitate, your heart racing in your chest. The room spins around you, and the scent of him overwhelms you. You understand you have no choice but to obey, swallow your pride, and submit.

Taking a deep breath, you wrap your lips around his shaft and reluctantly start sucking him off. Satoru growls in approval, his hand entwined in your hair, guiding you. Your mind screams at you to resist, but your body obeys him, your mouth moving rhythmically, pleasing him.

As you continue to suck him off, Satoru's grip in your hair tightens. His movements become more erratic, his breaths growing heavier. Your heart races, a mixture of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're determined to make this quick, hoping he'll release you soon.

You rest your head, waiting for him to untie you. But instead, he parts your legs, grinning wickedly as he rubs his cock against your clit. You flinch, but he doesn't hesitate. With a swift movement, he pushes into you, stretching you painfully. A cry escapes your lips, tears streaming down your face. You beg him, your voice trembling with fear and desperation. "Please, be gentle..."

Gojo grins, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Well, well, I thought you'd be fucking other guys, but you're still tight as hell." He says, thrusting harder into you. "Feels so fucking good." His voice is thick with lust, his movements becoming more aggressive.

Your body tenses, your mind spinning in the turmoil of conflicting emotions. You're angry, yet you can't deny the pleasure he brings you. His words fill you with shame, your skin burning with embarrassment. Despite your struggles, his grip on you is ironclad. You moan, a mixture of pain and pleasure washing over you as he continues to thrust into you. Your mind screams for him to stop, but your body betrays you, responding to his touch.

Every thrust is a reminder of your weakness, your inability to resist him. You can't help but wonder who else he's been with, who else has shared in this intimacy. A wave of jealousy washes over you, your heart beating wildly.

"Fuck, you're gushing," he growls, his hips thrusting into you with increasing intensity. He reaches down, pushing your top along with bra up, his fingers roughly pinching your nipple, twisting it. Your eyes widen, a gasp escaping your lips. "Yet you say you don't want it?" He grunts, his voice thick with dominance.

You can't help but moan, your body betraying your anger. His words echo in your mind, reminding you of your place. Despite your struggling, your body responds to his touch, your clit throbbing with each thrust.

Gojo mocks you, his voice dripping with venom. "What's that, are you enjoying it, slut?" He asks, his movements becoming more frenzied. "You think you can find someone better than me? Someone who fucks you better than me?"

His words cut deep, your heart racing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. You can't help but moan, your body betraying your anger. He laughs, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"Look at you, begging for my cock, you worthless slut." Gojo sneers, his movements growing rougher. "I'm the strongest sorcerer in the world, and you think you can insult me? Ha!" He laughs, his eyes shining with malicious delight. "Listen up", he slows down his thrust making sure you listen to him instead of moaning, "Don't you dare bring that break up again, I own you, I own this pussy, I own your fucking heart, I know it, you love my baby and I love you too.. So let's.. let's be like before, me and you, together.. We can have a baby too, our own family .. so beautiful.", with that he starts pumping into you again hard and fast, desperate to fill you with his fertile seed.

Your cheeks burn with shame, your toes curling as his thrusts grow stronger and rougher, and just before you hit your orgasm, he pulls out, "That's what you get for disobeying me."

You gasp, your pussy gripping on to him as he pulls out. "That's what you get for disobeying me," he growls, his eyes blazing with anger. You feel a wave of disappointment wash over you, your orgasm cut short.

He stands over you, his chest heaving, his gaze locked on your face. You shrink under his gaze not daring to question him why he stopped, you know everything is your fault. NO, he made you believe everything is your fault, but you cannot help but accept it, you cannot help but accept his cock inside you.

Gojo leans down, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "Look at you, clenching around nothing, desperate for my cock." He mocks, his hands gripping your thighs. "Worthless slut."

He licks your clit, a cruel smirk on his face. You whimper, your body trembling with need. His tongue teases your clit, your moans growing louder. He chuckles, enjoying your helplessness.

Gojo's hand glides over your body, his touch electric. "Do you want me to finish you off?" His voice is a combination of cruelty and seduction.

Your heart races, your body trembling with need. You nod, unable to speak, your mind filled with a mix of shame and lust. He grins, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Gojo raises an eyebrow, his gaze locked on your face. "Beg for it, slut." He demands, his voice thick with lust.

You hesitate, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. He slaps your pussy, making you jolt. "Beg," he repeats, his voice cold.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, "please, make me cum..." You whisper, your voice barely audible.

Gojo's eyes squint, "Hmm, how about you say you love me 69 times then I will think of it."

Your eyes widen, your heart racing with a mix of anger and desperation. You know you have to do it. "I love you," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I love you... I love you... I love Satoru..." Your voice grows stronger as you continue, each 'I love you' more genuine than the last.

Gojo watches you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He leans down, his tongue darting out to trace the curve of your clit. "Keep going.." He orders, his voice rough with desire

You nod, your face heating up with desire and shame. "I love you... I love you... I love Satoru..." You repeat, your voice growing stronger with each word.

Gojo's tongue traces your clit, his movements slow and deliberate. You moan, your body trembling with need. He smiles, his eyes locked on your face. "Good girl," he growls, his voice thick with lust.

He slips two fingers inside you, his movements slow and deliberate. "Keep going..."

Your heart races, your body trembling, "I love you... I love you... I love Satoru..." You repeat, your voice growing stronger with each word.

Gojo's fingers slide inside you, his movements slow and deliberate. You moan, your body shaking with need. He smiles, his eyes locked on your face. "Yes.. yes" He encourages, his voice rough with desire.

You continue to profess your love, your body trembling with a mix of desire and shame.

After what feels like an eternity, Gojo slides his fingers out, replacing them with his tongue. You whimper, your body trembling with anticipation.

He licks your clit, his tongue tracing the curve of your most sensitive spot. "Good girl," he praises you, his voice thick with lust. "Sixty-nine times, I counted each 'I love you.'" He chuckles, his eyes locked on your face. "That's a lot of love for me, baby," he teases, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Now, let's make you cum."

His tongue traces the your walls, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes locked on your face for your reaction. "You taste so good, so wet and needy."

Your abdomen shaking as you move your hips against his face, you cry out, your body trembling with pleasure as you cum. You collapse there, your heart pounding with a mix of ecstasy and shame.

"Untie me now," you plead, your voice shaking with emotion. But Gojo shakes his head, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, "Nah uh, not till I cum, filling your little pussy."

He inserts himself back inside you, his movements slow and deliberate. Your pussy is oversensitive, making you cry out in pain. "No more," you beg, your voice filled with desperation.

Gojo grits his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as he feels your walls clenching around him uncontrollably. He slows his pace, allowing you time to adjust to your oversensitivity.

As you recover, he starts thrusting into you, his movements slow and deliberate at first. His pace gradually increases, his eyes locked on your face. "You like being a slut for your boyfriend, isn't it?" He growls, his voice thick with lust.

You moan, your body trembling with a mix of pleasure and pain. "Yes," you admit, not caring about your self respect anymore.

As he thrusts into you, his movements become faster, his eyes locked on your face. "Good girl," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "You're such a good little whore, aren't you?"

You moan, your body trembling with a mix of pleasure and pain. "Yes," you admit, not caring about your self-respect anymore. "I'm your little slut."

Gojo chuckles, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Hmphh, keep squeezing me.. A-ah," he growls, his pace increasing even more.

Your eyes roll at the way he's choking and fucking you like a monster, his hands around your neck, his thrusts relentless. Gojo leans down, his lips colliding with yours in a rough kiss.

You moan into his mouth, your body trembling with a mix of pleasure and fear. He pulls back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Hah! You gonna cum again?," he mocks.

You groan, your body trembling with a mix of pleasure and fear. "Yes.. Hngh- please I am gonna cum again" You admit, your voice shaking with emotion.

As he thrusts into you, his movements become frenzied. "Y/N, let's... try it again.. together... Can't you imagine? How lovely you will look with your tummy swollen and round with my baby, and milk flowing from your breasts. Just think of it", he bites his lips imaging all of that. He unties your hands, letting them grip onto anything they find.

Your mind is unable to make out his words, you just nod, taking his cock like a doll.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your skin as he sucks on your nipple. "Gonna fill you, hmmph," whimpers escape his lips, "You are so obedient for me baby."

As Gojo nears his climax, his thrusts become frantic, his movements fierce. You cry out, your body trembling with pleasure and pain.

His thrusts become stronger, his movements more intense. Your walls clench around him, milking him as you cum again. He roars, his eyes locked on your face. "Yes, cum for me, baby, cum for your strongest boyfriend," he growls, his voice thick with lust.

He fills you with his seed, his movements slowing as he finishes. "You did well, baby," he pants, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He loosens his grip on your neck, allowing you to breathe.

You collapse against him, your heart racing with a mix of pleasure and fear. "F' me, am your little.. slut.. ." You whisper, before passing out .

Gojo's lips caress your bruised neck, licking them before giving you a small peck on your lips. "I love you, Y/N, I appreciate you," he mutters, his voice thick with lust. "But I ain't gonna spoil you."

He wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Both of you fall asleep in each other's arms, exhausted from the passionate night.

In the darkness of the night, he whispers in your ear, "Never gonna let you escape me, my little play thing."

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cruel-seduction · 4 months ago

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Tom Riddle Headcanon || 18+

(୨୧) 6’3 | Tall, intimidating, and he knows it. He’s tall, but not towering—it’s the kind of height that lets him loom over you just enough to make you uncomfortable in the best way. His presence is magnetic, commanding, like he’s taking up more space than he actually does. (You think you can hold eye contact with this man without second-guessing your life choices? Good luck.)

(୨୧) Lean, but it’s that sharp, calculated kind of lean. Like he was sculpted out of pure ambition and dark magic. His cheekbones? You could slice your finger on them, and his jawline looks like it was chiseled by Salazar Slytherin himself.

(୨୧) He doesn’t have He’s not bulky—oh no, Tom believes muscles are for people who need to physically overpower others. His strength is in his mind, but don’t mistake that for fragility. He’s all sharp edges and taut sinew, like a blade just waiting to cut. Tom has power. Subtle, unassuming strength that hits you when he casually pins someone to the wall or clenches his fist during an argument, making every vein in his forearm pop. (And suddenly you’re wondering if you enjoy being terrified of a man.)

WE LOVE A MAN WHO COULD STRANGLE US WITH ONE HAND AND STILL LOOK PERFECT DOING IT!!!!

(୨୧) Abs? Oh, he has them. But they’re not flashy gym-bro abs—they’re carved out of years of silent rage and perfectionism. You’d only see them under candlelight, the shadows teasing you just enough to make you question every moral fiber in your body.

(୨୧) Tom doesn’t work out. Ever. He’s too busy reading ancient texts and rewriting the definition of “overachiever.” Yet somehow, he has the kind of body that looks like it was sculpted by dark magic itself. His posture is impeccable, every movement deliberate and precise, like he’s constantly two steps ahead of everyone else.

(୨୧) Long fingers, veins visible, nails always perfectly kept. These are the hands of someone who can cast a killing curse with chilling accuracy—or caress your skin like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.

(We LOVE a man who could both destroy and cherish us with the same hands!!!)

(୨୧) His face? The blueprint for the resting evil smirk. He doesn’t even have to try to look dangerous. One glance, one slight quirk of his lips, and suddenly you’re doing whatever he wants without thinking twice. (You: “Why am I holding this cursed object?” Tom: “Because I asked nicely.” …And now you’re smiling like an idiot while the Horcrux slowly sucks away your soul. Love that for you!)

(୨୧) Hotness Level: Nuclear

Tom doesn’t just walk into a room—he owns it. His hotness isn’t in your face; it’s insidious, sneaking up on you until suddenly you’re wondering how you got trapped in his web.

His energy? He doesn’t need to ask for your soul. You’d willingly hand it over while thanking him for the privilege.

And when he’s angry? Oh, you feel it. That piercing stare, the slight tilt of his head, the way his voice drops an octave just to let you know you’ve made a very, very big mistake.

THERE’S HOT, AND THEN THERE’S TOM RIDDLE HOT—THE KIND THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO APOLOGIZE FOR BREATHING TOO LOUDLY.

(୨୧) A Walking Manipulation Manual Tom doesn’t ask for things. He makes you want to give them to him. Every glance, every word is carefully calculated to pull you into his orbit. He’s not just charming—he’s dangerously compelling. (One conversation with him, and suddenly you’re questioning your entire moral compass. Like, “Oh, you want me to help you break into the Restricted Section? Sure, Tom. Anything for you.”)

(୨୧) Validation is His Drug Let’s be real: Tom craves approval like it’s oxygen.Tom will deny it to his last breath, but he needs to be the best. He doesn’t just want to succeed; he wants to be the only option. It’s not enough for him to win—everyone else has to lose. (And don’t get me started on how he reacts to praise. Compliment him in the right way, and you’ll see that flicker of pride in his dark eyes before he schools his face into that unreadable mask again. We love a secretly vulnerable king.) He’s spent his whole life proving he’s better than everyone else, and it’s not just for pride—it’s because he doesn’t know how to not seek validation. He thrives on being the teacher’s pet, the top student. Maybe it’s because he never got his parents validation. But trust me when I say he is a bitch for teacher’s validation. (But let’s be clear: the second you start overshadowing him, he’ll knock you down a peg faster than you can say Avada Kedavra.)

(୨୧) Control Freak Everything about Tom screams precision. His desk? Immaculate. His spells? Flawless. His plans? Perfectly executed. He doesn’t just like control—he needs it. Chaos makes him itch, which is ironic considering he’s the embodiment of quiet destruction. (And He will make sure you’re oriented too)

(୨୧) Manipulative but Subtly Possessive He doesn’t say you’re his. No, Tom makes it clear in subtler ways—like the way he rests a hand on your back just as someone else looks at you too long. Or the cold, sharp glare he gives anyone who dares speak to you without his permission. (A man who makes you feel like a queen while also terrifying everyone else around you.)

(୨୧) Unyielding Ambition Tom doesn’t just want success—he wants power. He wants to be remembered, revered, and feared. He’s the guy who’ll smile sweetly at a professor while planning to steal their research for his own gain. He has a goal. He will do anything to get there. Anything can include from threatening someone to killing someone. He is, as poet says a psycho.

Tom Riddle | The Duality

(୨୧) The Charm is a Weapon His voice? Silky smooth, with just enough edge to keep you on your toes. He’s polite, refined, and utterly disarming. But behind that charming smile is a predator watching his prey. (You’re falling for him, and you don’t even realize it until it’s too late. And honestly? You don’t even mind.)

(୨୧) Dark, Brooding, and Mysterious Tom’s the guy sitting alone in the library, surrounded by ancient tomes, quill scratching quietly against parchment. He’s untouchable, aloof, and yet somehow you can’t stop staring. (You just know he’s plotting something, and you want in on it. Even if it’s dangerous. Especially if it’s dangerous.)

(୨୧) The Possessive Gentleman He’ll hold the door open for you, pull out your chair, and offer you his arm as you walk. But don’t be fooled—this isn’t just gentlemanly courtesy. This is Tom Riddle subtly marking you as his. (Imagine him offering you his coat and then hexing anyone who dares comment on it. THAT’S the energy.)

Tom Riddle|| Personality

(୨୧) He’s the Most Dangerous Kind of Asshole—Polished and Calculated Tom isn’t like Mattheo, who might yell across the hallway for a laugh. No, Tom is refined, cold, and deliberate. When he doesn’t like you, you won’t hear him shouting about it—he’ll make you feel it. He’ll dismantle your self-esteem with just a few carefully chosen words delivered with a sharp smile. (“A shame you couldn’t understand the assignment. I suppose not everyone’s meant for greatness.” Translation: You’re an idiot, and he’s better than you.)

(୨୧) He’s Addicted to Control Every aspect of Tom’s life is planned. His work is immaculate, his appearance is flawless, and his ambitions are unshakable. He thrives on structure because chaos reminds him of what he came from—something he’s desperate to leave behind. Don’t ever try to surprise Tom; he’ll take it as a personal offense. He hates unpredictability because it’s the one thing he can’t manipulate.

(୨୧) A Master of Masking His True Self Tom can charm anyone. Teachers adore him. Classmates admire him—or at least pretend to, because who wants to get on Tom Riddle’s bad side? He wears his “perfect student” persona like armor, and it’s nearly impenetrable. (But let’s be real, you know he’s sneaking into the Restricted Section at 2 a.m., whispering spells under his breath like it’s his birthright.)

(୨୧) Unhinged Beneath the Surface Tom doesn’t snap in loud, dramatic outbursts. No, his anger is a quiet, simmering thing, so much worse because you never see it coming. He’ll stare you down with a look so cold you’ll swear the temperature dropped, and then suddenly— “I suggest you choose your next words carefully. You won’t like what happens otherwise.” (And when he does lose it? You better pray you’re not in the blast radius because that’s some “destroy-everything-in-sight” level fury.)

Tom Riddle | Relationships and Obsession

(୨୧) Emotionally Unavailable, But Intensely Possessive Tom doesn’t do feelings. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He views relationships like he views everything else in his life: something to control. But when he does fixate on someone? It’s all-consuming, suffocating, and terrifyingly intense. He won’t shout “you’re mine” from the rooftops. Instead, he’ll show it in the way he glances at anyone who gets too close to you, the subtle squeeze of his hand on your waist, the icy calm he maintains when someone dares flirt with you. (“You’re being watched, princess. I’d think twice before entertaining fools like that again.”)

(୨୧) Manipulative in the Most Beautiful Way Tom has mastered the art of making you think his darkest ideas are your idea. He’ll twist your words, your emotions, until you’re second-guessing yourself and believing that he’s the only one who truly understands you. (“You don’t need them. They’ll only disappoint you. I’m the one who’s always been here, haven’t I?”) (Yes, it’s toxic, but are we complaining? Nope. Absolutely not.)

(୨୧) Softness is Reserved for You and You Only Tom is cold to everyone—except you. When it’s just the two of you, he lets his walls down just enough to show you glimpses of the boy beneath the monster. He’s still composed, but his voice softens, his touch gentles. He’ll sit beside you in the library, his hand brushing yours as he murmurs, “You’re brilliant, you know. Far more than they deserve.” (That’s right. You’re his weakness, and we’re eating that up like it’s our last meal.)

Tom Riddle | Dark Habits and Quirks

(୨୧) Obsessive Overachievement If Tom gets less than perfect marks on anything, he’ll lose sleep over it. He’ll re-study every detail of the assignment until it’s engraved into his mind. (If you try to comfort him, he’ll glare and say, “Mediocrity is unacceptable.” …Okay, Tom, calm down.)

(୨୧) No Time for Fun or Friends Tom doesn’t “hang out.” He doesn’t do parties or casual drinks with the boys. His version of “fun” is solving an ancient magical riddle or perfecting a spell no one else has dared attempt. (Though I imagine he secretly finds your mundane activities fascinating. He’ll pretend he’s annoyed, but he’s watching you decorate a cake like, “How… how does one enjoy this?”)

(୨୧) Petty in the Most Refined Way Tom won’t call you out in public, but he will ruin your life in ways you don’t even realize until it’s too late. (“Oh, did you fail the test? Strange. I suppose all that time gossiping didn’t leave you much room to study.” Cue his perfect grade plastered on the board.)

(୨୧) Refuses to Eat Like a Normal Human Being He’s the type to skip meals because he “doesn’t have time for such trivialities.” When he does eat, it’s methodical, quiet, and eerily polite. (You could be scarfing down chips, and Tom’s over here delicately slicing his food into perfect pieces. Honestly, it’s infuriating and hot at the same time.)

(୨୧) When Tom Realized He Was in Love Tom was the last person to admit he was capable of love. He didn’t need it. In fact, he despised the very idea of vulnerability. At first, he simply enjoyed the control, the power he had over you, the way you seemed so easily ensnared in his web. But then something changed.

It wasn’t dramatic. No hearts aflutter, no sudden epiphany. Instead, it was little moments—the way your laugh made his heart tighten, the way his thoughts lingered on you when he was supposed to be focused on his next conquest. It started to feel like something deeper. The first sign? He found himself doing small things for you, things that felt personal—that were not for his image, but just for you.

Like when you were late for a class, and Tom “accidentally” got your notes for you—notes he knew you didn’t need but knew you’d appreciate. Or when he made sure the books you wanted were always ready for you in the library, despite the fact that he despised wasting his time on “mundane tasks.” He would act as if it was no big deal, but his eyes would linger on you a moment too long, watching you with a touch of something he refused to name.

(୨୧) When He Realized He Loved You

Tom didn’t have some grand epiphany. It was a slow, torturous process of denial. But the moment he knew? It was after you smiled at him after a particularly heated argument about something inconsequential. You stood your ground, refused to back down, and still looked at him like he wasn’t the monster he feared he was. He walked away, but later that night, when the castle was silent, he whispered the words into the dark, testing them out as if saying them aloud would make them feel less… dangerous. "I love her."

(୨୧) His “Confession” Was Terrifyingly Intense

Tom doesn’t stumble through his words like Mattheo might. No, when Tom confesses, it’s calculated and deliberate—but still deeply unsettling.

“You’ve done something to me,” he said, his voice dangerously low, his gaze piercing. “I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about you. And I won’t. So you’re going to stay by my side, because that’s where you belong.”

(Translation: We are gonna stay together forever. And we belong with each other. )

(୨୧) Tom’s Denial and “Caring” Moments When Tom started feeling what people call “love,” he fought it. He refused to let himself admit it, convinced that emotions were a weakness. He never said “I love you”—not in the way that other people did. Instead, it was subtle. Insidious. He’d show his affection in the smallest, most frustratingly subtle ways. He wouldn’t bring you flowers or offer grand gestures. No. Tom’s “love” was found in the way he’d drag you into the darkness of the restricted section when no one was watching, the way his fingers brushed yours for a split second before he pulled away, pretending he didn’t want to touch you.

And he definitely wouldn’t say “I love you” unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t need to. His actions spoke louder.

But then, one evening, it just… slipped out. You were sitting together in his private little corner of the library, your laughter echoing in the otherwise silent space. Tom, for once, seemed genuinely relaxed, his usually tense frame at ease. He was looking at you, his gaze dark but softened—something that wasn’t there before.

“You... make everything easier,” he muttered, almost to himself. When you raised an eyebrow, he didn’t immediately elaborate. Instead, he just leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he added, “It’s ridiculous how much I care about you.” and you just smiled and pecked his lips.

There was no "I love you," not in so many words. But you heard it, and it made your heart do something strange—flutter, maybe? But you weren’t sure if you were imagining it because Tom's voice was still so casual. Like everything he said was just... a matter of fact.

(୨୧) Praise Where It Matters Most

Tom doesn’t throw compliments around lightly. When he says something nice, it’s like being struck by lightning. His words carry weight.

“You’re brilliant,” he’d murmur, his voice low, his gaze intense. “More than anyone else here. Don’t ever let them make you think otherwise.”

(And yes, you’d be a puddle on the floor because Tom’s version of praise feels like a rare, precious gift.)

(୨୧) Tom’s Trust and Relationship Dynamics Here’s the thing: Tom doesn’t get jealous. He’s above it. It’s not in his nature. If you’re his, you’re his, and no one dares to get in the way. He doesn’t need to question your loyalty, because in his mind, the moment he chose you, he is gonna trust you more than anyone. For him you’re never at fault but the other person is gonna die. It’s not that he’s insecure—it’s that he knows you would never cheat on him. Why would you? You have everything you could ever need in him.

He doesn’t even feel the need to keep tabs on you, though don’t get it twisted—he is watching, but he does it from the shadows. If you’re not at his side, he trusts that you’ll come back. You always come back. And if you don’t, well… that’s where things get a little interesting.

He’s not showing you off like Mattheo might; he’s staking his claim.

If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, you’ll feel the shift in his demeanor immediately.

“Do they think they’re worthy of your attention?” he’ll whisper, his tone deceptively calm. “They’re not. Let me remind them.”

(Spoiler: He will. And it won’t be pretty.)

(୨୧) Acts of Service, But Darker

Tom will do things for you, but it’s always with a hidden motive. Did someone upset you? He’ll “take care of it.” Did you want something rare or hard to find? He’ll get it for you, no questions asked.

“Consider it handled,” he’ll say with a ghost of a smile. But you know better than to ask how he handled it.

(୨୧) The Gaslighting Is Unreal

If you ever try to put distance between you and Tom, he’ll make you question everything.

“Why would you leave? After everything we’ve built together?” His voice will crack just enough to make you hesitate.

And when you falter, he’ll pull you back in with a kiss so intense it leaves you breathless, murmuring, “I can’t lose you. Don’t you see? You’re my weakness.”

(୨୧) First Kiss

It happened in the library, of course. You were studying, lost in your notes, and he was pretending to read while stealing glances at you. He didn’t plan it, but you looked up and caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head with that infuriatingly perfect smile.

He leaned in before he could stop himself, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips met yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was intense, consuming, like he was staking a claim. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured before returning to his book as if nothing had happened.

(୨୧) The Reality of Tom Riddle’s Love

With Tom, everything is earned. He doesn't just give his heart away, and certainly not without demanding something in return. But for you? You’ll always have his trust. You’ll always have his attention. You’ll always know that beneath that cold exterior, he’s obsessed.

Tom Riddle | Intimacy and the Smut

(୨୧) With Tom Riddle, intimacy is an art—meticulous, calculated, and suffused with a dark intensity that leaves you trembling in its wake. He isn’t one for rushed encounters or fleeting passions. No, when Tom takes you, it’s deliberate, almost ceremonial, like he’s claiming something he already knows belongs to him.

(୨୧) The Build-Up Foreplay with Tom is a slow burn, a game of control that he always wins. He knows exactly how to make you crave him without even laying a finger on you. His voice, low and commanding, is enough to send shivers down your spine. He has this way of leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs things that are simultaneously a praise and a promise.

“You look exquisite when you’re begging, darling,” he whispers, his hand ghosting along the curve of your neck, stopping just short of touching you fully.

Tom thrives on anticipation. He’ll spend what feels like an eternity trailing his fingers across your skin, watching your reactions with a sharp, almost predatory focus. Every gasp, every arch of your body—it’s all cataloged in his mind, stored away for when he decides to unravel you completely.

The way he kisses you is enough to leave you breathless. It’s not hurried or frenzied; it’s controlled, methodical. He tilts your chin up with a single finger, his lips slanting over yours with a precision that makes your knees weak.

When he finally touches you, it’s overwhelming. His hands are strong, commanding, but there’s a certain reverence in the way he holds you, like he’s savoring every inch of your skin.

(୨୧) The Act Tom is not gentle, but he’s not reckless either. He knows exactly how to toe the line between pleasure and pain, how to push you to the edge without ever letting you fall. He’s all about control—his control over you, your body, your mind.

His stamina is almost otherworldly. Where others might falter, Tom thrives, his focus unwavering as he pushes you past your limits. He doesn’t stop until you’re completely spent, your body trembling beneath his, your voice hoarse from calling his name.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his tone laced with dark amusement as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Falling apart so beautifully for me. Are you even aware of how perfect you are?”

He loves to whisper things into your ear, things that make your cheeks flush and your heart race.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and commanding. “Every part of you. Do you understand that?”

And when you nod, he smirks, his lips ghosting over yours.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm.

(୨୧) Pet Names and Praise Tom isn’t overly creative with pet names, but the ones he uses are potent.

Darling: His go-to, spoken with a dark edge that makes your knees weak.

My love: When he’s feeling particularly possessive, usually whispered against your skin.

Good girl: Said in a way that makes your heart race and your mind spin.

Perfect: Because to him, you are, and he never lets you forget it.

(୨୧) Roughness and Domination Tom doesn’t shy away from being rough. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his teeth graze your neck in a way that makes you shiver, and his pace is relentless. He loves the way your body reacts to him, the way you cling to him, desperate and needy.

“You can take it,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. “I know you can. You’re stronger than you think, my love.”

And when you finally break, when you can’t hold back the cries of pleasure that spill from your lips, Tom smirks, his satisfaction evident in the dark gleam of his eyes.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers, his lips pressing against your temple. “Always so perfect.”

(୨୧) Aftercare Despite his roughness, Tom isn’t cruel. Once the heat of the moment has passed, he softens ever so slightly. He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak volumes. He’ll run his fingers through your hair, his touch surprisingly tender, and press soft kisses against your forehead.

“You did well, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Rest now. I’ll take care of everything.”

And he does. Because while Tom Riddle might be a lot of things—manipulative, calculating, and intense—when it comes to you, he’s nothing short of devoted.

#tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x y/n #fanfic #tom riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #hp smut #smutty smut smut #smutty fanfiction #tom riddle x reader smut #slytherin boys

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mister0ctopus · 1 month ago

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Server Room (6)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary: Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 4.5K

a/n: drama and revelations incoming! thank you for waiting, my dearest friends! please be kind to this chapter, I swear the next one is coming VERY soon :)

as always, I love hearing your thoughts, theories, unhinged reactions, whatever lol. I love you all!!! Y’all are the bestest!!! 💜

🐙 Masterlist / Thoughts?Asks?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

This is the ultimate middle finger to your father.

It’s right there in your inbox, glaring at you—a promotion confirmation email.

Your father, the man who was never present in your life. The one you once craved validation from as a child. That craving eventually twisted into repressed anger, then dulled into apathy.

But emotions aren’t linear.

They move like waves, anxiety washing over you one moment, grief pulling you under the next, mourning a man you never even had a relationship with.

Shame he's dead now (may he rest in peace), because there’s no one left to shove this achievement in the face of.

But why does it feel like you've just swapped one kind of emptiness for another?

Maybe it's because, despite everything—the resentment, the bitterness, the years of proving him wrong—a part of you still wanted him to see this.

And now that he's gone, there's no one left to witness it.

You sigh as your thoughts shift to something else.

The cabin trip.

It's been a week since that interesting trip.

There's still that tension between you and Jungkook, something unspoken, but lingering. You haven't seen him in days. Either you're too busy, or he's avoiding you, because when you grabbed lunch with the group yesterday, he didn't show.

Busy, Yoongi said.

"Did you know that zoning out can mimic a light form of sleep? It gives your brain a mini recharge."

"Huh?" You blink and turn to see Min Yoongi perched on your desk, quietly chuckling to himself.

Speaking of the devil...

"What random trivia are you spouting now, Yoongi?"

"I've been calling you but you're zoning out again," he says, flicking your forehead. "What are you thinking about? And don't say work, I know your face when it's non-work thoughts."

"Oh? And what does that face look like?”

"Like you have feelings."

"I do have feelings."

"Yeah, sure. We call it rage."

“It’s called RBF, Yoongi,” you deadpan. “You should know. No one RBFs harder than you.”

"Hey! What are you talking about? That was a long time ago. I'm soft now." Yoongi grins smugly, arms crossed like he’s daring you to argue.

You squint at him, tilting your head. "You do look soft today… I wonder why." Your eyes scan him as you try to pinpoint what makes him seem extra soft and sweet today.

Yoongi just watches you, his grin widening, like the answer is right in front of your face.

"Oh! It’s your shirt! What do they call it? Boyfriend look? You look so boyfriend today!" you exclaim, pointing at him. "Yellow really suits you! But I already told you that!"

You had mentioned it once—casually, in passing—not expecting him to care. But, surprisingly, he’d started wearing more pastels, especially blues and yellows, instead of his usual blacks and whites.

Yoongi smirks, brushing the tip of his nose. "Yup, that’s me."

"Yup! Soft and squishy, like milk bread. Look at this—" You reach up and squish his cheeks, fingers digging in while he tries to dodge.

"Yah—!" He flails, bumping his elbow on the divider with a thud.

"Ow!" he whispered through a pained breath, and the two of you stifled your snickers, struggling to keep quiet in the office.

Then, like a shadow peeling away from the wall, Jungkook appears. Sharp features set like stone, gaze locked on Yoongi.

“We've been waiting for you in the conference room, we couldn’t start without you." he says, voice cool, calculated, and without so much as a flicker of acknowledgement toward you, he's gone.

The air stills but Yoongi was quick to his feet.

"Oh, shit, yeah." Yoongi jumps. "Weekly team meeting." He shrugs before following Jungkook.

Confirmed: Jungkook is avoiding you.

So... which is it going to be?

Are you going to ask the question “why”?

Or is Yoongi right again?

"Like you have feelings."

Yes. You do. Because apparently, being ignored after being fingered kind of stings.

News of your promotion spread like wildfire within your group, and Taehyung wasted no time organizing a "quick" celebration to toast to your well-deserved success at Dino's.

So right after work, everyone gathered in the familiar bar.

"Where's Jungkook?" Jimin asked Taehyung.

"He said he’s got something lined up."

"Bullshit. More important than this celebration?" Allie quipped.

"Yeah, he said he couldn't move it ." Taehyung answered.

"Move what?" Jimin pressed, this time directing his question more toward Yoongi.

Yoongi shrugged. "I don't know, he didn't tell me exactly. Something about an art exhibit.”

"Art exhibit? Man of culture. By himself?" Taehyung muttered as you all headed out of the building and started walking.

"Nah, I think it was with someone," Yoongi said casually, but Taehyung’s head snapped to him.

"Wait, like a date?!" Allie covered her mouth in mock shock.

"I don't know," Yoongi drawled, clearly tired of the interrogation. "He didn’t tell me, okay? All he said was it was hard to get tickets for that– not a ticket, so I assumed he's not alone."

"Ohhh... okay," Allie hummed dramatically, dragging out the words. "I thought he was avoiding YN."

Taehyung smirked. "Yeah... actually, that’s what I thought too."

"What? Why?" you shot back, already regretting engaging.

"I mean..." Taehyung shrugged. "He was acting a little different toward you after the cabin trip. We knew at first, he was a little shy around you, then he warmed up. But now he's straight-up dipping on us after I teased you with Yoongi."

"Taehyung, jeez! Love your theories. How do you come up with this stuff?" You shook your head, nearly laughing.

"I have eyes." He pointed to them dramatically. "And hear me out, okay? I swore you and Yoongi would eventually hook up or, I don’t know, just get together at some point. It was only a matter of time!" His voice pitched higher when you rolled your eyes.

"Bro," you groaned, shaking your head.

"I mean, why not?" Taehyung pressed. "You’ve been friends forever, you're both single—"

"You and Allie are both single. Jimin’s single. Why don’t you all date each other?" you shot back.

"Come on, you know what I mean! You and Yoongi go waaaay back," Taehyung pressed. "You like older men. Yoongi is older. And Yoongi likes… well, actually, I have no clue what his type is. But one thing I do know?" He pointed at you. "He’s not warm and soft with everyone—but with you? He is."

Yoongi, who had been quietly sipping his drink beside you, finally let out a low chuckle. You turned to give him and Taehyung a deeply unimpressed look before elbowing Yoongi. "You could jump in and shut this down, you know."

"Nah, I’m enjoying this," Yoongi smirked.

"People can have purely platonic relationships despite the years, you know?" You rolled your eyes, exasperated.

"I could date you, Allie," Jimin chimed in with a charming grin. "But we all know you like tall guys… and sadly, all I’ve got going for me is a great ass."

Allie paused, and shamelessly checked him out. “Hmm… fair point.”

"Alright, enough about Jimin’s ass," Taehyung snickered before turning back to you. "Anyway, I swear I thought—thought—Jungkook had a little crush on you. Just a gut feeling." He shrugged before smirking. "Though I’m not sure if he’s your type… I do know you like older men. Probably those daddy issues at work."

Yoongi nearly choked on his laugh, coughing into his sleeve. "Wow."

"I know how much it matters to you... I know that you got daddy issues," Taehyung sang the now-familiar song by The Neighbourhood with a grin, dragging out the lyrics like he always did whenever this topic came up.

"Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Kim." you muttered. The waiter arrived with your orders, and you were relieved when the conversation finally shifted to your promotion and what it entails, instead of your… issues.

The week flew by faster than you expected. Starting Monday, you’ll be stepping into your new role, and it involves traveling to client sites whenever they expand or open new branches. It’s exciting... and exhausting just thinking about it.

Which means less regular office hours, less desk chats with your friends. Your schedule will now revolve around client demands, and while that’s a win for your career, it’s kind of a loss for your social life.

So you made sure to clear your Saturday night for the company’s annual awards event—a night that’s less about trophies and more about mingling with stakeholders, VIP clients, and colleagues over cocktails and dancing. If there’s one thing your company excels at, it’s throwing a party. People go all out, dressing to the nines like it’s the Met Gala—and honestly, the break from the usual 9-to-5 grind is refreshing.

“Okay, which one do you think?” Allie asked during your coffee break in the pantry, shoving her phone in your face. Two mirror selfies—one in a sleek black gown, the other in a white halter dress—stared back at you. “Which one is better? Which one’s giving more classy old Hollywood vibes?”

“Hmm…” you tapped your chin. “Both are stunning, but the white one? That one pops against your skin tone. Very Marilyn Monroe on the red carpet.”

“Oh my God, yes! I was thinking that too!” Allie beamed. “Ok, sold! White it is!”

“You got your outfit sorted?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“Yeah, kinda. I’m stuck between this emerald green dress with red lips, or this black velvet dress I’ve only worn once.” You shrugged. “I’ll try them on later and send you pics to pick.”

“Yesss! Fashion show in your apartment, I can’t wait!” Allie wiggled her brows excitedly.

“Oh gosh,” she groaned, glancing at her phone. “I’ve got a Zoom meeting in, like, two minutes.” She shot you a kissy face before speed-walking back to her desk.

You chuckled, watching her go.

Yeah… you were going to miss them.

You stand by the water dispenser, zoning out as your water bottle slowly fills. The faint hum of the refrigerator fades into the background, your mind drifting somewhere far away.

Then footsteps pull you back to the present. Someone’s entered the pantry, but you don’t bother turning around. You keep your eyes locked on the water bottle, watching the steady stream.

“Oh my God, you’re so funny! I can’t believe you don’t play golf! I feel so silly asking you to join us!”

A sweet, high-pitched voice cuts through the quiet pantry.

“Yeah?” A low chuckle follows. A familiar one. “No, I don’t.”

You grit your teeth.

Jungkook.

“You should let me teach you,” the girl coos. “I’m a great teacher.”

“I bet you are. I’ll check my schedule and let you know.” His voice is so casual, so maddeningly smooth, you roll your eyes right then and there.

Ugh.

You stare at your water bottle, still filling, taking its sweet time like it’s savoring your misery. You glare at the bubbling stream like, WOW, WATER. AMAZING.

Almost full... just a little more…

When your water bottle finally fills, you grab it quickly and turn to leave.

Almost made it. Almost.

“YN! Oh hi!”

You stop dead.

“Congrats on your promotion! Well deserved!” Ria from Marketing beams brightly.

“Oh. Thank you! Appreciate it!” you reply, smiling politely.

Jungkook’s eyes are on you now. He’s leaning against the counter, one hand lazily gripping his coffee cup, watching you with that same unreadable expression he’s been wearing since the cabin.

But his gaze drags down your frame, slow, deliberate, before flicking back up to your face.

Worse?

He looks so damn good in his gray shirt, sleeves pushed up showing his tattoos. A silver chain resting at his collarbone, glinting obnoxiously.

And his hair? Pushed back.

Your pulse jumps, and before you can think better of it, you flash him an equally fake smile.

“Well... gotta go! Meetings!”

You spin on your heel, your heels clicking sharply down the hallway, each step punctuated with purpose, and you swear you can still feel his eyes on you.

What’s his deal? Seriously. It's really starting to bother you.

The black velvet dress won.

Allie’s excitement was instant when you sent her the dress options, but the shrieking voice note she sent after seeing the black one? Iconic.

“OH MY GODDDD! THAT’S THE ONE! YOU LOOK INSANE—LIKE, WHO EVEN ARE YOU?”

And honestly? She wasn’t wrong.

The black velvet dress hugged your curves perfectly, its sleek straps framing your shoulders and revealing just enough skin to feel sultry yet refined.

Your hair fell in soft waves, paired with your favorite black stilettos, a smoky eye, and a bold red lip. It's a perfect balance of sexy and classy.

There’s no way you’re not showing up tonight. Your gorgeous friends are going to eat it up—no doubt about that.

You can’t wait to soak up their energy. You need it to carry you through the many jet lags that’ll inevitably drain you in the days ahead.

The moment you stepped into the grand hotel ballroom, your eyes immediately landed on Jimin and Taehyung. They stood near the corner, chatting with a small group. Jimin, effortlessly ethereal in an all-white suit, and Taehyung, impossibly dapper in a dark green suit only he could pull off.

Noticing you, they smiled warmly and waved. You returned the gesture, motioning toward your assigned table before weaving through the bustling crowd.

Impressive.

The event felt grand. Crystal chandeliers glowed above, and the room buzzed with lively chatter. Waiters in sharp uniforms moved smoothly between tables, serving cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Your company had clearly spared no expense, and judging by the laughter and clinking glasses, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

You found your table easily enough—a circle of familiar faces from your department. Four men occupied the seats, and their collective glance flicked your way the moment you approached. A quick once-over, followed by polite nods. Not exactly welcoming, but not hostile either. Just... guarded.

You were used to it by now. Ever since your promotion to Senior Manager, there has been an undeniable tension. You were younger than all of them, but you'd earned the role. From your first day, you'd outperformed expectations, closing deal after deal and driving major revenue growth. Your promotion had been inevitable, yet still a bitter pill for some. While they remained professional, you could sense the discomfort that lingered beneath the surface.

"You look good, YN," Peter chimed in, one of the younger members of the team. Of all your teammates, he's been the most friendly. His voice carried a lightness that cut through the awkward air.

"Thanks, Peter. You don't look so bad yourself," you replied, offering him a small but genuine smile.

"Oh, thanks! Feels nice seeing everyone all dolled up," he added with a grin. His excitement was contagious, and you couldn’t help but mirror it.

"Yeah, I know! Everyone looks amazing tonight." You turned to Mr. Hoang, one of the quieter and older members of the team. "I love your suit, Mr. Hoang."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Oh... thanks," he said, a bit stiffly. "My wife picked it out for me."

"She has good taste. You look great," you replied warmly. His expression softened, and you knew your effort hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Socially, you wanted to be closer to your team.

Professionally and strategically, you knew it was important to be on good terms with everyone. Tonight felt like a chance to break some of that tension, even if just a little.

The microphone at the front crackled, pulling your attention to the stage as the host greeted everyone.

You scanned the room, searching for your friends. Since you were from different departments, you were all scattered across the venue, but you hoped to find them soon. With the host still presenting something on the screen, you decided to slip away to the washroom.

As you weaved through the crowd, your steps faltered.

Yoongi and Jungkook were walking toward you.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

It was offensive how good they looked.

Yoongi was effortlessly refined in a tailored gray suit, his hair brushed neatly, exuding his usual air of quiet confidence.

But Jungkook…

…was a goddamn problem.

Dressed in an all-black suit that fit him like sin, his dark hair fell in a perfect mess. And then, as if the devil himself had crafted him, there was the lip ring, gleaming under the ballroom lights, a stark rebellion against his otherwise pristine look.

What the fuck?

How is this legal?

He looked like trouble wrapped in temptation, and it was unfair how someone could look like that.

“Damn, YN, you clean up well,” Yoongi teased, stopping in front of you.

You blinked yourself back to reality, clearing your throat. “Well, you don’t look bad yourself, Yoongi. I barely recognized you.”

Jungkook, on the other hand, said nothing.

No. He just looked.

A slow, deliberate once-over—eyes dragging down your body like he was memorizing every detail—before finally, finally meeting your gaze again.

And then a tight-lipped smile. That’s it. No words. No reaction. Just that.

Wow. Okay???

You forced a polite smile in return, barely masking the fluster creeping up your spine. You turned back to Yoongi, pretending you weren’t internally combusting, when—

“Miss YLN! Great to see you. I’ve been meaning to catch up now that I’ve heard of your promotion! Well deserved! I’ve got a proposal I’d love to run by you.”

You turned to see an important client, beaming at you expectantly.

“Oh! Hi, Mr. Yamamoto! Yes, let’s grab some drinks and chat,” you replied smoothly, flashing him your best professional smile.

And with that, you excused yourself from the two gentlemen before tearing yourself away, resisting the overwhelming urge to glance back.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Seriously.

Hours of being dragged from one conversation to another with important clients and VPs had you trapped in endless small talk. Ironic, considering you worked in sales. Socializing felt exhausting, but you liked knowing their plans and goals while sipping cocktails. You liked knowing your cards.

Your phone buzzed relentlessly. As expected, everyone was looking for you.

Allie: yn we've been looking for you, are you seriously working rn? Jimin: we’re here at the bar now. Taehyung is already tipsy Taehyung: im not. jungkook made me try sangria and its seriously so good.

The mention of Jungkook’s name made your spine straighten.

Seriously, what was Jungkook’s deal?

Was he weirded out by the cabin hookup?

Bothered that Yoongi saw?

Or maybe it was when Taehyung started teasing you with Yoongi?

Or all of the above?

You hated guessing games. You never had time to overthink stuff like this, you didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for these mind games. Whatever game Jungkook was playing now, it was frustrating, and awkward.

But fuck, all you can think about is how good he felt.

How his body pressed against yours. How his touch burned your skin.

It’s crazy how you’ve never wanted anyone like this.

Like a craving.

Something darker and primal, demanding more, demanding everything.

You needed air.

Excusing yourself, you made your way to the balcony you’d been eyeing all evening.

The crisp night air kissed your face, and you drew in a deep breath. Freedom. Solitude. You stepped into the corner for privacy—until a shadow shifted.

You froze. Too late.

Peter's smile stretched lazily when he recognized you.

Your posture softened, but you were still guarded.

"Oh hey," he said, voice light and easy. "Didn’t know you’d come here."

"Hey," you greeted, still caught off guard. He seemed drunk, but harmless—cheeks flushed pink from the drinks, tie loosened, swaying slightly.

"You okay?" you asked, more out of politeness than concern.

"Oh yeah," he chuckled. "Just needed some air. Long night, huh?"

"Yeah, I better get back," you smiled, turning back toward the party.

"Bet it's tiring," Peter added, voice quieter now. When you glanced back, his smile had thinned, and his eyes lingered on you a little too long.

"What do you mean?" you asked..

"You’re always working your ass off," he muttered, stepping closer. "Don’t know how you do it."

He reeked of alcohol, but something in his tone made you pause.

“We all work hard,” you said cautiously. “It’s a tough job.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah? I wonder what other jobs you’re willing to do.”

Your stomach turned. Oh, fuck no. You were not doing this.

Snickering, he inched closer, his breath hot and sour with liquor.

You weren’t about to entertain this. Turning away, you took a step back toward the party.

"You’ve been kissing clients' asses all evening. Bet that’s hard for someone so... stuck up," he sneered, voice darker now.

"I suggest you stop coming near me. You’re drunk," you warned firmly, still walking.

His hand shot out, clamping around your wrist. His grip was tight, fingers biting into your skin.

"You’re brave to act all high and mighty when you know your friends will protect you. Do you fuck them? Is that why they’re willing to risk their jobs for you? Maybe that’s why they all stick around, yeah, hoping they’ll get a turn."

"What the hell are you talking about?" You yanked your arm, but his grip tightened.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He slurred.

Your patience snapped. “I don’t,” you bit out. “You gonna tell me, or are you just gonna keep wasting my time?”

His lip curled. "Such a stuck-up bitch. You walk around acting untouchable, as if you’re better than everyone. No wonder you piss everyone off. Think Yoongi’s your knight in shining armor? Bet you spread your legs for him like the desperate little tease you are. Yeah, bet he pounded you so good he didn’t care about almost getting fired."

"For the last time, I don’t know what you're talking about. Let. Me. Go," you spat, wrenching your arm hard. His grip tightened painfully, and your pulse spiked. His hot breath hit your face, and you realized how dim and isolated the balcony was. Panic gripped you. He was stronger, faster, and clearly unstable.

"I think she said get the fuck off her."

The voice sliced through the tension like a heavy blade. Both you and Peter snapped toward the sound.

Jungkook.

You couldn't see his face. His solid frame was backlit by the grand hotel lights—but you knew that voice.

Firm. Clear. Furious.

In three strides, Jungkook closed the distance. One hand clamped around your arm—Peter’s grip still locked tight—and Jungkook’s other hand shoved Peter so hard he staggered back, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Peter snarled, but Jungkook didn’t even look at him. Without a word, Jungkook yanked you behind him, placing his body like a wall between you and Peter.

"Touch her again," Jungkook bit out, "and you won’t see the fucking sun tomorrow."

You swore the entire world tilted when Jungkook finally turned his head, pinning Peter with a stare so ice-cold it could burn.

"You want to try me? He chuckled, amusement lacing his words. "Please, go ahead." His voice was too calm, too controlled. The kind that comes before a storm.

Peter swallowed hard. His eyes darted to you, then back to Jungkook, and whatever stupidity had driven him to this point finally died.

Smart choice.

Everything blurred after that. One second, Jungkook was throwing more venom-laced words at Peter, and the next, his fingers were locked around your wrist, dragging you away.

You barely registered the cold night air as he led you outside. The ground beneath you was uneven, the gravel crunched beneath your heels as you struggled to keep up with his long, and urgent strides.

"Jungkook—wait," you stammered, breathless.

He didn’t stop. His grip on your wrist stayed firm, fingers locked.

"Stop, I said STOP!" You yanked your hand free, stumbling back a step. Jungkook halted in his tracks, turning sharply, his eyes startled and almost guilty.

For a moment, he just stared. His expression was softer than before — gone was the sharp anger he'd shown with Peter.

Now, his eyes flickered with something else.

Concern? Hesitation?

His mouth opened like he was about to speak, but he closed it just as fast.

“What the hell was Peter talking about?” you pressed, voice rising. “Yoongi? Almost getting fired? Do you know something? Tell me!”

Frustration bubbled inside you. You hated feeling like a fool when everyone else seemed to know something you didn’t.

“That guy… Peter,” Jungkook muttered, “he’s not someone you should trust, obviously, I should’ve warned you, just didn’t know how. He was friends with… well, the guy Yoongi had problems with.”

You shot him an exasperated look, one hand flung out in a gesture for him to continue.

His voice lowered, cautious. “They had some kind of argument, and things escalated. The guy got fired, and Yoongi got suspended for it.”

“Okay? I don't understand. What does that have to do with me?”

Jungkook shifted uneasily. “Yoongi... I think Yoongi should tell you. It should come from him.”

“What difference does it make?” you snapped. “He obviously told you, and you know, so just—god, this is so frustrating.” You ran a hand through your hair, heart hammering.

“He didn’t,” Jungkook admitted quietly. “He didn’t tell me... I just figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Your voice rose again, and a few heads turned. Irritated, you grabbed Jungkook’s arm and pulled him behind a tree for some privacy. “What the hell is going on?” you demanded, voice low but now shaky. “Tell me what you know, for Christ’s sake.”

Jungkook exhaled deeply, dragging a hand through his hair.

"He caught that guy—the one who got fired—with deepfake videos of you on his computer."

Your breath hitched. You knew nothing about this. Who else knew? Did everyone know except you?

"The guy’s computer crashed, and when Yoongi fixed it, he found folders, pictures of you. Nothing explicit, just random shots from the office…but it was creepy enough that Yoongi reported him right away." He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "Things… got heated when Yoongi confronted him."

“When did this happen?” you asked, your voice quieter now. Your heart pounded so loudly you could barely hear yourself speak.

“Right before I started,” Jungkook said, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His brows pulled together, eyes scanning yours carefully. “Remember when Yoongi said he was taking PTO? The one where he went on a fishing trip with Jin?"

You nodded. Of course you remember that.

"It wasn’t a vacation…" He continued, his voice low and softer now. "He was suspended. He, uh, punched the guy. People saw. Management had no choice.”

So what, I’m the only idiot who didn’t know?” Your voice shook in anger, humiliation, disgust. “Everyone else knew? And I’ve just been walking around like some clueless dumbass while they all pitied…hated me behind my back?”

Jungkook’s head snapped up, shaking quickly, almost desperately. His teeth sank into his lower lip like he was physically trying to stop more words—more confessions, more revelations—from slipping out. “No. I don’t think a lot of people know. Yoongi told no one.”

“Then how did you find out?” you pressed, your voice firm.

A beat of silence.

“I hacked the HR files,” Jungkook muttered, almost sheepish.

Your hands curled into fists.

You needed to talk to Yoongi.

Now.

Because what the fuck?

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adventuringblind · 1 year ago

Text

He Must Be Lucky!

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: fluff and crack

Summary: Max gets wasted and can't remember that the reader is his wife. It's endearing how much he simps bith sober and drunk.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, a wild party (at least for Max), Max being down bad

Notes: This one is for @amajixi! I hope you like it! Does anybody wanna send me asks and talk about drivers with me? Give me your most feral thoughts because I'm genuinely curious... please >_< (I even turned my anonymous asks back on please just send me things).

Side note: my fics haven't been getting much traction as they usually do. Is it something on my end? Have y'all disappeared on me? I know I shouldn't care, but y'all are the only ones that validate my writing T_T

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Max has a track record of partying hard. It's who he is, and she lives him for it. There isn't any kind of gripe of hang-up, just Max having fun and doing dumb shit that makes her laugh.

Lando is throwing a - well - a party. There was an excuse for it in the invitation, but she's too buzzed to remember it.

The echoing sound of Max's laughter ricochets off the walls. Daniel is with him, probably getting them into more trouble, but she knows Daniel will look after him. At least until he's trashed and can't get off the floor.

Alex brings her another shot glass. She has no idea what's in it, but Alex is letting loose, and she'll be damned if she doesn't partake.

He raises the shot glass in a toast. "To whatever this party is!" He cheers. They clink their glasses together and down the shots. She gags at whatever was in it.

"The fuck was that, Alex?!" She sputters.

He gives her a blank look. Really thinking hard about what he gave her. "I've got no idea."

The hours seem to tick by. The people are slowly dissipating, leaving the safety of this weird little bubble they've created.

She's lightly buzzed still, having danced off the majority of the shots Alex had her doing. The couch is her new best friend, and Lando had brought her a blanket at some point in the last twenty minutes.

A weight on the other end of the sofa catches her attention. Max, with complete adoration in his blue eyes, is staring at her. "Wow," he slurs. "You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen."

She laughs at his drunken thoughts. "You're not too bad looking yourself, babe."

The smile on his face is almost childish. It's big enough to almost fall off. His cheeks tinged a darker red with the blush adding to the alcohol flush.

"Go on a date with me? Please?" He tries to pout, but it ends up looking awkward mixed with the grin.

She flashes the ring at him. "Sorry, I'm spoken for." Alex and Lando are giggling from where they are watching this interaction unfold.

Max looks like a wounded puppy. Eye's glossing over like her might cry. "He must be such a lucky guy. You're just so perfect!"

"Awe, love, you wanna know a secret?" She leans in to whisper into Max's ear. "You married me."

If Max could hand you the world on a silver platter, he might have tried in this moment. The Dutch is vibrating in pure, unadulterated joy. Like a child who just got the ice-cream they were so desperately craving.

"Holy shit! I'm the lucky guy!"

Max smothers himself against your body. Eventually falling asleep, mumbling about how she's so amazing, and how he loves her so much. It's endearing to here his drunk affections laid bare for everyone to see.

It's the lullaby that calms her to a restful state. Fingers tangling with the softness of his hair. "You're not the only one who's lucky. I guess I'm pretty lucky, too."

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dontbesoweirdkira · 6 months ago

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Hi! I love your interpretation of the yan batfam so much bdnfbfkjfnd I was wonderong how you think Dick and/or Jason would react to a rather compassionate batsis?

She's definitely not on board with their obsession but she can understand where their coming from and gives them like ACTUAL compassion.

Ik you said Dick enjoys having a positive image in front of others most of all his younger sister, so how would he react to her seeing his flaws but still, being kind? Jason strives to be "normal", so much so he spirals sometimes, but like what would knowing/experiencing genuine closeness (not pity or false pretenses) change?

Idk if either of them would redeem their bad habits, but am curious to know what being truly seen and accepted would do to them, especially by someone they care about so much. The bats can have their walls pretty high up after all

A/N: sorry about the late responses. I've been out of it the past few days.

context dick context jay

Okay so when you are dealing with yanderes... you are dealing with extremely unstable people. There are so many ways thus could go but here's just one

Dick

Maybe your compassion makes Dick chill out a bit with his unhealthy tendencies. I think initially he'd still be uncomfortable and bothered that you can see right through him. You can see all his flaws and you don't revere him like the others which is bad. It will still anger him and he'll try manipulating you into loving him like everyone does at first.

A heart to heart with him could work. You acknowledge you know he's crumbling and has really horrible coping mechanisms but that doesn't mean that you don't love him. That you respect him even more because you see just how much passion he puts into everything that he does. It isn't his fault he craves so much validation when he had the upbringing he had but he doesn't have to pretend to be someone he's not to please you. That even if he doesn't smile as much or be selfish sometimes that you won't love him any less. You give him a space to be authentic with you with no judgment.

"erm,,,okay. I'll keep that in mind."

He's a bit taken back by it and doesn't know how to exactly process what you just said. I've mentioned before that he doesn't exactly know how to just be himself because for most of his life he was always being someone that others needed.

He's still on guard for a while. He will dip his toes in the waters by maybe not smiling as much with you or rescheduling your hang out session to go out on a date just to see your reaction. Did you truly mean it when you said he was allowed to be selfish? He was fully expecting you to hate him but seeing just how unbothered you were made him go...oh!

I think this shifts his obsession with you. He's still very much yandere but i think he's much more child-like ? I mean Dick still is obsessed with you and all that jazz but before, he wanted to be the best older brother/father figure. His happiness was dependent on how much you needed and revered him. But now you're becoming his safety blanket for when he's stressed, tired or upset. WIth you he can just lay on your shoulders without speaking and you won't even mind. He can be kind of assholey or dark and you will understand he's just in a mood and what he says never leaves the two of you. You won't take away your compassion or love based on how he acts...the first non-transactional relationship he's ever truly and it's pretty great. He finally feels like a brother and not like he's playing house anymore.

Don't get me wrong, he's still your older brother who gets on your nerves but there's just this mutual appreciation there that lacks with the others.It's clear to the others that he loves you just a bit more than the rest. When it's movie/game nights, he will allow you to sit it out or not tag along to restaurants. He's very protective and defensive over you. He doesn't feel as much of a need to do all that stupid crap with you because if he wanted your time, he could have a peaceful moment on the rooftops with you instead.

Jason

Hmm..i think Jason will just always feel a bit outcasted. There are plenty of people who do care about Jason in the comics but it's hard to relate to someone who's been through what he's been. It's just so unique to him. He knows you don't truly understand what it's like to have spirits of the Lazarus haunting you in your sleep. He knows that you cannot feel the pain of being replaced by someone you're now forced to see as a brother.

When i wrote my last piece a few people took it as me saying the reader found Jason to be odd. Really what it was is that Jason put those thoughts into his own head because he internalized the joke because of his own insecurities. The reader was perfectly fine with Jason being a little off...it made sense as he would've just come back from being dead and is trying to find a bit of normalcy.

It's funny though because while he's trying to be "independent" it's painfully clear he's still very much attached to you and is still unknowingly mimicking you.

I think though if reader sat down with Jason and explained he doesn't need to change or be "normal" because you love him the way he is, maybe he will relax a bit. But i think there would always be voices in Jason's ears telling him he needs to be perfect. My version of jason is around 20-ish year old who is a bit emotionally stunted and disoriented because he's just coming out of the pit. After a few years of being integrated back into the family he'll understand that you actually do love him as a brother and he serves a great purpose even if that purpose doesn't look the same as Dick's.

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meo-eiru · 9 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/meo-eiru/757680642898182144/what-would-elias-be-like-with-a-darling-who-pushes?source=share

Omg im so sorry but isnt elias the given name for pretty boy jealous bf? This ask was abt him bc i thought that was his name but ty for the extra yummy silas lore 🥵

Oh my god lmao I’m sorry I’ve been answering Silas asks like a machine gun I thought you also said Silas😭

The reason Elias fell for you was never because of your appearance. He just loves and craves for your attention and validation. He is pretty but that’s pretty much the only quality he has. Surprisingly enough he was born into a pretty normal family with a pretty normal name which he changed to Elias later on because he thought his old name wouldn’t impress you.

He doesn’t exactly have hobbies or special skills so he’s a little self conscious. If you insulted his appearance he’d quickly break because he believes that’s his only good quality. If that quality is also worthless then why does he exist?

That’s one of the reasons his jealousy temper tantrums are so bad, he’s convinced you could leave someone boring like him easily so his guard is up 24/7

Similarly to Silas he would try to change his appearance to fit to your liking but would be more extreme at it. If you don’t stop him he might even end up getting multiple plastic surgeries.

He lives to be validated by you, you’re the prettiest existence in his eyes and he wants to be like that for you too

#asks #Elias #yandere pretty boyfriend

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 month ago

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hi ms raven :D i was playing through vil's dream in book 7 and i was wondering if you could explain a little more about his character? i remember struggling to understand his motivs leading up to his overblot. the current understanding i have now is that vil wants to be the best or the most beautiful but is constantly getting blocked by neige probably because hes not perfect and it makes others lean towards him and want to support him while vil has reached a level where hes seemingly flawless on the outside making it hard for people to get close to him the way they do with neige? does he crave the validation from others and is that why there was an emphasis on him declaring that he himself is the most beautiful like in b6 and b7? i dont think i really understand him enough and its just been on my mind for a while now TT

I think Vil's got one of those backstories and motives that's easy to misunderstand if skimmed. This can lead to misinterpretations where fans assume he's vain and only seeking to take Neige down for shallow attention. It's a lot more complex than that!

The first thing to note about Vil is that he is a child star. His father, Eric Venue, is also a very successful celebrity, but the public does not know about their familial relationship. Vil has worked very hard to achieve his level of stardom all on his own, without relying on nepotism or riding on the coattails of his father. However, that also means that Vil was under an intense amount of pressure and scrutiny since a young age, and that can really mess with one's self-perception.

Since the start of his career, Vil has only ever been casted in villain roles. His post-OB flashback shows Vil asking his dad "Why do I keep getting picked to play the bad guy? Do I really look that mean?"

And though his father reassures him and calls him cute and charming, the vast majority of other people Vil interacts with judge him and assign labels to him. Children Vil's age "hold [him] accountable for work(s) of fiction", equating him playing villainous roles on TV to him actually being a villainous person off-set.

Similar things occur in his professional life. Film crew members praise Neige for his friendliness and wholesome vibe, but also express that Vil is just too perfect and hard for audiences to relate to, so Vil apparently isn't suitable to play the hero.

So on one hand, you have Vil's peers, who assume that he must be an awful person, just like all the characters he plays. Then you have Vil's colleagues, who put him on a pedestal, calling him "special" but also saying he's not relatable. Both viewpoints isolate and dehumanize him. They indirectly tell Vil--a young, impressionable kid--that he's not capable of goodness or of being a normal person. You also have to keep in mind that because Vil always has eyes on him, he has to maintain a cool, mature, and perfectly curated public image. He has had to grow up extremely fast in order to handle himself in the entertainment industry. That's an INTENSE amount of pressure to be under. So how does Vil react to all this pressure? By pushing himself to work even harder to prove everyone wrong. "I would do anything to be beautiful. The most rigorous training. The most tedious hair and skin care regimens. I would shy away from none of it." This is later repeated in the Tapis Rouge event: “[…] looking for the easy way out. Something I detest. […] I love to see someone with a lofty goal who’s not afraid to work for it.”

At this juncture, I'd like to point out a vital area where Vil's story and that of Snow White weave together. In Snow White, physical beauty is used as shorthand to indicate the goodness of a character. Snow White is pure, beautiful, and innocent because she has a good heart. The Evil Queen is more accurately depicted in her hag form because of how her jealousy twists her into something hideous. When Vil speaks of beauty, it's also in a similar context. He's using "beauty" as a metaphor for "goodness", hence why he fixates on Neige being the "fairest one of all". Neige is the one always playing the hero, and he is also the one the internet considers the most beautiful--so if Vil can become the most beautiful, then surely he, too, can be a hero.

If beauty = goodness, then the opposite is also true to book 5 Vil: ugliness = villainy. And if he is always assigned the villain again and again and again, then its telling Vil that he's “ugly”, that he is a bad person and can never be anything but that.

Not only that, but Vil's worries about permanently being labelled a villain relates back to how his peers and colleagues perceive him. "[...] villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. [...] All I want is to stay on stage until the end of the show." Vil wants what has always been denied to him: the ability to stand on stage and take a bow with the other actors, to be treated like a normal person that's a part of the group, to have that humanity handed back to him. Why should he be the only one languishing backstage while Neige and other heroes get to soak up that spotlight? He wants to be a part of it, too. He wants to be included.

Let's get back into book 5, present day, now. Vil spends much of this book driving his teammates VERY hard to achieve his vision. To this end, he is imposing harsh restrictions on them, such as new diets, new skincare, new practice routines, and more. This of course garners many protests, but Vil insists on having his way and admonishes those who complain. In these moments, Vil is very much acting like a "villain"--but to him, it's all worth it, because he wants to win against Neige fair and square, earning that victory through his own efforts. "[...] I have no interest in spells that fade when the clock chimes midnight. What I seek is genuine, authentic aesthetic perfection."

Recall that I said earlier that beauty is used as a shorthand for goodness. Because Vil is stating that he wants to win fairly, he is attempting to demonstrate his own beauty--his own goodness--in this bid to triumph over his rival.

But what ends up happening? Vil sees Neige's practice performance and realizes right away that NRC is destined to lose. He tries to take matters into his own hands by cursing a bottle of apple juice and offering it to Neige. While book 5 is vague about what the consequences of drinking that cursed juice would have been, book 7 implies the worst--that Vil had intended to kill Neige with it. Vil went against his own principles (which he stated earlier in book 5) and used a dirty tactic to get Neige out of his way. He can only win if he harms others in the process. I would argue that what triggers Vil to snap and OB isn't his failure to poison Neige (although that's certainly a part of it), but rather Vil realizing he just... proved what everyone has always said about him right. That he's rotten to the core (ie "ugly") and will never be anything else but a villain.

Vil fixates on the eyes of his teammates, perceiving them to be staring at him and judging the moral ugliness of his actions. Like in his childhood, he derives much of his image from public feedback--from the eyes on him. "Please. Don't look at me... Don't look at me with those eyes! Why? I wanted to be the fairest one of all, so why am I so... so... ugly? Ugly?! UGLY?!"

Kalim and Rook try to reassure Vil and remind him that Neige didn't get hurt, so it's okay. But Vil only gets more upset and continues to berate himself. "What does it matter who forgives me?! I can't... I can't forgive myself!" This makes sense for Vil, who is a character that has consistently held the people around him, as well as himself, to high standards. He has betrayed himself, and he is ashamed of how ugly his envy has made him.

After Vil's OB, Rook pretty succinctly states why Vil fails to be "beautiful": because he doesn't believe in himself. Throughout his entire life, Vil has been relying on the words of others to affirm his identity as someone "beautiful", as a "good" person. You can even argue that Vil being so strict with himself is to earn the approval of others, to be seen as the "most beautiful". But Vil never truly believed he was "beautiful" ("good"), and that lack of confidence is ironically what is keeping him from realizing his full potential. "Nobody should believe in your beauty more than you yourself [...] No amount of validation from the rest of the world will ever leave you fulfilled. Even if you wind up old, emaciated, grimy, and stooped over... If you were to truly believe that you are the fairest of all despite that, even the Magic Mirror of legend wouldn't contest your claim. The strength and pride to believe in yourself is what marks the true fairest one of all. Roi du Poison. Fair Vil. I implore you to believe in yourself more than anyone else. Beauty is always with you. At this exact moment, you are the fairest one of all."

In book 6, we get to see how far Vil's character has progressed. When Idia taunts Pomefiore, calling them "wannabe heroes", Vil responds with, "You know, I've always wanted to be cast as a hero, just once. But there are no heroes or villains here. This time I'll be the one who stays on stage till the very end!" He now disregards the notion of labels and is only committed to being the one that puts an end to Idia's machinations.

This point is even further driven home when we see old!Vil, the result of him diving into Tartarus to pull Idia out. Though his dorm members are shocked to see their glamourous leader in this state, Vil laughs it off and announces, without hesitation: "Even though I'm grimy, withered, and emaciated... At this exact moment, I am the fairest one of all." This parallels the words Rook imparted onto him at the end of book 5. ("Even if you wind up old, emaciated, grimy, and stooped over... [...] At this exact moment, you are the fairest one of all.")

It's a complete reversal of Vil OBing. Back in book 5, Vil went mad because he realized his jealous actions made him hideous (even if he still physically looks young and conventionally attractive). But now, in book 6, Vil is content in knowing that his heroic actions make him absolutely beautiful (even if he stands there, old and grey). It doesn't matter what he looks like on the outside, or what other people think of him--because Vil has learned to love himself and to stay true to his principles.

He is deserving of standing on that stage with everyone else. He is human, like everyone else. He’s not THE Vil Schoenheit anymore, he’s… just Vil. This also shows in vulnerable moments late game, like him squealing from excitement at the end of book 6 or screaming in fear in book 7. He still has the image of a celebrity to maintain, but he’s now allowing himself to be less of that “perfect” person, at least around his peers. I believe this is what Vil’s dream in book 7 reinforces. This is most exemplified when Vil faces his OB self and announces, “Oh… This is deplorable. I’m so steeped in envy and resentment there isn’t a trace of beauty to be found. But I won’t turn away from it any longer. I accept this nauseatingly ugly part part of myself. This is… the real me.” I won't get into the details of that dream, since I assume you've played it + it would just repeat what I've already gone over in this post. That’s honestly what most (if not all) of the book 7 dreams do, try to summarize their personal issues, how the dream attempts to placate them with convenient falsehoods, and then have the dreamers confront those falsehoods with what they’ve learned through their own arcs.

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