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gul4bjamoons · 2 days ago

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✩ scoops of doubt;

aurélien tchouaméni ──────

grabbing ice cream after a meal is a cherished tradition for the two of you, but the sweetness fades when a single comment sends your emotions over the edge.

⭑ wordcount : four thousand four hundred sixty-seven.

⭑ notes : not sure if you guys will like this fic as it is more sensitive, but i wanted to write about a topic that everyone struggles with to some extent: body image. everyone’s body is beautiful and comes in different sizes; as for this story i picked a reader on the chubbier end and will be diving into some insecurities that they could face. i tried my best to display this topic in an appropriate manner and and as always, my dms are open if you ever need someone to talk to, though i'm not a professional. <3

warning : body image struggles

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Going out with Aurélien was always special, and tonight was no exception. You both enjoyed taking turns picking places for your date nights, and no matter where you dined, you always ended up at your guy’s favorite ice cream shop afterward. This summer evening, it was his pick—a hidden gem that his teammate, Federico Valverde, had strongly recommended. After just a few bites, it was obvious that the footballer had made the perfect choice.

The night was filled with the usual tender smiles and exchange of dishes. Each of you stealing bites from one another and debating whose choice was the superior one. It was silly, but it made the meal feel more like an adventure in itself.

“Okay, so I definitely picked the best dish this time,” Aurélien grinned, as he leaned over to offer you another bite of his meal. “I knew you’d love it.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “Oh really? Are we going to keep a tally of who picks the better dish? Because, overall, I’m pretty sure I’m winning right now.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, no. You definitely think you are, don’t you? But you can’t deny that this is a strong contender.”

You pouted, taking the bite he offered. "Fine, you win this round. But next time, I’ll make sure to pick something even better."

He leaned back, giving you a playful, mock-dramatic look. “This is war, then. Prepare for the next round.”

You both laughed, enjoying the easy rhythm of the conversation. The little games you played over shared bites of food made the whole experience feel so much more fun.

“So,” Aurélien started, swirling his wine in his glass. “If I win this little food battle we’ve got going, what do I get as a prize?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm, well, what kind of prize do you think you deserve?”

He leaned in with a teasing smile. “A kiss, obviously.”

“A kiss, huh? ”Your lips curling into a playful smile as you raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess I could be persuaded,” you teased, a flirty spark in your eyes.

Aurélien leaned in close, a teasing smirk on his face. “Come on,” he whispered.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, playing along, and your thumb grazed his cheek as you leaned in like you were going to kiss him. But, just before your lips met his, you quickly swiped your thumb across the side of his mouth, wiping off the sauce he’d missed earlier. His eyes widened, and he groaned in disbelief, clearly disappointed.

“Oh, come on!” he muttered, though he couldn’t help the small smile that crept back on his face.

A mischievous laugh escaped your lips as you watched him, his mock frustration only making the moment more delightful. The soft glow of the candlelight danced across his face, highlighting the amused sparkle in his eyes. It was as if you guys were in your own bubble of happiness.

You savored the moment, the rich flavors of the meal dancing on your tongue as you made your way through the courses. Aurélien’s rants about training filled the space between you, his voice blending with the clink of silverware against plates. It felt almost dreamlike—the way the world outside faded away as you both sank deeper into the rhythm of each other’s company. You both finished your plates slowly, savoring the last few mouthfuls, reluctant to leave the comfort of the cozy Italian place.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick before we head out.” Your boyfriend stated as he squeezed your hand to signal his departure.

You nodded, watching as Aurélien stood and melted into the crowd, his tall frame effortlessly disappearing toward the restrooms. Left to your own thoughts for a moment, you took a slow sip of your drink, letting your eyes drift around the warm ambience. As you glanced over the dessert menu, you pondered your options. You knew you’d both end up at the ice cream shop later—it had become a tradition—but maybe you could share something here first. It seemed like the perfect compromise. After all, the idea of a sweet Italian pastry was tempting. A crisp cannoli? Or a velvety tiramisu? You couldn’t decide, so you waved down the waiter, hoping for a little guidance.

“Excuse me, could you help me choose between the cannoli and the tiramisu?” you asked, flashing a smile. “Which one do you recommend?”

“Oh, another order?” The waiter raised an eyebrow. “Well, the tiramisu is world-class, but after all that, I doubt you’d even fit in your dress anymore.” He chuckled as he answered you.

The words hit you instantly, meant to be playful but coming across with an edge that caught you off guard. You froze, a flush creeping up your neck as the comment sank in. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over you, and instead of anger, you felt a rush of awkwardness. Was that really necessary? You opened your mouth to say something, but the words never came.

Finally, you let out a small, nervous laugh, trying to brush off the discomfort. "Uh, yeah... can I just get the check, actually?" you said, offering a tight smile as you reached for your drink, hoping the awkwardness would pass.

The waiter nodded, clearly unaware of the effect his words had, and turned to go. You sat back in your chair, fiddling with the napkin in your lap. You shook your head slightly, trying to push the feeling aside. You felt silly for letting the situation impact you like this. Nothing had seemed overtly wrong. Just… a bit strange. But then again, it could have just been in your head.

Although the waiter left, it felt like every eye in the room was suddenly fixed on you, each gaze heavy with judgment. Of course, you knew this wasn’t true—logically, you understood no one was staring at you—but that didn’t stop the feeling from washing over you like a cold wave. Your body suddenly uncomfortable in the chair, too much for the space around you. The fabric of your outfit felt suffocating now—clinging to you in ways that highlighted every inch. You wished you could just disappear.

Your stomach twisted, the pressure growing unbearable, the feeling of nausea even crept in. Every breath felt like too much effort, too loud, as if just being alive was drawing in too much attention. Your arms crossed over your torso instinctively, hoping you could somehow hide yourself from the world. But nothing helped, the ache was deeper than anything you could physically conceal. Your thighs pressed against the seat, and you could swear they expanded under the weight of your thoughts, a cruel trick of perception that only fed the panic rising inside you.

The heat clung to you, pressing down on your chest, its weight making each breath feel shallow and strained. It was like being trapped inside the very furnace that had just baked your pizza, the warmth heavy and stifling, consuming everything in its path.

You managed to steady yourself before Aurélien returned, but the floor beneath you betrayed every shift. Each small movement sent a sharp creak reverberating through the silence, an intrusive sound that seemed to echo your every restless gesture.

As Aurélien came back, the waiter dropped the check off. Your boyfriend’s focus immediately shifting to it, his hand instinctively reaching for his wallet. He sat down across from you, as he placed down his card.

You tried to hide the faint tremor in your hands and the nervous habit of tugging at the hem of your dress, hoping he wouldn’t notice. It was a silly plea when you considered the fact that Aurélien had been trained on the pitch to detect even the smallest shifts in movement—to read the slightest twitch of a muscle or the faintest change in posture. It was second nature to him, a skill honed over years of relentless focus.

So, of course, he noticed.

“You okay, mon amour?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He wasn’t demanding, wasn’t pushing, just offering you a space to speak.

You swallowed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Mhm, just tired,” you muttered.

Aurélien didn’t press further, but the eerie quiet between you lingered once he stood up from the table as he thanked the waiter. He reached for your hand as you both moved toward the door, his grip warm and steady, though his fingers tightened slightly, as if sensing something was still off. You followed him outside, the streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement.

As you approached the car, Aurélien opened the passenger door for you, his usual confident smile back in place, though there was something in his gaze that seemed to weigh you down even more. You sat down staring out the window, the city passing by like a blur as he drove, you hoped for a reprieve from the heavy feeling in your chest.

With dinner finished, the next step in your routine should have been a trip to the charming little ice cream shop nearby, a tradition that had started on your first date. It was a small, unassuming parlor where, with complete confidence, he had declared he could figure out your favorite flavor just by looking at you. Of course, he was wrong—but his confidence had made you laugh so hard your stomach ached, and in the end, you picked that flavor as your new favorite.

Yet tonight, the thought of ice cream twisted your stomach in a different way.

“Aurélien… I’m not really feeling it tonight,” you said in a hushed voice, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

Aurélien shot you a glance, brow furrowing. “Not feeling it?” he echoed, as if the words themselves were foreign.

You nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll get any ice cream”

His face fell slightly, a small frown tugging at his lips, but after a moment, he nodded. "Okay."

Instead of heading toward the ice cream shop, he smoothly made a U-turn at the next light.

“Wait, did you not want anything either?” you asked, blinking at him.

He glanced over at you with a half-smile. “It’s okay. Ice cream doesn’t taste nearly as good unless I’m sharing it with you.” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “I mean, have you ever tried chocolate chip cookie dough all alone? It’s just... sad."

You let out a soft chuckle, your shoulders relaxing a bit. "You’re ridiculous."

He just shrugged, eyes still on the road. "Hey, I swear the flavor will grow on you one day."

You looked back out the window, resting your head against the cool glass, feeling the weight of your earlier thoughts lighten just a little.

Then, his hand reached for yours, his grip warm and steady. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a quiet, soothing motion—one that seemed to soothe something deep inside you, though he was unaware of what.

When he pulled into the driveway, he turned to you, opening his mouth as if to say something. But you were already unbuckling your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle before he could voice his concern.

“I’m gonna go change,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t wait for a response, slipping out of the car and into the house, where the warmth should have been comforting but only felt suffocating.

Aurélien lingered in the entryway, watching you disappear up the stairs, his frown deepening. This wasn’t exhaustion. This wasn’t just a passing mood. This was something deeper, something festering just beneath the surface, something eating at you from the inside out. And he knew. He always knew.

But he also understood you wouldn’t talk until you were ready. With a quiet sigh, he leaned against the doorframe, dragging a hand down his face before slowly removing his shoes, giving you the space he knew you thought you needed.

Upstairs, you hurried to the bedroom, the door swinging shut behind you—or so you thought. You barely noticed it remained slightly ajar, too preoccupied, too desperate to strip yourself free from the weight clinging to you.

Your dress pooled at your feet, as if even the fabric was eager to rid itself of you. Shedding you like an old skin—but unfortunately, this was no simple transformation. You didn’t even spare it a second glance before tossing it onto the chair in the corner. Your heart hammered in your chest, beating so fast you could feel it in your throat.

Your hands reaching for one of Aurélien’s shirts—the one that always offered solace in ways nothing else could, especially when he was away, swallowed by the distance of football and travel. But just as you were about to pull it fully down on yourself, your gaze flickered to the mirror.

And everything stopped.

The reflection didn’t greet you with kindness. It didn’t soften its edges, didn’t smooth out the harsh truths you spent so long ignoring.

It stared back, merciless, cruel in its honesty, dragging your eyes down the lines of your body like an artist outlining every flaw with deliberate strokes. As if it’s not just your body that feels burdened, but your mind too.

Your stomach—softer than you wanted, pushing outward when you wished it would vanish instead. The skin stretching slightly, smooth with a few faint lines marking where it met your waistband.

Your chest—felt fuller than before, both physically and emotionally heavy. The discomfort pulling at your spine, making every movement feel strained.

But worst of all? Your thighs.

You let your shirt slip, falling softly over your figure as your hands instinctively found their way to your thighs. Your fingers pressed into the warm flesh, grasping, as if to test reality. You felt the resistance of how they refused to shrink, to yield, no matter how desperately you willed them to. Each inch of flesh that you grip only deepens the chasm between who you are and who you wish to be. There’s a sense of helplessness in the way your fingers meet the soft curve of your thighs, like you’re at war with your own skin.

You want to recoil, to pull your hands away, but they stay, as if your own touch has become a punishment. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the reflection in the mirror, but even with your lids shut tight, it’s as though the image is burned onto the back of your eyelids. The feeling doesn’t go away, not even in the dark. It lingers, clinging to your skin like an unwelcome shadow that refuses to leave.

You wanted to sever off the parts that wouldn’t obey.

Your breath hitched, nausea pooling in your stomach. The mirror made a mockery of you, highlighting every insecurity, every whispered doubt, every cruel thought that lurked beneath the surface. You crossed your arms over yourself, dread curling around your ribs like barbed wire. A sickening thought sank its claws into you:

Why would he want you when you look this way?

The thought struck without warning, a tightening coil cutting off the oxygen to your lungs.

Would he still trace his fingers over your skin with that same reverence? Still hold you, still love you, when you felt like nothing but a burden too heavy to carry? If you couldn't even love yourself, then how could anyone else?

The faint sound of movement drew your attention, and a chill swept through you. You spun, and there he was—Aurélien Tchouaméni, standing in the doorway, his eyes shadowed with something you couldn't quite place. His heart silently shattering as he watched the person he loved more than anything crumble beneath the unbearable weight of their own reflection.

He had seen everything.

Your arms yanking down the shirt, a pathetic attempt to shield yourself from his gaze, but it was too late. His expression was no longer just concern—it was heartbreak. For you. For whatever cruel battle you were fighting inside your own head.

“Mon amour,” his voice was quiet, hesitant, as if afraid to startle you.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat had closed up. Embarrassment burned through you, hot and suffocating. You felt exposed, vulnerable in the worst way, like every insecurity you tried to hide had been laid bare for him to see.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "I—I’m fine…really I—"

“Amour…” he interrupted gently, stepping inside the room, closing the distance between you both. “Please, don’t try to hide from me.”

You shook your head, averting your gaze. “I can’t—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed, shaking your head harder. “Please... just give me a minute. I don’t want you to look at me when I’m like this.”

Aurélien’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as the hurt on his face became undeniable. He reached out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like what?” he asked, stepping closer, his heart in his eyes.

“Like this— I’m a mess,” you whispered, gesturing at yourself like your own body was something disgusting, something shameful. “Like—like I take up too much space. Like I’m too much. I—I don’t feel like—"

The footballer sighed, stepping back, running a hand over his head. His jaw clenched, and his whole body tensed.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. His hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who made you feel like this?” His voice was quiet, his protectiveness beaming through.

“Who?” he asked again, not taking your silence as a response.

You could hear the barely veiled frustration underneath, but not at you—never at you. It was anger at whoever had planted this seed of doubt in your mind, at whatever had made you believe that you were anything less than extraordinary.

You swallowed, shaking your head. “Well the waiter,” you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “He made some stupid comment, but… it’s not just that.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” he said, his posture stiffening.

You let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. “I wish I was.”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “If I’d heard it—” he exhaled sharply, reigning in his anger. “I would’ve said something.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But it’s not just about what he said. It’s how I’ve been feeling for a while actually.”

Aurélien exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before stepping closer, his hands hesitating before cupping your face. His thumbs caught the next tear before it could fall. "Amour… I love you so much," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, just talk to me about it."

The weight of his words unraveled something in you, and before you could stop it, a sob broke free from your throat. Your knees buckled slightly, but Aurélien caught you as you stumbled, his arms scooping you up, strong but delicate. His warmth enveloped you entirely, and for the first time all night, you felt at ease as you laid in bed.

“I hate that you feel like this,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there. “I hate that someone made you doubt how incredible you are.”

You let out a choked laugh, but it held no humor. “It’s not someone, it’s me,” you admitted, voice trembling. “It’s how I’ve felt for a bit.”

His hold on you tightened, his jaw tensing against your hair. He was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “Still, I wish I could just make it all go away. You shouldn't have to carry this alone. I’ll carry it with you.”

More tears slipped down your cheeks as he peppered your face with kisses. His lips brushed over your skin in the softest, most reverent way. But then his hands found your thighs, gripping them firmly, kneading them as if committing them to memory. His fingers traced over the softness of your stomach, his grip both possessive and tender.

“Mon amour,” he whispered, voice husky, thick with emotion. “Do you know how perfectly you fit against me?”

Like you were made to be there, pressed into him like the missing piece of a puzzle.

A shiver ran down your spine at the sheer conviction in his voice, the way his hands never wavered as they caressed you, he was worshiping every inch. He pressed a hot, lingering kiss to your jaw, then down your neck, his breath fanning over your skin.

“I love being suffocated by your thighs,” he murmured, nipping playfully at your skin, earning a startled laugh from you despite the tears still clinging to your lashes.

You swatted at his arm, pushing at his chest. “Aurélien!”

He grinned against your skin, placing one last kiss to your temple. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

You sniffled, hands clutching at his shirt, the fabric bunching between your fingers. “I just don’t feel—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted gently, cradling your face again so you had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were burning with something fierce, something unshakable. “You are enough, mon amour. You always have been. And if you can’t see it right now, that’s okay—I’ll remind you every single day.”

A broken sob escaped your lips, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness alone.

It was from the overwhelming love, the sheer depth of what this man was offering you. A love so pure, so unwavering, that for the first time, the voice in your head telling you that you “weren’t enough” quieted.

Aurélien exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t care if we have to stay up all night, but I’m not letting you go until you understand how much I love you.”

You let out a wet laugh, sniffling. “That might take a while.”

His lips quirked up, but his eyes were still serious. “Then I hope you’re comfortable, because I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

Another moment of silence passed, your ears pressed to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He took a deep breath, then smiled—this time lighter, with something familiar in it.

"You know what we need?" he asked, his voice soft but certain.

You blinked up at him, still sniffling. “What?”

“Ice cream.”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “I just said I didn’t want any.”

“And I just decided that’s unacceptable,” he said, guiding you toward the door. “Come on, we’re going.”

You gave him a half-hearted glare, but he simply grinned ear to ear. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

A small smile broke through your haze of sadness. “Fine. But no more strange flavors!”

The drive to the ice cream shop was quiet, filled only by the soft hum of the music playing in the background. Aurelien’s hand never left yours, his touch a steady reassurance, grounding you in the present. Every now and then, he’d steal a glance at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips, as if he were silently reminding you that you weren’t alone.

When you stepped into the familiar little shop, the soft chime of the bell above the door echoed in the stillness, and for a moment, the weight pressing down on your chest lifted just a little. The warm scent of freshly made waffle cones filled the air, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

Aurélien made a show of examining the menu, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I think… I’m going to pick for you, just like our first date.”

You arched a brow, crossing your arms as you challenged him. “Oh? And what makes you think you’ll get it right this time?”

He smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Because I know you, mon amour.”

A few minutes later, Aurélien handed you a cone with a knowing grin. The flavor he picked wasn’t just good—it was perfect. Honey Vanilla Bean.

“You know, I really wanted to go with blueberry,” he admitted with a teasing smirk. “But I figured… you deserve something like you. Sweet, comforting, a little bit of warmth when everything feels cold.” He paused, feigning exasperation. “Also, I really didn’t want to get yelled at over an ice cream scoop.”

You shook your head in disbelief, holding back a grin. “Alright, fine. You win.”

His grin was smug as he bumped his shoulder against yours. “So, can I get my prize now?”

With a playful glint in your eye, you stood on your tiptoes and pulled him in, pecking his lips. The moment was brief but full, the sweetness melting between you as his fingers brushed your waist, holding you steady.

Hand in hand, you wandered outside and settled onto the curb, the cool night air wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. Aurélien pulled you closer, his warmth a contrast to the gentle chill.

Aurélien nudged you with his elbow, holding out his own cone. "Here, try some of my chocolate chip cookie dough. I even got star-shaped sprinkles on it."

Rolling your eyes as you leaned in, ready to taste it, but just as your lips parted, the ice cream dripped on to your face. Your eyes widened in shock as he burst into laughter.

Before it could roll off your body, Aurélien leaned in without hesitation, licking the ice cream off your face before pressing a brief, puckish kiss to your lips.

“There, crisis averted.” He announced smugly, pulling back with a satisfied smirk.

You shoved him away with a mix of laughter and disbelief. "Eww Aurélien, what is wrong with you?!"

He grinned, completely unfazed. "Oh, plenty, but you still love me."

You rolled your eyes, but as you looked at him—at the man who had spent the last hour trying to hold you together when you felt like you were falling apart—you felt your heart flutter.

“I do,” you whispered, leaning into his side.

His arm tightened around you, holding you securely in his arms as his cheek rested against your hair. “Good. Because I love you more. Every single part of you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you actually believed it.

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leighsartworks216 · 1 day ago

Text

A Bargain Struck

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Chapter One

I almost forgot to post this today!! When I say it's been a day y'all, it has been a day

Warnings: swearing, fear of infection, intimidation, child death (mentioned), implied murder

Word Count: 923

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You think this is some joke to him. He’s walking ahead of you, albeit incredibly slowly, while you shuffle along the wall, scraped hands guiding you through what you can only assume is a cave. The walls are rough and jagged, not to mention winding. You think you feel doorways, but every time you start to turn into one to try getting any vague impression for what’s inside, he chastises you with an amused, “Over here, pet.”

You huff when your toe hits stairs. “This is your home?” you bite. You shuffle one foot forward to feel for the next step. What a nightmare. “Were you raised by Wanderers or something?”

He chuckles deeply. It reverberates around the hall. “It’s much worse than that.”

“Oh, yeah? How?”

“Hmph. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Asshole.”

“Careful, pet. Your god is watching.”

The cave is cool, seemingly untouched by the sun outside. The chill numbs your feet, bites at your fingertips. Even your ceremonial garb does little to keep you warm. You just bite your cheek. You’re already a prisoner here, best not allow yourself to be too weak around him. A difficult task, indeed.

You misjudge one of the steps. Your toes just catch the edge, but it’s not enough to support you and they slip. With no railing to hold, you cannot grasp for support. You tip backward with a shout.

Something hard wraps around your waist again. It holds you tightly, shoving you forward and onto a solid platform. Had that been the top step? You’re sick and tired of landing on your hands and knees like this.

You’re released as you sit up, back finding a solid wall to lean into as you cover your heart and will it to stop racing. “Ah,” you pant, “thank you.”

The “wall” suddenly steps away from you, and you catch yourself in another heart-stopping moment to save yourself from tipping backwards. “I won’t save you next time.”

“Let me go and there won’t be a next time.”

He chuckles, but it lacks any real mirth. “Get up. Or do I have to drag you the rest of the way?”

You sigh. Still, he doesn’t rush you when you sit a moment longer to calm your heart. Ever since you were a child, your health was of the utmost concern. You couldn’t do anything with the other kids, and not because of your lack of sight. Even braille books were considered too dangerous. The risk of a paper cut getting infected and killing you was a risk nobody was willing to make. As such, this much excitement was a shock to your system.

And suddenly, you find yourself worried about the tiniest cut getting infected and killing you out here.

You reach out, feeling for the real wall this time. Loose sand scrapes beneath you as you bring yourself to your feet. “Do you have any medical supplies here?”

He starts walking again and you follow.

“Would you be able to use them if I said yes?”

You wish you could see, just so you could smack him upside the head. “You keep underestimating me. I suggest you stop now before you embarrass yourself.”

“That’s a gamble I’m willing to take.” He sighs, sharp and tired, annoyed. “I might have some around.”

“Well, do you have water, at least? Clean cloth?”

“You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

“And you’re an insufferable bastard. Neither of us are too happy with each other, but if you won’t let me go, I suggest you do the bare minimum and allow me to clean my injuries,” you hold out your palms, unsure if he’ll even see them, “so I don’t get sick and die.”

His steps come to a stop. You stop with them. Your skin prickles and crawls, unsettled and on edge. His steps approach. You lean your shoulder into the wall, holding your ground rather than being backed up to some other possibly dangerous or deadly area in the cave.

“Tell me a prophecy, and I’ll get you your medical supplies.”

You scoff. “It’s not that simple. It’s Astra who picks and chooses what futures I see. I know nothing of you. All the prophecies I know right now are for the people in the city.”

Is that his breath fanning across your face? You flinch back at its heat. You feel like an injured rabbit facing down the maw of a starved wolf.

His voice is low when next he speaks. “Then tell me one of them.”

You turn your face away. His breath hits your cheek, though tendrils of the air brush down your neck. You suppress a shiver. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “There’s a scholar there. He studies the heavens and tracks their movement. His parents are anxious for him to conceive an heir. His wife is pregnant now, but…”

“But…?”

“... The child… will be a stillborn. They won’t know the cause of death, and that shame will fall to the mother. She won’t live long after, either, once the scholar crumples under the disappointment.”

He hums. The heat of his breath disappears. “I’ll get you your medicine. Next time, I’d be interested in hearing a prophecy of my own future.”

“Then you’ll have to pray to Astra. Only he can grant you the knowledge you seek; I’m just the messenger.” “Well, messenger,” he steps around you and nudges you with an elbow, “this is where you’ll sleep. Try not to fall down the stairs looking for me.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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andy-15-07 · 2 days ago

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Hi! I love your work. Could you maybe do a paul mescal x actress!reader, she is his love interest in gladiator and in the red carpet the announce their engament ( like zendaya in the Golden Globes)?

Golden Promises on the Red Carpet

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 3283 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

You step onto the set of Gladiator 2 with a flutter of anticipation dancing in your stomach. The early morning light filters through the ancient stone walls of the meticulously recreated Roman arena, and despite the chaos of bustling crew and costumed extras, your eyes are immediately drawn to him. Paul stands near the center of the set, his gaze warm and inviting as he practices his lines with a focus that seems to light up the very air around him. Every time your eyes meet, his smile deepens, and the energy between you crackles with something both cinematic and profoundly real.

“Hey,” he calls softly, a teasing lilt in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat. You walk over, your costume—a sleek yet battle-ready outfit that hints at your character’s strength and vulnerability—rustling quietly with each step. “Morning, gorgeous,” he says, and you can’t help but laugh at how his tone makes even the simplest greeting feel like a cherished secret.

“Morning, Paul,” you reply, a playful spark in your eyes. “I hope you’ve been rehearsing those epic monologues all night. I can’t wait to see you in action.”

Paul’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “You know me—I wouldn’t dare steal the spotlight from our leading lady.” His remark is both a compliment and a challenge, and you raise an eyebrow in amusement.

The day unfolds in a blur of rehearsals and shared moments. Between takes, you find yourselves lingering in quiet corners of the set, talking in whispers that only the ancient walls can keep secret. In one such moment, while you’re both huddled in a shadowed alcove, he leans in and says, “I was thinking… beyond the script and the scenes, there’s a story that’s even more important than any we could ever perform.”

You smile, your voice soft and curious. “And what story is that?”

His gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes the world around you fade into a comforting blur. “The story of us,” he murmurs. “Of every laugh, every line, every moment that brought us here. I never imagined that when I signed on for this film, I’d end up finding someone who could make my heart feel like it’s starring in its own epic saga.”

The sincerity in his words sends a thrill through you. “I feel the same way, Paul,” you reply, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “Every day on this set, every shared glance between takes… it’s like we’re living in a story written just for us.”

There’s a pause as he searches your eyes, as if trying to read the truth hidden there. “You know,” he begins, a shy smile tugging at his lips, “when we’re not in front of the cameras, I dream about a day when the world gets to see us together—not just as co-stars but as something more.”

Your heart races at the implication, and you lean in, your tone playful yet earnest. “And when would that be? After we’ve vanquished our foes in the arena?”

He chuckles, and the sound is as warm as the morning sun. “Maybe sooner than that. I want everyone to know that behind these costumes and scripted lines is a love story that’s as real as it gets.”

In the midst of the creative chaos that is film production, your burgeoning relationship with Paul feels like a secret world built just for the two of you. The camaraderie among the cast and crew is palpable, and while everyone talks excitedly about dramatic battles and stirring soliloquies, you and Paul have your own whispered dialogues—exchanges of glances and half-sentences that hint at promises for the future.

One afternoon, while the director calls for a break and the set quiets to a gentle hum, you find yourself alone with Paul in a quiet corner of the studio. The space is dimly lit by the soft glow of overhead lights, and the air carries the mingled scents of aged stone and fresh paint. Paul turns to you with a look that’s both vulnerable and hopeful.

“Do you ever think about what happens when the cameras stop rolling?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You consider his question, your fingers idly playing with the hem of your costume. “I think about a lot of things—quiet mornings, long conversations, late-night laughter. I imagine a life where every moment isn’t dictated by a script, but by our own hearts.”

His eyes soften, and he steps closer, closing the distance between you. “I’ve been imagining that too,” he confesses. “I can’t help but wonder what it would be like… to share everything with you. To write our own story, not just on set, but in every moment we’re given.”

The intensity of his gaze makes you feel as if time itself has paused, letting you savor every word. “I want that too, Paul,” you reply, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions. “I want our story to be as bold and beautiful as the characters we play, but even more real.”

Days melt into nights as filming continues, and with every passing moment, your bond grows stronger. Between scenes, you steal away for private conversations in hidden corners of the studio, sharing secrets, dreams, and gentle laughter. There’s a particular magic in those moments—the way your fingers occasionally brush, the glances that linger too long to be mere coincidence, and the promise of something extraordinary building quietly beneath the surface.

Then, as the production nears its climax, whispers of a major upcoming event begin to circulate. A red carpet gala is planned to honor the film’s debut—a glamorous night where stars shine not just for the cameras, but for the world to see. The air buzzes with anticipation, and soon you find yourself swept up in the excitement of preparations and interviews, all while your heart keeps a secret close: the thought of what the night might bring.

The gala is set at an opulent venue, draped in gold and velvet, with the echo of music and laughter spilling out onto the bustling red carpet. As you step outside, your hand finds Paul’s, and for a moment, everything feels surreal—the flashes of cameras, the murmur of excited voices, and the glittering lights of paparazzi lenses capturing every detail.

Dressed in an elegant gown that sparkles like starlight and paired with a confidence that belies the nerves fluttering in your chest, you walk alongside Paul. He looks effortlessly handsome in a tailored suit that complements the fire in his eyes, and as you approach the entrance, the world seems to slow, focusing solely on the two of you.

A reporter, microphone in hand, catches sight of your radiant smiles and asks, “You two look absolutely stunning tonight. Is there anything special you’d like to share with your fans?” His tone is curious, and you can feel the weight of the moment settling in, as if this question were more than a casual inquiry.

Paul squeezes your hand reassuringly, his gaze meeting yours with a secret understanding. “Actually, there is something we’d love to announce,” he says, his voice clear and confident amid the hum of the crowd.

The reporter’s eyes widen in anticipation. “Oh? Do tell!”

Before you can speak, Paul turns to face the cameras, his voice carrying across the red carpet. “Tonight,” he begins, a proud smile brightening his face, “I’m thrilled to share that I’m not just here to celebrate Gladiator 2, but to celebrate love—our love. And it’s with the deepest joy that I announce our engagement.”

A hush falls over the gathered press, the buzz of excitement palpable as the statement hangs in the air like a promise. The cameras flash, capturing every emotion, every glimmer of happiness on both your faces. For a heartbeat, it feels as though the world has paused, united in the magic of the moment.

You step forward, your voice steady and filled with emotion as you add, “We’ve spent the last months not only bringing history to life on screen but also discovering a love that feels timeless and extraordinary. Tonight, on this red carpet, we share with you not just a moment of glamour, but a promise for a future filled with endless possibilities.”

The applause from the gathered crowd is thunderous, and amidst the flashes of cameras and the excited murmurs of the press, Paul’s eyes never leave yours. “This is just the beginning,” he says softly, almost as if you’re the only one in the world who can hear him. “Our love story is our greatest adventure, and I can’t wait to write every chapter with you.”

The remaining hours of the evening blur into a whirlwind of congratulations, interviews, and candid moments shared with friends and fellow stars. Throughout it all, you and Paul remain side by side, a beacon of unity and genuine affection amid the glamour and spectacle of Hollywood’s most dazzling night.

Later, as the gala winds down and the red carpet lights dim, you find yourselves alone on a quiet balcony overlooking the city. The distant hum of traffic and the soft murmur of celebration provide the perfect backdrop for a conversation that feels both intimate and infinite.

Paul turns to you, his expression reflective in the gentle glow of the city lights. “Do you remember that day on set when we talked about living a life that isn’t dictated by a script?” he asks softly. “I still can’t believe how far we’ve come—from whispered promises in the shadows to declaring our love in front of the world.”

You lean into him, your voice tender. “I remember every word, every moment. It feels like we were always meant to find each other, even in a world filled with chaos and noise.”

He laughs lightly, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “It’s like we were writing our own epic, one scene at a time. And tonight, we took one of the most important scenes—a scene that marks the beginning of our forever.”

The night air is cool and comforting, and you both stand in silence for a moment, savoring the gravity of the journey that has led you here. “Do you ever wonder,” you say after a pause, “what our future holds beyond the glitz and glamour? What kind of story we’ll continue to write together?”

Paul’s eyes search yours, and for a moment, the world outside seems to fade. “Every day,” he confesses. “I imagine mornings filled with lazy laughter, afternoons where we create memories out of the simplest moments, and nights where every whispered ‘I love you’ feels as profound as it did on that very first day we met on set. I see a future where every day is an adventure—a blend of passion, creativity, and love.”

Your heart swells with the promise of his words, and you press closer to him. “I want that future, Paul. I want a life where every moment is as genuine and beautiful as what we felt tonight.”

He smiles, a mixture of joy and relief lighting up his features. “Then let’s never let go of this feeling, of this commitment. Let’s promise to write every chapter together, no matter how unpredictable the script of life may be.”

The intimacy of the moment makes the sprawling city below feel like a secret world meant just for you. As you both stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, it’s as if the very stars have aligned to celebrate the love you’ve nurtured on set and beyond.

In the days that follow, the news of your engagement creates ripples of joy and admiration in every interview, every headline. On set, the cast and crew share knowing smiles, and even the director, who once saw your relationship as a quiet undercurrent, now boasts about it as the heart of the film’s off-screen story. During a break between filming intense battle scenes, Paul whispers to you, “I’ve never seen anyone light up the set the way you do. You’re my muse—in every sense of the word.”

You laugh softly, the sound mingling with the distant clang of swords and the rustling of period costumes. “And you,” you reply, “make every line, every scene, feel like a promise of something extraordinary.”

Even amidst the demanding schedule of shooting elaborate fight sequences and stirring dialogues, you find moments of pure, unfiltered connection. Over late-night dinners in the quiet of the studio’s makeshift dining room, you talk about everything from your favorite childhood memories to your wildest dreams for the future. One night, as the stars peek through the studio’s skylight, Paul says, “I know we’re in the middle of creating history on screen, but the history I want to create is the one we share off screen—one filled with love, laughter, and endless adventures.”

Your eyes meet his, and you feel an overwhelming surge of gratitude. “Every day with you feels like an adventure,” you admit, your voice hushed in the intimacy of the moment. “I never imagined that stepping onto a film set would lead me to the love of my life.”

Paul’s smile is both gentle and resolute. “And I never imagined that behind every powerful monologue and every stirring scene, there’d be a quiet love story unfolding—a story that’s real, raw, and more beautiful than any script could ever capture.”

As filming wraps up and the last of the scenes are shot, you both take a quiet moment to reflect on the journey. Walking hand in hand along the now-empty set, you recall the early days of whispered promises and shared glances. “It all feels like a dream,” you say softly. “A dream that I never want to wake from.”

Paul stops and turns to you, his expression earnest. “Then let’s promise to keep dreaming together,” he says, his voice filled with the conviction of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Let’s promise to never let go of the magic we found on that set, on that red carpet, in every single moment we’ve shared.”

The weight of his words settles around you like a warm embrace, and you know that the love you’ve nurtured is something that transcends the fleeting nature of fame or the glitter of the red carpet. It’s a love rooted in shared experiences, in every laugh and every quiet tear shed in the glow of early mornings and late nights.

In the weeks that follow, as the media buzzes with stories of your engagement and the film garners accolades, you and Paul continue to find solace in each other’s arms. There’s a quiet joy in the way you both navigate the whirlwind of public attention while holding on to the intimate moments that define your relationship. During an interview on a popular late-night show, the host remarks, “You two seem to have a love that could rival any epic tale. What’s your secret?”

Paul looks at you, his eyes filled with tender amusement, and replies, “Our secret is simple. It’s that we never let go of what matters most—our hearts, our dreams, and each other.” The audience erupts in applause, and you share a knowing smile that speaks volumes about the truth behind those words.

Even in the midst of glamorous premieres and dazzling public appearances, you carve out moments just for the two of you. One particularly memorable afternoon, while the world outside buzzes with excitement over your next public appearance, you and Paul retreat to a quiet corner of a charming café. Over cups of rich, aromatic coffee, you talk about everything from the mundane to the monumental.

“I keep thinking about that night on the red carpet,” you say, stirring your coffee thoughtfully. “The way the world paused as we announced our engagement—it was like the universe was giving us its blessing.”

Paul’s eyes shine with recollection as he nods. “It was surreal. I’ve always believed that the most important moments in our lives are the ones that happen when we least expect them—when we’re just being ourselves, and the world sees that raw, unfiltered truth.”

You smile, feeling the warmth of his words wrap around you like a soft blanket. “I never imagined that behind the dazzling lights and the flashing cameras, there could be something so genuine, so heartfelt. It makes all of this—every glamorous moment—feel even more special.”

Paul reaches across the table and takes your hand, his touch gentle yet firm. “Because what we have isn’t just about fame or success. It’s about a love that’s real, a connection that goes deeper than any script or red carpet announcement. It’s our story, and it’s ours alone.”

The conversation drifts into comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft clink of cups and the distant hum of the city. In that quiet moment, you realize that every dialogue, every whispered promise, and every shared laugh has been a stepping stone toward this very instant—a moment when the world outside might be chaotic and unpredictable, but within your little universe, everything is exactly as it should be.

Later that evening, as the glow of twilight gives way to the shimmering night, you and Paul return to your private sanctuary—a cozy apartment tucked away from the relentless buzz of Hollywood. The day’s excitement still lingers in the air, but here, in the quiet intimacy of your home, you’re free to be exactly who you are. You curl up on the couch together, the soft hum of a favorite song playing in the background, and for a few precious moments, the world outside ceases to exist.

“Do you ever think about how lucky we are?” you ask, your voice soft and reflective as you rest your head on his shoulder.

Paul’s smile is slow and thoughtful. “Every single day. I think about the moments we’ve shared—the nervous excitement on set, the rush of that red carpet announcement—and I realize that none of it would mean anything without you by my side.”

You squeeze his hand, feeling the steady warmth of his love. “I never thought that stepping into a film set would lead me to a life like this. You’ve changed everything for me, Paul.”

He leans in and kisses you gently, a kiss that speaks of promises kept and dreams yet to come. “And you, my love, have given me a story that’s more epic than any film we could ever make. Tonight, and every night, I’m grateful for you.”

In that quiet embrace, the truth of your journey unfolds—a journey of passion, creativity, and an unwavering commitment to a love that transcends the ordinary. The red carpet moment, the whispered dialogues on set, the stolen glances between takes—all of it has been building toward a future where every day is a celebration of the extraordinary bond you share.

As the night deepens and you both drift into a peaceful sleep, you know that the story you’re writing together is only just beginning. It’s a story of adventure, of risk and reward, of laughter and quiet moments of reflection. It’s a story that will continue to unfold long after the cameras stop rolling and the red carpet lights fade away—a story that is as timeless as the love you’ve discovered, as brilliant as the promises made on that unforgettable night.

And so, with the soft whispers of dreams mingling with the echo of your heartbeat, you rest, knowing that every new day will bring with it the promise of another beautiful chapter in the epic tale of you and Paul—a tale that the world may one day call legendary, yet for you, is simply the honest, unfiltered truth of a love that was meant to be.

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youngsadlesbian · 8 hours ago

Note

hey! i saw you were taking requests so:

a fic where popular!wanda and popular!reader have always been rivals. they love eachother as much as they hate eachother because they were childhood bestfriends, not until wanda left without a word, leaving reader alone.

i think it would be great if they have a scene wherein they get stuck in a bathroom after a couple of friends locked them in there, and they start talking about what actually happened.

ANDDDDD wanda getting pissed at reader's boyfriend, even if she has one as well.

i hope you consider this, thank you!!

BETWEEN LOVE AND WAR

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: rivals since wanda left without explanation, you love each other as much as you hate each other. when you're locked in together, buried feelings resurface. between stolen kisses, jealousy, and secrets, you must decide—keep fighting or finally surrender to love.

a/n: thanks for the request hope u like it <3

word count: 2k

warnings: angst if you blink, enemies to lovers but mostly fuff.

Highschool hallways were your battlefield.

From the moment Wanda Maximoff waltzed back into your life years after disappearing without a trace, she had been nothing but a thorn in your side. The childhood best friend you had once adored had morphed into your greatest rival, someone who matched you in everything—popularity, grades, social influence.

If you threw a party, Wanda threw a bigger one. If you aced a test, Wanda’s score was somehow a fraction higher. It wasn’t just a competition anymore—it was war.

And she played dirty.

“Nice speech, printsessa,” Wanda cooed as she brushed past you after the morning assembly, the smug smirk on her lips igniting a fire in your chest. “Almost convincing. Too bad I wasn’t impressed.”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to take a steady breath. “That’s funny, Maximoff. Because last time I checked, you were watching my every move like your life depended on it.”

Her green eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something else lurking beneath the surface—something almost… regretful? You ignored the nagging thought.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, stepping closer until you could smell her familiar vanilla perfume. “If I wanted to watch something entertaining, I’d look anywhere but at you.”

A slow smirk curved your lips. “Then why are you still here?”

For a split second, Wanda faltered. But before you could dwell on it, she rolled her eyes and spun on her heel, walking away as if she hadn’t just invaded your space like she owned it.

That was how it always went between you two—like a storm brewing just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to explode.

But nothing could have prepared you for what happened next.

It was supposed to be a harmless prank.

The idea was simple—your so-called friends thought it would be hilarious to lock you and Wanda in the girls’ bathroom until you either killed each other or worked things out.

“You guys need to fix your tension!” one of them had laughed before slamming the door shut behind you. The sound of the lock clicking into place sent a wave of dread through your stomach.

You whirled around, heart pounding. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Wanda groaned, banging a fist against the door. “Let us out, idiots!”

No response.

You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temples. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

Wanda turned to glare at you, arms crossed. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” You scoffed, incredulous. “How the hell is this my fault?”

“You have terrible taste in friends.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, and you would know all about loyalty, right?”

The second the words left your mouth, the air between you shifted. Wanda tensed, her expression hardening as if you had physically slapped her.

And maybe, in a way, you had.

A thick silence stretched between you.

Then, Wanda exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I had my reasons,” she muttered.

Your heart clenched. “For leaving?”

She didn’t look at you. “Yeah.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay composed. “You never even said goodbye, Wanda.”

The raw emotion in your voice made her flinch.

You hated the way your chest ached. Hated the way her absence had wrecked you when you were younger.

Wanda finally met your gaze, and for the first time in years, her walls cracked. “I was scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “My father got into trouble. My family had to leave town overnight. I didn’t have a choice.”

Your breath hitched. “You did have a choice. You could have told me. I would’ve understood.”

“I didn’t want you to understand,” she snapped, frustration laced in her voice. “I wanted to protect you. I thought leaving without a word would make it easier for you to forget me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Well, congratulations, Wanda. It didn’t work.”

The weight of the past hung heavy between you.

Then, in the quiet, Wanda’s voice softened. “I missed you.”

Your heart clenched at the admission.

But before you could respond, a loud click echoed through the air, and the door swung open.

Your friends had let you out. But neither of you moved.

Because everything between you had just changed.

\*/

You knew something was wrong the moment you spotted Wanda at the party later that night.

She was standing across the room, her gaze locked onto you like a predator watching its prey. And she was pissed.

At first, you thought it was just the unresolved tension from earlier.

But then you followed her line of sight—straight to your boyfriend, who had an arm draped around your waist.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Wanda’s lips, but there was no humor in it. “Didn’t know you had such low standards, printsessa.”

Your jaw clenched. “Excuse me?”

Wanda stepped closer, her presence overwhelming as she tilted her head, eyes dark with something dangerous. “Your boyfriend. He’s a walking red flag, sweetheart. You can do better.”

You glared at her. “Oh, so now you care about my love life?”

Her expression darkened. “I’ve always cared.”

The words made your breath hitch, but you refused to show weakness. “Funny. You didn’t seem to care when you disappeared.”

Something flickered in Wanda’s gaze, but before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Wanda.”

You turned just in time to see her boyfriend—a tall, broad-shouldered guy who looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine—wrap an arm around her waist.

Wanda’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t move away.

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to acknowledge the feeling.

So instead, you smiled, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Well, isn’t this adorable? You’re acting jealous while you have a whole-ass boyfriend.”

Wanda’s grip on her drink tightened. “It’s not the same.”

You scoffed. “Oh, so you can date whoever you want, but I can’t?”

Her eyes burned into yours. “I don’t want you with him.”

Your heart stuttered, but you masked it with a smirk. “And why the hell not?”

Wanda took a step closer, voice low. “Because he’s not me.”

For a moment, the world stopped.

Then, before you could process what was happening, Wanda grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the crowd, away from her boyfriend, away from everything.

Because this war between you and her?

It had never been about hate.

Wanda’s grip on your wrist was firm but not painful as she dragged you out of the party and into the cool night air. The music from inside was still pounding, but it felt like a distant echo compared to the erratic beating of your own heart.

“What the hell was that?” you snapped, wrenching your arm free the moment you reached the empty backyard.

Wanda didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she ran a frustrated hand through her dark hair, her green eyes flashing with something wild, something desperate.

“You know what that was,” she finally said, voice tight.

You let out a humorless laugh. “No, I really don’t. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just pissed I’m not still waiting around for you like some lovesick idiot.”

Her jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

You scoffed. “Oh, now you care about what’s fair?”

Wanda took a step closer, invading your space. “I never stopped caring.”

Your breath hitched. The heat of her presence, the intensity in her gaze—it was suffocating in the best and worst ways.

“Then why did you leave?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and aching. “Why did you let me believe you just didn’t give a damn about me anymore?”

Wanda exhaled sharply, looking away for a moment. “I told you—I thought it would be easier that way.”

“For who?” Your voice cracked, betraying you. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t easier for me.”

Silence.

Then, so softly you almost didn’t hear it—

“I couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you.”

The confession landed like a punch to the gut.

For so long, you had convinced yourself that Wanda had abandoned you without a second thought. That she had simply moved on. But the way she was looking at you now—like you were the only thing in the world that had ever mattered—made that lie crumble to dust.

She took another step closer. You didn’t move away.

“I missed you,” Wanda murmured.

Your chest tightened. “Then why did it take you so long to tell me that?”

Her eyes flickered to your lips for just a second. “Because I was scared.”

Your pulse roared in your ears.

“And what about now?” you whispered.

Wanda reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingertips lingering against your skin.

“I’m still scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a breath.

But she didn’t pull away.

And neither did you.

You weren’t sure who moved first.

One second, you were standing there, staring at Wanda like she was the answer to a question you didn’t even know you had been asking. The next, her lips were crashing against yours in a kiss that tasted like frustration, longing, and years of unresolved emotions.

It was messy, desperate—more of a battle than a kiss.

Your hands fisted in the fabric of her jacket, pulling her impossibly closer. Wanda’s fingers gripped your waist like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

The intensity made your knees weak, made your mind spin.

But just as quickly as it started, reality slammed into you like a freight train.

You pushed her away, panting. “Wanda, I—”

Her expression was unreadable, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel that,” she said, almost pleading.

You swallowed hard. “I have a boyfriend.”

Wanda flinched at the reminder. “You don’t love him.”

Your silence was all the confirmation she needed.

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Of course. Of course you don’t.”

You ran a shaky hand through your hair, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. “And what about your boyfriend, huh? What does this mean for him?”

Something dark flashed across Wanda’s face. “He was never you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.

For so long, you had been fighting—against each other, against your feelings, against the past. But maybe… maybe you had been fighting for the wrong reasons.

Maybe you weren’t rivals. Maybe you were just two people too afraid to admit that you had never really stopped loving each other.

And maybe… it was time to stop fighting at all.

\*/

You ended things with your boyfriend the next day.

It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pretty. But it was necessary. Because Wanda had been right—your heart had never truly belonged to anyone else.

And as for Wanda…

Well, she wasn’t far behind.

She showed up at your locker that afternoon, her usual smirk replaced with something softer, something real.

“So…” she started, leaning against the lockers, “you free later?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why? Planning on dragging me into another emotionally charged confrontation?”

Wanda grinned. “Tempting. But I was thinking something more along the lines of an actual date.”

Your heart did a stupid little flip.

You pretended to think about it. “Hmm. That depends. Are you finally ready to admit that you like me?”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the blush creeping up her neck.

“Shut up,” she muttered before grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe, after all this time, it finally was.

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #mcu #marvel

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jestercouture · 11 hours ago

Text

trash turns to treasure [ch.3]

haunting you.

[ch.1] [ch.2]

warnings: stealing, breaking and entering, Hisoka, panty stealing, mentions of NSFW, borderline/ straight up somnophilia, non-con touching.

He did not know why you began to change right before him, fitting into every facet of his life. He imagined your clothes on his floor, your knick-knacks and personal items strewn around his apartment at Heaven’s Arena.

Was it hallucination, this forceful compulsion to think about you? Hisoka knew it was blatant fantasising one way or another. It was as if you were clawing him open and forcing him to open his eyes wide and-

See you. Really see you.

He was placing you alongside himself where he could really look at you, smell you, breathe you, fuck you. Hisoka could imagine how you would react to each of these scenarios, and an itch was beginning to grow. A desire, a need for you to be reality.

All for himself. He’d taint you forever, Hisoka was sure.

You were just so delicious. So unsure, yet you had a strength in you that just needed to be unlocked. Understood.

By him and only him.

Hisoka was positive he could simply break it out of you, and even now a smirk crossed his face as he thought about the many ways he could go about such a thing.

Watching you so closely only made it more fun. You were getting so paranoid, so anxious when you felt his eyes on you and he just found it so amusing! He wondered if you’d figured it out yet, who your little stalker was.

Hisoka simply adored playing games, and he was more than willing to keep playing. For now, anyway.

Even this routine of messing with you was beginning to wane in regards to Hisoka’s interest. It was surprising that the game had lasted this long, he believed it had been going on for around three months by now?

The itch that had been festering all this time had been only partially satiated with this recent hobby, but for as long it had kept Hisoka entertained…he had additionally begun to slip even further into depravity.

It was a new aspect of the game, completely unexpected and exciting. You had just come back from seeing a friend, presumably [although Hisoka tended to find delight in killing those he deemed too close to you] and were talking rather animatedly on the phone.

“I don’t know, Gwess, I can’t stop feeling this…sensation. It’s unsettling, it just doesn’t stop, ever!,” you looked and sounded so tired, he noted, golden eyes scanning your eye bags and slouched posture. It was as if you were beginning to be weighed down by his antics.

Hisoka was perched on a branch outside of your building, glued to your figure as you moved around with your phone in one hand, putting things away and tidying up the mess. That would make it easier for tonight, no tripping on any stray clothes as he silently wandered around, noseying about your apartment.

But now though, your voice appeared to be getting quieter, more relaxed for the first time in months. As if you had just forgotten about your little predicament. Well, that was alright.

Hisoka could always just do his part to remind you, couldn’t he? Just to help you out, give you a clue, see if you’d bite. Slink away to confuse you even more. You were just too cute, going out to train; and he’d noticed that you were becoming more rigorous and obsessive with it.

Almost as if you were getting more and more spooked.

That thought alone made him sigh in ecstasy, thoughts of your anxiety and paranoia spiking into an oozing bloodlust.

It was amusing, he had to admit, but seeing you in such an unaware and vulnerable state made him begin to get rather impatient.

He had to do something tonight.

Hisoka had to remind you that he was still around; not that he believed you had forgotten, but it wouldn’t hurt to simply accelerate things a bit now, would it?

It didn’t take long for you to work yourself into exhaustion from all your paranoia. You could barely keep your eyes open as you took your clothes off and changed into something light and thin to accommodate for the humid weather that night.

Hisoka almost salivated at the thought of you taking them off…and sleeping nude. Perhaps he could just do you a favour, hm?

Maybe not. As much as he loved to fuck with you, the game would be over before the truly fun parts had even started.

———————————————————————

Seeing you in your bed, the only instance of relaxation Hisoka had seen from you thus far, was doing things to him.

He was perched on your bed, to the right side of your limp body; precariously, as if he must be ready to take flight should you twitch an eyelid. Hisoka was practically beside himself with excitement, the need that had been building up for all these months, culminating in this moment of vulnerability.

Your weakness, your helplessness.

But you were getting stronger. Were you doing it for him, how did you know about his adoration for fighting?

“Oh my,” he murmured, barely above a breathless whisper.

”It appears we are quite well matched.”

Slowly, he reached out a manicured nail to run it down your stomach. You flinched, but made no attempt to stir or shiver from his touch. Hisoka’s eyes gleamed, the thrill pulsing through him, heat rising quickly and burning. He wanted to hurt you with it, to brand you with his touch so that you would never forget him, that you would always know what he could do to you.

You weren’t safe from him and you wouldn’t be ever again.

“I own you now,” he murmured right against your ear, so close that it made you shiver in your sleep. It was more of a shudder, as if a draft had swept in through the window and formed a freezing cloud right above you. Your chest only continued to rise and fall without faltering, Hisoka only getting closer and angling his face towards the crook of your neck. You had the scent of something sweet with natural sweat mixing in from the heat that was ravaging the city.

“How can you be this enticing, darling? It’s as if you want me this close to you,” his senseless muttering seemed to pour out of him now; silence mixed with your breathing drawing him to place a chaste kiss to your shoulder. Hisoka was losing control of himself, the growing tent in his pants was evident.

He could easily just…rut against you, further his own pleasure with only the satisfaction of you, right there, unaware that the one who had been making your life a living hell for months was practically about to fuck you.

Just one more touch, his internal voice begged. He almost lost himself, giving in and tearing your clothes away from your body, anticipating your pretty eyes to snap open in panic. But, alas, Hisoka showed some restraint. He softly moved away from your unconscious form and slipped off the bed, careful not to make a sound or shift the bed too much.

He paused and waited for a change in the air, any indication that you had awoken and realized that something was amiss. No movement yet.

He slowly scanned his eyes around your room, squinting as he could only vaguely see the intricacies of the apartment you dwelled in.

Pictures on the walls with friends, traveling souvenirs were placed with care in little shelves where there was a spare space to be used. Hisoka thought it was cute, the disorder and comfort of your apartment.

He could just envision you going about your day- when he wasn’t watching at least- without any distractions or fears. You had a life, without him in it, before he decided to come and fuck things up and make you feel as though you were going crazy.

That was what he liked, all of the disgusting ways he could make you feel uneasy. But Hisoka didn’t like to remember that you existed before him. It was as though you had transformed into an entity, an enigma that only he was entitled to.

You belonged to Hisoka now. And you would forever.

He crept further into the darkness of your apartment, hands gracefully floating across your knickknacks, as though he were choosing a product from a store. If it belonged to you it belonged to him, after all.

And there it was.

The jackpot.

Your laundry basket.

Filled to the brim with all of your garments and clothes, smelling of you and your daily life, a life that he had intruded into with utmost pleasure.

He reached into the basket, sifting through the contents as though he were purveying something treasured; it as well have felt that way.

Your scent was clinging onto these clothes, filling up his nose with a sweet and gentle smell that could only come from you. It didn’t matter if you had mud or blood or sweat on its fibers, it was a treasure to be savored.

His favorite? A blue pair or underwear, used and worn by you, but now it was his. Hisoka toyed with the panties in his hands, turning it this way and that, caressing the crotch.

Could he really do it?

No.

Should he really do it?

Of course not.

He brought it to his face and just simply inhaled the scent, transported back to just a few minutes ago when he was above you, so close and so near you. Eyes closed, stood still, erection coming back to life as he reminisced.

Hisoka was always going to be a bad man. But you just made him so much worse. You couldn’t really fault him for pocketing such a small item now, could you? After all, you had practically laid it out for him.

Hisoka wasn’t ever one to refuse a gift.

#hunter x hunter #hisoka x reader #hisoka #yandere hxh #yandere #hxh #yandere hisoka morow x reader #yandere hisoka #obsessive love #toxic love #hxh hisoka #yandere x you #yandere x reader

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ofgrenvde · 2 days ago

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The way he dug at her cooking skills had her attempting to glare, but getting praise for dealing with him knocked down her defenses. His comment about being blinded by love and poor judgment because of her cooking deserved every bit of sass she could muster. "Love has nothing to do with your poor judgment—clearly you just have terrible taste in general." His teasing about the "worse" in their vows including her cooking earned an eye roll. A warmth spread through her at his roundabout way of acknowledging their marriage while still giving her grief. "You knew what you were getting into when you married me. Including the part where I try to poison you with my cooking." She'd never master cooking, but his willingness to suffer through each attempt meant more than he realized. Not that she'd tell him that—his ego was big enough already. The fact that he kept trying her disasters spoke volumes though.

"You really think that's better? At least I'm trying to feed you real food, even if it doesn't always work out." Sure, most of her attempts ended up either burnt or somehow both overcooked and raw at the same time, but she kept trying. One of these days she'd make something edible—probably. Maybe. When he pulled her close and kissed her after mocking her takeout defense, she tried keeping her stern expression. His quick defense about joking didn't help his case. "You really think a kiss will get you out of insulting my cooking? And for your information, takeout involves actual food made by professionals, not boxed meals with questionable ingredients." The way he teased her about getting twisted up over his comments just made her want to smack him, even as her lips twitched with amusement. He always knew exactly how to get under her skin while making her laugh at the same time. When he captured her lips again, she pulled away with a pout. "Too late, you've already hurt my feelings, when all I'm trying to do is be there for you. You're sleeping on the sofa tonight," she said, fighting back a smile as she tried wiggling free from his hold.

There’s something proper endearing about the way Sahana defends her cooking like it’s some noble cause. As if sheer determination can turn whatever disaster she’s concocted into something edible. He’s survived shootouts, high-stakes negotiations, and the ever-present risk of being found out, but nothing quite compares to the gamble of sitting down to one of her meals. He still eats it. Every time. Because she made it for him, and that means something, even if it occasionally tries to kill him. "Eyes wide open, was it? More like blinded by love and poor judgement," he says, shaking his head. Suppose that’s the truth of it. Love makes a man do all sorts of foolish things, like pretending burnt rice is just ‘extra crispy’ or acting like a half-raw chicken isn’t a direct threat to his survival. Not that he’d change a thing. She’s got this way of making him forget the mess he’s tangled up in, like none of it matters when they’re here, taking the piss out of each other over burnt pasta. It’s ridiculous, really, how easy it is with her. He’s spent years keeping his guard up, making sure no one gets close enough to be a liability, and yet here she is, tearing through all that without even trying.

Her going on about ‘better or worse’ has him swallowing down something thick in his throat. He knows what worse looks like. He’s lived it, breathed it, made a career out of it. And yet, she’s still here, still choosing him, still acting like his baggage isn’t something she should be running from. "You do realise ‘worse’ includes your cooking, yeah? That’s a level of suffering I don’t think I agreed to." He smirks, but there’s something softer underneath it, something he won’t say out loud but knows she understands, anyway. She’s got this daft idea that he’d be lost without her, like he wouldn’t just live off takeout and protein bars if left to his own devices. "And how is takeout any better than microwave dinner?" he snorts, knowing he’s going to hear it now that he’s teasing her about her cooking. Before he can move out of the way, he traps her in his arms and presses his lips on hers. “Only jokin’, love. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he steals another kiss. No real danger of her staying mad, not when she’s already fighting back a smile. She acts like he’s a menace, but she loves it, loves him, even when he’s being a cheeky sod.

#threads: sahana rai #sahana && sterling 02 #//he's only older by what 3 years? omg he's so dramatic lmao

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yi3248 · 8 months ago

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based on my experience when I collected my glasses

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod price #john price #my art #i just have a tendency to squint when i have to look at things from a distance #and that caused concern to the optometrist since he thought the power wasnt correct for me #until i turned to look at him confused and hes just like #oh 那是你的表情（thats your expression)#i keep getting amused each time i think about it

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thenwethrowitonthefire · 11 months ago

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Shout-out to everyone who survived a "fun" easter with the family

#fucking hell #it started with finding out my dad smoked in my car when I picked up my sister #who was equally dreading the day #my mum turns into the world's tensest and judgemental presence. worsened by my aunt #then hell for autistic people (of which there are multiple present)#multiple deaf people means one uninspired conversation that isn't interesting in any way.#combinations of passive aggressiveness and people not saying a thing because they can't participate. voice volumes too damn high #weirdass food situations. Very full table. so many smells.#this goes on for over an hour. wishing for literally anything but being there. soul crushing.#then you still have to sit in that room for 2.5 hours. it just goes on and on.#my autistic deaf dad physically looks like how I feel. my mum and aunt keep piling on top of him to demand his mental presence #i leave the room once (to get my phone to show pictures to my uncle) and am immediately followed upstairs by my mum #who demands I don't leave the room (What's next. following me when I need the toilet?)#me and my sister are so bored we start throwing paper planes and fake fighting.#Which amuses the bored and the deaf #but of course my mum and aunt have opinions and this is not allowed. only soul crushing boredom allowed #they complain to each other over it while aggressively doing dishes #finally it ends because my mum and aunt start insisting my dad should go to bed if he's 'that tired'. *sprinkle on some additional ableism*#still sitting through a conversation about allergies one of my sister's friends has. my mum preaching that people should take that seriously #(meanwhile i had to cook for myself for 9 years because when my allergies were really bad no one bothered to check if i could eat something)#me and my sister go sit upstairs to discover our mum has made things we care about vanish in her room #and made things appear that should not be there #I've washed the interior of my car and hope the smell will go #you think it's over after that. but woke up with the realisation that even more things have disappeared from my sister's room.#i can't remember a time when things left outside of my room didn't disappear #I don't know why we do these family gatherings at all. no one has fun on days like that.#the housing crisis isn't making these things easy. my sister is losing her place to live again as well #she'll go hiking for a month and then work on a campsite over the summer #maybe I'll go house sitting again. idk.#can't make commitments a few months in advance like that because I'll cancel everything the second Sparks announces anything important

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always-a-slut-4-ghouls · 8 months ago

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I caught myself looking like 😑 again at the grocery store today and I feel so awkward. I don’t want to come off as an asshole to anyone working there (it must suck as a job, especially during summer tourist season) but my face is just like this! I think it would be really funny if I got a custom t-shirt one day that just said “sorry, it’s (probably) not you. My face is just like this” with the 😑 emoji under it

#emma posts #when it doesn’t look like 😑 it looks like 😳#i just remembered today that part of the reason it’s like this was that in highschool if i looked like that my bullies got bored #was always switching between 😑 and 😳 and now those are just my defaults #the 😳 would probably be around regardless tho #it’s kinda funny how my teacher mom has strangers approach her regularly but my dad and I and maybe my brothers don’t get that #but my dad is 6ft with a 😑 expression most of the time in public #my brothers have different vibes but are also huge #youngest has got an awkward gentle giant energy #and middle kid has what I can only call a ‘more subtle bakugo rizz’ if that makes any sense #dude needs to take his meds like the rest of us #I really went from 😳 elementary to 😑 highschool expression wise #and one is anxiety and autism while the other is autism and defense against bullies #but now my face is just like that by default and it’s super awkward #I’m also self conscious about how i look while laughing #but that’s a mostly separate thing #mostly #non-human animals get the ☺️ expression though so they like my vibes better #I also try to be like that with kids. and I am a little internally. but I also panic about how the respond to them #I’d blame one specific younger cousin experience but I’m not totally sure #either way I look a little less 😑 to them but probably still a little 😳#kids with anxiety seem to like me though. we get each other’s vibes I guess 🤷‍♀️#but gods. I don’t want to look at cashiers like 😑 in the checkout but i keep doing it #and when i consciously try to stop i often look more like 😳#girl has no rizz if you’re not a cat #I react the same way to energetic dogs as I do most kids which is a bit weird tbh #I end up looking like a combination of 😳😐😬😦😅 when I try to talk to neighbors #my only advantage is that people think my jokes are funny. at least in person #and I can at least tell when someone is faking their smile response #if there are two things I can usually pick up on it’s nervousness and amusement

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oldestking · 2 years ago

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/ My god- my love for gil is always present but as i’m sitting once again to hopefully finish watching C.CC (last time I got distracted) it just refreshes me once again just how interesting and unpredictable g.ilgamesh is, yet how at the same time, all that he says still ends up making sense to his character! He really is a character that is difficult to fully box in one slot once you look closer down the rabbit hole that is himself and that is always a delight to see

#/lit c.cc is a reminder to my portrayal that g.il doesnt really have a decisive 'pattern' of action #/like;; when you think about it closely; he really is unpredictable #ITS LIKE;; i keep going from 'oh he would absolutely k_ll this person for saying that to him' and then i get proved wrong #and it turns out he finds it amusing instead and decides to forgive x person for their 'insolence'#or him straight up admitting that he is not at his prime;; u would think that someone as prideful as g.il would never admit something like #weakness; but it happens to be the contrary; he is fully aware of his limitations and even makes fun of it #(albeit in a rather derogative manner with h.akuno)#but he still admits it directly #or him complaining about resting in a c.lassroom mockup and calling it cheap and etc #but rejoicing at the same time over the experience and calling it as one of the pleasures of traveling #its just;;a bunch of things that surprise you at each turn #when u think u have g.il figured out; he jumps with something unpredictable that at the same time makes a lot of sense to his character #that's something i've always found interesting but its by retaking c.cc once again that it reminds me of that again #he is as how h.akuno said; majestic #majestic in a way that is not just related to gold or wealth but #majestic in the sense that he has an absolute sense of value that nothing can knock down #also for context; the pic is the response of deciding to run away bc the enemies they were gonna face were logically stronger than them

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tonycries · 8 months ago

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Madam Gojo - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, arranged marriage, Satoru is a little (very) INSANE and down bad, the elders are awful, oral (fem receiving), use of “madam”, unprotected, créampie, kníves, overstím, féral Satoru, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. I need clan leader Gojo SO bad you guys don’t understand.

They say that the head of the Gojo clan is the one person who could burn down this entire world and get away with it, too.

The youngest of all the clan leaders - and the most infamous - a man who keeps his friends close, and his enemies even closer. Enough so that you’ve heard whispers of his cruelty at every nook and cranny of those stuffy social functions your family has dragged you to. And it was more than enough to paint a picture of such terrifying power.

Of a sharp blade and an even sharper mouth. Of an angelic figure that left no evidence, nor anyone to tell the tale - only the final, hauntingly beautiful image of cloudy white hair, and electric blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently locked with yours, and didn’t seem like they’d stop any time soon. Dangerous. Magnetic. Twinkling with such odd amusement from across the long tatami room.

Gojo Satoru, the head of the Gojo clan - your future husband.

“Tch, the Kamo girl’s family had a much better reputation than this one.”

Ah, right. How could you forget?

You shift awkwardly on the mat, managing to rip your eyes over to the line of elders behind Gojo, whispering just loud enough that you’d hear - and, of course, remember once more that no, the marriage proposal hasn’t been approved just yet.

And considering those disapproving glares you’d been so warmly welcomed with, it seemed that they were well and fully intent on keeping it that way.

“I can assure you,” you fight to keep the polite smile plastered on your face, painful and slowly cracking with each passing second being interrogated. “My family is well-respected in the community.” Eyes snapping over to a silent Gojo, skin burning at his intensity. “Very well respected.”

“Come now. We’re just saying.” Another voice speaks up, strained and tinged with a venomous tone you knew didn’t bode well. “Your lineage isn’t exactly illustrious, is it?”

The emphasis on “illustrious” isn’t lost on you, and it’s so fucking dramatic than you think you could almost laugh. Apparently, a few of the elders think so, too - because they’re positively seething at the sight.

Muttering an icy, “Something funny, dear?”

“Nothing at all.” you bite back any insults, sifting around the contents of your untouched dinner - the last thing on your mind right now when it seemed like you were the main scrutiny tonight. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Such attitude!” That offended croak is met with murmured agreements and nods from the end of the room, “The madam of the Gojo household must be demure- I told the young master we should go with the Kamo girl.”

God, why did you agree to this again? Something about strengthening your family ties? You felt sorry for the poor soul who’d end up marrying Gojo, because no matter how much beauty or power he held, it certainly wouldn’t make up for this.

Scoffing, the words falling from your lips faster than you could register them. “Then why didn’t he?”

And this little question somehow seemed to have struck a nerve - multiple, in fact, as you watch in morbid fascination as the elders visibly bristle.

“B-because-” one sends a hasty glance at their stone-faced clan leader, flushing at his still-unwavering gaze on you. “You- It doesn’t matter. Someone like you isn’t suited to marry-”

“Right, because this clan is that great.”

You freeze. The elders freeze. It seems like everyone in the world freezes except for Gojo - who only raises his brow. Letting your words hang in the air like a foul stench, studying just how awfully you’re digging your grave deeper in this hellish marriage meeting.

Eventually, the elder closest to Gojo’s right mutters a painfully saccharine sweet, “I knew we shouldn’t have let the riff-raff participate.”

And oh it was like a dam burst open.

“-out of the thousands of girls, for someone like master-”

“The scandal, too- imagine letting the Gojo name fall this far-”

“Isn’t worthy. Can’t let the bloodline be carried by some whor-”

You’re on your feet before you realize it. Whirling at the elders head-on, and if looks could kill then all those old fossils would be six feet under and their graves a dance floor for you already.

Fists clenched, you spit, “If he’s so wonderful then you all can marry this oh-so-great bastard yourself-”

Oh. You’ve done it now.

You were fucked. You were so very, very fucked.

You don’t even bother to meet Gojo’s stare, instead wondering whether you’d be able to outrun the strongest clan leader alive. Sure, you could take those old toads but-

“Sit.”

Your heart leaps at the voice, the first time you’re hearing it since entering this room - deep, almost-melodic, and for a second you don’t even recognize who it came from. Not until Gojo’s flashing you a mirthful grin, blue yukata shifting as he moves to sit cross-legged, “Sit.”

Oh, God, you didn’t know of any torture methods one could do while sitting - but you didn’t doubt that Gojo was an expert in all of them.

And as your knees buckle, sinking ever-so-slowly to sit back down on the floor, Gojo tilts his head in confusion. Brows scrunching together as he gestures downwards.

“On your…lap?” You question, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious.

The only response you get is a careless nod, Gojo spreading his knees further as if to prove his point. No care or concern as he plows on, “If you’d like, of course.”

It’s a silent staredown - you, and him - and the elders watching jaw-dropped, of course. None of you have ever known the young master to let anyone get this close - let alone give them a decision on, well, anything.

A weighty beat passes. One. Two.

He wins.

And you find yourself walking unsteadily towards Gojo’s imposing figure, all eyes on you as you plop down unceremoniously in his waiting lap. Warm - and it catches you off guard. Gaze flickering over his broad shoulder to look at the aghast faces behind you. Tension crackling in the air as they wonder the same thing as you at this very moment - just what type of torture method is this?

“Interesting…I need this one.” You blink up in confusion, heart racing and oh- shit, when did he get so close? But Gojo’s chest only rumbles with laughter. Circling his long fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his sculpted chest, “As the new madam of the Gojo household.”

What?

The elders behind let out stifled gasps, as bewildered as you were. And you swear you saw one faint, though, you don’t get to take a close look, because Gojo’s gently grabbing your chin, tilting your head up at his pretty face.

“Wan’ me to kill them?”

“Kill- why?” you sputter - both from his idea and the heat of his proximity.

“Why not?” He looks at you through his long lashes, so deceivingly innocent that it makes your head spin. Tone so light, as if he was talking about something trivial like the weather. “An early wedding gift, maybe?” And he sounded like he was joking - you wished he was joking. But you knew better.

So you swallow thickly, “N-no…thank you.”

At this, Gojo’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, real interesting.” he coos, voice so uncharacteristically playful. And his lips are so close - too close. Running a thumb along your bottom lip, “Gorgeous, too. Tell me, pretty, what do you think of ruling over this trash?”

And you could feel every eye on you as you mull over the question. Weighty. Scrutinizing - except for Gojo who seemed like he was hanging onto your every word.

Hell, might as well give ‘em a few heart attacks right?

Words that never come - because your body moves before your mind. And you’ve got one hand gripping his expensive Yukata, the other scrambling for his broad shoulders. Softening the blow as you crash your lips onto his.

Soft - it’s the first thing you register. Followed very shortly by the taste of those cheap lollipops from those local convenience stores you loved - strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because the kiss is over as soon as it happens.

Gojo’s pulling away with a strange light in his eyes, lips flushed a pretty pink, yukata dangling off his shoulder already. You have to train your eyes away from the milky skin, and over to the elders. Yeah, one really had fainted - three, now, actually.

And only one of them is brave enough to pipe up a rapid, “You- how dare you dirty-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. In a split second, there’s a long dagger pulled out from his yukata, embedded deep into the tatami mat - not even an inch away from the elder who’d opened his mouth.

“Out.”

It’s so abrupt that for a second, you think Gojo’s talking to you, voice soft, and so so eerie. It sends shivers down your spine as you raise your eyes to look at his glare at the frozen crowd behind him.

Eyes wide, aura menacing - a grin gracing his features, absolutely nothing like the one he’d sent you - it was something so dangerous and cold. The temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees as he mutters, “I won’t say it twice.”

And immediately, it’s chaos. Each one stumbling over the other to run out the sliding doors first, none of them daring to look you in the eyes now.

“O-of course, master.” the leader, seemingly, chokes out. One foot out the room already, “I’ll um- check that the servants are doing their work-”

“No. You all will stand outside.” Gojo murmurs, not even bothering to look at them. Instead, cupping your face closer towards his, “And close the door.”

That door could not have been shut faster, ringing in the tense silence. And suddenly you’re too-aware of the audience outside. Too-aware of being left alone with…your future husband? And the way he was looking down at you with something so dark in his eyes.

“So…” he runs his nose down your neck, breathing in your scent. “If you don’t want me to kill those bastards…what else must I gift you, my wife?”

“Like what?” You gulp, back arching involuntarily into him.

Gojo laughs at the reaction, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “An estate?” Dancing ever-so-slowly, up your jaw, “All the cars you could want?” He blows gently in your ear, chuckling as you yelp in surprise. “Maybe jewelry?” Kissing the tips of your ears, “You’d look gorgeous in blue. And the Zenin clan has the perfect necklaces I can…convince them to send over.” He pulls away, taking you in entirely, “Or maybe-” Lips now ghosting yours. “-something else?”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him.

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Gojo’s lips were so sweet on yours. So addictive. Palms cradling your face so softly, while his lips were anything but.

“Open your mouth, pretty.” he pants into your lips. “Kiss your husband properly, now.”

Shit, you barely even realize the way you’re listening to every single word he says. Jaw falling slack to let him lick at the seam of your lips. Such a messy clash of teeth and spit and him - so hot and starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw.

“Satoru-” you gasp, and he nips lightly at your bottom lip once you immediately shut yourself up because shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Calling the clan leader Gojo by his first name? Hell, you’ll see the gates of heaven before you see an altar.

But Gojo himself seems to think the complete opposite. “Don’t get all shy now.” he pries away the hand covering your mouth. “Call me ‘Toru’.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to will yourself to say this little nickname.

Too slow, apparently. Because his hands are suddenly everywhere - on your breasts, your hips, giving your ass a slow squeeze. “T-Toru-” you squeal.

Gojo’s mouth drops into a soft oh! Immediately surging forward as if to claim your lips again - stopping mere millimeters from your lips with a pained grunt. Like it killed him to stay away.

“See? Jus’ like that.” he angles your head just right, before spitting, once. Twice. Right into your pretty mouth. “N’ now you’re mine.”

And fuck if Gojo wasn’t going to prove it.

He’s laying you down on the mat, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Mine to wed. Mine to carry my legacy.” Thumb running over your hardened nipples as he urgently unbuckles your bra, throwing it behind god-knows-where. “Mine to-” Biting down, ever-so-lightly on your nipple, “-worship.” Hands dipping lower, and lower - just barely teasing the hem of your drenched panties. “Mine to ruin.”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - maybe from those words, which you’re sure he said loud enough for the elders outside to hear.

Maybe from the way he’s sliding a finger underneath your panties, sliding it up and down your puffy folds. Making you arch into him like such a slut as he pools your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips, popping them into his mouth with a low groan.

“Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck-” Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Not wasting a second before ripping off your flimsy panties, tucking them away into the waistband of his yukata. “Sweeter than I imagined.”

“S-so filthy-” you mewl, as he spreads your shaky thighs. Lips wobbling pathetically at how he’s admiring your glistening cunt. “Toru, no one’s ever…”

At this, his eyes are back on yours now. Half-lidded, pupil’s blown - and you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of the leader of the Gojo clan being so out of it, let alone see it first-hand. His voice strained as he breathes out a barely audible, “Shit- really? So then…” He’s moving to lick lewd little circles on your inner thigh, “...your husband’s gotta make this memorable, right?”

Gojo doesn’t give the time to even think about answering - he doesn’t trust that he has the fucking sanity to wait that long. Because you’re so pretty splayed out like this for him. Your moans too sweet. Your cunt too tempting. Too his.

So, really, you can’t blame him when he’s plunging nose-deep into your quivering pussy, licking one, long stripe right up your swollen folds. And fuck the cute lil’ whines escaping your lips are so addictive that Gojo just can’t help but do it again. And again. And again and-

“O-oh my god, ngh- feels too good-” you card your fingers through his soft locks - something that would usually result in a lost hand or two. But for you - anything, for you. “More, Toru.”

Shit, if Gojo thought he’d lost his sanity before then he definitely wasn’t ready for this.

“So needy.” he’s chuckling into your glistening folds. One hand throwing your legs over his shoulders, the other thumbing over your needy clit. “So perfect. Can’t believe no one’s ever hah- eaten out this pretty cunt before.”

Immediately, he’s squeezing his hot tongue past your folds. And it’s all you can do to buck your hips up so sluttily when he licks at your sloppy entrance. Your throbbing clit. Anywhere and everywhere Gojo could reach.

“Hngh- yes yes yes, too good.”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He moves his fingers down from your already-ravaged clit, circling your sopping wet hole. “Ya like making such a mess on m’tongue?”

“W-wha-” The words get caught in your throat as you whirl down at the sight below you - Gojo. Gojo, with strands of white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes so glassy. Gojo, tongue lapping at your sweet juices, looking like he wanted to devour you with his eyes, as much as his mouth.

At your reaction, he grins, furrowing his brow in mock-concern, “What’s wrong, pretty? Can’t talk?” Bullying his long fingers past that first feeble ring of resistance, massaging your plushy walls. “N’ you were so hah- feisty earlier. Thought my new mmpf- wife would be mouthy?”

You give his hair a warning tug, whispering, “Sh-shut up-” But it comes out more breathless than you intended.

Gojo notices, of course he does. Because he’s letting out a whiny, “Sh-shut up.” Wrapping his pretty pink lips around your pulsing clit, “As you wish, madam Gojo.”

You hear a dull thud from outside, but you can’t even think about turning your head to look because Gojo’s drinking you in like a man possessed. Pumping his fingers in and out, expertly hitting that one spot with each and every thrust. Looking nothing like an infamous clan-leader and every bit on cloud nine as he rolls his tongue over your clit. Over and over and-

“P-please ah- oh-” you squirm.

“Move your hips like that. Yeah- jus’ like that, pretty- fuck-” The most powerful man in the country letting himself be angled and pulled as you pleased, grunting each time you drag your pussy all over his mouth. Fingers frenzied on your clit - sloppy. Fast.

But it still wasn’t enough for Gojo - he thinks it’ll probably never be. But that’s fine - the two of you have until the wedding night to perfect it, right?

So he’s looping a big arm around one leg, pulling your snug cunt impossibly closer, reaching over to toy with your pretty clit. And then he’s nose-deep in your sloppy entrance, preparing you for what was to come - fucking you both on his tongue and his fingers.

Jaw grinding deeper, stretching you out, thrusting in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck fuck fuck- Toru m’so…”

“Close?” he slurs into your cunt, grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Fingers just digging into your hips, sure to leave pretty little marks for him to admire later - and to give a message to those old toads outside. “Cum f’me. Shit- cum f’me, pretty.”

Gojo realizes it before you when you’re finally cumming - because your gummy walls are squeezing around him so tight that it’s almost difficult fuck you through your high the way he wants.

You’re shaking. Blood roaring in your ears, vision spotty. Crying out a hoarse, “Fuck fuck fuck- oh my god, Toru-” Barely even realizing the way you’re rocking your hips so hard into his hot mouth.

And Gojo keeps going.

Even when you’re blinking your vision back, big fat tears pricking your eyes at the sheer overstimulation. Even when white-hot electricity sparks behind your eyes each flick of his tongue. Still toying with your poor clit, tonguefucking you so messily.

“Toru, s’too- ngh- much- fuck.” You can barely get the words out, jolting. Wondering how the fuck his mouth wasn’t tired, yet - how his fingers weren’t cramping up, tongue still as greedy as ever. “C-can’t-”

“You can. You will.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Running his mouth now, like he was drunk off your pussy. Words as fast and ragged as his tongue. “C’mon, faster. Harder. Fuck-” you flinch as he spits out little profanities into your messy cunt. “Fuckin use me. Use me like the good lil’ wife you are.”

“Oh- shit.” you whine. Clawing at the mats, Gojo’s hair, his shoulders - just anything to cope with the sheer stimulation as he made out with your pussy like a mad man. “Wait- cum- m’gonna…”

You’re cumming and cumming all over again. So hard, even as you grind your hips deeper into Gojo’s mouth. Riding out your orgasm on his pretty face, so painfully good.

And only then is he finally pulling away. Absolutely wrecked, eyes miles away already, mouth glistening with your slick. Going all the way down his jawline, and onto the tatami mat in a deafening drip! drip! drip!

“Oh.” he runs his tongue along his wet lips. “Who made you cum like this?”

A smile slowly splits across his face as you manage out a little, “Y-you, Toru…”

“That’s fuckin’ right. Me.” Hypnotized by the heavenly sight of you all fucked-out and twitching with the aftershock. Marveling down at his hand - glossy, and covered with your slick, “N’ m’gonna love you.”

And, well, a good husband always shares, right?

Because Gojo’s shoving his fingers past your kiss-bitten lips, pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knew would have your eyes watering, gagging around him so prettily. Eyes widening at the feeling of something so hard and hot between your legs.

“C’mon, lil’ madam. Lick them clean f’me, will you?”

You’re gasping, “Mmpf- Toru-” Eyes flitting between a smug Gojo and the hand currently untying his robe. So teasing with the way he’s giving you just a flash of those boxers before oh-

Shit.

You thought that he’d be big - it was expected, in fact. But this was fucking ridiculous.

All sculpted curves and dips of his body, faint scars painting his milky skin - stories he’d tell you about later, you think. A fucking masterpiece. All the way down, down, down to where his throbbing cock was leaking all over those tufts of white at his toned pelvis.

Rock-hard, and so so angry. Prominent veins running along the side, flushed a shade of pretty pink that glistened with precum in the dim lighting. So intimidatingly long that it already had you worrying for your poor cervix, and thick enough that it had your thighs pressing mindlessly together.

Something that Gojo obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Now now.” he tuts, pulling back his fingers to spread apart your thighs with ease. So far apart that it burned. “I need these legs open, pretty. I like the view, y’see.”

And he made it quite obvious, too. Spreading your swollen folds so shamefully apart with his thumb - wet with your split. All the blood rushing to his cock at the way you flinch in embarrassment, at the feeling of being so used. Cute.

“Shhh, relax.” Gojo hums. Spreading the spit and slick lazily along your cunt with his fat head, purposely letting it smear all over your thighs. “M’gonna make this feel so good for you.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a merciless man - for everyone.

Except maybe his cute lil’ wife.

Because, yes, he’s suddenly splitting you apart on his massive cock. Yes, he’s holding your poor hips still, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he sinks in inch by fucking inch.

But oh God does he have to hold back from fucking your tight cunt exactly the way he wants. The stretch too sinful, your pussy too heavenly.

Instead he’s kissing away the single tear rolling down your cheek, muttering, “Too big? Aww, f-fuck, pretty. You needa breathe-.” Rich, coming from him considering that Gojo doesn’t know if he was breathing right now. Too caught up in the way he’s rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, gasping into your open mouth, “Trust me. M’gonna make it f-feel hah- good. So fucking good.”

“F-fuck-” Your head is spinning. And you can only give him such delirious little nods as Gojo starts to push in quick, lazy little grinds of his hips just to squeeze inside your gummy walls. Past that first, tight ring of resistance.

“S’too big-” you squeal, nails raking down his back. “A-are you all the way in- yet?”

“Nope.” he’s popping the p, so unfairly smug. “Not even halfway in.” Drinking in all your cute lil’ sobs as he snakes a hand up to draw an invisible line across your stomach. “But you b-better be prepared, wifey. Because this-” Pressing down, hard. “-is where I’ll be.”

You didn’t know who wanted that to become a reality more - Gojo or you.

Especially with the way your tight cunt is sucking him up so good, and shit for all Gojo’s reputation, he feels like he could’ve cum right then and there.

“Shit- so fucking tight. God- you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” words so strained. So dangerous. He kisses down your neck, biting right above your racing pulse. “How do you want it? Like you’re my hah- wife- or my lil’ slut?”

A trick question, you think - as much as you could when you’re this cockdrunk, at least.

Locking eyes down at the way your cunt was bulging so obscenely around his cock, clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in in in- Unstopping. Relentless. Mewling a little, “L-like I’m your…wife.”

“Louder.”

“Like I’m your wife.”

Several things happen at once - that faint muttering suddenly increases tenfold, and maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the few gasps. Gojo, however, does hear.

It only takes an irritated growl and a split-second flash of metal for a second dagger to be struck deep into the thin wooden panel of the door - unfortunately for whoever just so happened to be on the other side.

“That’s right. My wife.” And then he’s bottoming out - heavy balls smacking your ass, leaky tip nudging your poor cervix, letting you mark him up all you want as he rocks his hips faster into yours. “And you- ah- you realize they’re beneath you, right?” he’s stroking where he can feel himself bulging inside you. “That my lil’ wife just has to say the word n’ I’ll ngh- take ‘em all out?”

You can only sob at the pressure, because his words are so soft but he’s fucking you so mean. Sounding like he was losing his sanity with each time your heavenly walls milked him.

“I’ll kill ‘em- kill ‘em all-” he’s gritting out. “Hell, I’ll take down the r-rest of those clans ah- too if it pleases you.” Fingers getting so erratic on your clit, angling his hips just right to try and find-

“Hngh- f-fuck, Toru- there-”

That.

So sloppy with the way he’s alternating between hitting that one spot and just abusing your cervix. Bruising - like he wanted to mark you everywhere n’ show it off, too. Biting down your neck, whispering into the skin, “Anything for you, madam.”

Rocking his hips harder, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the lewd little pool of slick and split forming on the mat below. Can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted.

“Feels good?” he’s drinking in your adorable sobs, “S’what you imagined?”

You’re torn between running away and fucking your hips up so bruisingly into his, hells digging into the mat as you push and pull away. “Yes. Feels- ah- ngh-” And for all your mouthiness earlier, you can’t even form coherent sentences right now - something that makes Gojo balls squeeze so painfully.

Something that has him wrapping his arms around your legging, dragging you like some ragdoll back to him. Rocking his hips so bruisingly deeper and deeper as he babbles.

“Gonna make you c-cum. So hard.” He’s fucking you harder into the mat. Faster. Sloppier. “Gonna ngh- make you my beautiful bride.” Bouncing you on his painfully hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside - to leave marks for everyone in the clan to know. His balls on your ass, your nails down his shoulders, lips on your neck leaving little bites. “Gonna make you mine, pretty. And everyone else s’gonna know.”

And Gojo can tell when you’re close because he’s learned that you have a habit of squeezing him to insanity when you are.

“Close?” At your delirious nod he’s giving you a blinding grin, “How cute. Why don’t you hah- cum f’me like the good lil’ wife you are, hm?”

Cum for him you do - thighs shaking, body jolting. So hard and violent that you’re covering him in all your sweet sweet juices.

And he can only watch - awe-struck - as your pretty pussy squirts all over his angry cock glistening, and just drenched with your slick now. Beads of it getting all over his burning abs, trickling down every dip and curve as he uses your quivering pussy harder and harder-

“God, you’re so good f’me. Look how much you came.” Giving a final, harsh thrust. “So perfect f’me.”

So fucking smug as he finally cums as well. Letting out a low, muffled moan into your neck as he fills your poor pussy with rope after rope of seed, painting your walls such a sinful white. All the way until he was sure you were bloated with his cum, until he could feel it dribbling down the side. Looking down to confirm and- ah, sure enough, it was such a heavenly sight - thick globs drenching your clothes below. Spreading in a pool as his hips push deeper and deeper.

Like it hurt to stop. Like it hurt to even think of tearing his eyes away from you.

But, alas, this old meeting room could only take so much, and Gojo thinks you’ll enjoy his - your - bedroom much better for round two.

Which is how the elders outside found the door kicked open not too long after. Blinking up in shock at the tall figure of the Gojo clan leader at the frame holding you. Tired and limp in a princess carry, all bundled up your yukata and one of his outer robes.

And they can only avert their eyes, faces burning at the hazy expression on your face, hair so unsubtly messy, bare legs twitching ever-so-slightly from where they were just peeking out from where the fabric had bunched up. Sinful. Desecrated. And evidently his.

“Clean that room up.”

Gojo’s stern command snaps them all out of their reverie.

But before they could all run to do so, he’s plowing on, unapologetic and low. “Oh, and bow down-” chuckling lightly as they scramble to their knees before him - and your barely-lucid figure. “-to the new madam of the Gojo household.

A/N. On my period I’m gonna cry.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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prlssprfctn · 1 month ago

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Kinda obsessed with headcanon, where Damian and Jason just randomly (out of nowhere, completely unprompted) start to referring to their shared past in the League in the middle of the family conversations, while everyone just stare at them in concern

Jason, staring at Dick, trying to put Tim's shoulder back: huh, do you remember that one time-

Damian, instantly: when grandfather's shoulder relocated by itself, but instead of properly putting in on its place, he killed himself and mother threw him in the Lazarus Pit?

Jason, cackling: it was hilarious

Damian, no less amused: right?

Bruce, sitting behind them: (concerned sips of tea)

Or, it is not necessarily funny, but it just cute (or sad) details, regarding each other that others are confused about.

Jason, who accidentally fell asleep in the Batcave: (instinctively cards through his hair as he naps)

Tim, teasing: ladies and gentlemen, the criminal lord of the year--

Damian: Drake, bluntly, that's not funny. Back when he was out of the Pit, this was the only thing that could help him to calm down.

Dick, knowing that this is because Bruce constantly stroked Robin!Jason's hair, when he saw nightmares, with eyes full of tears: oh

Jason on the random Friday night, trying to be less awkward about staying with Bruce in one room: actually, Damian's first word was my name

Bruce: really?

Jason: he had, uh, problems with saying his first word. People around him were constantly speaking on both language at the same time, and, I guess, he couldn't figure out what to say. Then, Ra's said that if his heir doesn't get his word in the next two weeks, he will throw him in the Lazarus Pit (as a joke), but I wasn't sure if it was a joke (Talia said later it was), and I panicked, and since Talia wasn't around, I just kept repeating him her name, or just word Mother, but he just, uh, wouldn't say anything - kept blinking and staring at me like a little idiot. And then on a random night, he just grabbed me by the hair, and said, Jason. Food. And he kinda spoke properly since then. Like in full sentences and stuff. I think he just didn't want to speak with us, actually--

Bruce, getting grey hair out of nowhere: RA'S SAID WHAT--

And sometimes they just speak in Arabic, and Damian keeps bullying Jason that his skills are getting rustier.

#i just miss my blorbos #kids struggling with first words when having a multilanguage surroundings so REAL #i was silent until i was like 4-5 bc i was taught three languages at the same time #then on a random night got annoyed and spoke in the whole sentence all while my family thought i was mute or something #never shut up since then tbh #dc universe #dcu #dcu comics #jason todd #red hood #damian wayne #robin #bruce wayne #batman #batfam #batfamily #dick grayson #tim drake

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dollgxtz · 28 days ago

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When Pleasure Calls

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: In the middle of sex, Sylus gets a business call...only he decides he doesn't want to stop ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, humiliation, use of evol, use of petnames like kitten, oneshot

AN: Okay so this is loosely based on a tweet I saw and it literally wouldn't leave my brain until I wrote it....so here we are. I figured the best way to end my break and start being more active again was to start writing all the fics that won't leave my head. Enjoy!

Sylus was balls deep inside you, each thrust a raw, primal connection that left you both breathless. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his low groans, creating a rhythm that was all your own. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, keeping you both locked in the moment, lost to everything but each other.

It had been an entire week since you’d spent any real time together—a week that felt more like a year. Sylus didn’t waste a second making up for the lost time. What started as an innocent cuddle on his bed, his arm lazily slung over your waist, quickly shifted into something else entirely. One minute, he was tracing slow circles on your back, murmuring something about how much he’d missed you, and the next, the air between you thickened, charged with unspoken need.

Somehow, without either of you meaning to, that easy closeness morphed into a full-blown, heated mess of tangled limbs and stolen breaths. His lips found yours, first soft and teasing, then hungry and demanding, as if he needed to make up for every second you’d been apart. Before long, the room was filled with the sound of muffled laughter, whispered names, and the quiet creak of the mattress as you lost yourselves in each other.

His hands roamed over you with a possessive tenderness, fingers tracing the curves of your body, memorizing the lines anew with every pass. The weight of him above you was a comforting pressure, a grounding force as you surrendered to the tide of sensation, every thrust a wave that built the pleasure higher and higher, threatening to crash over you.

"Nghn, right there! Don't stop, please..." you pleaded, your voice hoarse with desire, your fingers digging into his muscular frame as if your life depended on it. Sylus, attuned to your every need, knew he had found that sweet spot within you, that spongy, pleasure-laden tissue that sent sparks of delight through your body.

Just as he increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and harder, driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy, the sharp ring of his phone cut through the air like a knife, slicing through the intimate atmosphere. You froze, your eyes widening as you glanced at the illuminated screen, the unfamiliar contact name confirming your suspicion—one of Sylus's business associates.

Sylus sighed, his brow furrowing as he eyed the screen with a mix of annoyance and detachment. "I can call them back later. I’m busy right now."

That’s when it hit you—the mission. The Hunters Association’s urgent directive to recover the stolen protocore, traded away through shady backchannels. You had completely forgotten about it until now. The urgency surged through you like a jolt of electricity. Without thinking, you grabbed his arm. "Didn’t you say you were expecting a call about the protocore? This could be it. I need that lead for the Association. Answer it," you urged, your voice firm despite the sharp look Sylus threw your way.

He blinked, then smirked, the kind that was equal parts amused and incredulous. "I don’t think I’ll ever get used to my kitten barking orders at me," he said, his tone dripping with lazy charm. But to your relief, he reached for the phone anyway. "Alright, boss. Consider it a favor."

He pressed the screen and lifted it to his ear. His voice dropped into that cool, no-nonsense register you’d heard a dozen times before.

"Speak."

The man on the other end began to speak and you realized Sylus was still halfway inside you. Thinking the fun was over for now, you started to move out from under him, ready to let the moment pass. But Sylus wasn't done. His hand pressed you back down against the bed, and before you knew it, he was thrusting into you again, impossibly deeper this time, his cock filling you completely.

You struggled, caught between surprise and arousal, your body pinned beneath his, his cock completely filling you with each powerful thrust. You tried to silently plead for him to stop, embarrassed by the situation, but your words were lost in the quiet moans that escaped your lips as he pounded into you, his pace relentless. You quickly covered your mouth with your hands, trying to will yourself to quiet down.

"I'll only meet tomorrow. That's firm" he said into the phone, his voice steady despite fiercely pounding and stretching your pussy. As if this took zero amount of effort from him. You tried to keep quiet, biting your lip and keeping your hands pressed to your mouth to stop the sounds from escaping, but it was hard. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure through you, making it nearly impossible to maintain your composure.

You attempted to scoot back against the bed, seeking respite from the pleasure Sylus was delivering, but your efforts were in vain. With a swift and possessive motion, he wrapped his powerful Evol around your waist, pulling you back onto his cock, sealing your body to his, ensuring you couldn't escape the sensations he was about to unleash.

"Ah...ah..." you panted, your breath coming in short gasps as he thrust deeper, his cock seeking out that sensitive spot within you once more, very determined to bring you right to the edge.

Sylus kept talking, his voice smooth and calm, even as he moved inside you with a fierce rhythm. The phone call was just background noise to you, but you caught snippets of his conversation, the professional tone at odds with what was happening.

"Yes, I understand," he murmured between thrusts, his voice a soothing contrast to the pounding of his cock against your sensitive walls. "No tricks, or foul play. You should know how this goes by now."

You were struggling, trying to focus on anything but the way he was driving you closer to the edge. Each thrust felt like it was pushing you further into a world where nothing else mattered but the heat and friction between you.

Minutes ticked by as this humiliation continued. How much longer could you hold on? How much longer would he torture you like this? The question echoed in your mind, a desperate plea for relief as your body teetered on the brink of finishing.

Sylus's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and desire as he looked down at you, fully aware of the power he held over your pleasure. He knew exactly how close you were, how your body trembled on the precipice of release, and he relished the control he had, maintaining a casual conversation while pushing you to the brink.

A knowing smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the game he was playing—testing your limits, seeing how far he could take you while keeping up the pretense of a casual chat. His eyes held a challenge, daring you to surrender, to let go of your control, even as he kept his voice calm and composed, a stark contrast to the raw passion he was eliciting from your body.

He continued his steady thrusts, his movements purposeful, each one designed to drive you further into a world of pleasure, where resistance was futile, and surrender was the only option. Sylus took pleasure in watching you struggle, your body betraying your attempts to hold on, even as he maintained his casual conversation, a master of this sensual game.

"Yes, that will do," Sylus confirmed, his voice steady, his pace merciless as he continued to thrust into you. "I'll have my men prepare the meeting."

Your response was a muffled moan, your body arching against his, unable to form words as the pleasure overwhelmed you. "Mghn... Ah!" you cried out into your hand, your voice a mixture of surrender and ecstasy, your body trembling on the edge of release, the sensations too powerful to hold back.

Sylus, his body slightly glistening with sweat, paused for a moment, his thrusts slowing as he looked down at you with an intense gaze. His eyes, red and smoldering, held a silent command, a silent invitation for you to surrender completely. A slight smirk played on his lips as he watched you, his expression conveying a clear message:

"Go ahead, cum for me."

The tension inside you coiled tighter, every nerve screaming for release as he begun to pick up the pace once more. You bit down on your hand, trying to keep the sounds from escaping, but it was a losing battle. Sylus's thrusts were unrelenting, each one bringing you closer, until finally, with one last, deep push, he let go, pumping his hot and sticky seed deep into your belly just as he wrapped up his call.

The sensation was too much, too intense to resist. Your body tensed around him, shaking with the force of your orgasm, your muffled moans filling the room as you rode the waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"Alright. See you then," Sylus said, finally hanging up the call. He pulled out slowly, leaving you both breathless and spent, the hum of the conversation now just a memory drowned out by the echo of your shared climax.

You lay there, catching your breath, the remnants of your climax still thrumming through your veins. But as the haze of pleasure began to clear, irritation started to bubble up inside you. You propped yourself up on your elbows, shooting Sylus a look that could melt steel.

"Seriously?!"

He caught your gaze and simply chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that only fueled your annoyance. "Oh, don't act like you didn't like it," he said with a grin, clearly amused by your reaction. "How could I ignore a needy kitten in heat for a phone call instead?"

Your glare could have sliced through stone, but he just shrugged, unfazed by your anger. "Besides," he continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he chuckled, "I'm great at multitasking. I just secured you that protocore and made you cum while doing so. Shouldn't you be overjoyed right now?"

Despite your best efforts to hold onto your anger, the corners of your mouth betrayed you, tugging upwards into a reluctant smile. The heat rising to your cheeks was undeniable, a flush that had nothing to do with anger. His laughter was infectious, and before you knew it, you were chuckling too, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

"Alright, alright," you conceded with a playful roll of your eyes. "I'll forgive you this one time, but don't think this is going to be a regular thing."

Sylus grinned, clearly pleased with your surrender. "Deal," he said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved with that easy confidence of his, leaning down to scoop you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, carrying you towards the bathroom with a tenderness that were a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. His touch was gentle now, a soothing balm to the fire that had raged between you, and you found yourself relaxing into his hold, the last remnants of your irritation melting away as you settled into the comfort of his embrace.

#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus #lads #love and deepspace smut #sylus x reader smut #sylus love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deep space sylus #l&ds sylus #sylusposting #i need him so bad

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makismei · 3 months ago

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in the same universe as this :,) cw: toy usage, hint of brat taming, hints of sadism & machoism, 18+ content, overstim, dubious consent, soft :(

“you’re doing it again,” he deadpans, knocking your thighs open, “keep. them. open.”

pearly slick oozes from your cunt, soiling the newly washed sheets and sticking to your inner thighs. toji sits in front of you, a blank look on his face but you know how he’s truly feeling from his eyes.

lidded and intently focused on your poor, leaky cunt, he mindlessly goes through a small box on the bed, feeling around for what feels interesting.

it’s your box of sex toys. the ones you used before you started dating the man in front of you. it’s been a while since you’ve reached for them, since it feels like toji knows your body wayyy more than you do, and also because he gets you there, he doesn’t let you escape until you’ve gone brainless from all the orgasms he’s blessed you with. why would you ever need to do the work again?

but toji isn’t all too familiar with adult toys. of course, he knows about the basics—dildos and vibrators, but when he accidentally stumbled upon this little treasure box of yours (his own words), curiosity took over him. he’s never seen pieces of silicone and plastic look so lewd, and the look on your face was so precious, he just had to try them.

“hmm,” lowly, he calls your name, “what’s this?”

heavy eyelids blink open, registering what’s in his hand before you shoot up, attempting to scurry away but your bed isn’t that big and his reflexes are out of this world—

“that’s a reaction,” he grins, eyeing the small red toy, shaped like a flower. “you used this one a lot?”

you shake your head, cheeks burning and eyes welling up with tears. crocodile tears, toji raises a brow, beckoning you to continue.

“‘s too much, it..” you trail off, breaking your gaze, but his hand guides you back, gently thumbing your cheek.

“you’re in control baby,” he whispers, “i won’t do anything you don’t want, you know that.”

of course you know, that’s why you let him do whatever the hell he wants with you. and frankly, him using that cursed little rose toy is making you more excited than you thought.

“it… made me squirt for the first time…” you squeak, speeding up with each word spoken, “i only used it a few times because the first setting was already too m—hold on, waitwaitwait—”

“this?” he drags you back, spreading your legs to make room for himself, “m’ gonna have fun with this.”

“toji,” you weep, anticipating, and he knows, a soothing hand caressing your thighs and waist, “m’ nervous.”

and toji knows he’s sick and utterly deplorable, because your reaction is turning him on. he’s excited, out of the few he’s tested already and the others yet to come, he has an inkling of a feeling that this one will be his favourite.

“s’ okay,” he coos, “what’s your word, gorgeous?”

“ginza…” the city you met him in. a little corny, but it works.

he hums, smiling. “you ready?”

you nod, shyly looking up before correcting yourself, “yes.. m’ ready.”

it doesn’t take him long at all to figure out the buttons. there’s only two after all, the power button and the other one that controls the settings.

the buzz makes you tense up, but you relax slightly under your boyfriend’s loving touch.

he spreads your lower lips with a thumb and pointer finger, whistling lowly. he lazily collects your juices, smearing it over your clit.

with bated breaths, you let out a quiet cry when the suction latches onto your swollen clit. back arching almost immediately, toji’s shocked by your reaction. he grins, amused. cute, he thinks, watching you drool and squeal.

you’re surprisingly still, muscles tense and lost hands trying to find purpose.

would it be too much if he started fingering you?

you let out a long wail, head jolting to look down at him. he’s smirking, pleased with your shocked expression.

but he’ll be nice, for now, only sliding in one finger as he eyes your reaction.

it hasn’t even been long, maybe just over two minutes, but by the telltale squeeze of your cunt on his finger he knows you’re cumming.

“already?” he laughs, crooking his finger just right, “no way.”

“i—i told yooouuuu!” you’re absolutely gone when he presses against that little spot inside of you, screeching as your body locks up. toji feels his finger being pushed out, a stream of liquid following, splashing lewdly from your cunt.

and god, just at the sight of you, the sounds you’re making—he’s about to lose it. but he grits his teeth, using a free hand to quickly hold himself off.

he takes the toy away, turning it off, but still stimulating you with his thumb. your body starts quivering from all the pleasure and it’s been a while since he’s seen you cum like that; he worries for a moment that he pushed you too hard.

but he lets you ride it out, quiet sobs of pleasure filling the room. your head is turned to the side, shaking hands covering your face. he praises you softly, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to the inner side of your knee.

when he sees you’ve calmed down, he gently moves your hands away, pressing a kiss to your tear soaked cheeks, both sides, before kissing you deeply. you moan, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

when he pulls away, he cradles your face in his hands. “how was that?”

it feels like a fire ignites beneath your skin, his stare rapt and focused only on you.

your eyes shift away, meek and ashamed, “i liked it…”

“don’t get all shy with me doll,” he grouses, “i gotta know how you feel.”

your hips are still twitchy, eyes glazed over. “toji,” you whine softly, tears pooling in your eyes yet again and this time he’s actually worried. “m’ not lying… it felt so good, but i’m really embarrassed.”

“baby,” he coos, chastely kissing your lips, “s’ okay, s’ nothing you need to be embarrassed about.”

he turns you both over, so you’re laying on his chest. you listen to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and true. the warmth of his body is soothing, his fingers tapping up and down your spine.

“toji,” you call, meek and unsure. he hums.

“i love you,” you mutter, raising your head, “i know we don’t say it a lot, b-but—”

he smiles, all the way from his lips to his eyes. his entire face lights up, “if i knew making you cum real hard makes you a softy—ow! okay! don’t bite me!”

he’s laughing, hand brushing the hair from your face. “i love you. more than you’ll never know, doll.”

it’s resolute, he’s so unashamed that it’s annoying.

you grumble, hiding your face in his chest. your breath stutters when you feel his cock poke your leg.

“sorry,” he chuckles, “he likes you.”

“shut up,” you mumble, hand reaching back. it’s searingly hot and heavy in your hand. you can feel one of his veins pulsing under your touch.

“sweets,” he panics, “s’ okay, jus’ leave it… holy shiitttt..”

you whine, thighs quivering at the feeling of his leaky tip pressing against your slit.

“tojiii,” you drool, looking up at him, “i want it.”

he rubs a hand over his reddening face, unsure. need is taking over him, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold back. “baby, can you handle it?”

you nod, “yes, yes please,” you call his name, drawn out and needy and fuck, he’d be a shit boyfriend if he doesn’t give his lady what she wants right?

#i need him BAD #this is my dream… a little deranged but still my dream nonetheless ….#jujutsu kaisen smut #pleasure dom! toji #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader

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charmedimsure · 1 month ago

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THE THREE OF US: AFTER THE GAMES || kang dae-ho

pairing: Kang Dae-ho x f!reader

summary: Dae-ho makes good on his promise

word count: 2.8k

warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, babies

A/N: for the sake of the story, they got out after the vote after the Mingle game. i had so much fun writing this, dae-ho is so girl-dad coded. if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

part 1: The Three of Us

"Do we have everything we need? Am I forgetting something?"

You laugh as you watch the man run around the living room of your apartment. "Dae-ho, I'm not even in labor yet."

"I want to be prepared!"

After you had gotten out of the games, you and Dae-ho were delighted to find out that you lived not far away from each other. You were able to use the money you had gotten from the games to pay off your debts, and Gi-hun had offered to help you pay for everything until the baby is born and you're both able to work again (he didn't know it yet, but he had earned himself the title of godfather for that).

Dae-ho came over to your apartment every day for the past month and a half, making sure everything is ready for when the baby comes and keeping you from exerting yourself too much. You're sure he's spent more time at your apartment than at his.

Dae-ho had helped more than you could possibly thank him for. He and Jung-bae had built the crib for your baby, then broke it by "testing it out", then built a new one (why they thought it was a good idea for a full-grown man to get into a baby's crib, you have no idea).

You use the arm of the couch to help you stand up, waddling over to Dae-ho and taking his hands in yours. "Dae-ho, I don't think it's possible that you're forgetting anything," you chuckle. He opens his mouth to argue but you shush him, pulling him into a hug. "The only thing that matters is that you're with me when this baby comes."

He sighs, hugging you back. "I'm just so worried, I want to make sure everything goes right."

"I know," you rub his back. "But you need to calm down a bit. I think you're more worried about this than I am." You pull back to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You know I have to push this thing out of me, right?"

He chuckles at the look on your face and pulls you to him, placing a gentle kiss on your lips and cradling you to his chest.

"I just need to make sure I didn't forget-"

"Dae-ho!"

You're sitting on your couch watching TV with Dae-ho when you feel yourself sitting in something wet.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you curse. This isn't the first time you've pissed yourself while pregnant, and although Dae-ho keeps assuring you that it's perfectly normal (he's seen it happen with his sisters), it doesn't make you feel any less disgusting.

Dae-ho helps you stand up, ready to take you to the bathroom when you stop. He looks to see you staring at the large wet patch on the couch.

"What's wrong?" he asks you.

You slowly look up at him with wide eyes. "I think my water broke."

Dae-ho's eyes grow comically wide. "Holy shit, it's happening."

You nod. "It's happening."

He helps you sit back down on the couch before sprinting into your bedroom. He comes out with your hospital bag slung over his shoulder, fully packed and ready to go. "I'm gonna bring the car around, I'll be right back."

You nod, breathing through another bought of pain that you now realize is a contraction. You had been feeling it for a while now, but just thought it was normal pregnancy pain.

Dae-ho comes bursting back into your apartment, nearly tripping over your rug as he comes over to help you stand.

"Okay, the car is out front, I'm probably parked illegally, so we should hurry," he says, rushing his words.

You try to hide your amused smile. Dae-ho is the perfect distraction from your contractions.

"Dae-ho, lock the door, please," you say when you're in the hallway.

He nods, getting the keys out of his pocket and dropping them on the floor. You chuckle as he yelps, scrambling to pick them up and fit the key in the lock. Once he's done he turns to you. "Stop laughing at me!"

You laugh harder at his expression. "I'm sorry, I can't help it."

His face softens as he hears your laugh, a smile forming on his lips. He pulls you close, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Let's go have this baby."

He leads you to the elevator, holding your hand as you descend to the first floor. Once you step outside you burst out laughing.

"Dae-ho, you're parked on the sidewalk!"

"I was panicking, okay!"

"Dae-ho," you cry, "I don't think I can do this."

He squeezes your hand, not complaining despite the fact that you're nearly breaking his hand from how hard you're holding on to it. "Are you kidding? You flipped that ddakji on your first try with guns pointed at you. You were one of the first to finish red light, green light. You ran in Mingle despite being nearly seven months pregnant. This is nothing compared to all of that."

He brings his other hand up to brush some hair out of your face. "You are the strongest person I know. Just one more big push and it's done. You can do this."

"Dae-ho," you half scream, looking at him. "I love you."

He kisses your hand. "I love you too. So much. Now push."

You do as he says, screaming as you feel pain like you've never felt before. Until it's over, and the only sounds in the room are your panting and the crying of a baby.

"You did it," Dae-ho says in awe as he watches the doctors clean your baby.

"Congratulations," one of the doctors says to you with a smile as she holds your baby. "It's a girl."

She hands you your daughter and you feel yourself start to cry as you look down at the little baby in your arms.

Dae-ho sits on the bed, looking at the baby. "She's so beautiful."

You scootch over a bit in bed to make room for him to lay down next to you. After a long time of laying together in peaceful silence, you look at him with a tired smile. "Thank you for being here."

He smiles at you. "I wouldn't have missed the birth of your child for anything."

You take his hand, guiding it to cradle your daughter's head. "The birth of our child."

Tears form in his eyes as he smiles down at you, kissing your head. "I love you more than anything." He kisses your daughter's head as well. "Both of you."

A knock on the door gets your attention. "Let me in! I want to see the baby!" Jung-bae's voice yells into the room.

You look up at Dae-ho, confused. "She's been alive for like an hour, how is he here already?"

Dae-ho looks down at you a bit sheepishly. "I might have texted him earlier."

Another loud knock on the door is heard. "Let me in, I have balloons!"

You groan as you wake up, a loud, shrill cry ringing throughout your apartment. This is the second time tonight that your daughter has woken up.

With a sigh, you dramatically throw the covers off of you, too tired to care how much of a mess you're making.

A hand holds your shoulder, and you turn your head to see Dae-ho, a yawn coming from him as he stretches his muscles. "I got it, go back to sleep."

You shake your head, a yawn of your own escaping your mouth. "No, you got the last one, it's my turn." You move to stand up, but Dae-ho tightens his grip on your shoulder, effectively keeping you in place.

"You carried her around for nine months and birthed her," Dae-ho says. "I got this."

You give the man next to you a sleepy smile. Normally you'd argue with him that it was only fair that you checked on her, but right now your bed is so comfortable and you haven't had a full night's sleep in months.

You mumble a thank you, falling back onto the bed and pulling the covers over you. Dae-ho laughs to himself when he sees that you've immediately fallen back asleep.

He walks to your daughter's room, picking her up from her crib and bouncing her. "Come one, Munchkin, we gotta let your mommy sleep."

As if she understands him, she quiets down, falling asleep with her head on his shoulder.

"Hello! We're home!" Dae-ho announces as you walk through the door of your new home.

You smile as your daughter rounds the corner, crawling towards you as fast as her little arms and legs will let her go.

"Thank you so much for watching her, Geum-ja," you say to the woman walking behind your daughter, who has taken on the role of unofficial grandmother.

"Thank you for letting me watch her!" the woman smiles. "Yong-sik isn't having children any time soon, so this may be my only chance."

"Mom, stop," the mentioned man steps into view. You laugh as they bicker, Geum-ja lightly hitting her son.

You watch as Dae-ho crouches on the floor, opening his arms wide as your daughter crawls toward him. She takes her hands off the ground and you gasp, getting the attention of Geum-ja and Yong-sik. You watch in amazement as your daughter takes three steps before falling right into your boyfriend's arms.

Dae-ho lifts her up, a giant smile on his face. "That was amazing, Munchkin!"

You rub her back, praising her as Dae-ho kisses her cheek. Geum-ja and Yong-sik have stopped their bickering, both of them clapping for your daughter's accomplishment.

A thought comes into your head and you groan, resting your forehead on Dae-ho's shoulder.

"What?" he asks.

"She's gonna be a little menace now, isn't she?"

Dae-ho laughs, bringing one of his arms around your shoulders and kissing your forehead.

"What is happening here?"

You stand in the doorway with your hands on your hips, a smile on your face.

"We're having a princess tea party," Dae-ho says. He points to the princess dress on your daughter, as well as the princess dress on himself, which is close to tearing in half. "Obviously." He picks up the toy tea kettle, pouring some imaginary tea into your daughter's cup before facing you. "Would you like some?"

This is not what you were expecting to see after work, but you can't think of a better scene to come home to.

"I would love some." You sit on the floor, picking up a teacup and holding it out for Dae-ho to pour "tea" into.

Your daughter holds her cup in front of her as well, looking at the man between you. "Dada!"

Both you and Dae-ho freeze. You watch with a smile as he looks down at your daughter, his entire face lighting up and tears welling in his eyes.

You put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it happily. You've gotten a few "mama"s from your daughter before, but Dae-ho has never gotten a "dada" until now.

Dae-ho pours more imaginary tea into her cup, leaning down afterwards to give her a kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Munchkin."

"Mama!"

You turn to see your daughter tottling towards you, a big smile on her face.

"Hi sweetie," you smile, crouching down to her height.

She grabs onto your finger, tugging on it to try and get you to follow her. You chuckle, allowing her to lead you out of the room, hunched over so she can still hold your finger.

You follow her to the backyard, furrowing your brows when you see that the back door is open. Stepping outside and closing it behind you, you look forward and freeze.

Your daughter runs over to Dae-ho, who's in the middle of your yard on one knee, a ring in his hand.

You bring your hand up to your mouth in shock, tears welling in your eyes.

"Two and a half years ago, I was in the worst place of my life. But it was when I was there that I met you," Dae-ho smiles. "You've changed my life in so many ways, brought me more happiness than I ever thought I could have. I love you and our Munchkin more than anything in the world. You've given me the family I've always wanted, but I think it's time we become an official family. Will you marry me?"

You nod your head, tears spilling over onto your cheeks.

Dae-ho stands and pulls you into a kiss, slipping the ring on your finger. He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you so much. My beautiful fiancée."

You feel a tug on your leg and look down to see your daughter smiling up at you. Dae-ho crouches down, scooping her up into his arms and standing, bringing you into a hug. "How would you like to be the flower girl, Munchkin?"

"You see, I told you she'd be happy to see you! You need to have more faith in yourself, Gi-hun," you say into the phone as you unlock your front door. The man had arrived in America the previous day, finally visiting his daughter after so many years.

You step inside your house, locking the door behind you and putting your keys on one of the hooks on the wall. As you enter the living room, you stop when you see what is happening on your couch.

"Gi-hun, I have to go, I'll call you later," you smile, hanging up the phone. You open your camera app, taking a picture of the perfect scene in front of you. The TV is turned on to one of your daughter's favorite movies. Your daughter, however, is passed out on the chest your husband, who is also fast asleep.

After you've taken a sufficient amount of photos, you gently shake Dae-ho awake. He blinks his eyes open, smiling tiredly when he sees you.

"Hi, beautiful," he says.

You chuckle at the sleep in his voice. "Hi. I see you had quite a tiring day today."

Dae-ho nods, rubbing his eyes awake. "We played pirates in the backyard, then we had a movie marathon. It was a very eventful day."

You smile, putting your hand on your daughter's back to lightly shake her awake.

She looks at you with a smile. "Hi mommy."

"Hi, sweetie. It's time to go to bed."

She frowns. "Can I sleep with you and daddy tonight?"

You roll your eyes playfully. "But sweetie, you just got your new big girl bed. Don't you want to sleep there?"

She shakes her head. "I want to stay with you and daddy."

You look at Dae-ho, chuckling when you see that he's also silently begging you to let her stay with you.

"Fine, but just for tonight," you give in, making both your daughter and your husband smile. You pick her up, sitting her on your hip. "It's not fair when you team up against me, you're both too cute."

Dae-ho stands from the couch, kissing the side of your head. "Now you know what it's like trying to argue with you."

You hand your daughter the stick in your hand with a smile. "Go bring this to daddy."

With a nod, she runs off to find Dae-ho. You follow behind her, peeking your head around the corner when she goes into the kitchen where your husband is making dinner.

"Daddy!" she yells and you can hear the smile in her voice.

Dae-ho turns to face the young girl, a big smile on his face. "Hey, Munchkin." He scoops her into his arms, placing a kiss on her cheek.

Your daughter holds the stick out for Dae-ho. "For you, daddy."

You watch as he thanks her and looks at the stick. You feel your smile grow as he realizes what his daughter just handed him. He looks up, noticing you by the door.

"Is this real?"

"As real as it can possibly be," you say.

He sits your daughter down onto the counter, rushing over to pick you up in his arms, making you laugh. He twirls you around before putting you down and kissing you with all the love he feels in this moment.

"I love you so much," he says, his forehead against yours. He looks over to your daughter on the counter. "I love both of you." He then looks back down at you, gently putting his hand over your stomach. "All of you."

Dae-ho tags: @whatthefuckeryfuckityfuck @ally1uvsu @thebiggestigurosimp @come-as-you-are-111 @hiphip-horray @k1michii @tpwkcaryslizb @louissst28 @sshwaa @jennwonwoo @sunnysurvives @lalalaa2210 @tayshs @sunshinethatlooksalive @plntmxrss @lxnnrobin @mariaxman @alexx-iia @batty-barty-crouchjr @kxsm3t @takuma-talkz @peacemakersbeloved @skywalker0809 @soobinbunnie5 @dragons-h0ard @silas-222 @putrescentpoet

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist (specify all squid game or just dae-ho pls)

#squid game #squid game 2 #player 388 #squid game season 2 #dae ho #dae-ho #kang dae ho #dae ho x reader #kang daeho #squid game fanfic #squid game 2 spoilers #squid game x reader #kang daeho x reader #x reader

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