#i could see from his face how much all of this has affected him :(((

[andromeda-starship]

AHH! Yes! I love all the little details and nuances you put into this! I think you so accurately characterized both Matt and Frank in this, including how their unique traumas (and violent coping mechanisms to appease their guilt, giving them a sense of control) affect those around them.

Matt is such a complicated character, and it’s true that without all the explanations and complex that come from the viewer’s omniscience- he’s a difficult book to read. He hid his powers from his best friend for a decade, he lies to everyone, and even though WE know that there are some compelling reasons for those actions- those who are living their lives alongside his own only see the results of his choices, of his traumas, his coping mechanisms, and how he hurts those around him by leaving so much of his past hurt unresolved. Festering within him, poisoning his relationships by limiting his perception to something that is ultimately selfish and self-serving.

Don’t get me wrong- taking in Matt’s experiences in life, it’s somewhat understandable. He lost his father because Jack thought he’d be worth more to Matt dead, leaving him alone and vulnerable, his world on fire. Stick trained him, cruel, cold, and ruthless- then abandoned him when he couldn’t be who he wanted him to be. Elektra, the first person Matt could be himself around 100%, had loved him- but not enough to stay. To not try and force him into being someone he’s not. That he’s worked so hard NOT to become.

I can’t imagine what it was like all those years, lying in bed, hearing every terrible thing hiding in the darkness. That one story of the day he first let the devil in him win, when he beat the father who was touching his daughter at night, after all his other attempts to help failed… How could we fault him? How could we fault him for caring? For doing something when he saw how the system failed the vulnerable? How could we not love the man who had restrained his inner beast for so long, only to snap- now balancing on the unraveling moral tight rope of a line every single night because he couldn’t lie there and do nothing.

The thing is, Matt is a hero to us because he can’t hide it like he does in his own reality. Like he does in all his relationships. So who can blame the reader for her perception of reality when it’s all she knows?

I think with Frank, he is so forthright with his motivations. With his reasoning. He doesn’t hide, he doesn’t lie, he knows who he is. Why he does what he does. And so does everyone else, especially those close enough to see the reality of his broken heart- the one of a loving father and husband. One who lost everything which anchored him. One who decided he had nothing to lose, and took on all the consequences without any hesitation. One who would take on the blame for the reader, because in the end he’s the one who is oh so willing to make the sacrifice.

I think it’s funny how Matt has so many religious themes, but Frank really is a martyr. Matt is reluctant, he can’t take the consequences of his actions, he hides his shame and his confliction behind blistering anger and stubborn pride into everything falls apart. I think it also has to do with their relationships with faith, their ideas of god.

Matt believes.

Frank does not.

Frank sees a chaotic world in an unfeeling universe, sees how the good are hurt by the powerful, and decides to bath in the blood of the unrighteous, wades steadily through as an unwavering force, an angel who smites the wicked- all with his face bare.

Because he is unafraid. He knows what he’s doing has consequences, but that won’t stop him from doing what he feels needs to be done to ease the unbalanced scales of the world we live in. One which Frank sees clearly and accepts as it is- no romanticization. Just the truth.

I think this characterization is really represented so well in how the reader perceived these two men.

Matt is a force of guilt.

Frank is a force of acceptance.

And at some point, you have to let the burden of guilt go, and fall into the loving, unwavering strength found in the open arms of acceptance.

And get a dog with him.

SAME SIN

pairing - frank castle x reader

summary - in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings - blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count - 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens. 

Sickness hit in a crushing wave. 

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip. 

Then there was stillness. 

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—] 

{—You or them?} 

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet. 

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none. 

No pulse. No absolution. 

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain. 

It was raining. 

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands. 

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call. 

Calls. 

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense. 

Seven times you called the Devil. 

Seven times he didn’t answer. 

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence. 

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done. 

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered. 

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again. 

{In case you ever need it—} 

[—I don’t trust him.] 

What is trust? 

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold. 

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?” 

You almost laughed. 

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate? 

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant. 

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered. 

Unless… 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

{—That what we are?} 

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?” 

“An alley.” 

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.” 

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought. 

“Off West 51st,” you said. 

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.” 

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next. 

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin. 

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him. 

Only that you had. 

{You call, I come—} 

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.] 

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands. 

So am I, you thought. So am I. 

Frank said your name. Once, twice. 

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?” 

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw. 

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante. 

It was a soldier. 

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.” 

Time dragged. 

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall. 

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp. 

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights. 

What if someone noticed? 

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night. 

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin… 

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable. 

[To a judge? Or to God?—] 

God doesn’t matter. 

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?] 

Why didn’t you answer? 

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?” 

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.” 

You did. 

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse. 

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.” 

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest. 

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior. 

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?” 

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob. 

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.” 

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction. 

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Another weak laugh faded into quiet. 

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?” 

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them. 

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—] 

Even secret sins are exposed in His light. 

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?} 

By believing in it. 

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists. 

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?” 

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out. 

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired. 

Existence had become an arduous task. 

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?” 

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s. 

You didn’t want to feel alone. 

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?” 

The world was ending. 

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things. 

[What do you see in him?—] 

{—Let me take care of all this.} 

You nodded. 

Frank’s apartment was bleak. 

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom. 

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay. 

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t. 

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe. 

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank? 

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar. 

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.” 

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?” 

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts. 

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird. 

He’d need a flock. 

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle. 

Still, the warmth lingered. 

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.” 

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at. 

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer. 

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl. 

You pretended not to hear him anyway. 

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began. 

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend. 

You knew better now. 

You should’ve picked the dog. 

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.” 

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended. 

“So you gotta make it worse?” 

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is. 

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?” 

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.” 

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair. 

Frank deserved better than that. 

[Have you forgotten?—] 

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder] 

[—Why are you so attached to this case?] 

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.” 

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. 

“Guess so.” 

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his. 

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions. 

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined. 

Not that you ever had imagined it. 

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails. 

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other. 

Only then did you confess. 

“He had a knife.” 

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening. 

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.” 

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger. 

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–” 

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you. 

But that had been a stupid, childish thought. 

“I figured I could lose,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–” 

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe. 

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–” 

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?” 

Your brows furrowed in answer. 

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.” 

“I don’t, but–” 

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?” 

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!” 

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.] 

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued. 

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.” 

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter. 

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further. 

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot. 

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.” 

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched. 

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact. 

“I did–” 

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a no nonsense Marine.  

“No. I did.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.” 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him. 

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.” 

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?] 

Do you care about her? 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

… 

[—Can you say the same about Frank?] 

You studied the man before you. 

Frank Castle. The Punisher. 

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget. 

A number not saved, but remembered. 

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t. 

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you. 

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you. 

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.” 

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?” 

You nodded, and he chuckled. 

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.” 

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text. 

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK? 

Your thumb hovered over the message. 

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected. 

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path. 

You cleared Matt’s message. 

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?” 

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank. 

You shook your head. “Is it good?” 

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.” 

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.” 

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

[strnilolover]

٠ ࣪⭑ prince!matt has something special planned for darling

valentine’s day special!

warnings : none! this is very sweet and fluffy

valentine's day was something everyone in the castle celebrated. maids, servants, people from the town—even matts own parents.

he wasn't against this holiday at all, he loved it. and often wished he could give his love to someone too but, his parents were set on him being with someone of noble standards.

since matt never really had a reason to celebrate valentine's day, seeing as he never had anyone to celebrate the day with. he always watched other couples from a distance—how in love they looked and gifts that were bought for their significant other.

but now...now he had a reason to celebrate this day.

darling.

sure, in everyone's eyes, she was just his personal maid. but they didn't know what went on behind closed doors. all the stolen kisses, hugs and intimate affection happening right under all their noses and they had no clue.

he wanted to make this day special—even if she already knew how much she meant to him. he always wanted to remind her, that no one else had his heart except for her. not even the girl he was being forced to marry.

with his mind set and plans already put into place, matt moved swiftly through the halls that were decorated with roses and flowers. his shoes clicking against the floor as he made his way towards his bedroom where he's sure darling already was, tidying up his space or doing his laundry.

once he approached the door, his hands quietly pushed it open. slipping inside and closing it with a soft *click* behind him. sure enough, darling was standing over at his desk—tidying his mess he had made.

he smiled, watching her relaxed frame move swiftly as she did her job, which she was so incredibly good at. slowly, he moved towards her. his hands coming to wrap around her waist and pull her back flush against his chest.

"darling." he murmured, pressing his face in the space where her shoulder and neck met, his lips peppering light kissed along her skin. she smiled softly, her arms coming up to wrap around his own. "matt." she greeted in return, turning her head slightly to allow him more room.

matt didn't linger on her neck for long, giving a few more pecks before pulling away and turning her around in his grasp. when his head tipped down, eyes landing on her face, he couldn't help but to smile more. "i have some things planned for us today, my love." he said, pulling her even closer to him.

darlings brows furrowed. "plans? what plans?" she asked softly, her own head tipping up to look into his eyes. matt smirked, flashing her his teeth. it was hard to keep things from her—but he wanted this to be special.

slowly he pulled away, unwrapping his arms from around her to reach down and grab her hands. "you'll see, darling." he whispered, already beginning to walk backwards, tugging her along. but she stopped. "matt, i still have—“

"shh, your work can wait until later. i'm not taking no for an answer." he said, cutting her words off, continuing to tug her backwards and this time she followed—giving up on trying to argue with him. when they reached the door, he let her hands go, opening the wooden doors and turning his head to look at her.

"follow me, baby."

-

darling thought she knew the palace like the back of her hands—but obviously not. she walked right beside matt, her brows furrowing and eyes wide with curiosity.

“matt, where are you taking me?” she asked, reaching her hand up to tug on his sleeve to get his attention. matt just smiled, looking at her out the corner of his eyes. “you’ll see darling. we’re almost there.” and he quickly grabbed her hands, smirking before bolting down the hall.

darling stumbled over her feet before settling into a sprint with him. she laughed, the sound mingling with matt’s own. “matt!” she giggled, holding his hand tighter as she continued to run with him.

he peered at her over his shoulder, smiling and laughing as he tugged her along. eventually, they made it to their destination—slipping in through the doors quickly. darling’s chest rose and fell rapidly, quickly trying to catch her breath from running.

eventually when her breathing evened out, she straightened, peering around the unfamiliar room that she was standing in. a grand mirror stood in front of her—so many fabrics and clothing lining the room. she was speechless.

“matt? where..where are we?” she asks, turning to look at him, watching as he talked to a female she didn’t even notice. darling stood there, watching as matt got a last word in before turning his attention to her.

matt smiled at her, walking over to stand behind her. his hands coming up to her shoulders, slowly moving his fingers into the tenseness of her back. “this is for you. go follow her and you’ll see.” he whispered against her ear, moving a hand up to brush her hair to the side—pressing a kiss to her neck.

darling has never worn something as luxurious as she is right now. not even at the ball she attended with him one time.

she stood before the grand mirror—the lady she followed a bit ago had her draped in the most stunning gown she had ever laid eyes on. the fabric was a soft blue, flowing like water over her body, cinching at the waist before cascading into an elegant skirt. delicate beading across her chest and following down to the fabric covering her thighs.

her hands slowly smoothed over her own body, her eyes not believing what she was seeing. she looked beautiful. no—stunning.

matt stood behind her, watching her expression closely, the way her eyes seemed to sparkle at the dress she had on. he had spent weeks planning this, ensuring that every detail was perfect. that everything was perfect just for her—for his girl.

darling caught matt’s gaze in the mirror, smiling as she picked up the bottom softly and turned herself around to face him. “you- what is this for?” she asked, her face was flushed—she felt nervous being in something so expensive.

matt just grinned, bringing a hand up and beckoning her forward. “c’mere, i have something else for you darling.” he said, and she raised a brow, now noticing one of his hands behind his back. she took a tentative step forward, making sure to not trip over her own feet in the heels she was wearing before walking over to stand in front of him.

“this-“ he started, pulling out a delicate tiara from behind his back. darling gasped, watching the way the jewels hit the lighting in the room. he reached out, placing the tiara on top of her head gently. “-this is for you, my love.”

darling’s breath hitched as his fingers lingering in her hair for just a moment too long. finally dropping his hands, he grabbed her waist, spinning her around toward the mirror. even if she was away from it—she could see the beauty of the accessory that was placed on her.

“matt…” she whispered, her own hands coming up to gently graze the shape of the tiara. matt rested his chin against her shoulder, watching as she took herself in. “do y’like it darling?” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the skin her dress showed off. “look so beautiful—like a queen. my queen.”

darlings chest tightened at his words, her fingers still ghosting over the delicate tiara as she met matt’s gaze in the mirror. he looked so proud, so full of adoration that it made her heart thump against her chest rapidly. slowly, she turned in his hold, resting her hands lightly against his chest. “I don’t even know what to say…” she whispered, overwhelmed by the effort he had put into all of this—for her.

matt just smiled, brushing his knuckles against her cheek before leaning down to kiss her softly. she reciprocated, her hands tightening against the fabric of his clothes before he pulled away. gently, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers and giving a gentle tug like he did earlier. “come on, there’s one more surprise,” he said softly.

darling followed without hesitation, the flowing fabric of her dress whispering around her ankles as matt led her through the winding halls. when they reached a side entrance she had never seen before, matt pushed open the door, and the moment they stepped outside, a crisp breeze greeted them, carrying with it the scent of freshly baked pastries and rich, decadent chocolate.

darlings eyes widened as she took in their destination—a quaint, tucked-away bakery, the windows glowing warmly against the cool evening air. a string of fairy lights adorned the entrance, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone path leading to the door.

“matt…” she breathed, turning to look at him.

he grinned, slipping his hand from hers and resting them on her waist. “let’s get inside darling, alright?” and she beamed, nodding her head excitedly as she practically began to sprint to the entrance, dragging matt.

matt chuckled, gripping her hips tightly as they approached the doors, holding her still. she gave a quiet whine, turning to look at matt as if he just took away a delicious treat from her—and he basically did. “darling, it’s okay, let me just-“ he muttered, moving to stand in front of her as his hand grabbed the door handle, opening the door for her.

the moment they stepped inside, a wave of warmth wrapped around them, accompanied by the heavenly aroma of sugar and spice. the bakery was empty—save for a soft-spoken woman behind the counter who greeted matt with a knowing smile. clearly, he had arranged this in advance.

candles flickered on a private table set for two near a fireplace, a delicate bouquet of roses resting in the center. a plate of heart-shaped pastries and a pot of tea awaited them. darling turned to matt, her voice hushed. “you… you did all of this?”

matt smiled as he brushed his fingers against hers, lacing them together. “of course I did. you deserve the best, darling.”her heart melted as she lowered her gaze, letting him guide her to her seat. and slowly, matt reached for a small pastry and held it up to her lips, his expression softening.

“try it. I made sure they put extra honey in it—just how you like.” he stated, holding the soft treat to her mouth. darling’s eyes softened as she took a bite, the sweetness of the pastry nothing compared to the love in Matt’s gaze. she swallowed, shaking her head in awe.

“this is the best valentine’s day ever.”

a/n : listen ik it’s a month late…im sorry forgive me. but here’s some prince matt FINALLY!

[cameronsbabydoll]

NSFW ALPHABET — BLUE COLLAR RAFE CAMERON

A — Aftercare ⟢ Rafe isn’t the most openly affectionate guy, but after sex, he’s all about making sure you’re okay—even if it’s in his own gruff way. He’ll pull you against his chest, rub a rough hand down your back, maybe even murmur a low, “You good, baby?” If he really wore you out, he’ll force himself to get up and grab you water, even if he groans about it. He likes seeing you fucked-out and satisfied, though, so don’t expect him to leave you alone too long—he’ll be running his hands over your body again in no time.

B — Body part ⟢ On himself? His arms. He knows he’s strong, and he loves how easily he can manhandle you with them. On you? Your thighs. Whether they’re wrapped around his waist, shaking beneath his touch, or pressed tight together while you try to act all innocent—he’s obsessed. Loves to squeeze them, grab them, spread them apart. If you’re wearing shorts? Good luck.

C — Cum ⟢ He’s messy, and he likes it that way. Loves to see you covered in it, whether it’s dripping between your legs or smeared on your stomach after he’s pulled out. If he finishes in your mouth, he’s watching, making sure you swallow—or else. But his favorite? Pumping you full and keeping you there, too big and heavy for you to squirm away.

D — Dirty secret ⟢ He’s thought about bending you over at the construction site more times than he’d ever admit. Even in broad daylight, even with his crew around. The idea of fucking you somewhere risky, where he could get caught with his pants down (literally), is a fantasy that plagues him. And yeah, he’s stolen a pair of your panties before. Just once. Maybe twice.

E — Experience ⟢ He’s been around, no doubt about it. He’s had his fair share of flings, girls drawn in by his rough hands and cocky smirk, but none of them mattered until you. He knows what he’s doing—he knows exactly how to touch you, exactly how to pull sounds from you that no one else ever has. And if there’s anything he doesn’t know? He’ll learn. Fast.

F — Favorite position ⟢ Anything that gives him control. He loves bending you over, watching his cock disappear inside you as he grips your hips. But if he really wants to ruin you? Missionary, so he can see your face, watch every little reaction as he stretches you out. And he definitely loves having you ride him—nothing gets him off faster than watching you struggle to take him.

G — Goofy ⟢ He’s not goofy, but he is cocky. Smirks when you whimper, teases you when you get all shy. If you accidentally moan too loud? “Damn, baby. Didn’t know you liked it that much.” But the second you try to turn it back on him, acting all sweet and playful? He’s flipping you over and showing you who’s really in charge.

H — Hair ⟢ He’s not meticulously groomed, but he keeps it in check. A little bit of hair, nothing crazy. As for you? He doesn’t care, as long as he’s got full access to you. And if he notices you cleaned up for him? That cocky smirk comes out in full force. “Went all pretty for me, huh?”

I — Intimacy ⟢ He’s more intense than romantic. He shows his affection through possession—gripping your jaw, pressing his forehead against yours, growling low praises when you take him so well. It’s rough, needy, overwhelming. But there are moments, quiet moments, when he softens. Like when he kisses your temple after, or holds you just a little tighter than necessary.

J — Jack off ⟢ He tries not to. He really does. But sometimes he’s stuck on a long job, or you’re teasing him without even knowing it, and he has to take care of it. Usually in the shower, thinking about you—about your body, your moans, the way you whimper his name when you’re close. If he’s desperate? He’ll use your panties.

K — Kink ⟢ Possession. Rafe is territorial as hell. Loves marking you—hickeys, bruises, his cum dripping from between your thighs. Also has a major thing for power imbalance. He’s older, stronger, more experienced—and he loves reminding you of it. Loves when you get all flustered, playing the innocent little thing while he ruins you.

L — Location ⟢ Anywhere he can get away with it. The truck is a favorite—he’ll pull you into the backseat without a second thought.

M — Motivation ⟢ You, obviously. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing—looking too good in your work clothes, biting your lip without realizing, laughing in a way that makes his stomach tighten. The second you get a little shy, a little flustered? It’s over for you.

N — No ⟢ He’s not into anything that makes you uncomfortable. Won’t share, won’t degrade you in a way that actually hurts. He likes you a little embarrassed, a little helpless under him, but he’s never truly cruel.

O — Oral ⟢ Loves giving. Could spend hours between your thighs, lapping you up until you’re too sensitive to handle it. But he’s greedy, too—loves watching you on your knees, pretty lips wrapped around him. And if you look up at him? He’s gone.

P — Pace ⟢ Usually fast and rough, but he knows when to take his time. If he really wants to make you beg? Slow, deep, agonizing.

Q — Quickie ⟢ Loves them. He’ll pull you into a supply closet, the back of his truck, his own construction site, anywhere he can take the edge off.

R — Risk ⟢ High. He gets off on knowing someone could catch you. Even if he’d kill anyone who tried.

S — Stamina ⟢ Insane. Blue-collar work keeps him strong, and he can go for multiple rounds without breaking a sweat.

T — Toys ⟢ Doesn’t need them. He’s enough. But if you want to try something? He’ll allow it. As long as he’s in control.

U — Unfair ⟢ Loves teasing. Runs his hands over you, pulls away when you try to grind against him. “Patience, baby.”

V — Volume ⟢ Low, deep grunts. Filthy praises. A little growl when he’s close. If you’re loud? He loves it.

W — Wild card ⟢ He has, at some point, stolen your underwear just to keep in his truck. For reasons.

X — X-ray ⟢ Big. Thick, a little curved, and he knows how to use it.

Y — Yearning ⟢ Insatiable. He wants you constantly. If he had his way, he’d keep you in bed all day.

Z — Zzz ⟢ Falls asleep eventually. But only after making sure you’re completely spent, totally satisfied, and pressed up against his chest.

[aleskie]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU | Charles Leclerc x Reader

SUMMARY: You will never love anyone the way you love Charles Leclerc.

Warnings: None. Just a lil angsty Author's Note: This fic was originally written and published for another athlete/character, but I don't write for them anymore! But I thought it was too good to stay hidden forever so I changed some details to make it suit this setting more! I hope you like it!

“You hate him,” Charles says, his voice low but certain.

He’s talking about your boyfriend, Levi, who you’ve been with for a little over a year now. The one you brought back home with you. He gets along with everyone swimmingly. He finds things in common with your mom—they’ve apparently been texting for a few months now about embroidery—and he effortlessly talks business and stocks with your dad. He plays with your nieces and nephews, throwing himself into their games without a hint of self-consciousness.

Even when your ex-boyfriend’s family showed up to dinner, he handled it with grace—no jealousy, no drama. 

He’s perfect. 

Absolutely perfect.

So why are you hiding on the back porch with said ex-boyfriend? 

“I don’t hate him,” you say, eyes shifting away to the night sky. “He’s good to me. He’s…” Your voice falters, just enough for him to catch it. “He’s it for me.”

Charles scoffs, his tone tinged with frustration. “I was it for you. He’s just nice.”

You and Charles were childhood sweethearts with a love story set against the charm of the Monaco riviera. It was the type of romance people dreamed about—two kids growing up together, sharing dreams, making promises, finding warmth and love in each other amidst a world of fast cars and even faster summers.

In these types of stories, they stay together forever. They get married, have kids—they build a life together and spend their golden years watching their grandchildren play by the sea. 

You wanted that with him. A fairytale story with a fairytale ending: the home, the family, a life wrapped in shared memories. You thought you had it.

But reality has a way of ripping those dreams apart before you even realize they’re gone.

“What do you even want from me?” Your voice is laced with exasperation. “We both know you don’t want to be here.”

Charles shrugs, not even looking at you, his nonchalance only making your heart ache more. 

“Let’s not forget the facts, Charlie.” The nickname feels bitter on your tongue, the affection you once felt now tangled in hurt. “You ended it. You left me.” You can feel the tears starting to well up, but you force them back. You refuse to let him see you break again. “You might always be ‘it’ for me, but you don’t get to blame me for trying to rebuild my life after you.”

Charles broke your heart. Plain and simple. 

You would’ve preferred a slow death for your relationship, something you could have seen coming, prepared for. Instead, it was a quick burial. He’d made it into Formula One and suddenly, you weren’t worth fighting for anymore.

One day, his arms were wrapped around you, his voice soft as he whispered sweet nothings—feeding you dreams of a future, of leaving the country and traveling all over the world together. The next day, he was gone. Packed up his things and took your heart with him. 

He didn’t even say goodbye.

So when he shows up out of the blue, all chocolate eyes and chiseled face and that same boyish smile, it feels like a cruel joke. Like the universe is testing just how much you can take. You tell yourself you won’t fall for it—for him—not again. But then he looks at you, and for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all. The years melt away, and you’re back on that same street where everything began.

“Run away with me,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like you don’t have a life now. Like you aren’t a part of a community, of something—anything. Like you’re his again.

You hate how he can say it so easily, like no time has passed. 

You hate how a part of you wants to run with him

The silence stretches, broken only by the sound of birds and the wind chimes that hang near the door—the same ones you made when you were sixteen, back when you were together. You make a mental note to take them down.

“I hate you,” you say, your voice threatening to break at a moment’s notice, “I hate you. I hate that you think I can just leave everything behind for you. I hate that you think I don’t have a life without you. I hate you.” A pause. “I hate you.” It’s resigned, almost a whisper.

“Mon ange,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, so familiar. It’s the Charles you remember, the one who knew how to make your heart ache in all the right ways. “You don’t hate me.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “That’s the worst part. I can’t.” You feel a tear slip down your cheek and quickly wipe it away. “We weren’t good for each other,” you continue, your voice trembling. “God knows we fought all the time. Never agreed on a single thing.”

You chuckle, the sound hollow. “You broke me. And I still love you. I wish I knew why.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. “Do you think we would’ve made it if I’d given us a real shot?”

Your breath hitches as you consider the question. “I don’t know,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “You never let us try.”

It takes a beat before you stand, wiping away any lingering tears. There was no more room for what-ifs. You were adults now. You couldn’t afford to dream anymore. 

When you re-enter the house, Levi’s smile greets you instantly. His arm wraps around your waist, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. You try to focus on him, on the warmth of his touch, but all you can feel is the numbness creeping in.

You catch the looks from Charles’s brothers, the ones that seem to see straight through your carefully placed smile. You shove down the guilt—the guilt of letting him occupy your thoughts when your perfect boyfriend is standing right beside you

You ignore the echoes of youth flashing through your mind as you spot Charles re-enter the party. 

You ignore the memories of you and him slow dancing in your bedroom and driving around the city and kissing in the rain. You ignore the memories of the fights, short-lived and fiery and passionate, always ending with a tender kiss and a promise to do better. You ignore the memories of matching bracelets and midnight runs to the store and sneaking into each other’s bedrooms after curfew. 

You ignore everything. You keep smiling, keep playing your part, though deep down you know he can tell it’s all an act.

The evening winds down, and soon Levi is guiding you to the car, saying his goodbyes to your family and friends. You follow along, playing the part of the dutiful girlfriend, hand firmly locked in his hand.

Once inside, Levi turns to you, his gaze soft and warm. “Did I tell you how beautiful you looked tonight?” he asks, smiling at you like you’re the center of his universe.

You offer him a soft smile in return, though it still doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You think that maybe this is what he thinks your real smile looks like. You take his hand in yours, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper.

You know you’re lying. But that’s okay. In the end, you’re the only one who’s hurting. You can smile through the lies, through the ache that lingers, through the painful truth that you could never love anyone the way you loved Charles Leclerc.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What would Rhian do if Rafal started having a panic attack and just could not calm down?

The scenario seems unlikely, given Rafal's relatively unflappable, impassive temperament and how he doesn't seem to exhibit PTSD symptoms, but this scenario is also very interesting, and I would really like to know what could possibly trigger a panic attack of that intensity in him. It'd probably have to be something unimaginably horrible? (Literally, I don't have a good answer at the moment for possible hair-raising stimuli to him, as much as we joke about Rafal vs. pirates.)

If he did have a panic attack, I feel like it would be most in character of him to dissociate/undergo depersonalization and feel like a third party observer to his life or a singular event, whether it's unfolding or oncoming. And he would only stand still with bated breath in abject dread at some kind of figurative tidal wave he's about to be bombarded with.

It would probably be a silent panic attack, not an outburst or a weepy/breathy one—and he might have the blue-screen-of-death type of feeling/expression, during which nothing new on the outside is being registered and processed because he's gone numb and detached. Like, his eyes would be open, and he'd look, but he wouldn't see or comprehend. He may as well have been gazing at the backs of his lids, or at a blur, or feel dark/reddish pulsing.

Ok, brace yourselves—

This is the worst-case scenario in relation to this fascinating ask:

Rafal falls into a fugue state and wanders away from home (and Rhian doesn't stop him or think to stop him because Rafal's left without any prior notice before. He has a history of it. And, he literally just disappears and reappears at will, seemingly well mentally, like it's a magic trick. So, whatever Rafal does, wherever he goes, if action is needed at all, it must be some practice of self-regulation, given his unwillingness to rely on anyone else. And most unsettling of all: again, no one would be able to distinguish the panic attack from every other time Rafal's casually left.)

And while I'm sure this isn't canon, we could make the leap that he could have been hurt enough by Rhian's jab at his pride at the start of Rise that there is, I suppose, a non-zero chance of this having happened when he first struck out on his own (during the time gap, pre-meeting Hook).

Actually, a lot of Rafal's behaviors align with schizoid personality disorder, antisocial personality disorder, autism, paranoid personality disorder, anhedonia, and obsessive compulsive personality disorder—I don't necessarily think he's affected by any one of these conditions alone. Any kind of comorbidity is possible. And yet, oddly enough, I can't see PTSD as likely because: either his trauma is invisible or he's more likely to be the one inflicting trauma on others than ever experiencing it or irrational fears himself.

Anyway, as for my answer—first, Rhian would probably try to ground Rafal in the world and keep Rafal responsive.

In the case of Rhian not knowing how to deal with panic attacks, perhaps, he could try to shake/slap some sense into Rafal.

If both of these tactics were to fail, the "kindest" solution would probably be to sedate or safely render Rafal unconscious with magic before his feelings escalated any further or he lost consciousness due to hyperventilation. So, if Rhian could keep a clear head while all this were going on, I suspect that's what he would do.

And let's face it: This is entirely conditional—it would only be so if Rhian were even there, as, the possibility of Rafal just up and leaving, (and not accepting any help, if anyone even notices anything off about him) is still firmly on the table.

However, Rhian's anxious tendencies could interfere with taking an appropriate or any course of action for that matter. He could freeze up at the sight of Rafal in this state as it could very well be a novel occurrence. And, if he didn't know what to do, his mind could go blank out of stress, fear, and/or shock. At best though, he could get Rafal medical assistance/psychological attention, whichever services exist in the Woods.

In fact, I think Rhian would try to "fix" the feeling/reaction itself, only what's being presented to him, that's observable, not the situation or root cause of Rafal's panic attack. And, ordinary words/gestures of reassurance would not be enough, if he can't be calmed.

There's even a chance Rhian could be afraid of touching or attempting to hug Rafal in a state like that, due to a fear of disturbing Rafal(?), even if he could hold the instinct to do so.

I'm not sure it would ever cross Rhian's mind to deal with Rafal's panic from the outside, as in, directly removing the distressing stimuli or dealing head-on with some source of trauma or approximation of trauma, if the stimulus is adjacent to but not the exact thing which would set off Rafal's response, or "under-response," knowing him.

There's also an off-chance that certain behaviors of Rhian's are triggers to Rafal, but that neither of them know it. The opposite is also probably true, considering Rhian was set off, in a way, at the end of Fall by the weighty/selfish but relatively innocuous offer Rafal extended to him.

Thus, I think there's a definite, non-zero chance they've each traumatized the other and cannot recognize it because they're so entrenched in their relationship and cannot view it objectively.

Lastly, keep in mind that I am not an expert or an actual psychologist. I have only tried to not misinform. I invite you to correct me if anything is wrong.

Thoughts or reactions, anyone?! I'm not sure whether my answer is predictable or provocative.

[liiixsturniolos]

CALL ME WHEN YOU BREAK UP

Fratboytoxic!chris x toxic!reader

── .✦. ──

★ It's a harmful cycle, Chris and you. You'll poison each other yet still crawl back together. But after another argument, he gets a new girl to make you jealous. Will he crawl back this time?

★ warnings!: Angst, Fluff, toxic relationship, mentions of weed.

“Call me when you break up!” You scream, middle finger drawn to his face. He rolls his eyes, turning away from you. You're so furious, you speed walk away so pissed you could've sanded off the bottom of your shoes with how you were slamming your feet onto the concrete. So fucking angry. On and off for two years.

He had to get back at you for your latest argument. He did this by dating some random ex of his. A girl you knew he gave no shits about. Somehow, this feud was affecting you more than your past few. Could be the way he intentionally wanted you to be jealous. And it was working.

You were stalking this girls socials like a hawk, waiting to see if she'd post some hard launch of them together, put his initial in her bio, or if matching profile pictures were next for them. It was destroying you, even though you knew it was all a ruse, the thought of his hands on her made you sick.

You wondered occasionally if the toxicity of the relationship was worth it... but when it was good, it was fucking good. Like Romeo and Juliet, except if they occasionally wanted to kill eachother instead of themselves. The talks for hours, listening to music and getting high together, the inside jokes. When it was good it felt like you two were the only two people in the world and you hated everyone but one an other.

When it was bad, it was bitchy, petty, stupid. But it hurt. Chris could get so mean, making you question if he really loved you why he would act this way. Your bad phases were short but painful, like kissing someone else at a party infront of eachother, or talking shit to all your mutual friends.

But you always crawled back together. It was like a magnetic attraction, you always met back up. You could try to get over him, sleep with some guy, but it would never work. They just weren't the same as him. He taught you a secret language you could only speak together, what you had was irreplaceable. And as much as you both tried to hide it you were both painfully aware that you loved eachother, and that you couldn't find the same thing anywhere else.

You're just out from the shower. Clean and slightly soapy, your wet hair dripping onto your shoulder, when your phone buzzes. You bite your lip, deciding if you want to check who's texted you. You're weak. You look at the screen, a message from Chris.

“I wanna see you.”

Probably high, you think. No way you're going to run after him like a little puppy after he ran off with some girl. “Fuck him,” you mutter to yourself, tossing your phone onto your bed and wrapping a towel around you.

Another text brightens the screen,

“Come to the party, you need to get your mind off of him.”

from your bestfriend Caroline,

You think to yourself for a few moments, typing and then stopping and thinking again. You're not in the mood for a party, but it could be nice to get drunk to forget about Chris for a second. So you reply, typing in one hand and the other opening up your wardrobe to search for a decent dress.

You land on a short red one, with a square neckline. And pair it with some old black heels. It's not long until you're drunk as fuck. You want to forget about all this arguing and this felt like a good idea at your third tequila shot. Now you're stumbling around on Caroline's porch.

Until you spot a familiar looking navy blue mustang, Chris is parked out front the house, drivers seat reclined a little and a blunt in his mouth, like he has all the time in the world to spare. His cars running, like he's waiting for someone.

Your stomach drops, and you try to wander past his car and act cool, but you know the someone he's waiting for is you.

“Had fun ma?” he scoffs, looking you up and down. His tone is gruff, low it makes you wonder what he's thinking of. He tilts his head slightly, with a hint of sass, his eyes taking in your dress, your heels, your glossed lips.

Your jaw clenches. “What the fuck are you doing here, Chris?”

He takes another drag of his blunt, eyes observing every inch of you as he exhales, lifting his arm up and resting it on the window ledge. “Wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he tells you. “That a problem?”

You cross your arms and huff, “Yeah, it is a problem. You're not my boyfriend anymore. There's no need to watch out for me.”

He scoffs, shaking his head in dissaproval. “Nah. what’s a problem is you out here drunk.”

You sigh, here we go. “First of all,” you snap, stepping closer, eyes locked with his and your lecturing voice booming in his face, “What i do, and who i go out with is none of your business.”

He hums like he doesn’t believe you. Takes another drag, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Mhm. so, what?” he exhales slowly, the smoke lingering between your two close faces. “You let him kiss you?”

“There is no him, I don't need a rebound like you.” You chuckle, turning to walk away from his pathetic tough guy act.

You don’t owe him shit. He's not your boyfriend. Hasn’t been since he fucked off with that girl. But the way he looked at you just then- like he couldn't contain his thoughts, makes you rethink things.

You turn back and swallow hard. “No.”

“Good girl.” he smirks, looking you up and down as you shake, rubbing your cold hands together.

“Now c'mon and get in, you're shivering ma.” he tells you,

Reluctantly, you slip into the passenger seat. “You look pretty tonight.” he smiles at you, locking eyes with yours.

You try to work out his intentions behind what he just said, “Not gonna work on me this time.” You sigh, rolling your eyes and folding your arms, landing on the decision he was trying to sweeten you up to apologise.

“Alright..” he laughs quietly and starts up the car,

“Maybe this will.” he mutters, his lips moving fast toward yours.

His lips move slow against yours at first, pulling your lips into his. Then his attitude shifts, begging to feel you kissing him back he gets hungry, starving for your touch, your forgiveness, and your love again. The kiss is aggressive almost, passionate and electric.

Your thoughts swirling, your mind hyper active and running like a race horse. You couldn't help but let your hands feel through his hair, getting lost in the heat of it all. You'd forgotten how mad you were, and relaxing into the joy of being with him again. It was a high you couldn't buy anywhere else.

A/n: I hope you liked this :) please interact so I keep posting! Ilyyy, tell me if you want more of toxic fratboy chris and toxic reader!

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔: @matthewsroses @pvssychicken @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @sturniolo-fann @matts-myloverboy @emely9274 @sophand4n4 @uncannyguava @chrissweetheart @certifiedstarrr @slut4chris888 @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @chrepsi @starrii-sturns

[shidoglazer]

🔞 req bachira meguru oneshot mdni footjob

dom!ish reader in the first few paragraphs

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

you always knew your boyfriend, BACHIRA MEGURU has been an experimentalist in bed. you’ve tried countless of things before, edging, bondage, 69 and so on. you didn’t mind it, he just wanted to show you extra affection, and you’d be lying if you said every single one of them didn’t feel ethereal.

today wasn’t any different. while he was out and you were at home, a sudden notification from your messenger came in.

[@/megsbachira: {video}]

[@/megsbachira: can we try this :3]

[@/you: yes we can try a footjob now stop looking at porn in public 😭😭 you’re embarrassing yourself]

[@/megsbachira: HELL YEAAA💕👍🫡💛💛💛💛💛💛]

- - - - - - - - - 🍓 - - - - - - - - -

“s-shit angel.. haah.. doing so well for me..” bachira let out a breathy moan. his back was laid against the headboard, his hands clutching on the sheets on either side of him while you were sitting in front of him, your toes wrapped around his girth while a rabbit vibrator was shoved so deep into your hole. he didn’t want you to feel left out while he was getting all the pleasure ..

“megs,, i- mnfnn.. do you really like how this is feeling?.” you whimpered under your breath as the vibrator was throwing you off the edge, you’re not even sure if bachira was even listening to you from how much hes squirming, as if he was overtaken by the pleasure. it wouldn’t take a genius to find out he was rock hard from this. “y-yes baby! fuck, you’re so good at this.. g’na cum, keep going please.. y’re so fucking perfect.” he was basically blurting out words now from how stupid he was going

..you don’t know why, but seeing him so dumb for you made your stomach do flips. you pushed him closer to the edge before pulling your feet away, earning a surprised gasp from him. then slowly pulling out the vibrator out of your hole, turning it off and placing it at the table, crawling onto him and landing his lips onto yours for a small peck.

“i.. baby, why’d you stop?? cmon, keep going, please, i was so close.” he said with a small pout, grabbing onto your waist and gripping it tightly in frustration. you cupped his cheek in response and placed a kiss on his forehead, not saying anything before turning around, back facing him as you lined up his cock with your core, slowly sitting yourself down as you let out a moan, slowly grinding yourself against him as he held onto your hips, whimpering. “i wan your feet-“ he was cut off from your legs lifting up, your toes rubbing onto his nipples while he let out a groan, hands now holding onto your calves.

“megs.. feels so good,, did you get harder from that? ah!-,” you physically felt his dick twitch in your walls whenever your toes applied more pressure onto his buds, ripping a whine out of him

“uhuh.. yeah angel, can’t help it, feels too good. so well behaved for me, jus’ like that—“ his breath hitched as you clipped his nipples in between your toes, throwing his head back as his hand ran through his hair “gonna fuckin cum angel! such a good- girl!” his hips jerked into you as all you could do was moan and whimper, clenching around his cock.

he made sure both of you came at the same time, your back straightening from the pleasure, “fuck!! megs! so fucking gooddd, oh god,” he smirked (despite you not being able to see it), letting out a groan as he rutted into you, filling your stomach with the familiar warmth as you fell down onto the bed, completely limp.

★彡

safe to say, ever since that day he’s been requesting for footjobs a lot more. you weren’t even sure how to stop him, or if you could even stop him. sighh

thanks 4 reading through! sorry for any mistakes or ooc parts :)

[miss0atae]

It's time to talk about episode 6 of Secret Relationships!

I found this episode quite interesting because all the cards have been put on the table and Daon isn't left in the dark anymore about what happened and how it shapes his relationship with his "suitors". I've always talked more about the "suitors" than about him, even if he is the main character and a catalyst for Jaemin, SuHyeon and Seong Hyeon. Now, that he knows everything (or at least most of it) how will he act? Daon isn't a spineless character. He has been show to reject actions he didn't want to submit to and even if his "suitors" seem stronger than him, he can reject their advances if they are unsolicited.

At the beginning of the episode he agrees and lets SuHyeon come to his apartment to save Seong Hyeon because he has already seen what SuHyeon is capable, the violence he can use against someone else. The kissing scene was something I had trouble understanding, but in the end I feel like Daon was still in charge. He accepted the kiss, but it was for a meaning that has nothing to do with "feelings" for SuHyeon. Was it because he knew it was the only way to "tame" SuHyeon? I don't know. I felt like it was, but this is really my own interpretation of this scene. Once Daon remembered the sad face of Seong Hyeon, he wanted to stop the kiss and SuHyeon knew why.

In the end, SuHyeon has always expected things to start back from where he left their relationship, but he never understood that him leaving overseas was always going to be the obstacle. He left behind Daon and I believe this is one of Daon's boundaries that you can't cross if you want to remain close to him. The fact that he left when he needed him, that's what doomed their possible love relationship. SuHeyon never realized it. He always thought Jaemin was the obstacle (and he was in a way), but it's also his own actions that made impossible to start over. However, he finally revealed the truth to Daon and thankfully Daon trusted him (because he also had starting to mistrust Jaemin).

Seong Hyeon was crushed by Daon suddenly cold attitude towards him. The more I'm watching the series, the more I see that this character is characterized by his undying loyalty. Even when he was pushed away by Daon (for his own protection, but also because Daon believe himself not good enough) he wanted to remain close to him. He was feeling dejected and sad, but he kept going back to Daon. His "love" is very deep, even if they never truly were together. In a way, his actions mirror what Daon probably felt when SuHeyon left him. Daon is experiencing the choice of staying with the one who needs him. It's probably how he realized he doesn't want to push him away anymore, by the end of the episode. As much as Seong Hyeon appears to be the one with the healthiest mindset among Daon's suitors, I still feel like he is in a grey area where love is consuming him and he can't stop it. Only Daon can give him what he desires and if he doesn't? We'll probably never see it, but it would be interesting to see if it would change him.

Finally, we saw the mask Jaemin was wearing around Daon fell off. He was shocked for a minute when Daon accused him, but he quickly admitted the truth and that's where you could see how crazy he is. He is always been scheming and manipulating people to control Daon. He previously said he didn't love him, but in this episode he told him he did everything because he loves him. Most of Daon's suitors has something that makes them a bit "unhinged", SuHeyon can be violent, Seong Hyeon lets his affection consumes him and Jaemin is greedy for control and feel that the ends justify the means. I believe he is the craziest among all of them. Especially with his last move in the episode. He acted without any hesitations. However, it was fascinating to see him accept that he couldn't lie anymore and to use another way to keep Daon to him. What a frightening character.

How will Daon navigates the turbulent sea of this toxic relationships? I'm so curious to see how things will turn out. The story is setting Seong Heyon as the best suitor, but a tiny part of me would love to see him choose to keep all of them to him, by being the one who manipulates all of them to agree to whatever he wants, as they are all obsessed by him anyway. Let him be the true mastermind that can have it all.

In addition, before ending this review I would like to say that Daon's sister was truly the most perceptive character and she was amazing. I hope she will be able to study and leave the toxic house where she is living. She deserves the best.

[hanistry]

WHISKERS' RED | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fantasy au, magic au / alice in wonderland inspired au

synopsis | hyunjin knew the consequences of rejecting the queen of hearts' marriage proposal would be severe, but he didn't think it would bother her this much!

word count | 5.1k+

warning | playful illusions involving the body being twisted and turned in ways it should not

world | zero

The burst of red petals in the air was the last thing Hyunjin thought he would see. Yet, at the same time, he was not surprised to see them appear in the nick of time.

The queen must be furious to hear his rejection to her marriage proposal. He had also done it in the middle of a ballroom filled with elite guests of the kingdom. However, to be fair, she should not have been so self-assured as to propose to him in the middle of an extravagant party. 

He knew a great deal about the Queen the Hearts. Everyone does. After all, she was the queen. But he reckoned she didn’t know much about him. Even after she attempted to court him through unconventional (very unconventional) means, her knowledge of him was not enough to warrant the kind of affection she held. 

Thinking about the terrible courting process where he deadpanned his way through most of the interactions made him shiver. He tried so hard, but the queen was so absorbed in trying to impress him that all his effort to show disinterest was overlooked. 

Anybody with some sense could see that he does not love the queen and should have wisely deterred her from proposing and thinking that he would agree to marry someone at least twice his age.

It appeared that nobody in the kingdom had sense. The general public thought nothing of his dislike toward royalty when the benefit of a crown overshone his mundane opinion. After all, he need not fall in love with the queen, but how could he not fall in love with the crown?

Except Hyunjin did not fall in love with the crown. He fell in love with the young maiden who lived next door to his disdainful uncle, who he’s been forced to live with since his parents passed away, and he spent his entire teenage years pining over her. He liked to say she was the first girl to treat him kindly, conveniently forgetting that she was the first girl he had ever met.

He chose her over the queen. He will always choose her over the queen… which was only preposterous! So preposterous that the queen wanted his head for rejecting her!

“Hello, handsome!”

You had appeared from thin air—bursted from thin air, to be precise. Your signature marking of red rose petals fell elegantly onto the ground to signify the end of your untraceable teleportation. 

Hyunjin looked to you immediately and breathed out a sigh of relief. An annoying soul, but a familiar face, nonetheless. Anything would be better than the situation he got himself trapped in by uttering a kind rejection, which was hiding out in the palace maze and waiting for his eventual doom when the guards find their way to the spot he hid in.

“I see you’ve caught yourself in a bit of a fickle!” you mused, your body floating in the air with a feather’s weight. You put your face in front of his, invading his personal space. “Rejecting the queen’s marriage proposal? Now that is the kind of drama I have been dying to watch!”

It has been made abundantly clear to Hyunjin since your first encounter that his—or anybody's—misfortunes are a source of entertainment to you. Your privilege to wield an unclear amount of power, which provided you the freedom to dismiss the monarchy, has made your life a purgatory of boredom and stillness you cannot escape. You resorted to lurk through kingdoms in your usual feathery weight, finding those in misery just to get a kick out of them.

“I can’t imagine how entertaining this must be for you,” Hyunjin grumbled as he pushed your face away. 

“Indeed, you cannot! I never thought the circus will pan out this way!” you exclaimed as you spun quickly in the air before abruptly pausing with a magnificent ending pose. “You and the queen have been going on dates for weeks now! What a surprise that you turned down the proposal!”

“I was never going to accept her hand in marriage! Certainly, you realized that!” he hissed, his vine-like paranoia forcing him to continuously cast anxious glances behind his shoulders to watch out for the guards.

The corner of your mouth quirked into a widening grin. Your lower body twisted, evaporating into colored mist, leaving only your torso in the air. Leaning forward, you placed your hands under your chin to make a flower and let your dreamy eyes set atop of Hyunjin’s disheveled features. Messy brown hair and glistening sweat. A look of frustration and fear cast over his gorgeous face. 

Your endeared heart jumped! Oh, how you love his reactions to trouble! This is how all men should be—frustrated and afraid!

“Of course you don’t! It would make me so upset if you were to marry the queen,” you giggled as flew forward to poke his nose. “Keeping you single is my top priority.”

He blinked in surprise when you flicked your fingers between his eyes, then he frowned at you suspiciously.

He no longer questioned your fondness toward him. On many occasions, you have unwaveringly confessed to him your undying love for his beautiful face. Sweet and romantic words have flown out of your mouth like waterfalls, and they have only ever been for his beautiful face. Everyone in the kingdom knows that you have an honest tongue, so your praise and admiration for his looks must hold some truth to them.

Those were not grounds for him to believe you were genuinely in love with him. Besides, Hyunjin never believed their affection was genuine due to your erratic behavior. You were too playful, mysterious, and self-centered to devote yourself to another person. You already do not look out for yourself and look out even less for others. There was no way you could fall in love. Your affection for him has to be an ongoing joke in their immortal schedule.

“I am in love with someone else,” Hyunjin mentioned after your comment. There was a scowl on his face.

Your smile did not fade. You already knew that.

Before you could reply, you flew around his head when you heard the rattling of armors, your eyes twinkling with delight as the guards approached in groups. You grinned at the horrid expression he made before his feet began to scramble to bring him further into the maze.

“Looks like we should get out of here first before we continue our conversation!” you said, flying in front of him.

Hyunjin huffed in fear, his head turning to look behind him. The thought of being captured and having to explain to the queen his decision clouded his mind like poison he would willingly drink just so he could avoid that responsibility.

“I don’t know what you are doing here, genuinely,” he said through gritted teeth. “But unless you are planning to help, there is no ‘we’ here! It is just me!”

“Now, now, Hyunjin. I am not so heartless as to leave you in this mess alone!” You shook your head just as your torso vanished, leaving only your head turning in circles like an owl would turn their neck. “I know just the way out of this maze.”

“The queen must have ordered the guards to wait by the exit for me!” he sputtered out, then he grimaced. “Also, can you not do the cheshire cat thing with your human head!”

“Awe, why? It’s fun and it makes me even more weightless with only my head in the air,” you whined, bouncing your head in the air as if it was a ball walking down a flight of stairs.

You could hear the voices of the guards now. Their armors rubbed against each other as they ran, hoping to find the poor boy whom the queen has taken a liking toward. How unfortunate that such unpleasant sound would overshadow the orchestra performing at the ball tonight.

“Oh no–look, Y/N.” Hyunjin stopped to turn around, his ears drowning with the pitter-patter of steps. He turned to them, his hands gripping their shoulders, which appeared when he aimed for it confidently. His widened eyes were harsh and determined, much unlike what you were used to seeing on him. “Just get me out of here!” 

You cooed at the way his hair flung over his face, your eyes shining with endearment at how he managed to maintain an air of prettiness even in such a stressful situation. He did not look appreciative of your reaction at all as he gripped your shoulders harder, borderline giving you a shove, and he glared at you to take his life seriously.

“Since you asked so frantically, I will spare you–” you released yourself from his grasp and popped one of your arms off, swinging it in the air like a flag, “–a help hand!"

“Y/N!”

“Okay, okay! I already told you I know the way out of this maze,” you said with a roll of your eyes before you tapped your chin, ignoring the ever-growing sound of footsteps. You spun around, scanning almost every nook and cranny of the maze. There was nothing to look at besides tall bushes and the sky. “Hmm�� let me think. I waltzed into the maze once and planted a secret exit, but that was some time ago. If my memory serves me correctly, it should be around a corner somewhere…”

“Y/N! Are you serious?”

“There he is! We found him!”

Hyunjin cursed under his breath at the booming voice. He would be surrounded soon if he does not make a run for it, but whichever way of the maze was he supposed to go? What if he gets trapped in a dead-end? You released a hand from your chin and tilted your head, smiling upon seeing a group of unfamiliar faces.

“Greetings, everyone!” You waved with your detached arm. When you received no heartfelt welcome in return, you sighed. “The queen can’t seriously still be mad about what I did to the garden? That was at least twenty years ago!”

The guards were taken back when they noticed your presence. 

“He is with cheshire’s descendant! Everyone be careful!”

You grinned as you huffed out a few breaths of laughter. What glorious reputation you and yours ancestors have cultivated that the royal guards have to set aside their objective to be alarmed with your presence. It was wise to pay extra attention to them, but not too much so they would neglect their surroundings because who knew what you would do?

Not even you knew what you would do sometimes. It was all so spontaneous! Sometimes, you spread rumors and gossip, which is all in good fun, no matter the minor consequences. Sometimes, you plant insects and bombs in flowers, which is still all in good fun, no matter the deadly consequences.

“Tough crowd! You people are worse than hecklers!” you complained playfully as you flew over to Hyunjin. "Fortunately for me, I ran out of jokes to tell."

Hyunjin froze when he felt legs settle over his shoulders. You had sat yourself on them, your body shrunk to that of a child so you could sit upon him without being out of place or too heavy for him to handle. Putting your hands on his cheeks, you pulled at him and giggled. 

“I and my side-kick are going to take our leave.” Reaching your hand up in the air, you smiled widely and yelled at the top of your lungs, “Ladies and gentleman! Have a fantastic night and you will see me again when I allow you to!”

Hyunjin was unsure what had happened but turned around and began running when he saw fireworks bursting amid the knights. You laughed maniacally above him. Your eyes were ablaze as the wind blew against them in this thrilling moment, and you remembered briefly why you existed. 

“Y/N! I don’t know what it is that you did but please, don’t kill anyone!”

When Hyunjin saw you again, you were no longer sitting on his shoulders but flying alongside him. He turned to you, his eyes wide in acknowledgment instead of shock. He has known you long enough to predict some of your antics, he believed, and this one he liked to claim as loyalty. No matter what, if you start something with someone, you will stick with them until the end.

Hence, you were still here with him during this escape. Or perhaps it was only because you liked him more than anyone else.

“You are giving me an awful lot of orders, Hyunjin,” you grumbled as you leaned close to him. The faux grimace on your face vanished as quickly as the wind and was replaced with your usual playful smile. “Have you finally learned how to use my affection to your advantage?”

He pulled a face. He tried to yell over the wind even though he wasn’t running very fast anymore. “I am already in love with someone else!”

You laughed, feeling equally as dismissive of his statement as any other time he’s announced it to you. You flew ahead of him and threw your hands up. Confetti released from your palms as if his affection for another was something worth congratulating.

“There is still a lot you don’t know about the Cheshire family, Hyunjin!”

The first thing being that every Cheshire descendant has a mate, a second soul, a linkage—a Hatta. Every Cheshire descendant has a Hatta whom they answer to, whom they devote themselves to, whom they love.

Your Hatta is Hyunjin.

The metal lock shattered with a flick of your wrist. Hyunjin stumbled toward you in a frenzy when the dungeon cell opened.

“Yeji! Yeji! My sister, they–the queen has my sister!” he uttered, his eyes wide with a discerning frown. 

Hyunjin clutched their shirt collar, frightened, and rushed for his beloved little sister more than his own safety. As his hair bounced with his animated movement, you could faintly notice a bruise near the corner of his eye. 

Either way, his need to pester you about Yeji immediately was not lost on you. He knew you would save him and only him unless it was otherwise stated that you had to prioritize another. You liked Yeji. She was an amazing daughter, a welcoming step-sister, and a lovely friend. However, no matter your relationship with her, it was not within your godly obligation to help her when she is in trouble, nor were you compelled to save her life.

You are only bound to Hyunjin, your Hatta. You only answer to him. If an emergency calls for it, the world can die with your sins.

Hyunjin has grown to understand that very well. He was finally utilizing his status, finally learning. Pestering you about his little sister forced you to also take care of her, making it impossible for you to abandon her after saving him, which he knew you would do no matter the consequences.

“I already knew they took you both,” you said, suppressing the jittery happiness in you. “I was watching you guys get taken from the tree in the backyard.” 

He slowed down, the grip on your collar loosening as he processed your word. “You were watching us?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod as you ran your hand through his disheveled hair. He didn’t flinch away, but you knew it was from shock and nothing else. “I didn’t feel like helping and you didn’t order me to.” 

You soothed your hand down the back of his head before gently brushing his fringes away to examine the bruise better. Depending on how much they destroyed his pretty face, how bothersome you would be soon in the courtroom. Judging by the fading purple, he wasn’t too hurt. You didn’t think he would be; the queen loved his pretty face as much as you did. But, regardless, you decided you were going to be as mischievous as you wanted.

“Do you want me to save her?” you asked, pushing his gloomy face up with your hands, squishing his cheeks together.

His grievances with you neglecting him and watching him and his sister’s misery for entertainment have mostly vanished. It was just the kind of thing you would do, so he wasn’t sure why he even felt annoyed by it in the first place. Besides, as long as you manage to rescue Yeji from the queen’s wrath, he would pretend nothing ever happened. Just like he has been doing. 

He nodded, a look of relief rushing over him. He was let off easier because the queen was in love with him, but Yeji was much less fortunate. A pretty face and a youthful soul could never fend well in the palace, for the envious queen was not pretty, youthful, or in love. She was dragged away last night when the guards found out she has been eating Hyunjin’s share of food, and he has not heard of her since. Not even her screams or moans. Just silence.

It has been a long, frustrating three days in the dungeon. Truth be told, he had been surprised it took you longer than a few hours to come to his rescue. Knowing you were there when he was taken from his home, he wasn’t so much surprised but rather confused. He figured he should throw that away too. Being confused about your actions would garner him a lifetime of confusion, but there would never be an answer. 

“Yes. Please save my sister,” he said. “I command you to save her.”

The golden glow in your eyes shone only for a moment. Your first ever official Hatta command!

Hyunjin has learned the first time it happened that the glow was akin to the act of signing a contract, or the act of your priorities shifting. It is a promise. When the gold shines in your eyes, vanishing and blinking as the legacy of the original Cheshire Cat, it means you would only stop until the command is fulfilled.

“Okey-dokey!” You stepped back and gave him a courtesy, then you stood up and tapped his shoulder twice. “You just wait at the Cheshire House for me. I will bring your sister along in no time!”

He looked confused. The Cheshire House? He has never heard of such a place. Could it be near the Looking Glass or could it be hidden somewhere in Hearts that he never knew of? It would not be surprising if he never knew of it. He was just a staple boy, after all. He had not the rich to spend on extravagant vacations.

“The what?”

You smiled at him fondly, squeezing his cheeks and cooing at how adorable his confusion appeared. He didn’t have the sense to swat your hand away as he usually would, he only looked on this time, waiting for an explanation. But you gave him nothing of satisfaction, only the sound of a foreign name.

“Minho.”

Within a second, Hyunjin vanished out of existence in a wrap.

The queen was furious when you appeared in court.

Emerging in a fit of red rose petals, you made your presence known amongst the council and the throne. You had appeared at the center of the courtroom where Yeji was being held captive. Within a blink of an eye, you snatched the girl away from the knight from the Spade Section, which meant he was an executioner!

You mirrored the card’s shocked expression before sticking your tongue out at him while holding Yeji to your chest and ignoring the way she gasped in shock. Whether it came from the proximity of you both or the fact that you blatantly disrespected a royal guard, you have no idea.

“Who dares to interrupt the morning court?”

“Oh, here we go,” you sang under your breath with a quirk of your brows upon the queen’s roar. Turning to face the throne, you bowed to the Queen of Hearts and her goofy, useless husband. “Greetings, your majesties! I hope you are having a much blessed morning!”

The king bounced in his seat with wondrous stupidity, one which you admired to the extent that you would always be applauded under his attention. He was easy to entertain and he hasn’t much standard, considering he stayed with the stubborn queen who was only once beautiful inside and out.

“Good morning to you too, Cheshire’s descendant!” the king exclaimed as his clumsy arm waved.

You flashed him a lovely smile, sparkles radiating off the side of your face as if you were a cartoon character. It only made him happier to see the cheerful illusion. 

The queen scoffed on her throne and ignored her husband’s reaction. “One can never have a blessed morning with you intruding my court.”

Stifling a fake gasp, you covered your mouth and leaned your head on Yeji’s shoulder, sobbing into her clothes with big, chunky tears that disappeared in the air as they fell, never once staining the carpet beneath your feet. “Oh, Yeji, whatever should I do now? The queen hates me!”

“You have my prisoner.”

“Yes, I do!” You released Yeji with a grin and clapped excitedly. 

With a confused and somewhat frightened expression, Yeji got shoved to the front before a string of confetti bounced off the top of her head. They latched onto her red braids and farmer dress after appearing with a ‘pop!’ that startled her.

“I present to you, Hwang Yeji!” you announced after walking up next to her and presenting her as if she were standing in a dark room in a spotlight. You could present a spotlight, but the courtroom was too bright, and you didn’t feel like making the effort to darken the room. “Hwang Hyunjin’s beloved little sister, as well as an innocent prisoner taken in because the Queen of Hearts wanted to commit a crime of passion–”

Your voice dragged on the last syllable of the word ‘passion’ as your body wrapped into nothing. Not a second later, like a boomerang, your voice echoed through all corners of the courtroom in a circle, finishing with the vocabulary. The council members, all animals, looked around in hopes of catching a glimpse of you, but their effort was to no avail.

A turtle ducked his head into its shell, leaving only his glasses perched at the entrance. An owl turned her head in a circle and sprung back around quickly, feathers flying off her body. The horse’s nostrils flared when she felt a breeze rush past her neck, blowing away the papers on her desk.

You reappeared with a loud gasp. When you were visible again, you were by the queen’s side, intruding on her personal space. Unlike your original attire, your new outfit matched that of the council members: something sophisticated and unnecessary. It took a minute for everyone to notice the naked rabbit hiding in the corner of the courtroom—you had taken his clothes, which appeared to be the Spokesman’s uniform.

“Would the queen like to comment on the matter?”

“My queen, our dearest queen?”

“For the Hearts Morning Post, my queen, would you like to give an answer to why Hwang Yeji was arrested?”

“My queen, please look over here for the headline picture!”

“Gossip! Gossip! Gossip!”

“On a scale of white to red, how relevant is Yeji’s arrest related to her brother’s rejection of the marriage proposal?”

Lights flashed, and questions were fired left and right by the numerous clones of yourself made to look like a group of paparazzi interrogating the queen. You have given each clone a different voice to make them appear as other people. However, instead of appearing altogether, you flashed from here to there at an immeasurable speed while confusing the queen by continuously throwing camera flashes at her face.

“I command you to stop at this instant!”

You did. You stopped before her, your eyes gleaming with such ridiculous enjoyment that the queen had to question whether your mind had been taken away by the purple-stripe mushrooms in the forests. But she knew for a fact that you were sane. Insanity was the Mad Hatter’s legacy, spontaneity the Cheshire Cat’s.

Both of which were a hindrance to her ruling of the kingdom.

“My queen! Such generous volume in your voice, you almost blew me away!”

“Shut your mouth, Cheshire.”

“That is my ancestor’s name, Iracebeth,” you mused, not so much because you were bothered by her choice of names. You tilted your head. It went around like a clock’s hand as your pupils dilated until it covered all surface of your eyes. “I don’t go around calling you by your mother’s name, do I?”

Her face flushed with red. Your eyes returned normal quickly and you raised your eyebrows. Stepping back, your stood straight and in silence before you suddenly began to mirror her appearance by turning your head into the shade of a tomato. She only fumed more when she realized you were mocking her anger.

“You insolent brat! How dare you! I am to be addressed with the utmost respect or I will have your head chopped off!”

The redness stayed on your face as you wheezed at the sheer arrogance of her statement. You threw your head back and thrashed your torso about as you laughed, your laughter causing your head to slowly inflate like a balloon. Incredible! The queen is a stuck-up bonehead who does not understand the absolute Law of Fate! 

There was a loud crack when you twisted your neck. You froze, the departure of your boisterous laughter leaving the air with a sudden, unfamiliar dryness. Yeji whipped around to find your body crumbled to the ground, and she stayed frozen at her spot as she watched your head detach from your neck and float up to play in a merry-go-round. She knew you could do that, but like her brother, she could never get used to seeing no blood in a human body.

“Get my head chopped off like this?” you asked, the arm of your fallen body raising and waving. “A very clean cut! Are you sure your executioner can manage that?”

The queen huffed at your mockery. She raised her chin at you, a desperate attempt to exert authority. “The executioner will do anything I ask, which is to behead you, Cheshire poison.”

The merry-go-round stopped and vanished into soft glitter. You stood up from the ground, your head reattached to your body. When you gathered yourself, you stared at her for a belated moment, then you relaxed into yourself. 

You would give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she didn’t know the Law of Fate rather than thinking she could defy it with the crown on her head. Perhaps she had no idea that no mortals other than a Hatta could kill a Cheshire. It was not your confidence speaking, it was a rule written by Fate, the Cheshire Cat’s first wife.

Anyone born into the Cheshire bloodline could only die when the Hatta allowed them to. It was why any action with malice intent—unless made by their Hatta or another Cheshire descendant—would fly right through a body like yours. That fact was mostly known to the long lines of descendants and their Hattas, but some people have read them from books or heard them from folktales, too.

“You cannot do that, my queen,” you explained with a bright smile. “You cannot have my head. Only Hyunjin can.”

“Nonsense! I can do whatever I want!” she hollered at your blatant disobedience. “I am the queen!”

You blinked, even more surprised by her ignorance and confidence now. Even though you liked to abuse the Cheshire power you possessed, something about the way the queen screamed of her identity made your skin itch in dismay. So much confidence for someone who knew only what they were allowed to know.

This was not the Iracebeth your family told you about. This was not the girl with a fairytale and flowers. This was not the girl in love with a boy who died. That girl was no longer. She has become the Queen of Hearts.

“Yes, you are the queen.” You nodded, then you stared straight into her eyes. “You are also only a queen.”

“I am unsure how you have become this way, Your Majesty,” you continued after a moment of silence. “But I am here to assure you that you have no authority to treat people the way you do.”

She squinted her eyes at you. “You know nothing of what i have been through.”

“That is never the point. Whatever tragic past you have, you do not own the monopoly in human suffering,” you said. “Contrary to your desired belief, you do not have it worse, Your Majesty. Those who do don’t turn out like you.”

“That’s enough!” She slammed her hands on the armrests of her throne and stood up. She pointed an accusing finger at you and spat, “Off with their heads! Both of them!”

Yeji stumbled back in fear at the command. She shook her head when the guards closed in on her and screamed when you tapped her shoulder. You flashed her a judgemental grimace and pulled her close to you. You raised your hand and flicked your wrists, your eyes glowing the Cheshire gold before a force field activated around the room.

The knights continued to run but were making no progress, cursed to be stuck running in the same spot repeatedly to reach an unreachable destination. They looked ridiculous with their spears and moving legs.

“You majesty, have I not mentioned that you cannot have my head?” you asked rhetorically, sighing at her as the venom in you eased back into your usual playful self. “Your knights can’t even get close to me.”

She looked baffled. She tried barking at the soldiers to run faster, but with another twist of your hand, they were rendered back to square one again. She whipped her head, her crown stuck on top, and back to you when no one else had the answer.

“You cheshire poison! What are you doing to my guards?”

“Nothing,” you replied, wiggling your finger with a giggle before you settled down. You wafted your hand near Yeji’s red braids and watched as her hair undone itself, setting them straight and messy the way the girl woke up. “This is my Cheshire talent. I control time.”

The queen gulped when you eyed her purposefully.

You knew. You knew that she was surprised because time was not what she thought it would look like, because you were exactly what she had been looking for because, after all the screams and shouts, you were the person she had to look to if she ever wanted to revive her lost love.

The boy who once went all out for her. The boy who died for her. The boy named Christopher.

[krewekreep]

Help Me Create Perfection Part 2

Part 1: Prelude + Plot

Tags: Evil Scientist AU, Reseacher!Reader, Mad Scientist!Sukuna, dubcon, enemies to... (have fun), boss/subordinate dynamic, God complex, Yandare realness, Breeding Kink Sukuna wants to defeat life itself...it's Sukuna, kinda expect the worst.

Summary: 2.6K words. Ryomen Sukuna is on a quest to become God. What happens when his most prized researcher keeps messing up his experiment?

Author's Note: Kinda Proofread, always editing. (Took way too long, sorry 😭) ((Also no word count, it’s super long.))

“Y/N,” Ryomen forces you to face him again. How annoying it is your tears are falling all over his hand and arm. How beneath you it is to cry and allow someone to affect you so much. He’ll have to be sure to teach you better than that. “What does my creation need?” You’re gonna tell him one way or the other. You have no choice now, and the darting of your eyes—obviously trying to think of something, made Ryomen enraged. Is the idea of him that repulsive? Are you really someone so prideful to deny yourself the privileges of his association? Any other woman would’ve done anything to be in his bed—plenty do. Do you think you really are that special? How lucky you are he simply needs to use you for a much grander goal.

“What does…our child need?” He can’t wait for you anymore. It’s decided, had been long before he snatched you away. “It,” you spat but before getting any farther in your denouncement he grabs you by the hair pulling your head back. A warning to refer to your child with proper acknowledgment. “He…he needs parents Ryomen.” You’re a breathless and dazed mess from the sheer weight of the confrontation at hand. He pulls you to face him—his expression a blazing mysterious scowl. “Everyone, get out.” His assistants are stunned and look between each other and Lu, poor baby, might have had his eyes on you the whole time but can’t bring himself to come between the two of you. And he hopes you can forgive him. Which won’t matter given he’ll never see you again. No one will. “I said…get out.” Ryomen never shouts. He never has to as when the baritone of his bravado drops to an eerie growl, it is a deep primal assertion to do whatever he wants. And everyone follows suit. They all quickly leave, Lu essentially escorted out by the assistants who could only pathetically push him towards the exit. His apology was all over his face and if you could you’d tell him there’s nothing he could do. Because there is nothing he can do. The doors slam and flutter until settling close, a deafening silence sealing your fate.

“Now tell me,” you’re still against the wall, lab coat fallen from your shoulders as your hands brace against the cold lab. Your legs are failing you and buckle leaving you at the mercy of the strength of his very harsh grip. Ryomen has a physique indicative of a psycho. Someone absolutely obsessed with perfection. His 6’5 frame seeming silly in a lab coat. How he bulges out of all his clothing seemingly testing on himself too. Atleast that was the rumors. How you would cough and look away catching yourself staring at the rise and fall of his huge pecs as he barked commands. How disgusting you felt feeling stimulated when your hands touched or when he gave only you praise for a positive update. Ryomen knew you wanted more too. Just too cowardly to get it. “Tell me your observations Doctor. I imagine you have a number of invaluable insights.” He huffs against your lips, fighting what little he has to not simply have at you right now.

“Mahoraga is too ambitious. You are not the first and will not be the last man attempting to create life in his image. Your image is blemished, bruised—and so therefore he cannot be better than what he comes from.” Something in you while afraid feels…free. Free enough to be honest and clear. Ryomen is abhorrent but…he’s not trying to hurt you right now. Not anymore than he already has, he wants your opinion. He needs it. “So what do you think, with your expertise, is what I know to be what he needs?” He leans closing in on your ear. Your cheeks touching feeling his radiating annoyance against your stiffened neck. It causes the both of you to quake with goosebumps. “Do you finally understand what I’ve been wanting of you?” This is the softest he’s ever sounded. He’s contemplative but frustrated. He settles even closer to you, his immense bulge twitching against your stomach. You sigh heavily knowing of course you knew what he wanted, he just didn’t deserve to get it. He is too nasty and evil and expectant. He’s a child that can’t be told no. And you refused to give in to the type of man you could never respect. He might be powerful, but not all powerful and refused to be scared to death of him.

“Whatever you want. You will not have.” He releases you leaning away. “What did you say?” He can’t help the maniacal surprise you elicit. His eyes almost twitch and his fangs bare because he will possess you even if you leave out of the room between his teeth…you could be nothing more than an experiment to him. He is trying to see you as an equal, stop fighting him. “This is not a discussion, Y/N.” He snatches you easily by the wrist pulling you to him. You crash into his chest and look into eyes that damn near blaze red. “I have chosen you to ascend with me.” His eyes soften again, you realize Ryomen is beyond mad, beyond evil. He’s absolutely fucking crazy. “Why don’t you want to ascend with me? Adam and Eve were nothing but pawns. Nothing but new limbs without any sense of self. We, are the next evolution Y/N…we are the next generation.” His grip doesn’t loosen but his eyes are so sullen. This is the sweetest he’s ever been, how he is looking at you as an equal. How he always did. Is this just someone who has been alone and misunderstood? He doesn’t really want to do this? He’s just…troubled. Maybe he just needs someone as smart as him to make him understand his goals are just overcompensation. Maybe you can fix him.

“Ryomen, please. This isn’t the way. You do not have to go this far. You’ve created organs from nothing. Your the name everyone wants to be attached to…including me. I didn’t know that someone I had admired and looked up to had only created good in the world by accident.” The tears fall again. “Working with you to cure diseases, innovate health sciences all over the word, all to realize it’s because you’re a sick person with even sicker aspirations. People look up to you! If only the rest of the world even knew five percent of the bullshit we do here…we all deserve to die. We do not deserve to play God, Ryomen. We don’t.” You collapse in his arms. The work stress, the failure of your dreams, the dredge of life, the mind bending philosophical madness of the entire situation…you couldn’t tough it out anymore. Ryomen holds you as you weep into his arms. How annoying this all is. If you could just put the emotions aside for the bigger picture. If you could realize the point of stupid people are for smart people to live better than them. How short sighted you are…if everyone is of his image they’ll never be another disease to cure. How he seriously needs you to put the emotions away to fully become the best you possible. The you he knows he can help you to become. If only he could distract you of this overly emotional mother complex of yours. How perfect this would be for later, when you’d be a mother. The protectiveness, the concern—a proper mother of the world. You will be able to balance his iron fists…oh how perfect you are in every sense of the word

His cock is the most emotional though, and Ryomen has been fighting his urges far too long. You’re in his hands, in his grasp, albeit not the sexiest presentation but you’re here. He’s waited so long to break these barriers down and as the sick man he is he doesn’t quite care it comes at the cost of your mental health. He sees you coping through a breakdown, but needs you to break so he never has to hear you care about strangers again. He pulls you into him, placing his head on top of yours as he accepts your clawing into his shirt and crying your eyes out. What you think is a moment of getting through to him is simply him counting to thirty. You have thirty seconds to cry, and be comforted. He can admit he put a lot of pressure on you. He wanted you to get here. So the very least he could do in his victory is let you weep. He considers the way your nails dig into him, how he’s wanted to know how much strength is behind those always manicured hands. If you’re a biter or a sucker. He wants to know what you’re hiding that makes you so fixated on keeping up appearances. How once he’s seen the plushy shadow of your pussy lips when you bent to retrieve something, Ryomen veered his head from the other side of the room to soak up your mound hidden by black panties and black stockings. How’s he’s wanted to leave you a sullied mess in his office while he goes on with his work day.

“28, 29, 30.” He counted the last three aloud. You were too busy thinking maybe he wasn’t all that bad. Yet, your brain couldn’t recognize being lifted and laid down on your desk as swiftly as he did it. Ryomen was so big your thighs had no choice but to spread. Your knees almost flush to the desk as your scared pussy kisses his angry bulge through your clothes. You squeeze instinctively already emotionally overstimulated. Your mind wracking to accept or make sense of the position you are in. Ryomen might be a monster but he can admit it.

“It will hurt.” He leans over you, his full weight crushing as he holds you by the thighs. Your heart beats even faster because no matter your attempts he is fully overpowering you. “I don’t want it to…” he places a kiss to your temple. “I’m risking the results testing this while you’re under so much stress…so my new hypothesis is how the emotions in the midst of child rearing will impact their personality.” You cry more. “No, No, shhh…” Ryomen’s kindness makes you sick. His softness and affection confusing you. “Eh, I change my mind.” His demeanor switches back to cold and for a moment you think he’s lost all interest in you and this. If anything just some other poor woman will be his victim. But he’s not done. The bit of hope ripped out of you when he seats himself in your work chair, shirt buttons lost to the wrestling and his belt and pants unfastened.

“Open your legs, Y/N.” You refuse, only able to shake your head in protest. A thunderous rumble barrels out his chest as he barks. “Open your fucking legs you stupid slut.” You couldn’t help but cry at the verbal abuse, knowing you had no choice. You spread your legs weakly, trembling all over. Your pussy visible through your soaked cotton panties. How Ryomen’s mouth watered at the wetness coating your thighs. He knows the body can betray itself but you…how humiliating you must feel to be at his mercy. Someone you not only despise but once…admired. He wants to pull his cock out and make you watch him please himself to your tears. How beautiful you are, how superior you will be once he fucks all those tears out of you. How he will fuck some sense into you once and for all.

“Play with yourself Y/N.” A command just like any other. There’s no fight left in you. It’s easiest to obey and follow orders. You bring your uneasy hand to your core. Tears brimming as you close your eyes, unable to watch him enjoy this spectacle. How any sense of humanity is gone. How he looks starved, rabid, and wide eyed. You begin to rub yourself moaning against your better judgment. For what’s it’s worth the mild pleasure of this helps you not lose your sanity entirely. If you can just hold on long enough you can survive him. Just give him what he wants, he’ll leave you alone eventually. Play along, be eager. “Enjoy” yourself. Play on his depravity and get the first flight out of there the minute he lets you go. You begin to roll your hips, uncomfortable but needy for something. Your wetness coats your fingers and makes massaging yourself that much better. He watches you, studies you, and approves. How he learns from this you know yourself well, a proper woman. Your migraine is beating at the top of your skull, and you press harder on your clit for that numbing feeling. Ryomen can tell you aren’t doing this for him. It turns him on even more. How he knows your spitting in his face by refusing him the power to fully humiliate you. What you don’t know is the little respect he does have for you is your saving grace from his own tested form of annihilation. He’s the worst of the worst. He likes you fight him, for whatever reason. You aren’t weak, and his heart swells with pride at how well his selection was. He grips his crying cock with a hurtful tightness, he wants to fuck you until you pass out, slap you awake, and continue. Your immersed in finger fucking yourself having inserted two fingers and bucking against yourself like a mad woman. Fuck Ryomen, fuck this job, fuck your life. You needed to cum. You lock eyes with Ryomen for a moment almost embarrassed but you hold his gaze and keep at it. There’s no name to call, there’s no person to think about. And Ryomen is seething at you refusing him the delicious satisfaction of taking over you. What little humanity he has tells him he doesn’t need to hurt you. He shouldn’t hurt you. Yet, the man in front you snickers before throwing out: “Cum. I want you to cum. You're still going to get fucked.” He laughs at your hand stopping and your eyes opening wide. “Oh no, keep going. Now you have to see it through.” You bit into your lip, pussy throbbing and awaiting you as the cold lab air chills you back to reality. “Finish. Or do you want me to do it?” You both narrow your eyes at each other. True enemies. Regardless of being his subordinate. “No.”

“No what?” He questions amused.

“No to both.” You slip your hand away frustrated but determined. “That was enough Ryomen…” you can't even catch your breath, haphazardly wiping your sweaty face. “You get no more…” you look over at him who is seemingly bored. “No more you say?” Without a word he releases the behemoth in his pants. “I don't really get the final say…he does.” His cock was massive, eleven girthy, veiny inches. His tip was blushing red and leaking. His cock just wanted you to notice him. He's wanted your attention so long and could've had you for so long. How he's wanted to meet your cervix and kiss her hello. Ryomen is such a pretentious asshole. You could've been pregnant the second week you began working under him. He could've had Mahoraga completed and on battlefields by now…he could cause the world to end knowing he can happily return to the family he's coveted with you. He's a sick fuck who likes a sick fuck. He gets tired of lovers fast, he gets tired of sex. After time he could only cum if he thought of the surpreme being lying dormant in his body. How he conserved his ejaculation or lied. How he's physically repulsed by the idea of his seed being incubated by a weak vessel…

“Come,” he orders. “Sit in my lap.” You look over him. There's nowhere to run, no one to turn to, and for certain no way to report him. You can only plea a final time. “Ryomen please…why not the normal way? A date? A drunken night out…why like this?” For once he can say he has no words. No answer. Why didn't he just...talk to you? He had done it (albeit resentfully) every day he had to seem sociable at this god forsaken place. He could've manipulated you traditionally. Why the long game? Why flat out… this? He had no answer which angered him a bit. Who are you to challenge him in any way? Why has he allowed you still some sense of pride when you deserve to be choked by his cock. “Maybe I would've… understood or…accepted things if you just treated me like a person... But nobody is a person to you so…” you spread your legs and lean your head back looking up to the ceiling. He wanted you to accept him and you are...you just never said you would with a smile. “You plan to take me? Take me…but I'm not a plaything and I'm not going to entertain you any more than I already have...” Ryomen is stunned. The air sucked out of the room. His bloated and blinded ego called out to show itself. And it is nowhere to be found. He rises from the chair, debating now with no upper hand what he should do. He hasn't been unsure since an orphan child, how small you made him feel. Unwanted and undesirable and nothing more than a monster. But… his child won't be. They'll be a God. They have to…

It's sealed. Ryomen is shirtless, his slacks to his ankles. He thumbs over the tip of his cock, eyeing your pussy before reaching to rub you vigorously. You moan at the contact, futiling pushing him away. He's eerily silent, keeping an analytical gaze all over your body. He's calculating and theorizing and trying to not lose his composure. Not much to lose for him but only he knows the brutality he locks far in the recesses of his mind. How he cums his hardest from cruelty… he knows how genuine your despair would be and for what it's worth that's not a good time for him. You just need to accept being Queen, Mother, and all bearer of the next generation. Whether through science and test tubes or the oldest human activity—he will conquer new lands and create new people with your help.

He pumps himself and without a word he edges his tip against your puckering hole. Your pussy closing even tighter. You won't give in easy and your body disagrees with his presence even more. You pray he has some sense of humanity, enough to not take you carelessly. And, he comforts that fear by slipping a finger into his mouth coating it before gliding the digit into you. He pumps you with a precision, curling to touch the ribbed, sensitive pallette of your g-spot. Your thighs squeeze his arm as you grip his wrist painfully tight. Your too weak to do anything besides accept it. You both know you can't and won't get him to stop. But it's wrong how your toes curl, how your back arches, how your hips roll. He knows what he's doing on a scientific level. He knows you can only battle it so much. Your pussy clenches on him and is too upset he's the one causing this pleasure. “Mmm, your pussy is angry with me? She doesn't like to feel good?” He slips a second finger in which stings you slightly at the spread. You yelp and moan out to which he scoffs and lowers his mouth to your clit. Your heart is definitely beating through your chest as you pull his hair. Your legs clamped around his head both pushing away and pulling him deeper to suck and nibble on your exquisite clit. He could taste the sweat, the fear, the resentment. He could taste the enjoyment and release and relief. His dick jumped and twitched in his lap. Just a little while longer, he's waited enough for this — he won't ruin it being a too rash. His tongue became precise with the order to make you cum and get you ready for penetration. But your taste combined with the fact you just won't hold still made it hard to conquer you. He just needed you to succumb and wondered how hard you'd squirt. You work up enough courage to face the man between your legs and the sight was amazing. Ryomen, eyes closed, nails digging into your thighs a bit too harshly , eating away at you nastily. His tongue flat like a dog as he licked from your asshole up to your pubic hair. It was unlike someone so distinguished and strict as him. His strange pink sunset hair a mess across his face. Unrecognizable as anything other than a perverse, deprived man. You admittedly were fighting cumming all over him for minutes. Agonizing minutes of hating yourself for how your eyes rolled to the back of your head and no matter how hard you pulled at his tresses it was nothing more than encouragement to bring you past your peak.

“Ryomen, p-please. It’s too much.” Your body betrays itself as your pussy clenches around his tongue. His tongue darted in and out of your heat before pulling away enough to lap against your overstimulated clit massaging it until the hot rumble in your belly exploded. Your head falls back with a loud gasp as you squirt all over Ryomen. His face, neck, and chest soaked. You release a gushing mess that causes Ryomen to scoff and tease, “Someone was pent up.”

You futilely push Ryomen from between your legs. Chest heaving and falling despite your genuine attempts to remain calm. Your migraine creeps back, as your nervous system is absolutely confused. The true fear in your belly can’t make sense of the pleasure your body wants more of, and Ryomen takes in all your efforts and calculates: stubborn but willing, combative but fearful, too smart for her own good and too good to not have…

Has he? Zoned out? You think to yourself as he’s absentmindedly placed his fist under his chin. You almost are inclined to feel insulted but the way his eyes take over your physique in a far-away but rabid kind of expression…you decide it best to let him finish his musings and compose yourself as best you can. “When were you last on your cycle?” So matter of fact and without regard. Useless to do but still you pull your lab coat together protectively. “I—I don’t think that’s appropriate to ask…regardless of the circumstances…” you sheepishly reply.

“I must. The best time to get pregnant is during ovulating as you well know…” is he really trying to small talk? “It’s most optimal to attempt conception five days leading up to your menstruation. Most are afraid the female cycle may undercut the attempt but the female body is an exemplary example of durability…” he eyes you over again… “then once you take into account intelligence level,” he takes your face into his soaked digits, a thousand words behind his eyes and the thoughts he does allow you to hear. “A highly intelligent, durable, emotionally balanced female…” his eyes spark with an intimidating gleam. “How rare…” you think to spit at him for that insult but know better. He sets his thumb on your lips and lightly taps them after every word. “Last.Day.You.Bled”

“Three weeks ago…” you answer easily. His command is powerful, palpable and decidedly you won’t make this experience any worse. But you should’ve lied because the fire that ignites lets you know he’s gonna try for this child until you conceive. “Do you track your cycle?”

“Myself. Yes, I don’t use apps. I know what the government does…it’s not like we don’t use biomedical data...” You throw out awkwardly. He doesn’t laugh.

“So you know you’re ovulating, correct?” You snap back to your reality and his only purpose for you.

“Yes…I would suppose that’s correct.” You resituate your mind, taking in how his usually slick back undercut is all over his head and his brutish inner nature shines through the stiff, arrogant, dismissive expression he holds you under. This must be who he really is: evil and morally unkempt.

“What are your plans? What happens if anything is wrong with the child?” You cringe at the language openly upset at the idea of any child being vulnerable to his wrath. He scoffs looking away and waves away your comment snidely.

“That won’t happen…”

“But it—“ He snatches you up easily. His grip isn’t enough to choke but enough to warn successfully.

“It not only won’t happen…” he brings your face to his. His breath hot across your fear stricken face. “It can’t happen…but I’ll amuse you…” he sets his forehead against yours, pulling you to him enough he can wrap his arms around your sat frame. “If anything is wrong with our child…” he pulls away to down at you. His eyes dreamy but empty. “We’ll simply make another one…” and with that he yanks your hair enough to make you gasp, but doesn’t release you, taking the opportunity to overtake your mouth with his. You wrestle in his iron clad bear hug, unable to avoid his tongue as it wrestles messily with yours. You can move enough to lean back which simply allows him to set himself between your legs. His grip changes to holding your hands behind your back. It’s too easy for him to hold both of your wrist in one of his hands and to hold you by the hair to kiss you properly with the other. Your chest pushes into his and your nipples harden through your stiff work bra. Ryomen leverages his weight to hold you down against the desk. Your back pressing on the cold furniture firmly as Ryomen maneuvers your remaining clothes off. Your stockings and underwear ripped and accounted for, last being this insufferable bra that’s been fucking up his view.

Your body was beyond his imaginations and the jiggle of everything now free was delightful. He examined you again without an expression, taking himself in his hand and setting against your shy but blazing hot hole. How his veiny girth spread you open without hassle. Your pussy wet and confused as much as your own head. “Ryomen…” he paid you no mind. His eyes closed and his mouth pulled tight as he entered you slowly. He chokes on a growl creeping out of his throat as he feels your plushness tighten instinctively. He goes as far as he can immediately, reaching your cervix with a bit more ease than he would’ve had you not been prepped already. It seemed he couldn’t even help himself. His usual cold, sterile demeanor replaced with a rapidly breathing grunting sweaty mess. You dug your nails into his shoulders, clawing him really and a soft bleeding came through his button down. The rhythm of his thrusts and ability to move you easily made accepting him embarrassing but fulfilling. You didn’t have to do anything and felt oddly better for it. The slippery slap of skin began to fill the echo less void of the lab. A man of so few words now down to nothing but choking on his moans and grunting. He could hear the slam and movement of the desk objects but could only focus on the numbing squeeze of your bullied pussy. Ryomen tucks his head into nape of your neck sucking and biting and licking like a crazed feign plunging in and out of you with little regard. How you adjusted to him but kept your digging into his skin. Both of you biting your own lips to not give in to the moment. He doesn’t know why this is different from any other time he’s fucked. Maybe because he knows you’ll bear him a beautiful child, multiple. How no matter what you do— you will be pregnant. Without another thought and giving into his instincts he raises you in the air before plunging his cock into you without remorse. You yelp and tighten your legs against his frame feeling his immense girth stretch and meet a much deeper part of you. 

The both of you finally forgo any sense of formality and Ryomen can’t help but watch as you glide along his girth with a sick expression of satisfaction. You can’t muster the courage to face him but his canines bear ever so slightly as he huffs and grunts his sexual frustration into you. You move your hands to grip his hair and close the distance tucking your head into his neck and biting down. The bite and tug of his hair makes him do the same and in a fast adjustment sets himself in the closest office chair, bringing your bodies even closer as his clothes are torn and strewn across your heaving, hot bodies. “Ryomen!” You yelp as his hips adjust to stuff his entire cock in you. To the hilt and instead of continuing his relentless bucking he forces your hips to ride him. An agonizingly intense and far too intimate for the both of you but the heat of the moment evaporates all shame. Ryomen can’t contain himself and digs his fingers into your flesh as you mutually nibble and bite across each others’ necks and shoulders. It’s an admittedly disgusting display of ferality that neither of you care to restrain. Your body is quaking and dripping in sweat, goosebumps all over as your stomach swirls with dazed anticipation. You never forgot the point of all this and although you can admit to giving in to him you await his gushing conclusion with intense anxiety. “I’m really being bred by him,” you think. But with a sudden, fearful gasp you’re taken from any clear thinking by the way his mouth suckles along the veins of your neck. Is he enjoying himself? Somewhat of a stupid consideration given you’re far too gone to notice he’s equally far too gone. Feeling close but wishing this conquest had taken place in a more resigned environment. He wanted to test your limits until you had no choice but to scream at him to stop and use all you could to push him away. But he had to admit this was just too good to ruin. Your grip on his hair was admittedly strong and he liked you had more strength to you than he first suspected. He smirks to himself and gazes up at you sneakily with a feverish glare. He isn’t someone to be good, not even decent and he already feels you received enough fair treatment in this circumstance. Without a word he quickly wraps one arm around your waist keeping your grind concentrated as you accept him as deeply as he can go.

“Are you ready?” He says softly, much too sweet and far more intently venomous as he tugs you by your hair to kiss you sloppily again. Too distracted by his overstimulating intimacy, the pull of your hair, and the aching of your pulsating walls, you gasp loudly into his mouth as you feel him cumming in you. You can’t break away and with extremely futile, weakened effort you scratch and push at his chest helplessly. Yet his strength is overwhelming while you can’t even break away from his forced tongue kissing. You feel him filling you much more than any other partner or anything you expected. With one hand pushing you to continue your kissing and the other wrapped keeping you chest to chest Ryomen settles comfortably and confidently pumping the last of his seed in you, thrusting without any sense of restraint. The throb of his cock and the stiffness of his tip against your pulsating plushness dizzies you. Dizzying you beyond belief and sinking into his kiss with a humiliating submissiveness. He’s succeeded with his mission and can’t help but savor the sloppiness of your breeding session with a harsh slap to your ass. He already is impatient for you to grow his seed, be big and plump, and bear his fruit smoothly. And to do this again and again until your womb can’t anymore. He can’t help his sick mentality of conquering, and you don’t help since you are the one now gliding up and down with ease. His seed coating his shaft as you ride him recklessly— he’s proud of you even if he’ll never mention it. “Good girl,” he mumbles against your colliding lips. “Ah, good girl…” he says as he catches himself relaxing into your assertive work of his lap.

He pulls you away from the kiss roughly, a large portion of your hair remaining tangled in his thick, mean fingers. “Enough.” He says with finality and without another thought you almost automatically halt at his command. You blush with a sense of embarrassment and recline away gripping his hand with the both of yours to indicate he should loosen his grip. You finally give him a good look in the eyes, still completely shaking and filled on his soaked lap. You meekly attempt to look away but he corners you with a quick grasp of your chin, roughly making you face him in this moment. Both your chests’ heave as you openly catch your breath, taking in the man who took you so forcefully with his calculating but calling gleam in his glare.

“Get up.” He demands and you come back to reality enough to feel the weightlessness of your limbs and the absolute lack of energy you have. He knows this by the dead weight you are in his lap but it amuses him to see you fail at gaining any sense of self respect or wherewithal. He’s absolutely taken with you and his conquest of the little laboratory brat who seemed so above everyone is tantalizing to his egomaniacal mentality. Mahoraga and his siblings are well on their way to actualization. “Get. Up.” He spits harshly, raising himself from the chair without thought. Against your better judgement, and with some self respect to not just fall to the floor, you cling to him wrapping your legs around as much of his hulking frame as you can. “Oh, mommy’s not that weak is she?” He retorts with a truly chilling laugh. You forgot who you were dealing with, someone of plain evil intent. “Well then, if you refuse,” and with little force on his end but undistinguishable to you he weakly attempts at removing you from him. You cling to him albeit humiliating and with your pussy dripping against his torso he swiftly takes his oversized coat to strap over your frame. The scene is immensely familiar to a child being wrapped in a blanket and carried to bed by their parental. Ryomen can’t help but smile devilishly to himself. “One baby carrying another…both mine.” What should’ve been an awkward redressing was easy as you kept your face hidden in the crook of his neck only lifting away enough to let him pull and fasten his pants. The rest of him bear to the no longer cold laboratory. “Well I guess that means back to my place?” Another command you knew it to be despite his sociopathic ability to feign sincerity. You didn’t have the confidence to speak but were forced to when he continued: “Yes or No?”

“Yes, Ryomen. Please, I can’t be any more put down than I am…” you say defeated.

“Oh no that’s not true,” he shushes while patting your head. “There’s far more ways to…put you down…the experiment isn’t over. One success just means you’re perfect for more tests…” and without another word he carries you out of the lab, leaving it a belligerent mess. “You’ll be living with me now. As I said…your things have already been moved. The plan was going to go my way regardless— one way or the other…” he laughs again while patting your back all too softly. You scowl to yourself disgusted at what he’d done to you and more disgusted you lost yourself in intense pleasure. But you wouldn’t let him ‘succeed’ so easily. You regained enough composure to think a thousand swirling thoughts as you were carried easily towards Ryomen’s office that had its own exit. He wouldn’t win so easily but you knew a fight was definitely in your futures. Mahoraga whether experiment or child or child experiment — wouldn’t come to fruition. But the odds were not in your favor and the fight was now on, whether Ryomen could tell or not. And nothing in you was convinced he believed this could truly happen so easily.

Tag List:

[bobasbn]

small modifications

1k words | Rafayelxfem!reader | just a cute relationship fic/established relationship | Rafayel gets a new lip piercing and surprises his girlfriend with the new change in look. a/n: okay I have posted this here before but I took it down bc I'm a lil bitch. Just imagine Rafayel with a Jungkook inspired lip piercing, that was the vision.

-

When your boyfriend, Rafayel, sent you an overly thrilled message about some surprise he had, you weren’t really expecting much. Perhaps he was going to showcase a new painting in the works for his next exhibit or maybe a new trick that he taught Reddie the fish. 

What you definitely weren’t expecting was to be met with a foreign sight of metal that adorned the corner of the bottom lip. A small, silver labret that sticks from his skin, glimmering every time he spoke or smiled. You stared at him with your mouth agape for a few seconds longer than intended and almost made him sob when he believed you didn’t like the new feature on his face. 

“I wanted to try something new. I’ve seen countless humans with these tattoos and piercings and I thought it wouldn’t look so bad on me,” Rafayel tried to explain when you asked why he had impulsively gone to pierce his lip. Not that you didn’t like it, in fact, you found it to be an immensely attractive sight. The piercing moved so hypnotically with every motion when he spoke. 

The only downside was that you couldn’t really express your affection with a peck or a kiss due to his healing process. Rafayel’s been going insane without your kisses and everyday he wished the piercing would heal at lightspeed. 

Today you decided to be a thoughtful girlfriend and encourage Rafayel to take care of his health by exercising. His lips were a bit swollen after getting the piercing but now that it’s been a few months it’s been gradually getting better. You’ve become increasingly enticed by the sight. The way it glimmers when he talks, when he plays around with the piercing using his tongue or teeth. It seamlessly fits on his face somehow like a puzzle piece you didn’t even realise was ever missing. Despite that, he’s been flopping around his studio like a fish out of water whining and groaning about the pain in his lips and the lack of kisses he’s receiving. 

“Come on Raf. You need some exercise,” you say, trying to convince him to step outside and go to the gym with you. Rafayel, albeit dressed in workout attire, stands with his arms crossed and a petulant frown on his face. That new lip ring he put on catches your eye, the metal hugging the pliable pink flesh of his lips.

“Exercise is not what I need right now to rejuvenate me,” he protests, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around your waist. You feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his black tank top. He leans his head down a bit but all you see is that lip ring drawing closer. 

“How long has it been since you’ve stepped outside?” You ask. His hand trails lower, resting on the small of your back. His mind seems to be wandering somewhere that’s not this conversation you’re having. You decide to negotiate with him. Instead of a strenuous workout at the gym maybe he’ll settle for a walk for some fresh air. Rafayel can read your thoughts through your eyes and it deepens his frown to know that you want to drag him outside his studio.

“Does it matter?” He questions. “Can’t we just stay inside, watch the sea from the comfort of my studio?” He tries to steer you away from wanting to go exercise. 

“I’ll give you a kiss if you come walk-” Before you could even finish your sentence, Rafayel is fixing a black cap on his head and practically skipping out the door. He looks back at you and gestures for you to follow him. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” He says impatiently. 

You roll your eyes at his sudden change in attitude. Taking his hand in yours, you two stroll out, the breeze brushing against Rafayel’s face for the first time in who knows how long. He keeps a tight grasp on your hand and leads you to the pristine beach of Whitesand Beach. The sun’s rays are a welcoming warmth against your skin, the light coruscating off the ocean across from you. 

You turn around to admire Rafayel. His soft purple locks wavering in the breeze, pink-blue eyes lovingly staring back at you… and that lip ring. It throws off the entire ‘soft boyfriend’ look he was previously presenting as. Such a small piece of jewellery somehow shifted his entire facade. 

“Are you sure you don’t secretly hate it?” Rafayel asks, giving a small squeeze to your hand. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I like it,” you reassure him for the umpteenth time. 

Rafayel looks at you in disbelief. His eyes are narrowed and eyebrows curved down as he turns his body to face you. He steps closer, his intention clear as day when he starts to lean down a bit. 

“Can I kiss you? Please?” Rafayel asks. You can’t deny him, you would never. Especially not when he looks like a kicked puppy begging for a kiss. 

You give him a simple nod. He immediately jumps at the chance, arms encircling your body and his lips smash against yours. 

It’s different. It’s exhilarating. The way the cool steel poking at your lips contrasts with his warm, supple lips is dizzying. When you reciprocate a second after, you can feel the small tug of a smirk on his lips as he indulges in you. 

“Rafayel-” You mumble between the kiss, “we’re in- public-” 

“And?” He inquires. He pulls away only a fraction, your lips still about a centimetre apart. 

“And? It’s not empty,” you whisper. Your eyes dart about around Rafayel, spotting a few other people casually lazing around on the beach. Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to really care about anything else but he straightens his back again. 

“Okay. Then let’s take a nice, relaxing walk back to my studio and spend more time together,” Rafayel suggests, a brazen smile plastered on his face. He sensed you were just about to protest so he acted quickly. His arm secured itself around the back of your knees, hoisting you up over his shoulder.

“Wha- Hey! Rafayel!” You almost screech when you find yourself slumped over his shoulder like you’re a bag of potatoes. This was the last thing you were expecting from him.

“Relax, cutie. We’re just going to… make sure my lip piercing is fully healed.” 

[hobismilitarywife]

.

[fushitoru]

seperation anxiety! a (clan head) gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ clan head!gojo x wife!reader

summary ⸺ satoru begs you to attend a meeting with the higher-ups, but not for the reasons you thought. inspired by this art by @/baobei-bu!

warnings ⸺ SMUT, gojo is a warning by himself, VERY public sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, no penetration, fingering, fondling, making out, panty-ripping, exhibitionism, kinda cucking but the only ppl humiliated and humbled are the higher ups, porn no plot, but plot if you squint, reader is a strong independent woman (until gojo charms her, bc who wouldn't turn into a cockslut for gojo?), this took me at least five hours to write for no good reason?, not edited (like always....)

a/n pls enjoy and thank u to the queen for making such delicious art (p.s. go to their twitter for nsfw ver i squirted)

general masterlist

“Pleaseeeee,” Satoru has his face buried in your chest, nuzzling in further while complaining. It’s almost comical how he—head of the biggest clan in Jujutsu—is leaning down to match your height. You, meanwhile, stand firm, arms crossed, regarding him with a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection as he leans down to meet your gaze. “Will you come with me?”

The question comes as the dreaded meeting with the higher-ups looms, a gathering he's been dodging all day. It technically began ten minutes ago, and you barely managed to wrangle him into his formal kimono just twenty minutes earlier. You sigh, fingers brushing his hair. “Satoru, you know what they think of me. I'm not exactly their favorite person.” You’re both standing in the middle of your shared bedroom, you imploring him to be on time for his meeting to avoid getting even further shit from the higher-ups.

Mind you, you’re the more rational one between you and Satoru—in fact, most of the people who know you would agree that you’re a very mature, wise person in general (with the exception of some circumstances, of course). And despite the respect your skill commands, the higher-ups have never warmed to you, not since you refused to play a pawn in their games. Marrying Satoru, the one jujutsu sorcerer they could never control, only amplified their discontent. They see you both as threats—powerful sorcerers bonded in defiance.

At the mention of "higher-ups," Satoru's pout deepens, and his pleading voice grows more insistent. “Pleeeease,” he drags out, practically whining. “I have separation anxiety.”

You feel a pang of sympathy. These meetings are miserable for him—hours trapped in a room with men twice his age, trying to dictate his every move. “I don’t know, Satoru…” you murmur, hesitating.

But Satoru takes advantage of your softening resolve, hugging you tighter, his face pressing into you again. “Don’t make me go in there alone!” he says, his voice muffled. “You have no idea how much you silence them. One word from you, and they all think twice. I’m already one step away from wanting to kill them all.”

A sigh escapes you as you realize he’s not letting up. And while you’re reluctant, you know that your presence, your opinion—one of the few he truly values—might actually give him a sense of calm in that harsh room. “Alright, alright,” you concede finally, hand smoothing the fabric of his sleeve. "But no making a scene." 

His answering smirk is smug, giving you a fat, sloppy kiss on your cheek that you’re not afraid to show your partial-disgust about. You all but have to wrestle him off of you white he’s smothering you in kisses, getting out something about how much loves you, oh so thankful to have such a wise wifey like you as you get ready in a kimono similar to his and head to the limo waiting outside of the manor you and Gojo reside in. 

As soon as you get in, Gojo turns sharply to Ijichi, who’s shifting the gear. “Put the divider up.”

“O-Okay, Gojo-san.” A little intimidated by the commanding tone in your husband’s voice, he quickly presses the button to activate the screen, and Gojo pounces on you, grabbing you and hoisting you up by your sides to put you on his lap.

“Satoru!” you exclaim, surprised as he captures his lips with yours. His hands roam your body as he moans, almost obnoxiously, because he knows you’re always paranoid whenever he initiates anything in public. Your crotch aligns with his thigh, big and stuffed with muscle as he drives your hips to grind on him, and despite yourself and your circumstances, you find yourself leaning into his touch.

“My pretty wife,” he purrs, now trailing kisses down your jaw and into your neck. “So pretty, so supportive.”

Despite his dizzying movements, you try to get a hold of yourself. “Satoru, we shouldn’t be doing this here. We need to discuss what to sa—”

“Fuck that,” he sighs, so breathless that you want to cave in.

“No, but—”

His eyes darken, and his hands start creeping up your legs, going slowly and slowly closer to your pussy. “Baby, you know I value what you have to say,” and his fingers graze your folds, making you leak even more with his teasing, “but I wanna listen to something else.”

He drags his index finger up and down your slit, making you whimper. His fingers then prod into your hole, putting pressure there but not quite delving in. “Satoru,” you whine out, clutching his upper arms as he has his way while toying with you.

“Yea, that’s what I wanna hear,” he groans, giving you a kiss. It is then that he rewards you with inserting his digit in, curling to hit your spot as he fingers you. HIs other arm is around you, holding your panties’ crotch to the side to allow him to touch you. “My good girl.”

As he’s touching you, the squelching sounds fills the enclosure you’re in and you’re desperately praying to God Ijichi can’t hear the lewd things the both of you are doing in the back. You’re just reduced to whimpering, unable to reject Satoru’s dizzying touches, his free hand leaving your panties to grope at your inner thighs, ass, and breasts. It’s like he’s devouring you with his kisses, urgent, as he continues curling his fingers. 

Between kisses, you try to get out a “Satoru—mmph,” smooch, “we shouldn’t be—mm” smooch, “shouldn’t be doing this here!” 

“What,” he drawls, and with the glint in his eyes you know the fucker’s trying to toy with you, knows what he’s doing is mischievous. “I can’t touch my wife?”

Before you could utter a response, however, the limo suddenly slows, and the sensation of using the brakes to stop the car makes you sober up. “We’re here, Satoru we need to go—-” As you’re trying to rip yourself off his lap, he pulls out the finger that was inside you and uses his hand instead to entangle it with the crotch of your panties, pulling and pulling until the cloth is nothing but shreds, falling off your body.

Oh my god, you were not paid enough for this shit.

With his oh-so-irritating eyes—the same ones that you spent despising in your early school years—he looks at you through his pretty white lashes as he makes a show of sniffing the now tattered shreds that were your panties and putting them in his pocket. Under your kimono, you can feel your slick escaping your panties as the cool air wafts through it, landing on your pussy. You look at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

He giggles, giving you a kiss on the cheek while helping you off his lap, putting a hand on your head to make sure you didn’t bump your head against the car’s ceiling. “Let’s go and deal with those hags, my love.”

To be honest, you don’t really understand why Satoru is so handsy today. He’s on some sort of man-ovulation, you think, as you stride into the room. Even ripping off your panties was a bit excessive, if not out of pocket (no pun intended). Breaking out of your thoughts, you grounded yourself in the present, noticing hostile eyes turned towards your husband, and then you. You match their barely-subtle glares with a stink eye of your own, holding your chin up as you walk past them dismissively. Just as you’re about to take a seat next to Gojo—being mindful of your kimono so you don’t flash any of these old bastards—one of them speaks up. 

“Gojo-sama, why is this woman here?”

You continue to take your seat, noticing Satoru’s jaw clenched. But right as he’s about to say something, you cut in for him. “This woman,” and you smile, deceptively sweet, “is the lady of the clan. It would do you well to remember the hierarchy of the Gojo clan.” You don’t need to turn to look at your husband to know he has a proud smile on his face, making no effort to hide his smugness. What shocks you instead is that he swings an arm around you, effectively dragging you closer to him until you’re basically sitting on his lap, and his hands go to roam your sides.

Now, some old grandpa starts talking, commencing the meeting, on their usual bullshit of the need for extermination of Sukuna’s vessel, but Satoru pays them no mind. Instead, what they receive in response is non-committal hums as his hands drag themselves up your stomach and down where your legs are crossed to the hem of your kimono, and then under. 

Any semblance of paying attention to the meeting and responding to their infuriating beliefs leaves your mind as you blank out, panicking that Satoru is trying to commit public indecency with you. As an argument erupts between the higher ups about something, you turn to Gojo to furiously whisper, “What is wrong with you today?! Cut it out.”

In your life, you’ve fought many curses, first grade and even special grade included as you climbed up the ranks of Jujutsu sorcery despite having a non-sorcerer upbringing. What you will never be able to defeat, however, is your husband’s charm. Satoru knows what he’s doing as he lets out a deep moan in your ear, making you squeak and become even more flustered, as he continues to make lewd noises, puffs of his breath fanning across your neck. 

a/n gojo the type to start moaning randomly to make you fold #sorrynotsorry 

The indecency of all of it—-Gojo basically whimpering in your ear sweet nothings like good girl, that’s my wife, gonna let me finger you in front of all these ugly hags, right?—-being loud in your ear but also just quiet enough that you’d only hear made you so wet, heat throbbing between your thighs as Satoru’s hands start rubbing your fold. It’s a teasing touch, one not enough to satisfy you but to stimulate you nonetheless. 

It’s just when his index finger starts slowly circling around your clit that you buck your hips slightly, making him look at you teasingly, peering down at you from above your shoulder. “Oh you liked that, didn’t you?”

“I hate you,” you puff out, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck as Satoru’s circles on your clit get more tangibly, simulating you oh so deliciously. To make sure you hold yourself up, you set your elbows down on the table, Satoru’s arms engulfing you as you’re forced to take whatever touches he’s giving you under the table. 

“She’s so loud,” he whispers, pointing out the noises your pussy was making as his digits roved over your folds. The squelches were tangibly there, audible to anyone who would strain their ears. You could tell your lack of response to the meeting was catching attention, because there were several eyes towards you, waiting for something; it was then you realized that they had posed a question but were simply too fucked out to respond. 

A voice comes out to reprimand your husband sharply. “Gojo-sama, this is hardly appropriate.”

Satoru chuckles, not stopping his ministrations as he picks up a cup filled with water, his smug gaze still turned towards you while observing and appreciating your every hiccup and reaction. “Can’t my spouse attend this meeting? I value her opinion above everyone else’s in this room, after all,” he drawls, lodging his chin in the curve of your neck. “Besides,” and he flashes a dangerous grin to the man who spoke out, “weren’t you the ones who were oh so worried about me not having an heir?” 

At this point, you’ve filtered out all noises, focusing and honing in on the sensation of your orgasm coming. His digits are playful, curling up to hit your g-spot repeatedly, his palm tickling your clit. Each time he hits your spongy spot a bout of electricity runs up your body, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm. 

“But guess what,” and he gives you a kiss on the cheek, despite the aversion the rest of the higher ups have to any displays of affection, “we can solve that problem right here, right now.” He punctuates it with a harsh sink of his fingers into your plush cunt, and, with that, you finally cream his fingers, a result of Satoru teasing you all day now. You try to temper the shakes wracking your body by slamming your fist against the table, trying not to moan out.

It seems that no one’s seen you riding out your orgasm out so visible, because there are gasps around the room at how obscene Gojo’s suggestion was. “It is shameful of you to be saying such things, Gojo-sama!” one of them sputters out, red with anger and outrage. 

Your husband not so subtly rolls his eyes. “Then don’t bring it up all the time, old man.” Satoru knows how touchy and vulnerable you are right after you cum, so he’s running his hands softly up and down your thighs to quell your quivers affectionately. “Actually, what about this? You all haven’t witnessed us consummate our marriage, correct?” He smirks. “What about witnessing the heir-making next time?”

general masterlist

a/n pls see the vision like i want gojo to claim me and rail me into next tuesday while the higher ups just watch uncomfortably like maybe i am a freak like that. like gojo would be so obsessed with how he's claiming you in front of the fuckers that piss him off so much...might do a part two if pookiesa like this :P

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3

[nereidprinc3ss]

be my angel

in which BAU fem!reader was injured on the job, but is refusing painkillers at the hospital. spencer thinks he knows why.

fluff (+a little angst) warnings/tags: established relationship, hospital stuff, reader got beat up by an unsub, discussions of spencer's past addiction, mentions of period cramps, reader ends up being administered some sort of painkiller a/n: another draft i found in my literal hundreds of pages of abandoned wips and fixed up cause it's cute, I hope you like!!!

Spencer is tearing through the hospital. They all keep saying you’re going to be okay, but what does that even mean? Why is nobody telling him anything? He’s not even sure he heard what the orderly at the front desk said, but his feet are carrying him with a strident purpose through the winding white halls, so he has to assume he at least subconsciously knows where he’s going. 

Finally he spots Penelope, a beacon in her candy-colored clothing, speaking to a doctor in hushed tones. Penelope sees him approaching and turns away from the doctor, looking harried and exhausted. 

“Is she okay? What happened?” Spencer demands, before either of the others can say a word. 

“She’s okay,” the doctor assures. “She was beat up pretty bad—concussion, broken ribs, some bruising that looks worse than it is. There was a clean shot through her arm, but—” 

His blood runs cold. Nobody told him you were shot. Why had nobody told him you were shot? 

“I need to see her.” 

The doctor frowns, glancing between the two agents. 

“I’m sorry, are you her spouse?” 

“Yes. No, not yet, I just—I need to see her, please. Now.” 

“Sir, unless she—” 

“Just let him see her!” Penelope practically yells. “She wants him here, believe me.”  

The doctor clenches her jaw and scribbles something on her clipboard. 

“Okay. Maybe you can try to convince her to accept some painkillers.” 

Spencer’s frown deepens. 

“She’s refusing pain management?” 

“We gave her as much ibuprofen as we could, but she refused anything stronger than that. She has to be in a lot of pain right now, and there’s no background of addiction.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” Spencer says, already twisting the silver door handle. He has a sneaking suspicion as to why you denied pain treatment, and it makes him feel incredibly guilty. More than he already did, after this entire debacle. 

The sight of you, bloodied and bruised and obviously suffering has his heart splintering right down the middle. Whatever meager semblance of a smile he can scrounge up and offer is reflected back to him on you—which only makes him feel worse. As always, you’re putting on a brave face. 

“Hey,” Spencer says quietly as he closes the door behind him. 

“Hi,” you croak. “How do I look?” 

He approaches, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing your hair away from your face. 

“How do you feel? The doctor told me you wouldn’t accept pain medication,” he murmurs. 

You sniff. 

“I feel okay. Did she tell you it’s not as bad as it looks?” 

But your voice is so small, so wavery and weak, that he knows you’re lying. 

“Sweetheart...” 

You’ve been holding it together since the unsub beat you nearly unconscious. You held it together as he ran away, even got a couple shots in before he turned around and returned fire. You held it together while you sat against the dirty truck, bleeding out, not sure if your team was coming, and you held it together in the ambulance, and for the past thirty minutes in this hospital bed. But all it takes is one gentle word from Spencer, with that concerned, solicitous look in his eye, and the floodgates are opening. Tears spring up in your eyes and begin silently falling down your dirtied cheeks. 

“It’s okay!” you attempt to reassure him, affecting cheeriness even through the tears. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine!” 

He says your name soft and low and he tries his best to keep his tone even though he is liable to burst into tears or start yelling at someone (not you) at any minute.  

“I know that’s not true. You have broken ribs and a gunshot wound. I know how badly it hurts to breathe and how it feels every time you move your arm. That is too much damage for over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. You need real analgesics.” 

“I don’t,” you whisper. Your teary eyes make his whole body ache. He squeezes your hand—the one that’s not connected to the wounded arm. 

“Because of me?” You stare at him blankly, as if you’re shocked he was able to put two and two together. “I promise you don’t need to worry about that.” 

You sniffle. 

“But what if—what if they give me the drugs and I get all weird and it’s, it’s like... triggering for you, or something?” 

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve worried about that. I’d rather see you a little tired and out of it than in extreme pain and trying to pretend you’re not. You getting the pain relief you need in a medical emergency is not going to make me relapse.” 

“But I really think I could go without,” you begin, voice already tightening around a cry. “I’ve—I’ve had period cramps that were worse than this.” 

Despite himself, he chuckles. Goes back to stroking your hair. 

The laughter fades quickly. All the pain you’re in is so evident in your eyes. The dissociative glassiness, the tension around them, the bloodshot quality—he's seen it many times before, and he hates it on you. 

“Will you please tell them you’re ready to take something? They won’t give you Dilaudid. It’s too strong. They’ll give you something that I’d have no interest in anyway.” 

“Not funny,” you whisper. 

He ignores this. 

“Will you let me call the doctor back in?” 

You take a deep, shuddering breath—or at least, you try to, before you’re loosing a sharp squeak that deteriorates into a little sob. The ribs. 

Spencer doesn’t bother asking again, just gets up and begins to walk away as efficiently as his legs will carry him. You need painkillers and he thinks it might be fastest to just fetch the doctor or a nurse from the hallway. 

“Wait,” you plead.  

He stops. Reminds himself that you need him right now—not his medical opinions. Spencer turns back around and approaches again, crouching by your bedside this time. 

“What, honey?” 

“I don’t...” 

You trail off, overcome by something like fear in the width and shine and nervous dart of your eyes. Spencer knows, everybody at the BAU knows, that showing fear to a serial killer will get you killed that much quicker. During your time alone with the unsub, which is a can of worms Spencer literally cannot psychologically open right now, you had to put on your bravest face. Even while you were being beaten within an inch of your life. Even when you thought you were going to die, alone, and that your team—that Spencer—wasn't coming back for you. Because that’s the kind of thing you have to do to cope when you’re at rock bottom. But you were terrified. Petrified. That doesn’t just go away—and Spencer knows it’ll be bumping against the surface until it finds a way out.  

He has to remember that just because you look unafraid and you act unafraid doesn’t mean you aren’t. 

“You were so brave,” he manages after he’s sure he can say it without incident, swiping moisture from your cheek. “You did everything exactly right.” 

“I know,” you whisper, chin trembling. Spencer knows you, and he knows this kind of trauma well enough to know that you’re thinking, I did everything exactly right, and it wasn’t enough. I did everything exactly right and this is what I have to show for it. 

“But nobody needs you to act like it wasn’t hard, okay? You don’t need to pretend like it doesn’t hurt. You were so, so brave, angel. You don’t have to be brave anymore.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, sending a new wash of tears over your tacky cheeks. A few moments pass. You say nothing. He hopes you’re not going to hide away inside yourself like he did. 

“Will you please, please, let me get the doctor?” 

At least this time you don’t immediately say no. 

“Will you come right back?” 

“Of course.” 

Finally, you nod your hesitant assent, and Spencer presses a careful kiss to your forehead. 

A few minutes later, the doctor—who was shocked that Spencer was able to so quickly change your very made-up mind—is back, and so is Spencer. It only takes a moment for them to determine the best course of action for you and soon the fist around his heart is loosening its grip as he watches some of the agony melting from your eyes. 

“Better?” he murmurs as the nurse who’d administered the drugs leaves, fanning his thumb over the underside of your wrist. You nod, already appearing sleepy. 

“Can you lie down with me?” 

He smiles at the way your words slip against each other, simply relieved that you’re able to relax and no longer in extreme pain. 

“Hospital beds aren’t rated for two people.” 

“Spencer.” 

It’s enough for him to climb onto the bed—not that he was ever going to deny you what you wanted to begin with. The fit isn’t exactly perfect—he's a bit too long and combined the two of you are just slightly too wide—but with some finagling it’s comfortable enough. Spencer has slipped his arm underneath you and your head is on his shoulder and he’s so glad to have you in his arms and so grateful that you’re okay he does something almost like praying in his head as he kisses your hair. 

“Hey. Ask me about my bruises.” 

“Why? Do they still hurt?” 

“You should see the other guy.” 

It’s dumb and it doesn’t make sense because you didn’t bother waiting for him to actually set the joke up—but he smiles dryly nonetheless. 

“Can you please give me... I don’t know, 36 hours before you start making jokes about almost dying?” 

“Clock starts now.” 

“Thank you.” He feels your lips curve into a half-conscious smile against his neck. It’s a wonderful feeling. “How are your ribs? Breathing feels okay?” 

“Mhm. Love breathing.” 

“Mhm. And your arm?” 

“Like I got shot.” 

“Well, that’s pretty much unavoidable. But not as bad as before, right?” 

“Right. Spencer?” 

“What, my love?” 

A little pleased puff of air warms his shoulder. He carefully rubs your hip. 

“Will you tell me how brave I was again?” 

He takes a silent, very deep breath.  

“You were incredibly brave. And smart, too. I’m really proud of you for how you handled that situation. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but I don’t think anyone could have handled it better. Especially when you chose to stay put by the truck, instead of chase him. I know that wasn’t what you wanted to do, but it was the right choice.” 

“I thought you guys maybe weren’t coming,” you murmur, no hint of sadness in your smushed, flat voice—like you’re barely awake. “I waited half an hour and I thought you weren’t gonna find me.” 

“Angel, I will always find you. We didn’t stop looking even once, as soon as we noticed you were gone. I’m just sorry I wasn’t with Emily and Rossi when they got to you.” 

“’Nelope told me... she told me you got really angry and scary.” 

He stares at the ceiling and considers this. 

“I could see... how what I was feeling would be interpreted that way. I was pretty angry. But not at Penelope or any of them. I was mostly just scared.” 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper. “And I’m sorry if I made you mad.” 

“You did not. I wasn’t mad at you. And it’s not your fault that I got scared. You were just trying to do your job. None of this is your fault.” 

“She also said that you said fuck like... three times.” 

“Mm... doesn’t sound like me,” he evades. You giggle, and the sound is more a relief than any drug he could take.

“No, seriously, I’m so mad I missed it. I love hearing you swear. Tell me what you said—and you have to cause I’m all messed up so I get whatever I want.” 

He sighs in mock annoyance. 

“Well, she’s wrong. I only said fuck once. I used fucking as an intensifier twice.” 

You hum. 

“Sexy.” 

“Alright,” Spencer laughs, flushing as he moves his hand to your shoulder. “Go to sleep before I tell them to up your dosage, weirdo.” 

[joonieskinks]

Simon doesn’t like how your boyfriend treats you and makes you feel. He feels he could do better.

“Simon, please tell me this honestly.” You look to the ground nervously.

He chuckles a bit at how intense you look then hesitates. “Alright...”

“Am I ugly?”

Immediately, he laughs you off and simply shakes his head.

“Please, tell me honestly. I just feel like I need to know. My boyfriend, he- he doesn’t touch me, he doesn’t look at me, he doesn’t want me. I feel horrible about myself all the time, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Simon, so please. Just tell me.”

“No.” Simon’s voice booms.

Your teary eyes shoot up from the floor to meet his.

“No, what a stupid question. No, what a ridiculous thought. But yea, what an arsehole he is to make you feel this way about yerself, love.”

He strides over to you, taking your face into your big hands and looking into your watering eyes with so much love.

“No man should ever make you feel like that.” Simon says as gently as he can while trying to control his anger towards your boyfriend.

“I know I wouldn’t.” He whispers just low enough for you to hear and you’re taken aback.

“Simon…”

“Leave ‘im. If not for a man who could treat you bett’r, than for yourself.”

His thumbs rub over your cheeks, soothing you. He’s so warm, so big, so caring. Never did you think you had a shot with him so you never tried. But here he is before you, gushing and he wants you.

“I didn’t think you were interested…” You look down trying to conceal your deep blush.

He lets out a huff of air as he smirks.

“Well now you know.” Simon takes a finger up to your chin to make you look into his eyes once more.

“Leave ‘im and I’ll show you how a beautiful lady should be treated properly.” Gosh, he loves seeing the affect he has on you- you quivering below him, practically begging for him to touch you and never let go.

“Promise.”

Guess you have some breaking up to do.

[luvcaleb]

ANYTHING FOR YOU.

bf!caleb headcanons with canon-typical caleb possessiveness levels.

bf!caleb who wears hair ties on his wrist and does your hair for you when you complain about feeling hot. he even adds a neat little braid because somehow, he's even better at it than you are.

bf!caleb who lets you steal all the clothes you want. he knows he's huge, and the way his oversized shirt drapes on you drives him a little crazier than he'd like to admit. if you say anything that remotely suggests you feel a bit cold, he's already shrugging out of his jacket.

bf!caleb who gives you a piggyback ride when your feet are sore from wearing heels. he doesn't let you get off until you've arrived at a clothing store and he picks out a new pair of comfortable shoes, kneeling down to slip them on your feet.

bf!caleb who holds his hand out whenever you go shopping for cosmetics so you can test the makeup on his skin. he gives comments on which color fits you better and slides out his card before you could pull out your wallet to pay.

bf!caleb who gives you a packed lunch whenever he has the time to cook. some pieces are cut into hearts, and every meal comes with a post-it note with a different message. “i cooked your favorite, pipsqueak. hope you won't be too full for dessert later ;)”

bf!caleb who wakes you up with kisses, gently cooing that breakfast is ready on the table. he picks you up when you whine about being too sleepy, carrying you all the way to the dining room.

bf!caleb who knows all of your favorite snacks and keeps stock of them at his apartment so you can eat whatever you want during movie nights.

bf!caleb who sends you pictures when he works out at the gym because he knows you have a thing about him flexing his arms.

bf!caleb who knows all your good angles and a good portion of the photos you post on social media are taken by him. “hm? i don't do anything special. i take good photos because you always look this pretty in my eyes, princess.”

bf!caleb who kisses every inch of your skin that another man touched. may it be a friendly pat on your shoulder or a tap on your waist, he erases all traces of them with his lips, watching the red marks bloom with deep satisfaction.

bf!caleb who's always touch-starved, no matter how much cuddling you do every night. he demands you to pat his head and shower his face with kisses, and even if you do as he requests, he says it'll never be enough and he needs a lifetime supply of affection.

bf!caleb who finds every opportunity to mention his cute girlfriend to his close peers to the point they're tired of his bragging. at the fleet, the colonel is normally freezing cold, but his eyes soften ever so slightly when he sees your picture set as his lockscreen. you're always his reason to go home early, too. “my partner is waiting at home. i'll be leaving now.”

bf!caleb who spoils you rotten so that you can't live without him anymore. he can't live without you, so it's only fair if the same goes for you, right?

bf!caleb who smiles when you say you're going out with a friend. he tells you to call him when you're done so he can pick you up, and he's always right on time so you don't have to wait. good thing he was nearby, huh?

bf!caleb who bought rings way too early into the relationship and is simply waiting for the perfect time to pop the question and make you truly his.