#i make enough notes to 'keep the lights on' so to speak

[chris-hallelujah]

Have You Ever Tried This One? pt. 2 | m.s.

Part One Here!

Warnings: foul language, oral (m and f receiving), alcohol usage

Word Count: 1.8k words

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Join my tag list : @matthewsroses @lvrsturniolo @sturnzsblog @nickgurl4life

Enter my giveaway!! (closes 11/15)

Divider by: @anitalenia

A/N: Thank you all for the love on part one! I was not expecting it to get the attention it did. Thank you again @delilahsturniolo for the inspo and letting me make your idea my own. I'm sorry if it feels rushed -- I knew you all were waiting for this so I tried to hurry!!

<3 - Billie

The lights in the arena darkened and you disappeared from the view of the crowd's view. "Goodnight Boston, I'll see you soon!" You called into the mic before handing it off to someone on stage crew. Your manager handed you a water bottle which you gladly took. Making your way back to your dressing room, she fussed over your hair and outfit.

"There are a few journalists who want to speak with you and those boys you invited backstage," she said powdering your face. You waved her off.

"I just got done with a concert, they can deal with a little bit of imperfection," you laughed walking out of your dressing room. In the lobby area backstage you saw the triplets with Chris' girlfriend standing against a wall. You waved at them to acknowledge them quickly before you had to deal with the few journalists. After about 10 minutes of interviews and answering questions, you were finally free. You sauntered over to the group with a smile. "Hi! I'm so sorry to keep you all waiting! I'm Billie, it is so nice to meet you all," You exclaimed shaking each of their hands as they introduced themselves. Your hand lingered connected to Matt's for a few seconds longer than the others. He was quiet, shy as you all conversed. Chris and Nick did most of the talking. "I've seen some of your videos. You guys are hilarious," you smiled looking across all of them but then locking eyes with Matt.

"Y-you've seen our videos?" he asked surprised, earning a nod from you.

"I have and I'm really honored you all came tonight. I hope you enjoyed the show." You all chatted for a bit before your manager passed by giving you a look to wrap it up. "It was great to get to meet you all. And, Matt, if you're up for it, I'd love to chat more." You flashed him a confident smile and handed him a paper with your number on it. He took it with a shaky hand, staring at it wide eyed.

"Yea, no, that - yea sounds good," he blurt out earning a laugh from his brothers.

"You might have broke him," Nick teased.

After you all parted ways you made your way back to your hotel room. The hot shower water ran down your body as you felt your muscles relax. The plush bathrobe hugged your body as you climbed out of the shower and, as if on cue, your phone buzzed.

Hey, you put on a great show tonight. Thanks for the handcuffs. Now I just need to put them to use ;)

You're too sweet and a bit more bold when your brothers aren't around to tease you

They're a piece of work lol when can I see you again?

I'm at the four seasons room 311

Matt stared at his phone in shock. He never would have expected you to just give him the information for your hotel room. He quietly snuck out of his bedroom, not wanting to have to deal with telling Nick and Chris that he was going to see you.

You quickly freshened up, enough to look cute but not too much that you looked desperate. About 15 minutes later there was a knock at your hotel room door. Matt's face greeted you as you opened it. He was leaning against the wall with a slight smirk. You could already tell that he was a different Matt than you'd met earlier. "Hey, pretty girl," he spoke smoothly.

A slight blush crept your cheeks as you moved aside to let him in. You took in his all black outfit, noting how nice it looked on him. "Hi Matt," you smiled. Matt looked around, taking in the fancy hotel suite you were in.

"Nice place you got here. All of your tour stops this fancy?" he asked sitting down on the sofa.

You laughed a bit, "I try and make them feel like home a bit. Traveling so much can be exhausting and it's nice to come back to a hotel room that has all that I need in it." Shuffling through the mini fridge, you pulled out some wine. "You want some?" He nodded leading you to pour two glasses. You took a spot next to him on the sofa, not leaving much room between you, but enough for it to not be awkward. "So, tell me about you. What do I need to know about Matt Sturniolo?" you asked.

He took a sip of the wine before turning fully to face you, "Well, as you know I'm a triplet. I'm the middle one. We've been doing YouTube since-"

You cut him off shaking your head. "I don't want to know about your brothers. Tell me about you." This caused Matt's head to spin. He wasn't used to people only wanting to learn about him. People always loved Chris for his looks and Nick for his humor, but sometimes Matt felt swept under the rug. ((I'm crying writing this))

A smile on his face, he took a different approach, "Okay well, I really like nature. I feel so at peace when I'm outside. I also used to be really into reading. Fell outta that for a while, but I'm starting to pick it up again." The two of you chatted getting to know each other and finishing the bottle of wine quicker than either of you had planned.

It had been an hour of just drinking and talking and before you knew it your legs were draped over his lap, hands in his hair. He had his lips attached to yours as he held your hips. You weren't quite sure how you got there, but you weren't complaining. Matt pulled away slightly, earning a whine from you. Both of you breathing heavily, he leaned his forehead against yours. "You sure about this, miss popstar?" he said, teasing you slightly. You giggled and nodded, placing your lips on his neck. He groaned, tilting his head back to give you more access. You trailed down his jawline, then his neck, and to his collarbone leaving bites and kisses in your path. A flash of pink covered your eyes as Matt tugged your shirt off over your head and tossed it to meet his on the floor. He picked you up and tossed you onto the bed. Something caught your eye, peeking out of his back pocket. Something pink. With fur? Oh my god.

A chuckle escaped your lips as you tugged the fuzzy pink handcuffs you had gifted him at the concert out of his back pocket. "I see you wanted to break in your gift," you smirked, twirling them on your finger. He chuckled snatching them from you and tossing them to the side.

"Don't worry, pretty girl, they'll get used soon," he winked. His pants hit the floor and your eyes trailed down his body. Before you knew it, you found yourself on your knees in front of him. "Such a good girl. Didn't even have to tell you," he smirked. You were practically drooling at the sight of him. Your hand wrapped around his length causing him to hiss slightly. As your lips enclosed around his tip, his hand found home in your hair. Your tongue swirled around him slowly before you closed the distance between your lips and his groin. He groaned loudly as you took him in deeper. Impulsively, his hand pushed your head further, causing a choking noise to leave you. "Shhh, you got it, princess. Doin' - ah - doing so well," he moaned as your head bobbed. As you moved your head back and forth, your hand covered what didn't fit in your mouth. It did not take long for Matt's hand to coerce you a bit more forcefully as you noticed his body tense up. "Oh fuck, keep goin," he moaned. A few more pumps later you felt his load shoot into your mouth as he groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut. You pulled off of him with a slight 'pop' and sat with a satisfied grin on your face. He let out a deep breath before looking down at you.

Next thing you knew, your back hit the mattress and Matt hovered over you. "Better wipe that smirk off that pretty little face," he chuckled. To your right you heard the sound of metal clinking. Matt's hand gathered your small wrist and cuffed you to the bed. You looked up at the handcuffs and back at him whimpering slightly. Your arms wiggled causing the metal to clank against the headboard. "What? Can't handle what you dish out?" he smirked and trailed kisses down your torso. When he reached your underwear, his eyes met yours again for approval. As you nodded, he discarded your thong onto the floor. Your hips twitched in anticipation as you felt his breath on your core. The wide grin on his face was undeniable as he watched you already writhing beneath him. "So sensitive," he chuckled tracing circles on your thigh, "barely even touched you yet."

"Matty, please," you whined. He ended your suffering licking a stripe up your folds. Your hips lifted at the contact and you gasped loudly. He quickly shoved your hips back down to the bed and held them there with his hands, probably leaving bruises that would show tomorrow. Matt explored you with his tongue, taking note on what made your legs shake. As his tongue circled your clit, he felt your hips try to raise against his hands. "Oh! Matt fuck" you moaned loudly. He smiled against you knowing he figured out your weakness. He continued to work your bundle of nerves until you were a writhing, moaning mess underneath him. The noise of the handcuffs fighting the headboard earned a laugh from Matt's mouth that vibrated against you. Your body tensed as your climax built up. He slipped a finger into you, thrusting quickly as his tongue danced against your clit. You felt pleasure take over your body. "Matt - my god! Don't stop!" you cried out. He continued to ride out your orgasm until your body relaxed and you panted against the bed. He carefully removed his fingers from you and crawled up to meet your eyes. Your lips wrapped around his fingers, tasting yourself as you licked them clean. He removed his fingers from your mouth and unlocked the handcuffs.

A soft kiss landed on your forehead as he pulled his t shirt over your head. You smiled climbing under the covers. Pulling his boxers back on before he climbed into bed with you. The night was spent wrapped in each others' arms.

The morning light showed through the curtains as you woke. After cuddling up to Matt for a few more minutes, you reached for your phone. Your eyes widened as you saw messages from your manager. Attached was an article titled, "YouTube Triplet Seen at Pop Star's Hotel." You knew this was not going to end well with your publicity team but, boy, was it worth it.

[echobx]

You sure? - JJ Maybank × fem!plus sized!inexperienced!reader

summary: you take your first hookup JJ back to your place and things start to get hot and heavy very fast

word count: 1.2k

warnings: smut adjacent, making out, suggestive talk, mention of reader being a virgin, mean!cocky!JJ (but only while horny), light petting, slapping, dry humping, biting

author's note: I don't think I'm ready yet to write full smut again, so I hope you forgive me for this somewhat fade to black kinda thing

   You're leaning against the wall behind you, hand holding onto the door frame that is pressing into your back. There's this dizziness inside you that you've never felt before. Warm and heavy and exciting and- 

   “You comin’?” JJ asked while pulling his shirt off and mindlessly throwing the fabric somewhere on the floor. The yellow overhead light casts a glow onto his toned, sun kissed skin as you watch his back muscles before he turns, and your breath hitches. There's something primal in how you force your throat to still and press your legs together. The thought of simply laying him down and licking him all overcomes to your mind before you remember what you actually had planned, and why you had picked specifically him for it. 

   “JJ, I've never done this before,” you croak, wishing you didn't feel so small under his unwavering gaze as he stalks toward you.

   “Hookups ain't for everybody, s'all good, I don't judge, princess,” he winks, twirling some of your hair in between his fingers while leaning over you. You wanna let loose a bit, let yourself fall into how easy he makes it all feel, yet there's the guilt tugging at your conscience. 

   “No,” you shake your head, speaking softly. “I've never done this. Kissing, touching, feeling-” 

   “Fucking?” he interrupts with a cocky smile on his lips, maybe too cocky, but he's standing too close for you to actually care. Your eyes focus on his, blue and growing darker with the passing second. It's like your throat is clogged up by the fear that he would actually leave or worse make fun of you for it, for revealing the truth. A gulp followed by a nod and a small, whined “yes” is all you can get out at first.

   Closing your eyes, you try to focus solely on your words, and not the fact that his calloused fingers are softly cradling your jaw, rubbing a thumb over the apple of your cheek before pulling your bottom lip down as you try to speak. “It- It would to-totally okay if you- you wanted to leave. I shouldn't have-” 

   JJ’s lips are warm and wet and a little chipped, but you don't mind it. You like that he knows exactly what he wants, and that his hand slips down to hold your throat, tilting your head back while swallowing your breath and whimpers. He's even closer like that, his free hand squeezes your hip while his body is fully leaning against your own. And you don't know where to put your hands, so you keep them by your side at first, until he forces one up to have you hold onto his neck. It feels like learning to drive; you're scared to do something wrong, but he's not letting you fail. Chasing your lips and grinding his hips against your body like it's the most normal thing to do. 

   You get dizzy again, the different kind of dizzy, the kind that makes you push against him enough so he stops and lets you both get some air to fill up your lungs. At least you thought so before his lips attach to your neck, kissing and licking, but when you let out a choked moan because he found your sweet spot, his hand lands hard on your cheek. 

   “Don't fucking dare holdin’ back,” he glares, and you nod diligently. It's not something you would've expected from charming, funny, flirty JJ Maybank, but you can't say it doesn't turn you on. 

   His lips lock down on yours again, and you sigh into it. Digging your hands in his hair, running your nails over his scalp until he bites your lip. Your mouth falls open at the piercing feel his teeth left on your plump lips, giving him enough room to dart his tongue into your mouth. Tentatively assessing the situation, he lets his tongue run over your teeth for a moment before smiling and somehow leaning into you even deeper. It's like he's actually trying to devour you, tasting every last millimeter of your mouth and doing it over and over again until you pull on his hair, and the only thing connecting your lips is a short string of spit. 

   “Done already?” JJ teases, tilting his head to the side. 

   “Does it always feel like this?” you ask, and it doesn't even make sense that those words come out of you when you actually just wanted to tell him to fuck you already. 

   “Nah, that's just me, baby,” JJ growls, pulling you away from the wall and kissing you again. It's like he's addicted to your taste, not getting enough even when it still lingers on his lips and tongue. 

   He's slowly stumbling backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he lets himself fall, pulling you with him. But his kisses and the way his hands roam your body never falter. Squeezing your hips, then your ass and boobs, before moving his hand between your thighs and under your dress. 

   Your breath hitches and he sucks on your bottom lip, letting his digits run through your slick folds another time while chuckling. 

   “No panties? You naughty girl,” JJ tsks, taking his hand up and licking it clean. “You wanna get up and strip for me, beautiful.” You’re still debating whether it was a question or an order when his hand closes around your throat. “I don't like repeatin’ myself, princess.” 

   The first thing you take off when you stand, is your heels, and all of a sudden you're another three inches shorter than him, which seems to amuse him. 

   “I should definitely put some inches in you,” he jokes, at least you hope so as you watch him lean on his elbows. 

   “Does that work on other people?” you ask, moving your hands behind your back, but failing to find the zipper. 

   JJ sits up, his hands coming to your hips before spinning you around and forcing you back until you can feel his face pressed right above your ass. “It's workin’ on you too,” he says before carefully pulling the zipper down while lifting his head. “Now turn around and take it off, slowly.”

You follow his instructions, turning your face to look at him before slowly letting your body follow. “It's okay if you wanna leave again-” You can't bring out another word because he's already bitten down hard on your belly fat. 

   “Don't fucking say shit like that again. You're fucking gorgeous, and I'm gonna be fuckin’ you stupid, all right? That's a Maybank promise,” JJ gives you a single wink before slapping your ass and making you jump a tiny bit at the pleasant sting. 

   He pushes himself to stand, taking your face in his hand and digging into your full cheeks a little, forcing you to open your mouth. “I should teach you how to give a proper blowjob. But first, we gotta make sure you're so sore you can't walk no more, once I'm done with you.” 

   And with that he forces another kiss on your lips before throwing you onto the bed as if you weigh nothing at all, all the while your friend's words cross your mind, and you want to laugh in her face. A hookup is the completely right decision for losing your virginity, especially when it's JJ Maybank. 

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @ijustwantttoread @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimozart @m2m2m2 @mochimms @dorkyfangirl24 @itsme-again @maybankslover @th3eternalersi

[dksfml]

off my face - yjw

pairing: jungwon x reader genre: soulmate au, mega FLUFF word count: 6.6k summary: in a world where each person has a soulmate mark indicating where they will be touched by their soulmate for the first time, there’s jungwon—the soccer team captain you’d like to be ruined by forever—who has no soulmate mark at all. what does that make you, someone whose mark has changed color because of him? author's note: finally!! here's your most awaited blond jungwon fic that i skipped sleep for<3333 inspired by this amazing prompt my friend sent me.

One touch and you got me stoned. Higher than I've ever known. You call the shots and I follow. Sunrise, but the night still young. No words, but we speak in tongues. If you let me, I might say too much.

You sat near the front row, posture perfect, eyes narrowed as Professor Min’s lecture on ancient mythology took a surprising turn. Today’s topic wasn’t just history—it was soulmate lore, the mysterious marks everyone was born with, and the myths that surrounded them. The professor’s calm, seasoned voice filled the room, but the air buzzed with barely contained excitement. Everyone was alert, even the usual back-row whisperers, captivated by the promise of something rare: a sanctioned discussion about their most private marks.

“These soulmate marks,” Professor Min began, his gaze sweeping the room with a faint smile, “are said to be the final traces of a bond forged in a past life. Legends tell us that in each lifetime, we may be separated from our soulmates, lost to distance or circumstance. But the marks,” he gestured to his own faintly darkened palm, “are said to be the soul’s way of leaving a trail—a reminder.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Everyone had a mark, a small patch of inky darkness, as distinct as fingerprints, mapped out on their bodies. Some had them on their palms or fingertips, waiting for the day a handshake or brush of fingers would light up that mark with color. Others had them in more curious places, whispering of fated touches in the most unlikely moments.

"The legend says," Professor Min continued, "that these marks were painted by one’s soulmate in a past life, a vow made in hopes to meet again, to find each other across time."

You clenched your pen a little tighter, the faint tickle of wonder battling the urge to keep your expression blank and unfeeling. You’d always kept your interest in soulmate marks private. They seemed so full of mystery, and the idea of your soulmate waiting for you somewhere was oddly… reassuring. You glanced down, conscious of the mark behind your knee, hidden like a strange secret that even you could barely understand. What kind of first touch would even reach there? The thought was both amusing and baffling, and you stifled a wry smile.

Around you, other students leaned in to chat, loud enough that their conversations blended into a steady hum. Your classmate Arin nudged her friend, laughing as she displayed the faint mark on her palm. “I’ve been dying to know who’ll shake my hand one day,” she whispered excitedly, her eyes glimmering with hope.

But your gaze drifted just beyond Arin, landing instead on a familiar figure lounging in the middle row with his legs stretched out, looking every bit like he was born to disrupt things without lifting a finger. Jungwon. Handsome in a way that seemed almost unfair, with striking, dark eyes framed by lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheeks, and hair the color of midnight that fell in soft, tousled waves. He had this effortless, magnetic presence that drew people toward him, like he knew he didn’t need to try.

As captain of the soccer team and one of the most well-known faces on campus, Jungwon somehow managed to look both sharp and relaxed, as if the attention his looks or reputation brought him meant nothing. You’d been crushing on him since last year, an avid fan always present at his games, cheering him on like a lovesick fool. Whenever he scored a goal, you felt your heart leap, and you couldn’t help but unleash your inner fangirl, your excitement spilling over as you screamed his name. Right now, he seemed half-listening to his friends, a hint of a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling before refocusing on his friends. It was that easygoing confidence that made him impossible not to notice—and, for you, impossible not to think about.

It was a boy from his friend group, Jay, who interrupted the class chatter by slapping a hand down on the table and teasing, “Come on, Won. You don’t have a soulmate mark, my foot. No one gets off that easy.” The comment was light-hearted but loaded, and more than a few students turned to look.

To your surprise, Jungwon didn’t react with one of his usual witty comebacks or careless shrugs. Instead, he just rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of something almost vulnerable flashing across his face. “No, really,” he insisted, almost apologetically. “I don’t have one. I checked a million times as a kid.”

Your pen paused mid-note, and a slight, irrational disappointment prickled in your chest. It was hard to believe, especially about someone like Jungwon, whose very presence seemed destined to leave a mark on others. Soulmate marks might be rare, but someone like him not having one? It felt impossible, like a missing piece that no one noticed until it was too late.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe he just hadn’t found it yet. After all, some people only discovered their mark when it finally turned to color. Sometimes it wasn’t a visible spot on the skin but something far subtler—a shadow in the hue of their lips that would only brighten after a first kiss, or a darkness lingering in an eye, invisible until the gentle touch of someone wiping away their tears brought it to life. The thought sent a strange warmth to your cheeks as you glanced back toward him, wondering if Jungwon’s missing mark was just waiting for the right person to unlock it.

Still, he looked surprisingly honest, a faint hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright gaze. For someone so magnetic, it was as if he was caught drifting in space, without any tether connecting him to anyone at all.

“Alright, alright,” Jay relented, raising his hands in surrender but laughing all the same. “Guess someone’s too cool to be fated to anyone, huh?”

The professor’s voice cut back in, and you forced yourself to refocus, though your mind lingered on Jungwon’s quiet expression and the flicker of something in his eyes, something both resigned and deeply private. Could he really be alone in a world where everyone else was bound to someone?

“Imagine having your mark on your knuckles,” Arin whispered beside you with a grin, oblivious to the moment that had just passed. “You’d probably knock your soulmate out before you even realized they were ‘the one’!”

Another round of laughter scattered through the room, like a shared inside joke. The air felt charged, as if everyone were suddenly curious about each other’s marks, glancing around with new eyes. You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook with a faint smile. As much as you tried to keep up the class president, model-student act, the idea of soulmates fascinated you in a way you’d never quite admit.

When the bell finally rang, the room filled with that familiar end-of-class chaos. You started packing up, keeping your head down—until you noticed Jungwon slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking effortlessly put-together, as usual. He laughed at something his friend said, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. But you couldn’t help catching the faintest flicker of something else in his gaze as he glanced at his friends—like a momentary, unguarded look that felt… wistful?

Okay, maybe that was just you being overly imaginative.

You let out a little huff as you slung your own bag over your shoulder, shaking off the strange pity you’d felt moments before. So what if Jungwon didn’t have a mark? You barely even knew him. Well, you kind of knew him, but from a distance—and with way more daydreams than you’d like to admit. Still, it was silly to wonder about him, right? With your head full of these thoughts, you walked out into the hallway, lost in a world where maybe, just maybe, he was wondering about you, too.

And as you brushed past a group of friends, laughing and shoving each other, your hand slipped over the back of your knee, where your own mark was hidden—quiet, waiting, and as mysterious as ever.

The sky was an endless blue, stretching wide over the school field as your class spilled out onto the grass for PE. With the teacher conveniently on vacation, today’s instructions were simple: enjoy the free time. Most of your classmates took to the field, breaking off into little clusters for a lazy game of soccer, light stretches, or simple gossip sessions by the bleachers.

As class president, you took it upon yourself to ensure no one went too far or caused trouble. Your duty, as you saw it, was to survey your classmates from a slight distance, keeping an eye out with the calm, serious gaze you’d carefully perfected. Yet even from the sidelines, your eyes found themselves drifting toward a familiar figure on the field, drawn to him like magnets.

Jungwon was at the center of the field with his friends, casual and relaxed, but his every move carried an elegance that made your pulse skip. He was laughing at something his friend said, his eyes crinkling as he kicked the soccer ball back and forth, the glint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His ease on the field was mesmerizing, a mixture of strength and grace that made it hard to look away.

You reminded yourself to focus, scanning the field to check on the other groups. But before you could pull your attention back entirely, a voice called out, and you saw Jungwon pivot to chase the soccer ball—only for it to ricochet off his foot, headed directly toward you with alarming speed.

In the split second it took you to react, you felt a sharp thud against the back of your knees. The impact sent you stumbling forward, knees buckling beneath you as you tumbled to the ground. Pain flared up where the ball had struck, but it was drowned out by the shock of it all.

“Oh no—are you okay?” Jungwon’s voice was breathless with concern, his steps hurried as he reached you. You barely had a chance to process his arrival before he knelt beside you, face flushed and clearly panicked. His hand hovered awkwardly as if afraid to touch you, his usual calm replaced with something far more vulnerable.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you hurt?” he stammered, his voice unusually soft. He reached out gently, his hands carefully brushing against your arm as he tried to help you up. “Can you stand?”

Your mind struggled to catch up to the moment, and it took everything you had to keep your stoic demeanor intact. Jungwon was close, closer than he’d ever been, and the intensity of his worried gaze was unexpectedly disarming. Even as pain pulsed through your knee, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how intensely he focused on you, as if everything else in the world had fallen away.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But as soon as you tried to stand, pain shot up your leg.

Jungwon’s expression shifted to one of determination, and before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and lifted you up, his other arm around your shoulders. The world tilted as he held you in a firm, steady grip, his face barely inches from yours. “We’re getting you to the nurse. No arguments.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his closeness, by the warmth radiating from him. “Oh—okay.” The words left your mouth almost on instinct, your brain still catching up with the fact that Jungwon was carrying you, his focus set entirely on you. His hands brushed your arm as he adjusted his grip, and you felt a strange warmth bloom under your skin, something unfamiliar and electric.

The walk to the nurse’s office was quiet, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered to you, the gentleness in his expression as he murmured, “Sorry again. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt the class president.”

Your lips parted, searching for something to say, but the way he looked at you—soft, maybe even a bit shy—left you wordless. All you could do was nod, your heart pounding louder with each step as you held onto the feeling of his arms around you, wondering if he could hear it too.

It wasn’t until you glanced down that you noticed it—a faint shift of color beneath your knee where the ball had struck. The mark, once hidden and dark, now radiated a subtle but unmistakable bright yellow hue, soft and warm against your skin.

You froze, eyes wide, as the realization settled in. Jungwon was still mumbling apologies, unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Only he could have caused the mark to change; he was the only one who had touched that spot. The idea left you breathless, your mind scrambling to make sense of it all.

In the clinic, the nurse examined your knee with a quick, professional assessment. “You’ll be fine,” she declared, sending you off with an ice pack and a faint smile. But your thoughts were still racing, tangled up in the startling realization that Jungwon might actually be your soulmate.

The whole walk back to class, you replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps someone had brushed the back of your knee at some other time, and you simply hadn’t noticed. But deep down, you knew the truth—the mark had only changed when Jungwon touched you.

And when you returned to class, he was there, hovering near the door with a worried frown. He looked up as you approached, eyes bright with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a slight smile breaking through the concern etched into his features. “I was worried about you.”

Your heart skipped as you nodded, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. Just… a bit shaken up, that’s all.” You felt the weight of the new secret pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to smile.

Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that effortlessly charming way of his. “I’m glad. I’ll be more careful with my aim next time.”

You smiled back, feeling the weight of the mark’s new color, of the quiet truth only you knew. As Jungwon returned to his seat, your gaze drifted to the back of your knee, where the mark lay hidden under the fabric of your clothes, now touched by color—by him.

In the days following the incident on the field, the world seemed to shift around you, humming with an energy you couldn’t quite shake. The back of your knee, where Jungwon’s touch had changed your soulmate mark to a soft, distinct yellow color, was a constant reminder of the possibility that your crush—Jungwon, the ever-handsome and kind soccer captain—might be something even more significant than you’d ever dared to imagine.

“How’s your knee?” he asked, his voice warm and tinged with that familiar gentleness that made your heart stutter.

“Oh, it’s fine, really!” You waved it off, attempting to tuck your leg further under your desk, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint new color to the mark that still lingered behind your knee.

Jungwon didn’t seem to buy it. “Are you sure?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned down, intent on seeing for himself. Before he could get a closer look, you tugged your skirt down a little farther, hiding the mark as best as you could.

“I’m sure, really,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone casual. “It’s just a little sore, nothing to worry about.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on you, unreadable. Then he nodded, standing up with a quiet, sheepish smile. “Alright. I’ll trust you, but only if you promise to let me know if it starts hurting again.”

You managed a nod, clutching your books a little tighter to keep your hands steady. “I promise,” you said, hoping he didn’t notice the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

Your third shared class of the week was English, and just as the teacher assigned the day’s group work, the class began to shift into pairs. Coincidentally (or so you told yourself), the seating arrangement placed Jungwon near you that day.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. He offered you one of his signature, heart-stopping smiles. “Mind if we pair up? I mean…if you’re okay with it.”

With an effort to keep your expression neutral, you nodded. “Sure,” you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was anything but.

Settling at a table near the window, you both pulled out your notebooks. The task was straightforward—analyzing a poem about soulmates. You caught a breath at the irony, and Jungwon, seemingly unfazed, began reading the passage aloud. His voice, low and calm, wove through the words as you listened, though your mind kept wandering to his every movement, the way his eyes flickered thoughtfully over the page, how his fingers held the pencil lightly but with intention.

“What do you think?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, willing your focus back to the assignment. “I think…well, it’s romantic. But it’s also kind of tragic, right? There’s always this sense of waiting—like, what if they don’t meet?”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered up, lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “The idea that you’re waiting your whole life for just one person…it’s a lot of pressure.”

He paused, eyes settling on you, as if searching for something beneath the calm exterior you held so tightly. “Do you… believe in it? Soulmates, I mean?”

Caught off guard, you looked down, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of your notebook. You thought of your parents, of their own lovely story about finding each other through their marks, and how you’d grown up with those tales of destiny. And now, here you were, sitting with the very boy who might be your own fated match.

“I think,” you began slowly, “that I want to believe in it. My parents…they have one of those classic stories. It’s hard not to believe in soulmates when you’ve heard stories like that all your life.”

He nodded, listening intently. “I get that. I guess…sometimes I wonder what it would be like. But it’s hard to picture when you don’t…you know, have any marks yourself.”

The quiet sadness in his tone took you by surprise. You’d never considered what it might be like to go through life without a soulmate mark, to feel like something intrinsic was missing, a feeling that destiny had passed you by. Suddenly, your thoughts flickered back to the legends the elders told—how markless people were said to carry the weight of unrequited love from a past life, doomed to wander without a soulmate to mark them in this one. The idea hung heavy in the air, mingling with your sympathy for him.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, then,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Maybe people without marks find their person too, in other ways.” You couldn’t help but think that perhaps Jungwon was one of those souls, burdened by a love that never came to fruition.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Jungwon seemed lost in thought, his gaze drifting out the window as he considered your words. And just then, a strange sense of comfort washed over you, knowing that even if he was unaware of it, you shared a connection that went beyond what either of you could see.

“Maybe,” he said finally, and then he flashed you a lopsided grin. “Well, even if soulmates are real, maybe it’s a good thing I’m mark-free. I don’t think I’d want someone to find out I was their soulmate because I hit them with a soccer ball.”

His laughter rang out, and you couldn’t help but join him, but beneath the mirth, your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him everything—to reveal the secret that could bridge the chasm between you. But as the words formed on your lips, fear gripped you. What if you were wrong? What if he truly didn’t have a soulmate mark, and this moment of connection was just a fleeting illusion?

So you swallowed hard, plastering a smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, let’s just keep that between us, then,” you replied, hoping to mask the anxiety swirling inside you.

Inside, the truth weighed heavy, a secret that felt more like a burden than a bond. Keeping it hidden seemed safer, easier—even if it left you feeling like a ghost, drifting alongside him but never truly reaching out. The thought of him being one of those markless souls—the ones who carried the pain of a love never realized—made you ache. You didn’t want him to feel that emptiness, and yet, here you were, hiding a truth that might shatter the fragile connection you shared.

Perhaps it was better this way. Better to hold onto your heartache in silence than risk shattering the bond you had built, no matter how tenuous it felt. As you returned to the assignment, the bittersweet taste of longing lingered on your tongue, mixing with the thrill of possibility, leaving you torn between the hope of what could be and the fear of what might never come to pass.

Finally, during your biology class, your teacher assigned a laboratory cleaning rotation. By the luck of the draw—or maybe a twist of fate—you found yourself paired with Jungwon. It was supposed to be a simple task, but as the two of you gathered supplies and began tidying up the classroom after hours, you felt the weight of every quiet moment.

Jungwon appeared beside you as you straightened a stack of textbooks, arms full of markers and erasers. His casual, laid-back attitude only heightened the quiet thrill that being near him sparked in you. As he handed you an eraser, your fingers brushed slightly, and you pulled back quickly, heart racing.

"Are you always this… serious?" Jungwon teased, his lips curving into a half-smile. "I mean, you don’t have to look like we’re cleaning the whole school."

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “It’s just how I work. I take tasks seriously.”

He nodded, still smiling. “You’re impressive, you know. It’s like…you’re always so composed, like nothing rattles you.”

Caught off guard by his observation, you froze momentarily, not sure how to respond. Behind your serious exterior, you were anything but composed—especially around him. Before you could answer, he turned away to tidy the bookshelves, leaving you wondering if he’d picked up on the effect he had on you.

After a while, Jungwon returned to the task at hand, dusting off a few of the windowsills. It was quiet for a few minutes, the sounds of your combined effort filling the room. You both worked in sync, a silent rhythm that had developed without either of you realizing it. And then, with an abruptness that caught you off guard, he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said, hesitating. “I know this might be a weird question, but… where’s your soulmate mark?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications you weren’t ready to unravel. Your heart thudded as you carefully set down the books you’d been holding, gathering your thoughts.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks. "Um, it's… it's on my knee," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment made you shy, and you instinctively shifted your weight, the hem of your skirt falling to cover your knee even more.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, curiosity glimmering in his eyes. “Oh? Is it… already in color?”

You hesitated for a brief moment, weighing your words. “Uh, yeah,” you replied, biting your lip. “It changed a while ago. But it’s not a big deal.” You left out the part about him possibly being your soulmate, feeling the weight of that truth settle heavily in the air between you.

His expression shifted slightly, disappointment flashing across his features before he masked it with a casual smile. “That’s cool,” he said, his voice a bit quieter now. “I guess… it must be nice to have that certainty.”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden heaviness in your chest. “I mean, it’s comforting, I suppose.”

But beneath your words, a sense of longing stirred. You noticed how his gaze faltered for a moment, and it struck you then how much he had hoped for something different. He had seemed eager, maybe even hopeful, and the realization stung a little.

Jungwon cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. “So, um… did you see the last soccer game?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I think we really need to work on our defense.”

His attempt at lightheartedness felt slightly forced, and you could see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Still, it was nice to see him trying to shake off the heaviness from moments before.

“Yeah, I caught a bit of it,” you replied, grateful for the shift in focus. “You guys played well, though a couple of those goals were pretty close calls.”

He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Yeah, I think I almost gave our coach a heart attack with that last-minute save,” he said, grinning. It was an infectious smile, and you found yourself smiling back despite the weight still resting in the back of your mind.

The annual school festival arrived faster than expected, and the campus buzzed with activity and excitement. Classrooms were transformed into themed booths, hallways were draped with handmade decorations, and students wore colorful festival shirts and badges, their faces bright with paint and laughter. You found yourself stationed at the face-painting booth, brush in hand, ready to tackle the endless line of eager students.

You’d always enjoyed events like these—participating in the festival offered you a rare chance to relax and feel connected to your classmates outside of the usual seriousness you maintained as class president. Here, you were just another student, painting stars, hearts, and stripes on familiar faces.

“Hey, what’s up? Need a painter?” your friend Taeyoung called out to the next group approaching your booth. You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip when you recognized Jungwon and his friends heading your way, laughing and jostling each other. He wore a loose festival shirt with sleeves rolled up, a casual look that somehow made him even more handsome. You quickly glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of your paintbrushes and the paper towels you clutched a little too tightly.

The booth was busy, and with most of your fellow painters occupied, it didn’t take long for Taeyoung to pair Jungwon with you. “Hey, Y/N, looks like you’ve got a VIP customer! Captain Jungwon wants to be a canvas today,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he nudged Jungwon playfully.

Jungwon chuckled, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an eagerness mixed with a hint of shyness. “Yeah, I guess I’m in your hands now,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “No pressure, right?”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as your heart raced. “Uh, right! No pressure at all,” you replied, your voice a little too bright. “What do you have in mind?”

You forced yourself to meet Jungwon’s eyes, fighting back the nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. “So… what would you like?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jungwon’s usual confident smile softened a little, and he seemed slightly hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach flutter. “Maybe a couple of stars on my cheeks? And… maybe a small cat on my forehead?”

You stifled a laugh at his request, realizing that behind his composed demeanor, he had a playful side you hadn’t seen before. “A star and a cat. Got it,” you whispered, dipping your brush into white paint. You reached out carefully to steady his face, tilting it slightly toward the light. Your fingers lightly touched his cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the spark that jolted through you at the contact.

Jungwon closed his eyes briefly, letting out a small breath. You tried to ignore the slight flush you felt creeping up your neck, focusing on drawing a perfect star on his left cheek. You painted in silence, but every so often, he’d open his eyes and glance at you, making your heart race each time.

With one cheek finished, you moved to the other side. He leaned in closer, giving you the perfect angle. The space between you seemed to shrink with every second, the sounds of the bustling festival fading into a distant hum. You were hyper-aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from him, and how your fingers gently brushed his skin. When you finished with the stars, you pulled back slightly to look at your work, meeting his gaze as you did.

“They look good,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

You swallowed, breaking eye contact to reach for a new brush and dip it in black paint. “Now for the cat,” you said, trying to stay calm. “Hold still.”

You carefully moved to part his hair at the center of his forehead. As your fingers brushed through his bangs, you froze, your eyes widening as you saw something strange—a small patch of his dark hair was shifting, lightening to a soft honey-blonde under your touch.

“Um… Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you stared at the transformed lock of hair falling against his forehead. “Your hair…”

“What about it?” He turned to you with a hint of confusion, glancing up as if trying to catch a glimpse of the change. “Did I mess it up?”

You shook your head, the words tangling in your throat as disbelief washed over you. “It’s… it’s changing color.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then brushed his fingers through the area you’d touched. His movements stilled, the warmth in his expression fading, replaced by something deeper—something unreadable. The air thickened around you, a heavy silence filled with unspoken questions.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to decode the truth hidden beneath your surprise.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah, I… I thought it was just the paint at first, but… it’s definitely not.”

The realization hung in the air, electric and palpable, igniting a spark of tension that sent shivers down your spine. Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the newly lightened strands of hair, his expression a mix of wonder and trepidation. You could feel your pulse quicken, an exhilarating rush flooding through you as you grasped the meaning behind this strange phenomenon.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your chest. Here he was, the boy you’d admired from afar, unexpectedly transformed before your eyes. Jungwon—the one who had unwittingly painted your world in vibrant colors, now literally changing right in front of you.

Suddenly, self-consciousness washed over you like a cold wave. You averted your gaze, stepping back instinctively. “I—I should go finish with the others. They’re probably waiting for me…” Your voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could dwell on it, a paint container wobbled on the edge of the table, knocking into your elbow. In your panic, you stumbled, sending brushes and colors sprawling over yourself. “Oh no!” you yelped, scrambling to clean up the mess.

“Y/N, wait!” Jungwon exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. He stepped closer, his hand closing around yours, halting your frantic movements. “Stop. Just breathe.”

His grip was steadying, grounding you amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. “Let’s find somewhere quiet, okay? You need to clean up.” His voice held a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm inside you.

You felt a rush of warmth at his concern, but your mind spun with confusion. “But… the booth—”

“Trust me,” he said, his gaze unwavering, a silent promise passing between you. “Just for a moment. Let’s talk.”

With a nod, you allowed him to guide you away from the festival’s noise, your heart racing not just from the moment, but from the undeniable connection building between you. The thrill of discovery was tempered by the anxiety of what it all meant, and yet, in Jungwon’s presence, you felt something shift—something new and exciting, just waiting to be explored.

He led you through a quieter section of the campus, where the walls were lined with colorful murals painted by students, the air filled with the faint scent of paint and creativity. The laughter and chatter from the festival faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the distant sound of music drifting from the booths.

As you turned a corner, Jungwon paused, the air around you suddenly thick with anticipation. He glanced around, ensuring you were alone, then leaned against the cool brick wall, his posture relaxed yet focused. His gaze locked onto yours, intensity radiating from him. “My hair… it’s slowly turning blond. Isn’t this what soulmate marks are supposed to be like?”

His words hung in the air, electrifying the space between you. You felt the weight of the moment press down, your heart racing like a wild drum in your chest. “Right… your soulmate mark,” you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying the chaos inside. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might just be a coincidence, but now… it's all starting to make sense.”

Jungwon stepped closer, the seriousness in his expression deepening. “You mean you knew?” His voice was low, the edge of urgency evident. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The air crackled with tension, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I didn’t know it was you! I thought—” you cut yourself off, frustration bubbling within you. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward. You’ve been my crush longer than you’ve been a friend. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep things from being awkward with you, especially when my mark changed?”

Jungwon’s expression shifted, vulnerability breaking through his confidence. “Your mark... is it.… when did it change? Am I—was it before… or after we met?” His voice was tight, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

You took a deep breath, feeling the memories rush back. “The day you carried me to the nurse’s office, you idiot.”

He blinked, taken aback by your response. “Wait… that day? But I thought...”

His expression softened slightly, the intensity in his eyes shifting as he took a step closer. You held your breath as he knelt down, his fingers hovering over your soulmate mark. The moment felt electric, a mix of vulnerability and anticipation coursing through you.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, giving him permission to touch it. As his fingers brushed against your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. Jungwon chuckled softly, the sound breaking some of the tension between you. “Can you believe this? It feels just like yesterday when I accidentally hit my crush with a soccer ball at her knees,” he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “The same crush I’ve wanted to approach since 10th grade but was always too afraid to mess up, especially with how she glares at boys.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of a younger Jungwon fumbling with his words as he tried to impress you suddenly vivid in your mind. “I didn’t mean to scare you off,” you admitted, your heart swelling with warmth. “I thought you were just… confident, you know?”

He shrugged, a hint of shyness creeping back into his demeanor. “I try to be. But it’s hard when you’re crushing on someone who’s out of your league.”

“Out of my league?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jungwon, you’re the captain of the soccer team! Everyone looks up to you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous around you,” he replied, his gaze locking onto yours, sincerity pouring from his words. “It’s different with you. You make me want to be better.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken emotions, each heartbeat echoing the connection that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. You both stood on the edge of something monumental, the laughter of the festival fading away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of what lay ahead.

The next day, Jungwon strolled confidently down the hallway, his head of hair transformed into a stunning honeyed blonde that turned heads with every step. The shift was striking—bold, noticeable, and oddly fitting—making it seem as though he had always intended to embrace this change. Whispers and awestruck glances followed him like a gentle wave, yet beneath that cool exterior, you could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, especially when they met yours.

“Wow, he really went all out,” Arin murmured beside you, her voice a mix of surprise and admiration. “He must’ve bleached the whole thing. I didn’t think Jungwon had that in him.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure while your heart raced. “Yeah… surprising, isn’t it?” you replied, though a smile betrayed your nonchalance as you watched him navigate the crowd like he owned the place.

Unaware of the true significance of his transformation, your classmates continued their commentary. “Looks good on him, though,” one girl remarked, her tone infused with genuine admiration. “Like he was meant to have it all along.”

Jungwon seemed completely unfazed by the attention, wearing his new look with a blend of pride and ease, as if his blonde hair was a badge of honor that only you understood. It was a mark that connected the two of you in ways that no one else could fathom—an intimate secret wrapped in boldness.

As the hallway thinned out, he lingered by his locker, his casual demeanor slipping just a bit as he caught your gaze from across the hall. He lifted a hand, brushing back his hair with an effortless charm that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach—a subtle nod to the secret you shared.

You walked over, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. “It suits you,” you said, keeping your voice low, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

His eyes softened, gratitude shimmering in their depths. “Good to know,” he murmured, his tone low but filled with warmth. “After all, it’s your fault it looks this good.”

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even more as he added, “And don’t worry. The secret’s safe.”

In that crowded hallway, with laughter and footsteps echoing around you, it felt like you and Jungwon were enveloped in your own little world. His blonde hair, like a silent vow, was a reminder of what only the two of you understood: a hidden connection, pulsing with promise and anticipation, waiting to be explored.

[envy-of-the-apple]

The Monster You Know

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: For your own safety, the strongest sorcerer of today kidnaps you.

Word Count: 6.9k

(Warnings: implied masturbation, implied nsfw, implied noncon recording, death of a minor character.....im pretty sure i missed a warning so lemme know any pls)

Instead of waking up in a bed, you find yourself on the floor.

It's not a comfortable spot to sleep in. The carpet is clean, but it's odd because you don't have this type of carpet in your room. Actually, this isn't your room at all. 

But the panic doesn't really set in until you realize your arms are bound. 

You don't notice him until he speaks. You're too busy yanking on the metal, pulling your hand as hard as you could. The cuffs don't even budge. 

"If you keep yanking your arms like that, you might break 'em." 

He's tall, rivaling the door he just walked through. He looks a couple of years older than you, but his white hair can't be natural, not at his age. His blue eyes are lax. The worst part is how relaxed he looks. He has an eased posture and a pretty smile. He's amused, watching you like you’re a pesky mouse trapped in a bucket. 

You don’t know him. You’re stuck in an unfamiliar room, chained to the floor, and you don’t know this man. 

Escape isn’t possible. So you resort to the next best thing: you plead. 

“Who are you?” Your voice is light and wavers on every syllable. “Where-Where am I? Did you bring me here? Please don’t-“

”You always this talkative in the morning?” He dodges your question with a lax grin. “Anyway, uh, sorry about this-“ he gestures to your tied-up form “-I would've used a talisman, but those won’t work on you for obvious reasons. The handcuffs aren’t too tight, are they?” 

He steps closer, and you scream. It’s shrill, filled with a type of fear that makes your blood freeze because you don’t know this man, you don’t know where you are, and he’s getting closer. 

“Okay okay, I get it!” He manages to say over your pleas for help, but he steps back, and it’s enough to quiet your fear. “Obviously, you need some more time alone, so I’m gonna give you a couple more hours. Feel free to take a mint!” He cheerily points to the nightstand. 

He leaves as quickly as he enters. The door shuts but doesn’t lock. You’d be relieved if you weren’t still incapacitated. 

You look around the room. Nothing of value, nothing that you could reach and grab. Apart from a chair, the only other pieces of furniture were a heavy-looking bed and a bolted-down nightstand. Your kidnapper was certainly meticulous. 

The restraints have just enough slack for you to lean over. You peer at the nightstand. A plastic bowl, too flimsy to be made into a weapon. It contains wrapped-white candies. You gingerly pick one up. 

They’re sugar-free. 

He returns to the mints scattered all over the floor. 

“Okay.” He notes, gracefully stepping over the mess. “Clearly, you aren’t a fan of peppermint. 'you a wintergreen kinda’ person?” 

You don’t look at him. You’ve been in the same position you had been in for hours, sitting curled on the floor. By then, your desperation was starting to show through. 

“Please just let me go.” You mutter, your voice so low, it’s a miracle he can hear you. “I don’t have any money. I have nothing to offer.”

”Well, that’s good because I don’t want your money.” He says. “I know this looks pretty bad, but this is for your sake more than mine.”

You look at him just as he squats down to your height. You shift away. he smiles.

”Do you know what sorcerer's are?” 

You blink. 

“It’s fine if you don’t; we all start somewhere, right? A sorcerer is someone who can manipulate cursed energy. I’m a sorcerer! I don’t wanna brag too much, but I’m pretty good at it.” 

He laughs like he’s telling a joke, and you suddenly realize that you were kidnapped by someone who believes he’s a wizard. 

“Guess you’re still lost, huh? How about I just show you instead?” He points to an ironed-out shirt hanging on a rack. You follow his finger. 

He didn't move. There was no machinery. The shirt just crinkled by itself before it dropped to the floor. 

You gape. The man grins. 

"Pretty amazing, right? That's cursed energy, or, my power if you wanna be less technical." 

"Cursed energy." You whisper, a repetition of his words rather than any actual understanding. He beams regardless. 

"Yeah! Well, it's a little more complicated than that, but let's just start with the basics for now. Baby steps." 

Your dread doesn't fade. Earlier, you feared what a man could do to you, tied and defenseless. Now, you wondered what this man wouldn't do to you. 

"Okay, then....why?" You warily ask him. "Why tell me any of this? What's the point?" 

"An excellent question!" He commends you, as though he were your teacher and not your jailor. "See, cursed energy is a bit complicated, but it's extremely effective. In almost every case, it's the solution. Except for you." 

You shrink back. 

"What-what does that mean?"

His grin turns feline. He's enjoying this; seeing you shake, waver beneath his eyes. 

"Exactly what I said: you aren't affected by cursed energy. A sorcerer could use their technique on you, and there won't even be a scratch on your body. You're basically the Eraserhead of the Jujutsu World." 

You stare at him. He hums, drumming his fingers on his thigh. 

"I'm not great at explanations. How about we just have a hands-on experience?" 

He extends his hands. A purple orb crackles to life, slowly gaining mass. 

"Not too big," he says, though it's clear he isn't speaking to you, "don't wanna wreck the room." 

He adjusts his angle so it's facing you. Your eyes widen, and the desperation to wrangle yourself out of the handcuffs grows stronger. 

"Wait, stop!" You pleads fall on deaf ears. "Okay okay. I believe you. I believe you-" He flicks his fingers. You close your eyes just before impact. 

You expected something. Electricity, a shock. Pain. Your body being eviscerated in milliseconds. 

Nothing. Not even a gust of wind. 

When your eyes open, he's grinning at you. 

"See?" He says, "Not even a scratch." 

He's right. Your clothes aren't even rustled, but the evidence is there. The carpet below you is shaved and cleaned off. And the wall closest to you has cracks on it.

You look back up at him. 

"I said I believed you." 

He shrugs. "Doesn't hurt to make sure we're on the same page." His smile is starting to look less scary and more annoying. 

Your mind still struggles to keep up with all the information you've been given. The typhoon of anxiety is coursing through you. 

"So, then....why this?" You mention to the handcuffs. 

"Just a little confirmation you won't go crazy and destroy the place." He supplies happily. "If jujutsu doesn't work on you, then bindings and talismans definitely won't do a thing. Looking back, abduction probably wasn't the greatest idea in the world. I would've figured something else out, but time wasn't on our side in this case. Especially if we wanted you alive." 

You pale at that. He notices. 

"What, you thought I'd be the only person who noticed you? You're an anomaly. In our world, that's dangerous. Also, the bounty on your head is a pretty nice incentive for people to get the job done." 

"A bounty?"

He grins, and the number he gives makes your mouth hang open. 

"Yup, pretty crazy, right? Anyway, until everything settles down, you and I are roomies!" He claps. "Isn't that exciting!?" 

You glance at him. Then, in the room. Then, at your cuffs. Everything was going so fast. The only constant was him. 

"So, I'm not really a prisoner?" You ask. "I could just...leave, right?" 

"Sure you could. If you hear all that and still wanna go, I won't stop you. Promise." He nods. "But you'd be dead as soon as you step out of the apartment." 

It's not a threat. It's a promise. And not from him. That makes it worse. 

This is insane. All of this is insane; who'd believe any of it? But his powers....that can't be faked. As well as everything that he told you. Why would he lie? What reason could he have to deceive you? 

"Okay," you say hesitantly, "just one more thing." 

The man leans in. 

"What's your name?" 

He smiles. 

Becoming Gojo's roommate was an easy transition. 

You’ve always been someone who goes with the flow. Becoming someone's consenting captive isn't a struggle once you get used to it. A few days in and you and your 'captor' have fallen into an easy rhythm. It's easy to grow trusting of him, especially when there are others who can vouch for him. 

"You should be arrested." Ieiri mumbles, checking your wrists. 

"What? I can't believe you're upset with me." Gojo responds though he doesn't sound very panicked. "I was desperate!" 

Ieiri shakes her head, continuing wrapping your wrists. Amid your panic during the first few hours in Gojo's apartment, you managed to sprain your wrists, trying to yank yourself out of the handcuffs. You wince when she presses on your bruised skin. 

"Sorry," she says, voice flat. You smile anyway. 

Ieiri was also a sorcerer, but she had a different technique. Instead of Gojo's destruction, hers revolved around healing. You've never really seen it in action ("My technique won't work on you; even then, it's a sprained wrist. You'll live."), but it sounded pretty powerful. 

"I'm not upset." Ieiri continues. "But I'm surprised you're going along with all this." That sentence is directed at you. 

You shrug while trying to keep still for her. "He was pretty convincing." 

Ieiri raises a brow, before ultimately deciding she doesn't care. 

"Again, I'm very sorry about all this." Ijichi pipes up. Ever since he entered Gojo's flat, he's been doing nothing but begging for your forgiveness for Gojo's abrupt actions. Apologetic, but not very shocked. You're assuming this isn't the first time Gojo has done something like this. 

Gojo's allies were very different from each other, you ultimately decided. 

“We thought we’d have more time to approach you,” he continues with a nervous smile, “we never expected the clans to move so quickly.” 

“Clans?” You ask, “What clans?” 

Ijichi gives Gojo a look. Gojo looks away, whistling. Eventually, Ijichi’s shoulders drop. 

“Some minor clans with dwindling jujitsu sorcerers.” He gives. “And then the bounty happened and well…” he trails off. 

You nod. “So, when will everything go back to normal?”

Gojo grins. Ieiri sighs. It’s Ijichi who gives the most concrete response. 

You look at the three of them. “Or will things ever go back to normal?”

”It’s hard to say,” Ijichi says, “news travels fast in the jujutsu world, but it’s not improbable. Miyashiro will let us know eventually.” 

"Miyashiro?” 

To answer your question, Ijichi pulls out his phone. You stare at a picture of yourself. But you know you’ve never been in that restaurant before. 

“It’s his technique.” Ijichi tells you. “Flesh manipulation. For the time being, Miyashiro will pose as you and can hopefully air out any potential bounty hunters. He’s the perfect man for the job.” 

You nod, a bit skeptical. “Isn’t this a bit dangerous? Aren’t people trying to kill me?” 

Ijichi tucks away his phone. “Miyashiro is one our best. He'll be fine.” He assures. 

Satisfied with your answers, you nod. Ieiri pulls away after she finishes wrapping your hand. Gojo claps his hands together. 

“See, roomie? You’re in great hands!” He chirps. You nod, if only to seem compliant. 

Apart from Gojo himself, Ieiri and Ijichi are the only ones who know about your predicament, his most trusted people. The rest of the world is unaware that there's someone posing as you, nor that you've gone into hiding. Not your friends. Not even your family. ("It's for the best," Ijichi explained when you voiced your worries, "but we promise, once the bounty is down, we'll return you back to your life. It'll be like nothing ever happened.").

Settling in barely takes a week. Gojo's nice enough to lend you his room, more than happy to set up in the living room. Despite how you two 'met', he's quickly proven to be a nice guy. 

Nice. Just nice. 

To be honest, you don't know all that much about Gojo. He's letting you stay in his home, but you don't see him all that much. Gojo is gone pretty much all day. Sometimes, he's gone for days on end. The apartment feels more like yours than his. 

"I'm the strongest." He told you when you asked. You don't know what he means by that, so you didn't pry. 

Despite the awkwardness, you don't mind the distant relationship. The man probably has his day packed with hunting down demons and this school he talked about. 

The change doesn't happen until two weeks after you move in. 

You weren't allowed to have a phone, nor any internet access, so you mostly spent your time doing hobbies. You've always wanted to learn to crochet, and now you finally had time to actually learn. Drawing also took some hours out of your day. And eventually, you moved onto cooking. 

Ijichi was more than happy to grab you the grocery items when you asked. When you insisted on paying him back, he declined profusely. He was actually the one who organized getting your things and really moving you in. You have another thing you owe these people. 

Cooking was a steep learning curve. Before, you'd only made simple sandwiches and curries, so the food starting out wasn't the best. But you enjoyed the journey more, rather than the end result. Pretty soon, you became pretty good at it. 

Gojo wasn't home often these days, so you jump when the front door clicks open. He takes off that blindfold he's always wearing, blinking a couple times before his blue gaze settles on you in the kitchen. 

"What's all this?" He cocks his head. He isn't smiling. 

Oh no. You remembered getting permission to use his kitchen, but maybe he hadn't expected you to go this far? The kitchen is a mess. There's flour everywhere. You still hadn't washed the cutting board, nor the knives. 

"I'm sorry," you say, "I-I can clean up and-" 

He waves his hand. "It's fine. I'm not mad, I just..." He drifts off. 

You suddenly have a feeling that you might've misread this entire situation. 

"Would you like some?" You ask. "I think I made too much." 

"I could eat," he says.

You smile. 

A few moments later, the two of you are settled on the table. Gojo's never been so quiet before. In the short time you've known him, he's always been boisterous and playful. Now, he's silent. Staring at the food. 

You hold your breath when he takes his first bite. 

"It's good." He says, his mouth full. It's cute. "Really, really good. Damn." 

You laugh out of nerves. 

"You think so? I'm glad! It was my first time trying out this recipe and I wasn't sure if it'd turn out well and..." you're rambling, you know that. You can't help yourself. 

"No, it's good. Real good," he says. It's silent again, but not as uncomfortable this time. The only thing you hear is the clanking of silverware and the hum of the lights. Outside the window, the city lights twinkle. 

You're on your last bite when he speaks again. 

"'been a while since I've had a homecooked meal." He starts with a slight laugh. "Kinda' forgot what it's like." 

You think of the fridge. How it was only ever stacked with protein shakes and instant meals. Gojo was a sorcerer. The strongest. You think you get what that means now. 

"I wouldn't mind doing this more often," you say. 

He looks at you with the prettiest blue you've ever seen. The color of a bright cloudless sky. 

"I think I'd like that." 

Who ever said the phrase 'the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach' was onto something. Your friendship with Gojo bloomed after that night. On the seldom nights he came home, dinner was made and sitting on the table. It took a few days for the two of you to warm up enough to talk to each other. Once Gojo got going, it was a lot harder to shut him up. He talked about his school, his work as a teacher for other jujutsu sorcerers. You liked the way he talked about his students. Nothing but pride and affection .

On the nights he didn't come home, you'd save the leftovers in the fridge. They were usually gone by the morning. 

He was around a lot more after that night. Not that you minded, it was his house. You just didn't get a few things about him. For example, that blindfold of his. Why wear it when it was clear he couldn't see with it on? 

You decide to bring it up the third time he nearly runs you over.

"It's part of my technique." He explains. "The six eyes. They're basically cursed energy x-rays. The blindfold just limits their strength." 

You were lounged on the sofa watching TV while he was plopped right next to you. He's switched his blindfold for his glasses. 

"Oh," you say when it clicks, "and since I block people's abilities you..." 

"Yup! Can't see you at all!" Gojo happily fills in. "It doesn't help that you're so quiet. Maybe I should put a bell on you." 

You laugh, but it doesn't sound like he was joking. 

"What's it like?" You ask, turning to him, "Seeing the way, you see? What-what do you see?"

"Everything." Gojo shrugs. 

You frown. "That's not very descriptive." 

He laughs. "Here, wanna try?" He takes off his glasses, handing them over. "These things are real popular with the ladies." 

He's avoiding the question, but you don't bother chasing him for it. Instead, you grab the lenses, pulling them over your eyes. You expect to see the secrets of the universe. Instead, you see nothing but darkness. Though, that might be the point.  

"Everything, hm?" You ask, when you take them off. "That sounds exhausting." 

He takes them back with a grin. "It is! My eyes hurt so so much! You should pity me and make matcha tiramisu." 

You laugh, drawing back. "That's what this is about? To guilt trip me into making dessert for you?" 

"Did it work?" 

You think for a moment.

"Get me the ingredients, and I'll see." 

He cheers but doesn't fully answer your question until the episode ends when you've bid him goodnight and are about to return to the bedroom. 

"You're blurry from far away." 

When you look at him, his glasses are gone, tucked under his collar. It's night, but the sky still stares down at you. His usual smile is gone, stretched into a line you can't place. 

"I can see down to molecules, atoms. Not you." 

You look at him, his eyes. The beautiful curse they are. 

You force yourself to take the first step. Then another. Then another. When you're right in front of him, when he's towering over you, you open to your mouth. 

"What do you see, Gojo?" 

"Everything." He honestly replies. 

Everything. Not just cursed energy. Down to cells, molecules, atoms. You can't fathom how much that is, the essence of everything. What's that like? Being able to see the universe so much that it hurts? So much so that it makes him want to wear a blindfold and never see anything again. 

But you're blurry. Gojo can't see you the way he sees others. 

You reach your hands up slowly like you're approaching a wild animal. In some ways, maybe that's what Gojo is: unpredictable, able to wield the power of space—power that's useless against you. 

You cover his eyes. He doesn't stop you. 

"What do you see, Satoru?" 

He doesn't speak, and you're afraid he's forgotten how. 

"Nothing." Quiet, barely more than a whisper.

He slouches ever so slightly, leaning into your hands like some weight's been lifted. It makes you smile. 

When you try to pull your hands away, his wrap around your wrist, keeping you there. So you stay—for as long as he wants. 

It starts something of a tradition between the two of you. Not every night, not even most nights, but every so often, Satoru would grow quiet, shift in a particular way. You hoped it was therapeutic for him, a break rather than a glimpse of what could have been. You hoped you were helping. 

And, if you were torturing him, hopefully, you won't be for long. 

"How much longer do you think I have to do this?" You ask. 

He hums, clearly not paying attention. You two were in the kitchen, making some sweet he saw trending on the internet. Well, you were doing all the work. Satoru kept trying to steal the batter. 

"You know. Sleeping under your roof, eating all your food, stealing you bed." You urge, while whisking. 

"You're acting like I've been keeping you in the attic, roomie." Satoru pouts. "C'mon, I haven't been that bad, have I?" 

"I'm asking for your sake rather than mine," you tell him. "I'm sure you'll be thrilled to have your house back, and your bed. When will everything settle down?" 

His blindfold is on, as it usually is. To help him out, you've taken to wearing squeaky slippers around the house. He'd offered to buy you one of those cat collars with bells. You declined. 

He's looking in your direction. You know he can't see you, but you can still feel his eyes on you. It's a strange feeling. 

"There's talks of taking down the bounty," Satoru finally says, losing his playful tone, "just rumors, nothing concrete. Worst comes to worst, we'll have to relocate you somewhere overseas." 

Yeah, you were worried about that. Leaving everything behind, your home, your friends, your family, because your life was in danger. You hoped it wouldn't have to come to that. 

"We have a couple of options, though," Satoru says, "negotiations, for one." 

You perk up at that. "Negotiations?" You ask. 

He nods. "Right now, you're under my protection. Unofficially. I could pull some strings, get those old geezers at the academy to take you in as some special assistant." 

You tilt your head. "Like at the school that you teach, right?" 

He nods. "We have a case like yours attending the school, too. I think you and him would get along." 

"Your ability could be pretty useful to us. You might even get out in the field every so often." Satoru continues. "A special technique like that would be wasted down here." 

Special. He's said that before. You can't remember when, but you know he's right. You're an anomaly, but you can use your abilities for good. But could you really do that? Risk your life every day? Lose pieces of yourself like that?

"I don't really feel special," you say, "I don't want to be special either." You glance at him. "Is that a bad thing?" 

Even blindfolded, somehow, his eyes find yours. 

"No," he says, no judgment in his voice, "it just makes you human." 

Relief. You can feel it sinking through your veins. Part of you feels guilty. Satoru is right; you could do a lot. But you...you don't want to end up like him. 

That makes you feel even worse, but then you catch something in his tone. 

"You sound like you're not very human," you say back. You're teasing, but it falls flat. 

He hums. It's not quite the response you were looking for. It takes a second for him to start up again. 

"When I was younger, people used to call me creepy." 

You stare at him. 

"What?." 

He grins, but it's not his usual one. 

"It's true." He shrugs. "Mostly, it was 'cause of my eyes. They called them unnerving. Monstrous. My folks were always a creative bunch." He says it so casually, but you can hear the bite on his voice. It's phrased as a joke, but it isn't.

You put down your whisk, giving him your full attention. 

"That's not true," you respond, "you know that, right? You aren't a monster. Monsters aren't as kind as you are." 

"Oh?" He tilts his head. "Maybe I'm using my kindness as a lure to trap you. Guess you just fell for it, roomie. 'thought you were smarter than that." You roll your eyes. 

"Okay, fine, I yield. You're a monster. But out of all the monsters in the world, I'd pick you." 

For a moment, there's silence in the kitchen. Then- 

"So cheesy!" Satoru laughs. He reaches over, roughly pinching your cheek. "Who knew you could say such cute things, roomie." 

You slap his hands away, now extremely annoyed. 

"Nevermind. I take it back," you retort. "I'd run away as far as I could from you." 

"Good, you should," he replies. "I won't stop you." 

You scoff. 

"Maybe that's why everyone thought you were creepy." You go back to your whisking. "It's not your eyes, you just say a lot of ominous shit." 

Despite how peaceful it is, making desert, cooking, and acting domestic, it can't last forever. The world was still hunting for you, and it had no problems reminding you of that. 

One night, you wake up to the sounds of hushed talking. 

It's coming from the living room. Multiple voices. Quiet but urgent. You're used to the noise. Satoru has this habit of blasting terrible soap operas at 2 am. You don't think that man sleeps. Over time, you've gotten used to at least one disturbance. 

But this feels different. It's enough to rub the sleep out of your eyes, making you pad over to the hall. 

They hear you before they see you. Satoru's apartment has creaky floorboards. Ijichi tugs on the collar of his shirt nervously. Ieiri just looks away. Satoru is leaning back against the couch, legs crossed. He's frowning. That's how you know something isn't right. 

"Is everything okay?" You ask anyway. 

Ijichi gives a tight grin. 

"Everything's fine." He's quick to console. "We-we were just-" 

"Stop." Satoru immediately cuts in. He's wearing his blindfold. You can't tell what he's thinking. 

"We're not hiding it. Everyone involved should know." 

Ijichi deflates. You think Ieiri sneers. 

Satoru beckons you closer with long fingers. You step forward. They're sitting around a computer. You peek at the screen.

Instantly, you wish you hadn't. 

There were pictures of you. Dead. Your body parts were strewn across the floor. Your hands were broken in every other way. Your legs were in pieces. Your head snapped clean off, blood oozing from your appendages like you were just a packet of liquid. One of your eyes was missing from its socket. The other was crushed. But it wasn't you, it was- 

"Miyashiro. At least, what's left of him." Satoru gives.  

The doppelganger, the guy who was covering for you. He was supposed to be one of their best; what happened to him? 

What was going to happen to you? 

They're talking again. At least, you think they are. Their words are muffled, filtered through water. You can't make out what anyone is saying. Your heart's beating too fast. It's pounding through your ears. You can only stare at the picture, what was left of him. Someone's touching you. A hand on your back. 

"Roomie, hey," Satoru's voice comes.

The pounding stops. You look up at him. 

Angelic. It's the only word you could think of. His snow-white hair was pretty, falling elegantly down his face. He'd taken his blindfold off. Blue eyes, sparkling, cleansing. Purifying, like the Ganges river. 

How could anyone think a beautiful sight like this was monstrous? 

He calls your name, your real name, and you break. 

You cling to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. And you're sobbing, tears of everything flowing down your face. 

Hands, hesitant, unsure, rest on your back. And then Satoru's holding you as tightly as he can.

He's warm. It's all you can think as you shake in his hold. 

He's warm. 

"I won't have to worry about that if I just gave in, hm?" You ask. 

It was a couple of days later from your episode. Satoru had convinced you to give one of his soap operas a shot. On-screen, a woman slapped her cheating husband. 

Satoru was lounging beside you, feet propped up on the coffee table. You want to tell him off, but it's his house. 

"If you went to the school, you mean?" He asks. "Probably. You'd be a lot freer. Won't have to sit in a cramped apartment all day. 'sides, jujutsu tech is always on the lookout for fresh talent. The higher-ups would be ecstatic to have someone like you under their thumb." 

"But I'd have to become a sorcerer." You say the unspoken. 

Gojo nods. "Yeah, you would." 

And you don't want that. To face curses, to face death every day. You know you can't handle that. You aren't strong, like Satoru. 

"I'm sorry," you say. 

He laughs. "For what?" 

You shrug as the on-screen couple makes up again. "For being...a coward, I guess."

He thinks for a moment. 

"It's not about bravery," he says in the end, "being a sorcerer is just...that. A sorcerer. It's a job. A title. Only a special few can do it. The crazy ones." 

His tone gets a bit playful. 

"No offense, roomie, but I don't think you got enough crazy in you." 

"That's a compliment, actually." You correct. He ignores you. 

"'sides, I like you staying here." Satoru declares, stretching his arms out on the couch. "Who'd feed me? It'd be horrible to go back to ramen again." 

You roll your eyes. "Right. Who else will wake at 2 am because of your whining to make wagashi?" 

"See! You get it!" Satoru grins. You can't force the smile off your face. 

The husband's mistress has entered the set. The wife is confident that her husband will choose her. She's left heartbroken all over again. You don't get how she couldn't see it. The red flags were all there, and still, she was left blindsided. Never saw it coming. She trusts too easily, you decided. 

"Also, I like having you here," Satoru says. 

You glance at him. He's watching the screen. 

"It's...nice." He admits after a bit. "To have company like this. It reminds me of back when I was younger. When the two of us lived in the dorms." 

When he was a student? Who was he talking about? You don't pry. It's clear he isn't talking to you. 

"I'm glad you're here," Satoru says. 

Lightly, you bump shoulders with him. Infinity doesn't stop you. 

"You're a sweet monster." You tell him. 

He gives a secret grin. 

Every once in a while, Gojo peeks into the bedroom while you're sleeping. 

He's subtle about it, doesn't make too much noise. You're a light sleeper, so it takes little to nothing to wake you up. 

He doesn't do anything. He stands there, shuffles here and there, hovering by the foot of the bed. You just pretend to be asleep in those cases, evening out your breaths, closing your eyes. It's always the same. He loiters around for a minute, and then he's shutting the door behind him. 

It's strange, but you try not to think too much of it. He was probably looking for something. It's his room after all. 

It's just...strange. 

You find it when you're looking through his book shelf. 

He doesn't have anything interesting to read. It's mainly just historical novels. You're perusing through one before a photograph falls out of the pages. 

It's tiny, barely larger than your palm. It only takes a second to realize what you're looking at. 

"Found your baby pictures." You gleefully tell Satoru when he comes back. 

"What?" He tilts his head; you wave the photo in front of him. When he tries to take it, you pull back. 

"Tiny Satoru!" You squeal. "Who knew you were once so small? I always thought you were born six feet over." 

It's a simple photograph, a little aged, but still clear. Satoru looks about eight, standing between a man and a woman. His face is eerily blank. He stares with no emotion, not even a smile. He isn't wearing sunglasses or a blindfold. Doll-like blue eyes. You don't feel like you're looking at a child. He's too-

"Are those your parents?" You ask, letting him take the photograph from you. 

"No," he says, "my caretakers." 

Caretakers. Not nannies, or anything else. It felt so clinical. You lean against his shoulder, still staring at the photograph. 

"You look cute." You finally say. When you peak over, a hint of a smile is twitching on his face. "But I totally agree with everyone. You look creepy. Like one of those children from the exorcist. Climbing over the walls." 

"I never grew out of that phase." Satoru ponders. You laugh. 

"What was it like?" You ask. "You said you're from a clan, right?" 

"Exhausting." Satoru groans. "Never a break from training. I should go back and sue my folks for child abuse. I could get millions." 

"I could help you with that." You pipe in. "I've never gone to law school, but I feel like I'd make a great lawyer." 

"I'll keep that in mind." He promises teasingly before his smile fades. 

"But that's the norm for most kids in jujutsu." He sighs. "Gotta' be perfect. Gotta' be the best, right from the beginning. There's a student I know who had a rough start, but she's the best in her class. Her clan didn't care about her potential. Those kids are all scary talented, they just need a bit of nurturing, that's all." 

You stare at him. He catches you. 

"What?" He asks, before his eyes widen. "Do I have a pimple?" 

You shake your head. "For some reason, I feel like that's impossible for you." You tease.

"I'm just admiring you, I think. For being such a kind person." 

"I thought we agreed I was a monster." Satoru points out. 

This again. You roll your eyes. 

"Fine, a good monster." You correct. "A monster, I know." 

"The monster you know." He repeats

You want to ask him why he's so insistent on that. For some reason, you hold your voice. 

Satoru's apartment had two bathrooms. Lately, the one in the bedroom has had some issues. 

It's been awkward lately trying to share the only working bathroom. Satoru and you shower at around the same time, so you've opted to hold back your morning routine a little later. You still manage to catch each other. The amount of times you've accidentally caught him walking around with nothing but a towel around his waist would be too mortifying to admit. 

But, so far, it's working. And you can't complain since you at least have one working bathroom. It's the little things. 

Tonight, you wake up to your bladder urging you to move. And yet, your body still wants to sleep. You check the time. It's nearly 2 in the morning.

It takes a while to pull yourself up, unraveling yourself from the covers before you're trudging out the bedroom. Satoru's apartment is so dark. It's a completely different look compared to daytime. You feel your way with the walls, letting your eyes adjust to the dark. When you peek over at the living room, Satoru isn't there. He must not be coming home tonight. 

The bathroom is shut, but there's a sliver of light bleeding under the door. Fuck, you did not shut the lights off last time. You need to be less careless. 

At first, you think Satoru's hurt. 

He looks hurt. He's hunched over, shaking shoulders, harsh breathing. You can only see his back, but he looks like he's in agony. You're about to step forward, ask what happened, and then you catch a glimpse of what he's clutching. 

Pretty, blue, laced panties. 

Your panties. 

And you're close enough to hear his voice whispering your name. Over and over again. 

"Fuck, fuck, baby, need you, just lemme-just lemme, all mine, all mine-"

He doubles over, tightening his grip on the edge of the sink. Your panties are damp. 

You flinch, and in your moment of panic, you step back. Creaky floorboards. 

Satoru looks up in the mirror. You don't move. 

He takes his time. Placing his phone down. Adjusting his pants, washing his hands. You can only stand there, frozen. Staring. Staring until he's in front of you, looking right back. 

You might have forgiven him if he had fumbled, laughed it off, became bashful. A human reaction. His face is eerily blank. He stares with no emotion, not even a smile. His eyes mirror that photograph. Doll-like, absolutely empty. 

Monstrous. 

Your eyes water. He turns blurry for a second. 

Satoru steps aside. You wordlessly enter the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You don't bother locking. 

You don't know how long you stay there, quiet, shaking, your mind trying to piece together what you just saw. You stay there for hours. You stay there for seconds. Time stretches on like infinity itself, yet even then, it's too short. 

You're alone with him. It's a thought you never even had until now. You're alone with him. 

Satoru is outside. You don't look at him, staring at the floor, looking at the carpet, counting each strand. You keep your head down when you return to the bedroom. 

He follows. You say nothing. You don't look. You don't look, even when the covers shift and he gets into bed behind you. You don't look, even when there's a hand on your shoulder. You don't look, even when there's a chest pressed against your back. 

You shiver, you shake. You don't look. He says nothing, even when you break down completely. 

You wake up alone the next morning. 

You don't waste a second. You're stumbling through the room, picking up your clothes, packing everything that you need. You're so panicked that you manage to knock over an alarm clock. 

It's habit to reach down and pick it up. Learned politeness to scrutinize it to make sure it isn't broken. 

A black dot stares back at you. 

A camera. 

Horrible memories of last night come back. He was watching something on his phone. 

You feel nauseous, about to give all over the floor. You need to go. You needed to get out of there. 

The apartment is silent, like it always is when Satoru isn't here. You just hadn't noticed how cold it was, lifeless. It makes the pit on your stomach gap. You expect the windows to be bolted shut. They aren't. Sunlight streams through the glass. The front door is unbarred too. 

It's easy to leave. 

You stop anyway. One question. 

Where would you go? 

You can't go back home. Miyashiro's body still haunts you. His soul in your body, torn apart with such hatred and vitriol. Those people were still looking for you. The only reason you were still alive was because Miyashiro took your death bed. 

You'd die if you went back home. 

You can't go to jujutsu tech. You'd be expected to lay down your life, serve a maskless force that pretended to do good. You'd certainly die. Ripped apart by curses. 

You'd be slaughtered if you went to the school.

Every route is treacherous, nearly impossible, full of dangers and unknowns. 

At least, you know what Satoru wants. 

He's made it clear since the beginning. You were just willfully ignorant. Oblivious on purpose. More than happy to ignore the red flags because you knew he was a kind person to his students, ignoring the dichotomy of his actions. 

Two things can be right at once. 

Satoru won't stop you if you run. He told you that himself. You could leave if you wanted, and he won't follow. But every other path is filled with an intangible value, and Satoru is the monster you know. 

Your hand falls away from the doorknob. 

You get started on dinner.

You're still there when Satoru comes back. You say nothing. Neither does he. Dinner is a quiet affair. He doesn't talk about his day, he doesn't talk about his students. When you wash the plates, he's quietly standing behind you. When you get out of the shower, he's waiting outside the bathroom. 

You can't bring yourself to look at him until you get into bed. Your eyes trail up, past his legs, his shoulders, his neck. Looking into Satoru's crystal blue eyes. 

Blank. Numb. Empty. 

You think of the cameras. You think of your stolen underwear. 

You think of how much his eyes must hurt right then. 

You raise one hand out, grasping the sleeve of his shirt. It's barely a tug, but the monster follows like he's weightless, crawling into bed. He's too big to hold properly, but he sinks into your body anyway. His forehead rests against your chest. His eyes close. You don't feel that ice anymore. 

“What do you see, Satoru?” 

“Nothing.” A pause. A stilted breath. 

“Nothing but you.” 

He was right in the end. Satoru is a monster. There's no other word that can describe him. Inhuman, far above humanity itself. But he's the monster you'd pick, every single time.

[capsi-cuminme]

Blowing Off Steam

summary: in which you're very stressed, and sparring is the only way you can destress. you're having trouble finding a partner though, so logan volunteers to help.

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mild swearing, fingering, some dirty talk, lots of horny thoughts, 18+ MDNI

author's note: ahhhh sweaty logan on a fighting mat is all i need. anyways, thank you guys sm for the response on my other fic, as a gift i bring you smut ;)

•──✦──•

You’re stressed. You’ve been overworking yourself, you know it, and you need to relax, destress. Your body feels wound up with tension and energy, and you’re unable to release it. It’s not like you have super complicated abilities that mess with your mind and make you lose your shit, no - that’s Jean’s set of troubles, not yours. Your ability is simple enough - super strength. 

So what is it that isn’t simple then? Right. Someone you can actually truly train with and exert yourself out with. There aren’t a load of people who can physically keep up with your strength, not except Colossus, and even he’s just a kid. So when, at times, you want to blow some steam by training, you have next to no one to do it with. 

Or, you didn’t, not until Logan came along. You’ve sparred with him a couple of times, but only for excessively short periods of time, due to you not being able to keep your shit together because of his overwhelming attractiveness. Honestly, you don’t think it’s your fault that you’re unable to focus; his arms look like he could rip apart logs of wood with them, his shoulders are so wide that they’re practically made for people to rest their ankles on, and his demeanor - his understated, wolfish demeanor makes you go insane. 

And as if all these things weren’t bad enough on their own, they tend to get exponentially exemplified whenever you guys spar. Obviously, fighting makes him breathe hard and stuff. So your life becomes even tougher. 

Really, you aren’t trying to be horny around him all the time. But that’s the thing. You’re pent up, stressed, overworked. Being a member of the X-Men means that it gets really hard to get laid due to several factors, and then when your coworkers are so hot? God help you. 

As you sit on the gym’s bench, staring at the sparring mats, you strain your mind to think of someone to spar with. You could ask Colossus, the kid’s always more than ready and could give you some competition on one of your bad days. But there’s too much of a risk. You’re already restless with energy, itching to let yourself go; in case the kid isn’t prepared or you get too excited, you’d end up hurting him, which is something you can’t risk. 

You could maybe go to Ororo and Scott, ask them to come at you together? The two of them together would successfully tire you out. Maybe they’d become a bit more than you’re mentally willing to handle. You don’t want to have to strategise at every step. 

God, you just need someone who can handle whatever you throw at them without having to think too much. Unfortunately for you, there’s only one person in the mansion who can do that. 

“Oh hey Bub, what you doing here? Got no classes to teach?” The somehow smooth but gravelly voice breaks you out of your train of thought as you turn to look at Logan, entering the gymnasium. 

Internally rejoicing at his choice of clothes - the white wifebeater under the oversized jacket - while simultaneously praying that he isn’t here to stay, you get up from your seat to speak to him. “Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to blow off some steam.”

“And you’re blowing off steam by… sitting on the bench?” He raises an eyebrow, looking at you questioningly. 

You sigh through your nose, smiling exhaustedly. “No, genius. I was confused about what I should do to destress.”

Your prayers go down the drain as you notice his eyes light up at the prospect of a sparring partner. Nodding to the mats, he asks, “You wanna go?”

Tongue in cheek, you review your options for a moment. Go to bed frustrated and stressed, or fight an extremely attractive man who’s also able to keep up with you. 

“Sure, let’s go.” 

And that’s how you find yourself attempting to elbow Logan in the face. He dodges and takes a step back, but not too far. Turning, you see the grin etched on his face. Taking it as a challenge, you feign a movement to the right, but attack from the left. Your arm aims for his face, but he deflects it by pushing your momentum to one side, stepping away and behind you and putting you into a headlock.

“What’s up?” he murmurs into your ear. “Can’t figure out what to do? Are you really that tired, huh?” 

You felt his chest heave from behind you, his warm breath tickling your ear. Body humming with excitement and mind buzzing with the thrill of finally being in an equal match, you grit your jaw, throwing your head back against his. As much as you enjoy the tone of his voice, you hope it hits him in the mouth just so he can shut up, because being aroused is not something you’re looking forward to. 

Yes you’re horny, maybe even a little perverted, but you truly don’t have any ulterior motives. 

Logan hisses as his grip on you loosens. Shimmying your way out of his grip, you lunge at him, arms ready to swing, but instead of throwing a punch when you get near, you use your leg to swipe at his legs, resulting in him landing on his back.

Silently rejoicing, you straddle him, pulling your arm back to land a punch on his jaw, but unfortunately he grabs hold of your arms before you can do that. As a result, you’re left heaving on top of him, arms immobile, face right above his. You don’t miss the way he breathes, sweat trickling down his forehead, eyes glinting with something you can’t fully identify. You also don’t miss the dampness of your underwear, the electricity you feel where you’re sitting on him. You realize you’re playing a dangerous game. Just as you’re about to make a move to get up, Logan suddenly moves you by the grip he has on your arms, slamming you onto the mats with considerable force. He looms on top of you, looking down. You squeak in indignant surprise, but he pins your arms on both sides of your face, lodging his thigh between yours. You gasp, not expecting the sudden escalation of events. “Darling, you know I’ve got a heightened sense of smell, right?” he asks, drawling. “I can smell your arousal, practically feel how you’re soaking down there.” Eyes wide and mouth agape, you stare up at him, not sure what to say, how to apologize. “Logan, I- I’m sor-” “Don’t have to say a word, Darling, I’m the same as you,” he emphasizes his point by rolling his hips against yours. You whimper quietly, feeling his erection pressing against your clit. “If I’m not interpreting this correctly, you can stop me,” he hums, getting closer to your face. Waiting for your approval, he looks at you. You close the distance between the both of you, borderline moaning as you feel his tongue grazing against your lips, asking to enter your mouth. More than willing, you grant him entry freely, whimpering as his tongue explores your mouth. You break the kiss, short of breath, but your distance doesn’t last long. Logan is sloppily making out with you as he grinds against you. Your bodies move hurriedly, in urgent need of release. 

“Lo,” you gasp between the kisses, “need you so bad, please.” He complies, hands leaving your arms as he gets on his haunches and quickly unbuttons your pants, pulling them down. His hand moves to your pussy, thumb pressing against your clit, gauging your reaction. Your eyes widen due to the unexpected movement, and you gasp. Satisfied with your response, he rubs short, quick circles against your clit, stimulating you as he slowly pushes in one finger. You moan, hands reaching down to stop the sudden intrusion. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, so your body’s sensitivity is at an all-time high. Logan doesn’t care, swatting away your hands, slipping in another finger. He moves them in shallow thrusts, stretching you out while looking for the spot that’ll finally get you wound up enough for his liking. You bite your lip to keep yourself silent, staring at the way Lo’s fingers pump in and out of you, making a mess out of your cunt. Suddenly, his fingers press into that spot that you’re never quite able to reach yourself, making you let out a loud moan. “Lo, Lo please, right there please, don’t stop-” you break your own voice off with an even louder whimper, eyes closing due to the pleasure. Logan watches you with keen eyes trained on your face. He speeds up his fingers and thumb, enjoying your reaction thoroughly, as it ignites something deep within him. He palms himself lightly, hissing as he realizes how hard he is. “Shit, darling, you make me insane,” he mumbles, guiding one of your hands to the bulge in his jeans, making you feel him. Your mouth falls open with a little “oh,” as you feel him. You try to palm him to relieve some of his tension, but fail as his fingers pump in and out of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. “O- oh God, Lo, I’m cumming, please please please-” you moan loudly as your orgasm crashes over you, thrashing on the mat. Logan holds down your hips, continuing his languid movements, easing you out of the feeling in waves. As you finally relax, catching your breath, you look up at him, unsure of what comes next. Usually by this point, guys tended to take their own pants off. Logan’s were still very much on. Before you could verbalize your confusion, he speaks. “I think we’ve blown enough steam off in the gym,” he chuckles. “I don’t want Charles to gim’me looks the entire month. I say we take this upstairs bub, what d’ya say?”

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s even asking, when there’s only one possible answer you could make out through the haziness of your mind. “Yes, let’s go.”

[hanasnx]

“ I CAN FEEL IT, CAN YOU FEEL IT, THERE MUST BE SOMETHING IN THE AIR ” — rafe cameron.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: kinktober; takes place in obx s4 e1 but there’s a slight change; also happy birthday @princessbrunette :) i wrote this for you in mind; and based off of the scene in f&f where dom picks letty up calling her his trophy. WARNINGS: spoiler warning for obx season 4 episode 1 ノ non canon compliant: i made rafe win the race ノ size difference ノ established relationship ノ objectification ノ impact play: ass smack ノ mild exhibitionism bcos of pda ノ praise ノ sexual content: p in v stuff ノ dirty talk.

Your feet sink into the sand as you traipse alongside RAFE CAMERON to his station in the race. His large hand envelopes yours, keeping you balanced as he leads you to his bike. The roar of revving fills your ears, loud enough for your boyfriend to have to lean down to your level to speak to you, walking you through the process and your role here. You’ve never been a flag girl before, but he told you she needs to be a “hot piece of ass” and he wants these boys heads still spinning when he wins the race. As a distraction, you were the only girl he wanted for the job.

“… and all you gotta do, baby, is make sure those guys are lookin’ at you. Show off a little something—just this once, I don’t care.” he explains, and you nod your head while brushing your hair out of your face from the wind. The two of you stand aside his bike and he mounts it, swinging a long leg over it. It creaks from his weight, and you roll your tongue between your lips. Without sunglasses, his gaze is narrowed, meeting yours in the light as he tugs you closer to him. “You look good. Prettiest girl on Figure Eight.” he assures you, the corner of his lips quirked as he checks you out. The tiniest booty shorts you could find and a stringy bikini top, you looked good enough to eat. If Rafe wasn’t so concerned with crossing the finish line while these cucks were still drooling over you, he’d be a little jealous they get such a treat. “Man, you are eye candy. Give me a twirl, c’mon.”

It eases your nerves, grinning bashfully to yourself as he raises your hand over your head, twisting on your toes to show him your outfit. He bites his lower lip hard at the sight of the underside of your ass hanging out of your shorts, and he can’t help but give you a tap. You whirl around from the swat, and catch his eyes flash up.

“Mm, baby.” he exclaims, talking about you like you’re dessert and he’s got a sweet tooth. He doesn’t give you a chance to scold him for smacking your ass around all these people, “C’mere,” he murmurs, yanking you to him until your body is draped over him on his bike. Your manicured nails brace on his chest while he steals a kiss, humming in surprise at him when he tilts his head to deepen it. Takes advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue along yours in a proper good-luck-kiss, which only makes for a string of spit to connect the two of you when you part. You breathe hard, chest rising and falling from thrill as you search his expression. There’s a glow of love-sickness in his eyes.

You try to milk more attention. “I don’t know if I can…” you begin, alluding to how shy you’re gonna be in front of all these people.

“Oh, don’t start that shit, you’re gonna be fine.” he dismisses, seeing right through you and shrugging you off him so you get it’s time to stop being clingy. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” He plucks his helmet up, and rounds his body to place it on his head while you reluctantly leave him.

When it’s time to start the race, you hold up two bandanas—donated by some guys trying to buy you drinks—and Rafe scoffs to himself, patting himself on the back for being such a genius. “Who wouldn’t be lookin’ at you?” he thinks, while he revs his bike. You even give the crowd a little shake, your girls strapped in your bikini top swinging teasingly right before you set them off with the bow of your bandanas and the low dip of your arch. Rafe could’ve sworn one guy glanced over his shoulder to check out your ass bent over because he lost control of his steering for a second after. The race was on, and you did your job exactly how your boyfriend wanted you to.

Some kook with too much time on his hands made his way through the crowd to invite himself into your atmosphere, watching you as you eagerly await Rafe’s return and your signal to drop the flags for the winner.

A voice too close to your ear alerts you, resulting in a minute jolt of your body when he speaks. “What are you doing after this?”

Brows furrow as you glance over your shoulder at him, “Oh, uh, I dunno right now.” you reply, but you’re not showing interest. It would depend on Rafe’s victory. You refocus, keeping an eye on the horizon and the roaring metal of competitive bikes. Rejoining the crowd’s enthusiasm, you react with them when someone wipes out.

“Me and the boys were gonna head to a kegger in the boneyard. You should come.” he tells you. Again, too close for your liking. He’s not particularly bad-looking, or grabby, but you don’t like how he’s standing right next to you and stooping to speak in your ear.

You face him again to respond, but the race takes your attention away, shutting your mouth to whirl around just in time to see Rafe drive back into view, sand kicking up behind his wheel.

After a close call, he wins, and when it’s safe, the adoring crowd cheers as it floods the scene to congratulate the riders. You’re one of them, beelining to Rafe without a second thought. He’s discarded his helmet, tossing it haphazardly to the sand as he meets you.

“Ah, there’s my trophy.” he says, hands clamping onto your waist to lift you from the ground. You squeal with delight, bracing on his shoulders and kicking your feet up. Slowly he lowers you until you can wrap your arms around his neck. He’s hot and sweaty, and smells like it too, inhaling his scent deeply as you embrace him and he spins you around. You’ve completely forgotten about that kook you left behind.

“Did so good, precious, did exactly what I told you to.” Rafe murmurs against your lips, whipping his bike jacket off behind him while you lead him by his jaw deeper into his place.

“Mhm, had to give them a show. Like you said.” you exhale, nodding fervently as you press yourself to him, desperate for some friction.

“Didn’t I say you’d be fine? Huh? What’d I say?” he goads, and stoops, signaling you to jump into his arms. He catches your legs, securing them around his waist before his hand cups your backside and his other pins you to him by the back of your neck.

“I did so good!” you reply, a little perkier than you’d meant to. It breaks him out into a grin against you, and he snickers through his nose. Bringing you to his bedroom, he settles your back onto the bed.

Lips locked, and bodies tangling together, he struggles to find a spare second to keep talking, “Gonna give me my prize? You gonna put out for the winner?” His hips surge, and a familiar hard outline sweeps across the crotch of your denim.

You nod, poking your tongue out in concentration as you help him to undress fully, and you wiggle out of your booty shorts. The peek of your tongue doesn’t go unnoticed, and Rafe’s lips overlays yours, sucking on the pink tip there toyingly. You relax into it, untensing them to melt into a real kiss as the tip of something else nudges against your sex. Already wet and aching from all the teasing today, you go limp at the promise of what’s to come. Bulging mushroom head lazily thumbing in and out of your slit makes your head throw back and jerk. “Rafe…” you whine. Sodden lips mouth at your cheek and jaw, working their way down to make out with your neck as his hips shallowly rut.

Ringed fingers clutch your face, tucking your chin in the web of his index and thumb. It faces you to him, and you look up at him with doe eyes and pretty brows in an upturn. He wants to watch your reactions as he pushes in deeper and deeper, finally sheathing as you cry out. It’s a stingy stretch, and he can see your want for it in the roll of your eyes and the flinch of your delicate expression. “Yeah, baby, gimme that trophy. That’s right.”

[sleepyhoon]

bang bang, kiss kiss. - p.js

pairing. boss!jay x employee!reader genre. age gap, porn w some plot, long drabble warnings. swearing, infidelity (jay cheating on his wife), homewrecker!yn (sorry), age gap (reader is 21 jay is 31), smut [ office sex, impregnation kink, creampie, oral (f. receiving), degradation, pussy slapping, manhandling, spit ]

a/n. attempt number 2 of trying to make yn a bitch ahaha anyways enjoy whats been plaguing my mind the past few nights. not proofread so pls disregard any typos haha

Park Jongseong's wife had a lot of nerve.

Calling the workplace and disrupting Mr. Park with nonsense you cant even begin to comprehend. He's far too good for her, adhering to her every beck and call, missing out on detrimental meetings and interviews with high-profile clients just to tend to his dumbass wife.

God, you hated her.

As Jongseong's personal secretary, it was your responsibility to keep his business in order, and most importantly, keep him stress-free; which is why you were more than happy to suggest he keep his cell phone off and locked away in your desk for the day, to ward off any unnecessary distractions.

"Always looking out for me, huh?" Jongseong asks, leaning against your desk with a smirk as he willingly hands you his locked iPhone.

"Always," you repeat, not breaking eye contact as you drop the phone into your drawer and slam it shut.

"And what if my wife needs to reach me?"

Your expression goes stoic, and a little bit annoyed. Jongseong knows you hated whenever he brought up his wife in any context, even a hypothetical one.

"She knows your e-mail address," you respond through gritted teeth, your eyes panning over to the empty excel sheet on your desktop.

Jongseong nods, amused and slightly aroused at the distaste you have for his wife. It's fucked up, he knows it is, but he just can't help it. The jealousy in your eyes at the mere mention of his wife was enough to drive him crazy. He loves that you hate her, and how envious you were of her; so desperate to be his wife instead.

"I suppose that's true; but if she calls, just forward her over to me, yeah?"

You don't respond, blatantly ignoring him as you open a new Google tab on your desktop and search 'avg cost of divorce south korea'.

Jongseong leans over, eyes lighting up in a mixture of surprise and amusement as he peeks at your screen, "You're funny, YN," he says, biting back a laugh.

"I'm not joking."

"I know," he stands, shoving his hands into his pockets, "that's the best part. I'll ping you if I need anything."

You nod, chin resting in the palm of your head as you continue to stare at your computer. The results of your Google search were anticlimactic, not one direct answer on the average cost of divorce. Just your luck.

Jongseong discretely glances around the office, making sure all other employees were occupied with their own tasks before leaning down and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the sudden action causing you to stare up at him wide-eyed and raise a confused brow at him.

"And you let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything at all." He says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

Music to your ears, really, having Jongseong at your disposal while his own wife would have to fight tooth and nail to even speak to him today. It's a dream come true.

You clear your throat, adjusting your glasses as you straighten your posture, "Okay."

Jongseong smiles down at you one last time before turning on his heels and making his way down the hall and into his office.

A few minutes have gone by when you receive a message.

Jongseong Park [ 10:20 am ] : Around 1-5M KRW, higher if there are any court battles involved.

You [ 10:20 am ] : noted :)

Of course she'd show up to his workplace, so fucking relentless.

You can't really blame her, not being able to call or text Jongseong all day only to have his personal secretary dodge any calls made to the office surely would drive you crazy. Still, she has a lot of nerve.

"Sir, your wife is here," you grit into the phone, glaring daggers at said wife, Park Yunjin, as she scrolls on her phone.

"Shit, should've known," he sighs, "I'll be out in a few, just finishing something up."

You don't bother saying goodbye, slamming the phone down so hard that it startles Yunjin and a few of your coworkers. "He'll be out shortly."

Yunjin smiles, "Thank you, I got kinda worried when I wasn't able to get in touch with him, you know?"

Not interested in making small-talk with Yunjin, your responses to her are limited to hums and polite nods, fighting the urge to slam your head on your desk while ripping your hair out.

After what feels like an eternity, Jongseong finally emerges from his office and calls out for Yunjin, holding back a smile at the sight of the two of you being in the same vicinity.

Yunjin turns, cocking her head to the side with an annoyed look on her face, "Are you busy?"

Jongseong shakes his head, "Not at the moment, come in," he says, pushing his office door wide enough for her to enter.

Adjusting the purse on her arm, Yunjin makes her way down the hall and into the office, glancing at you over her shoulder one last time as she does so. She's suspicious of you, that much was obvious. You're much younger than her, obviously attractive, and the only other person who spends as much time with Jongseong as she does. You know him like the back of your hand, while she could barely get her husband to open up to her.

She has every right to be suspicious, though, considering you are fucking her husband behind her back.

Thirty minutes have passed when Yunjin finally exits his office, her expression unreadable as she shuts the door behind her, strutting out of the office without so much as a glance in your general direction.

Your eyes follow her every movement, staring so intently that you nearly miss the newest messages from Jongseong.

Jongseong Park [ 3:54 pm ] : Are you able to stay a little longer tonight? Need your help with some stuff.

Jongseong Park [ 3:55 pm ] : Dinner on me as an apology for the inconvenience

You [ 3:58 pm ] : of course, whatever u need :)

You don’t think much of it when you slip into Jongseong’s office later that evening.

He doesn’t bring up the incident with his wife and neither do you, opting to engage in light, easygoing topics as you help your boss complete his workload. It wasn’t much besides transferring over data into excel and responding to some emails, surely not enough work that required staying after hours, but Jongseong’s promise of a free dinner was enough to intrigue you.

And the fact that you’d be spending time alone with him, of course, free of your coworker’s wandering eyes and his wife’s disruptive behavior.

Your remaining coworkers had finally left for the evening, stopping by Jongseong’s office to briefly wish the two of you a good night and a safe trip home.

It’s around seven p.m. when you’re finally finishing up the excel sheet, your tired eyes carefully inspecting each and every corner of the screen, double-checking for any minor errors.

“Almost done?” Jongseong asks, swiveling in his office chair to face you.

You nod, offering him your laptop, “Think so, just need you to look it over.”

Taking the laptop from your hands, Jongseong looks over the screen for half a second before shutting it and handing it back to you. “Looks good to me. Get on the desk.”

You pause, mouth falling open as Jongseong begins to loosen to tie, “Wait, can I expl-”

He crosses the short distance between your seat and his, snatching the laptop from your grip as he forces you to stand, “No more excuses.”

Tossing the MacBook onto your now empty chair, Jongseong hoists you up on his desk, his rough, calloused hands bunching up your skirt until it’s settled around your waist. He doesn’t even give you time to prepare, sliding your thong down and off your legs with a quick yank of his hand.

He lowers himself before you, knees hitting the carpet as he becomes eye level with your cunt. Jongseong gathers a wad of saliva in his mouth, staring straight at you through hooded eyes as he spits directly on your pussy.

You shiver, swearing under your breath as he rubs the saliva onto your folds, “Think you’re so fucking funny, huh? Trying to upset my wife.”

Ugh, there he goes again talking about his stupid fucking wife.

“She’s a distraction, you got so much done today without her bitching in your ear.” You plead, gripping onto Jongseong’s desk with your eyes squeezed shut as he slips a thick finger into your hole.

It’s true, Jongseong had managed to get a lot more work done today than usual now that his wife wasn’t distracting him. Still, he can’t admit that, your ego was already big enough as it is. He’s sure if he inflated it any further your head would explode.

He teases a second finger at your entrance, amused at how easily it slides in from his wet you’ve gotten; it hadn’t even been five minutes and his hand is practically drenched because of you. “Doesn’t matter, you should’ve listened when I said to forward her calls. She already doesn’t like you and you just made it worse.”

Yunjin seeing you as a potential threat had you over the moon, a wicked grin on your face that only pissed Jongseong off further.

His fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace he’s never used before; he’s rough, flustered, and downright mad. His eyes narrow up at you, pulling his fingers out of you entirely to deliver a harsh smack on your clit.

Your body jolts, the sting of the slap sending an unfamiliar, yet arousing, shockwave throughout your body. You’re suddenly grateful that all the other employees have gone home for the evening, because the loud miss that escapes your lips surely would’ve had them running to HR.

Jongseong doesn’t even give you time to recover or process what’s happening, a smug look on his face now that he’s successfully wiped the cocky smirk off of yours. He leans forward, plump lips wrapping around your already swollen clit, swirling his tongue around it as he tugs it into his mouth.

He spits again, using his tongue to mix his saliva with your wetness to make a mess of your cunt. ”That’s funny to you? That you just made shit worse?”

You nod eagerly, another painful slap being delivered to your cunt as a result. You jolt again, tears welling up in your eyes as your back arches off his desk. He rotates between aggressively lapping at your clit, thrusting a third finger into your sopping hole, and delivering more slaps to your cunt, each smack harder than the last, leaving your entire body quivering.

By the seventh slap, the knot in your belly finally snaps, a loud slew of sweats falling from your lips as you come on the palm of Jongseong’s hand.

He doesn’t even give you the chance to catch your breath, standing as he shoves various paperwork and other miscellaneous items off his desk before forcing you on your back.

“I hope it was fucking worth it,” he grumbles, undoing his belt and zipper.

You nod, “It was.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He says, punctuating his sentence with another smack to your cunt. Your body is still spasming from your orgasm, the aching sensation between your thighs only adding to the overstimulation.

He pulls down his trousers and boxers in a swift movement, fully-hardened cock smacking straight against his abdomen. He pumps himself a few times before aligning his tip against your entrance, not giving you any time to prepare or adjust to his size before plummeting himself into you with a harsh thrust.

You cry out Jongseong’s name, back arching off his desk as you reach to hold onto his shoulders. His fingers move to your clit, rubbing harsh circles as he picks up his already fast and aggressive pace.

He’s relentless, fucking into you as if you were his own personal pocket pussy. There’s no doubt Yunjin would let him do this shit to her.

He takes your hand, pressing it down on your own abdomen as he pushes himself inside of you. Even from the outside you can feel his cock bulging into you. “You feel me right there?” He asks, breathless.

You nod wordlessly, a tear trickling from your eye as you do so. Jongseong leans down, unintentionally pressing himself further into you as he kisses the tear away, “You okay?”

You nod again, cupping Jongseong’s face with your hands before bringing him down to kiss you. It’s soft and sensual, making your heart rate increase as he tilts his head to allow himself further into your mouth.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling his body closer and furthering his cock deeper into your pussy. He swears under his breath, pulling away to press open-mouth, wet kisses on your neck and cheek. He stills for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your warmth wrapping around him as he’s peppering kisses across your collarbone.

He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together before thrusting into you again. He starts off slow this time, seemingly relishing in the feeling of your cum coating his cock.

He doesn’t let up after that, his thrusts becoming much harsher than what you expected, so rough that you’re nervous he may break the wooden desk supporting both of your weight.

“Fuck,” he groans, tip of his cock practically slamming into your g-spot, “gonna cum.”

“Please,” you beg, eyes fluttering shut as your second orgasm approaches.

Jongseong opens his eyes, taking note of your smudged makeup and how fucked-out you look. “Want me to cum inside you, huh? Fill you up until you’re nice and pregnant with my baby?”

You nod embarrassingly because you do want that, to be able to carry Jongseong ‘s child, clinging to his side to let everyone know it was him that did this to you.

He shakes his head with a chuckle, “Fucking knew it.”

That exchange seems to be enough to drive him to his orgasm, because a few seconds later he’s spilling himself inside of you, thick, white ropes of cum coating your insides. It’s the most he’s ever came, chest heaving with exhaustion as he catches his breath.

You’re only a few seconds behind him, ironically calling out for God as your own orgasm hits you.

His office goes quiet, the only sounds being your staggered breath along with his overhead ceiling fan.

Jongseong pulls himself out of you, immediately shoving two fingers inside your hole to keep his cum from drilling out of your pussy. Your body jolts again as you let out a pathetic, “Jongseong, please.”

“Not letting it go to waste.” He says simply, using his thumb to rub small circles on your clit. “Besides, you said you wanted me to fill you up right?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Good,” he groans, “now lie on your stomach.”

[paddockletters]

only girl (in the word) | lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader summary: Lando and y/n enjoy a night out at a club with friends, but when some girls try to get close, he doesn't allow it and gives you your place as always. author's note: I took inspiration from a tiktok that I saw some time ago and I wanted to write it, so I hope you like it 😭😭

The lights of the nightclub flickered as the music pulsed through the room, blending with the laughter and chatter of the crowd. I leaned back against the VIP section, sipping my drink and watching Lando at the DJ booth with Martin. Both of them were having a blast, messing around with the controller and hyping up the crowd. Nights like this had become a regular thing for us—a little bit of fun, music, and good company with our tight-knit circle.

Even though Lando was always in the spotlight, we had managed to keep our relationship pretty private. Only our closest circle knew. It wasn't that we were hiding it, but having a relationship in the spotlight of F1 could be… overwhelming. It allowed us to just be us without the pressure of prying eyes and the constant speculation from fans or media.

I was watching him goof off with Martin when I felt someone nudge me. I turned to see Max (Fewtrell) , one of Lando’s closest friends, grinning as he leaned over to speak, his voice barely audible over the music.

"He's having the time of his life up there, isn't he?" Max said with a chuckle, motioning toward Lando, who was pretending to DJ like a pro.

"He really is. I’m just waiting for him to mess something up.” I laughed, nodding.

Max laughed, his eyes scanning the dance floor before he leaned closer.

"You know, it’s funny—he never really used to like these kinds of nights before you."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," Max nodded. "He’d always be the one leaving early, saying he had training or a race coming up. But ever since you guys started hanging out, he sticks around longer. Seems to enjoy it more. I think you’re a good influence on him."

"Maybe I’m just more fun than his training sessions." I smiled at the thought.

"Definitely more fun," Max teased, giving me a wink before heading off to join a few other friends.

I took another sip of my drink, feeling the warmth spread through me, both from the alcohol and Max’s words. I glanced back toward the DJ booth, catching Lando’s eye as he looked over at me, a playful grin on his face. He gave me a quick wink before returning to the music, his fingers moving over the controls like he knew exactly what he was doing.

It was then that I noticed a group of girls edging closer to him. One in particular seemed determined to get his attention, her phone already in hand, angling for a selfie or a picture with him. She was bold, stepping right up to him, bottle in hand, and attempting to take the one Lando was holding.

I watched as Lando paused, his smile fading slightly. He gently pushed her hand away, not rough, but firm enough to make his point. I could see him looking around, scanning the crowd until his eyes found mine. His expression softened immediately, and without hesitation, he motioned for me to come closer.

I could feel the girls' eyes on me as I made my way over. Their glances were sharp, the kind of looks that were meant to make you feel out of place, but I wasn’t about to let that ruin the night. Lando didn’t say a word when I reached him, just slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer, his body pressing against mine in a protective, almost possessive way.

"Hey," he whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

"Good," he said, leaning in closer. "Because I want you right here with me."

He pulled me in even tighter, and I rested my head on his shoulder for a moment, letting the music and the energy of the club surround us. Lando kissed the top of my head, a small gesture, but one that made me feel like the only person in the room.

Just then, Martin leaned over, grinning at us.

"Oi, Lando! You better be careful up here, mate. You’re making her fall for you all over again!"

"That’s the plan, mate!" Lando laughed, his arm never leaving my waist.

"You’re such a dork." I rolled my eyes, playfully nudging him.

"But I’m your dork," he replied with a cheeky grin.

As the night wore on, we danced, laughed, and enjoyed every second. The crowd seemed to disappear, and it was just us, lost in our own little world. But every now and then, I’d catch one of the girls from earlier casting a glance our way, her lips curled in a smug smile as if she was waiting for me to crack under the pressure of being in Lando’s orbit.

It didn’t bother me, not really. Lando had always made sure I knew my place in his life. He wasn’t the type to flirt with random girls or let anyone come between us. But I couldn’t deny that the whispers, the glances, they got under my skin just a little.

After a while, Lando leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "You wanna get out of here?"

I nodded, grateful for the offer. The night had been fun, but I was ready for something quieter, something just for us.

"Yeah, let’s go."

He grabbed my hand, guiding me through the crowd, past the girls who had been eyeing us all night. One of them whispered something to her friend as we passed, but I didn’t catch it. I didn’t need to. The look on her face said enough.

As we stepped outside, the cool night air hit my skin, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Lando squeezed my hand, pulling me close.

"You okay?" he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to brush it off, but decided against it.

"It’s just… sometimes it’s hard being around people who don’t really get us, you know?"

Lando frowned, his thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand. "Did something happen inside?"

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "It’s nothing, really. Just some girls being… well, girls."

"What did they say?" Lando stopped walking, turning to face me fully.

I shook my head, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

"It’s not what they said, it’s just... their looks. Like they were waiting for me to mess up or something. I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to it."

Lando’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping mine a little harder.

"You know you don’t have to worry about that, right? I’m with you. Only you."

I smiled, touched by his words.

"I know. I just—sometimes it feels like I’m always being watched. Like I’m never enough."

Lando’s expression softened, and he pulled me into a tight embrace. "You’re more than enough. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you aren’t. Especially not them."

I hugged him back, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, and for the first time that night, I felt at ease. With Lando by my side, the whispers, the looks—they didn’t matter.

As we pulled apart, he leaned down and kissed me gently, his lips lingering on mine for just a moment longer than usual. When he pulled back, he grinned.

"Come on, let’s go home. I think we are going have a more fun night there."

"Yeah, let’s get out of here." I laughed softly, nodding in agreement.

And with that, hand in hand, we left the nightclub behind, ready to end the night our way—together.

[daycourtofficial]

Azriel’s Girls

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 2.6k | warnings: none

Summary: you overhear a conversation between Azriel and his brothers that has you second guessing your boyfriend’s faithfulness. What will you find when you follow him out one night?

Author’s note: two fics one day! This is crack lmao I wrote this in a blur this afternoon from a silly convo with @milswrites @prythianpages and @ninthcircleofprythian lmao

You and Feyre came into the River House giggling over the amount of paint that covered the both of you. The two of you stop laughing long enough to look at each other, before devolving into fits of giggles once more. One of the boys in the studio had insisted on today’s topic being finger painting, which led to the children essentially dipping their hands into paint before smearing it over all of your clothes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to shower here?” Her voice is soft and kind, a slight rasp to it from talking to the kids all afternoon.

“Thanks Fey, but I’d rather shower at home so I can slip into my pajamas and go to sleep.” You look away from her, as if you could see him through the walls. “Maybe I can even convince Azriel to rub my back. I shouldn't have given some piggy back rides.”

Feyre hums, a soft ‘told you so’ on her tongue, but you give her a pointed look and she keeps it to herself.

“Well, I’m going to go wash up. Good luck finding the boys.”

Her voice floats down the hallway she takes, and you start thinking about where to look - the most obvious place being Rhys’s study. Your feet pad through the halls until you start to hear three loud laughs coming from the cracked study door.

You keep moving towards the source, ready to make your presence known, when you hear Cassian say, “when will you see them again?”

Your boyfriend responds with a soft, “tonight”, eliciting raucous laughter from his brothers. You still, pressing yourself towards the wall, tilting your head in contemplation.

Azriel had told you he had plans tonight, that he was doing something important for Rhys. Had he lied to you?

Cassian’s voice cuts through your train of thoughts, “I’m sure the girls at Rosehall have been missing you.”

Rosehall?

You scrunch your eyebrows, trying to remember if you had ever heard of Rosehall. Was it somewhere in Velaris? Was it a pleasure hall? Who were these girls Cassian spoke of?

Had your sweet Azriel been sneaking around, and his brothers were aware of it? Had they been condoning it?

“I haven’t been able to see them in a while, they’ll be glad for the company.”

“I’m sure they’ll be crawling all over you, brother.”

Their laughs were knives in your heart. Did everyone know? Were you nothing more than a fool to them? Nothing more than a mere joke to these males? Your mind was racing, not paying any mind to the rest of the conversation as you ran down the hall into the kitchens, getting yourself a glass of water. You chugged it, the cool liquid giving your racing thoughts something else to focus on. Like a plan to figure out the truth.

After a few minutes of allowing yourself to seethe and panic, you retraced your steps towards Rhys’s study with your plan in tow: get to Rosehall, find out who these girls are, and yell and scream at Azriel and his brothers for playing you for a fool. As you approach, the males within were now speaking of some sporting event you were not the slightest bit interested in. Azriel’s face brightens as you knock and enter, pushing the door that was slightly ajar. You hate the way your heart picks up a bit at seeing him, at seeing how his face lights up at your presence, your cheeks heating at his attention.

He’s a lying, backstabbing, good for nothing-

“How was painting with Feyre?”

The attention from all three of them pulls you from your thought spiral and you choke on your own spit, coughing a bit. Azriel’s smile turns into a look of concern as he watches you, but Cassian chuckles. “Did you eat the paint by accident?”

Rhysand’s low tone chimes in, “I believe she’s wearing half the paint in Feyre’s studio, and I’m sure my mate’s wearing the other half.”

You chuckle, “uh yeah, Feyre was heading to shower when I left her.”

Rhys dips his head, “that's my cue to leave. BRothers, always a pleasure until better things come along. I’ll see you all later.”

Cassian laughs as Rhys disappears in front of you all, “horny bastard.”

Azriel glares at his brother, “and the pot calls the kettle black.”

Cassian scoffs, flicking his wrist in the air, “pish posh, Azriel. The past is the past.”

“Your past was last week when everytime I came back to the House of Wind for two weeks I got front row seats to your ass.”

“Well, it's our house. And I have a fantastic ass.”

Cassian flexes his thighs, as if Azriel just had to see it to mitigate his annoyance.

“I live there too.”

Cassian shrugs, as if this was a matter of opinion to just accept differences over.

Azriel looks back to you, his eyes making you feel warm, just as they always did. But the warmth was quickly devolving into a ball of anger and sadness, warming your stomach with jealousy and annoyance.

You slap a smile onto your face as you look towards Az, taking in his lazy grin as Cassian slaps him on the back. “I’m off to see Nes. You kids have fun!”

Cassian walks toward the balcony, taking to the skies. Azriel turns toward you, offering his hand so the two of you could embark as well. You accept his hand in yours, a little part of your mind telling you this is the last time you’ll do this. You laugh, pushing the thoughts to the side as you allow Azriel to pick you up, the two of you shooting up into the air.

Azriel flies you back to your apartment, his wings expertly moving over the streets of Velaris. You can’t help the smile on your face as you two fly through the air, watching the people below you until he lands right in front of your home.

You open the door for the both of you, and he follows closely behind. He chuckles at your paint covered clothes, and you fidget slightly, wanting him to make the move to leave.

The clock in your living room chimes, and his gaze moves towards it. “It’s getting late, I have to go. Will you be okay?”

You nod, your arms tightening around yourself. He takes your nervous energy as your hatred for sleeping alone, not wanting to upset you further by making you speak about it.

“How long will you be gone?”

He ponders for a moment, “I should be back tomorrow or the day after.”

He turns toward the door, but you shoot out your hand to grab his wrist. “Can I have one of your shadows? To keep me company? I like having them around.”

One shadow in particular dances at your words, coming from behind Azriel, practically spinning in the air as it immediately rushes to you.

“I hope you like that one because I don’t think it’ll let a different one stay with you.”

You giggle as it weaves through your hair, picking it up into a ponytail before dropping it.

“Perfect, so I’ll have someone to be witness to my antics.”

You giggle, but his face is solemn as he looks at you, something feeling so off about your behavior.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

His words are so soft, and every part of you wants to tell him no, I’m not okay, because you are seeing other women who will be crawling all over you once you leave from here.

Instead you nod, making up an excuse about your eyes being tired from all the painting. He kisses your forehead, his lips soft and light against your skin before pulling away and stepping out of your door before winnowing away.

You count your breath for a few beats before turning to the shadow, “do you know where Rosehall is?”

-

Of all of your terrible ideas over the years, this one was perhaps the worst. You had asked the shadow where Rosehall was, expecting it to be somewhere in Velaris, likely in the parts of the city you were less familiar with. You did not expect the black wisp to wrap around your wrist and begin tugging you away from Velaris very forcefully.

You had started getting nervous when it kept pulling you towards the outskirts, but you were in it now, and you were going to see this ridiculous scheme through to the end.

The shadow had been pulling you for hours it seemed, across landscapes, your feet killing you as you walked, and somewhere several miles away from Velaris, the shadow’s hold loosened on your wrist, opting to move up and down your arm, as if telling you this was your destination.

“Are you sure this is right?”

The shadow danced all around you as if it were confirming your statement. You looked at the gated entrance, the estate so lush and green and not at all what you had expected, it took you by surprise.

This was where he brought women? To do scandalous things and have nights full of debauchery? Was this some beautiful and well-tended pleasure hall? Before you can debate going through the gate, the shadow moves forward, unlatching it and pushing it open for you.

You sigh, thinking to yourself no going back now.

You enter through the gate, preparing yourself to hear the sounds of females giggling, perhaps even moaning, but you are completely taken aback at the chorus of meows you hear, followed by a door opening, and Azriel’s soft voice calling out, “if you’re here for my mother, she has stepped out-”

His voice stops as he takes in the sight of you, the two of you standing before each other across the lush estate. His eyes swim with confusion, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him at such a loss for words or the situation before. He continues to look at you, before realizing he’s carrying a tray of various raw meats and fish. He takes no notice of the dozen or so cats circling him, several trying to climb up his legs toward the food he carries.

“You- what are- how did you get here?”

You lift up the shadow that was entwined with your arm before it skitters off to join the other shadows playing games with the cats who weren’t paying attention to Azriel. You try not to wear the confusion on your face, hoping desperately to have some upper hand here.

“Is this Rosehall?”

Azriel sighs, setting down the food as one of the cats lunges to bite at his arm, missing and falling back into the pool of cats at Azriel’s feet.

“Yes.”

You puff up your chest, confusion seeping through your features as you ask, “and where are the females? The girls?”

“The girls?” His voice is incredulous, and you want to roll your eyes at it.

“Yes, the girls. The ones who wish to climb all over you because you haven’t been paying them attention.”

His long legs start to make their way across the front garden, the sea of cats at his feet parting as he makes his way through them. “The girls who climb over me?”

You sigh, exasperation evident, “must you repeat my words? Yes, okay fine. I overheard Cassian speaking of your plans this evening with ‘your girls’. Now why don’t you bring them out and show me to be a fool?”

A deep, belly laugh comes from his mouth, and you are utterly offended.

“Azriel, I came here to put you through the ringer for stepping out on me, and you find it funny?”

He steps forward, trying to put his arms around you but you step away from his embrace. His laughing continues as he asks, “you walked all the way here?”

“Yes.”

You stick out your chin, determined to look strong and confident.

“You walked all the way from Velaris to here, to find out I had cats?”

“Why yes, I did walk all the way here to find out-”

Your words die on your tongue as you look around, not seeing any other females anywhere. You picked up the scent of one, but the scent smelled so much like Azriel, they had to be related in some way.

He watches your nose twitch, separating out all the smells beneath the ever present smell of cat.

“My mother lives here.”

He coughs, the joyous look from his laughter gone, his hands moving behind his back. He rocks on his feet, and you found it quite endearing.

“With my cats.”

“Your cats?”

“Yes, but they’re not really mine. They just show up.”

“Your cats show up? What does that mean?”

“It means, if I spend any time in Illyria the cats seek me out. I’ve already fixed the stray cat problem in Velaris.”

He opens his arms wide.

“They’re all here. Problem solved, I suppose.”

You blink, slightly convinced Rhys had finally broken your mind and made up the most ridiculous scenario he could imagine. You feel one of the cats rub against your legs, and you bend slightly to nuzzle its face. It was pitch black with bright green eyes. It was so little, you couldn’t help but pick it up despite its verbal protests.

“You have cats.”

“Yes, and Rhys and Cassian despise the cats. Rhys says he’s allergic, but I think he’s just too worried about his damn furniture.”

“And Cassian?”

“Cats hate Cassian.”

He says this as if it’s an uncontested fact.

“How can all cats hate one person?”

“He likes to swing them by their tails.”

You nod, “okay, maybe all cats can hate one person.”

As the two of you spoke the shadows had lifted a cat up onto Azriel’s shoulders, where it stood meowing and pawing at the black wisps. You watched in bewilderment, unsure if the shadows were playing pranks or not, when the cat slid from his shoulder into the crook of his elbow, nuzzling into the warmth there.

You cross your arms, heat blooming in your cheeks at your rash decision making. “So there aren’t beautiful females here?”

“There’s one.”

“I knew i- oh. You meant me.”

You deflate once more, letting the adrenaline seep from your body. You were exhausted, well and truly. He nodded before putting the cat down, watching it scamper off into the grass. “I shouldn’t have lied about where I was going. Several dozen cats are just… a lot to spring on someone at once.”

You look to the ground, fingers scratching the ears of the kitten you were holding, “and maybe I got a little…. carried away.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “you picked the wrong shoes to hike out here from Velaris.”

You looked down at your sneakers, chuckling, “uh yeah, I definitely need to soak my feet for a bit.”

“Do you want to come inside?” He watches you hesitantly before asking, “Or I could take you home?”

You look toward the beautiful estate before peering back down at the wiggling kitten in your arms, before deciding that you did want to see Azriel’s mother’s home and to hopefully meet her. “Are you going to tell your mother about how I got here?”

He chuckles, slow and soft, “of course I am. She’d be endlessly amused.”

“Do you have any black felt? I’d love to make this little guy some wings.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes as he puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you inside. “While you play arts and crafts, I can formally introduce you to all of the other cats.”

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Thanks for reading ❣️

[heirofnight]

meddling

azriel x reader drabble

word count: 2k - longest drabble ever, i'm so sorry

summary: reader just escaped a horrific past that has left her closed off and in need of isolation. she takes up residence at the house of wind, finding solace in the private library. she's content to keep to herself, but a meddling house and a stray little shadow have other plans.

a/n: i wrote this very quickly, this is more like a stream of consciousness than a well-planned piece of writing lol. also my first time posting so pls be kind 😭 i just felt like writing and then ... this happened. ok enjoy!

azriel was a silent, watchful protector of yours when you initially arrived at the night court. studying you, observing you from afar. you spend most of your time on the third level of the house of wind - shy and in need of isolation. your past was something you were desperate to forget. but, even after your relocation to velaris, your mind was murky. you'd tried sorting through thoughts and emotions that you'd pushed deep down in order to survive, but it all felt akin to wading through waist-deep mud in heavy, laced-up boots. you'd found solace in the private library on the third floor, only doors down from your own chambers. many mornings you awoke, dressed, and shuffled to the warm library that was lit with beams of light from dawn's glow. you'd curl into your favorite chair that overlooked velaris and the glistening sidra far down below, taking in a centering breath. it felt like muscle memory, and the house had learned of your routine. a warm teacup waited for you, right beside your well-loved armchair. your tea was the perfect temperature: the house had learned that too. and every morning, a sly, stray tendril of shadow wove its way through the half-opened library doors. it noted your presence, your general state of well-being, before darting away playfully to relay this information back to its master. yes, rhys had asked azriel to watch over you, but even az knew that this level of attentiveness was overkill - even for him. you'd peek up at the tiny shadow each morning, expecting it now. at first, shortly after arriving at the house, you'd blink up at it - not having the mental energy to delve into its motive. now, a couple of months later, you'd felt more settled. more relaxed. and you almost considered this lone shadow to be a sweet little companion, the only being that dared approach you this frequently. you'd give it a soft grin each morning, and it would swirl happily, lazily, before departing as quickly as it came.

you were always cold. try as you might, you often only felt true, comfortable warmth when bundled beneath the layered blankets that adorned your oversized bed. you knew you shared this hallway with azriel, but rarely ever saw him. you'd hear him arrive late at night every now and then - assuming that he'd just returned from some sort of mission. what you didn't know, however, was that azriel had tried his hardest to silence the thump of his boots against the stone floor every single time he approached the arched door of your room. before, when he only shared this hallway with cassian, he'd make noise on purpose upon arriving home. his own way of letting his brother know that he was home and safe, without having to strike up any sort of conversation. he was drained after most missions, had enough of speaking. but with you occupying the room next to his own now, he wouldn't dare disturb your well-deserved, peaceful slumber. az assumed with the past you'd endured, that you'd trained yourself to sleep light. not a sound, don't fuck this up, he'd think to himself, willing his shadows to silence his footsteps entirely. even with the suppressed steps, he still tightened every single muscle. stepping so slowly, he knew he must look ridiculous. if cassian ever saw this, saw him, he would never live it down. on several occasions, your heavy wooden door had unlatched on its own during the night, leaving just enough of a space between the frame and the door that azriel could see the beige drapes that fluttered lightly against your windows through it. your sweet shadow companion would leave az's silent side to dart through the crack, and return just as quickly to whisper cold, shivering against his master's ear. to deter the draft from chilling your bones any further, azriel would reach a scarred hand out to the doorknob, closing it as silently as possible - making sure to pull until he heard the slight click of the latch.

you'd often opted to eat your meals either in the library or in your room - the house setting out a plate and silverware for you wherever you'd decided to spend your time that evening. you didn't allow yourself to wonder what the members of rhysand's family must have thought of you - a secluded, timid female that went out of her way to avoid the members of a family that had tried so hard to give her a home, a place to heal. you'd always quickly push those thoughts to the back of your mind, wanting to focus on taking care of yourself, and not others for once.

tonight, you'd chosen the library. you'd recently begun a trio of books that you'd found on one of the overflowing shelves, and you were unable to put them down once you'd started. you didn't notice the time, didn't notice the mid-afternoon sun become dusk, making the sidra glow like wildfire. you did, however, notice the grumble of your stomach once it became evening. the light of day was gone - the library now filled with the warm glow of faelights, dim candles sitting in golden candelabras, and a crackling fire within the hearth across from you. you frowned to yourself, noticing now that the house hadn't placed dinner on the mahogany coffee table that sat in front of the fire. you glanced around, the thought of verbally speaking to the house itself feeling a bit silly. you briefly told yourself that asking the house may offend it - that was even more laughable. could you offend a house? while silently mulling over these questions, that sly, sleek little tendril of shadow slowly approached you from the door of the library. it curled and twisted its way to you, stopping at your right hand to weave its way around your wrist. you looked down at it curiously - it had never touched you before, had never gotten this close. you'd deduced at this point that it was one of az's shadows - figured that it was just curious about the new presence in the house. however, it began to twirl, trying its best to get your attention. "yes?," you whispered aloud. speaking of silly interactions, you thought briefly. it weaved through your fingers, as if it were trying to hold your hand, before darting towards the door and stopping in the doorway. it was waiting for you; wanted you to follow. you cocked a curious eyebrow, slowly closing your book to set it on the table before you. gathering your linen dress in your hands, you stood, hesitantly walking towards it. "where are we going, little one?," you whispered towards it. the shadow responded immediately by darting down the hall and to the left, towards the stairs. you quickened your steps to catch up to it, only to find it waiting on the landing of the staircase for you. once you spotted it, it darted away again, down one level. peering over the railing, you noticed it twirling towards the doorway of the dining hall. family dinner was taking place, and judging by the various muffled voices and laughter you were able to hear from the staircase, everyone was present.

you tiptoed quietly down the stairs, which you realized was probably pointless. you were sure at least one of them had already picked up on your approaching scent by now. the patient shadow still waited by the door for you, swirling and twirling happily. inviting you inside to dine with its master and his family. you took a deep breath, watching as the shadow darted back to azriel's shoulder, whispering something against the shell of his ear. immediately, az's head snapped towards the doorway, meeting your own nervous gaze before you had the chance to escape without being noticed. his presence felt grounding - it had since the first time you met him. he didn't speak much, but neither did you. he felt familiar, safe, and you wondered briefly if it was due to the affection you'd grown towards his shadow that checked on you dutifully since your arrival - an act that you assumed was azriel's doing.

your hands were clasped in front of you as you nervously played with your fingers. you surveyed the room, taking everything in: the relaxed family, the spread of delicious food on the table. azriel continued to watch you with a calm, yet indiscernible expression on his face. the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, trying to convey that it was okay, you could come in. rhysand noticed you next - he followed azriel's distracted gaze to the threshold of the door, finding your small frame standing there. "well, look who it is," rhys drawled politely, loud enough to quiet the rest of the family sitting around the table. everyone's gaze found you at once, and you swallowed thickly. your eyes darted back to azriel's in a silent plead, his hazel eyes feeling like a lifeline. az nodded once, gaze soft and kind. "why don't you sit down and join us? we were hoping you would," rhys stated sincerely, gesturing a sweeping hand out over the spread of food. “help yourself, y/n. if you don’t see something you’d like, the house will prepare a more suitable meal," he smiled warmly. as if on cue, a goblet of wine, plates, and silverware appeared in front of an empty chair - courtesy of said house itself. you smiled softly, at the high lord, at the house's display of affection towards you. "thank you," you spoke warmly, perhaps the first time most of them had ever heard you speak at all.

the empty seat that was now prepared for you was right next to azriel, and you slowly made your way towards it. you felt the prying gaze of everyone at the massive dinner table, and silence still encompassed the room. your eyes flitted around nervously, and azriel tracked the movement immediately. he cleared his throat once, a silent, stoic glare tossed to his family. they got the hint, and all fell back into comfortable conversation amongst each other - attention no longer all on you. you took your place next to him, staring down at your empty plate. your hands fell into your lap, your fingers fiddling together once more. azriel watched you from his peripheral, not wanting you to feel balked at.

he leaned over finally, speaking so only you could hear, "would you like to try the potatoes?", his tone was warm and soft - comforting. you darted your gaze over to him, only meeting his eyes for a moment. he was much more intimidating up close, and you were far too shy.

"they're my personal favorite," he continued on, the corners of his mouth curled upward. you let out a small breath of a laugh, playing with a stray thread on your gown. "yes, please," you whispered to him, eyes raking over the large elaborate plates and dishes set in the middle of the table, searching for the potatoes he spoke of. before you could reach towards the gold serving spoon that sat within the buttery dish, his hand had already grasped it, bringing a heaping serving right over to your plate.

"i've got it," he spoke softly, dishing your meal. you nodded once, cheeks heating at the action. it continued this way, azriel asking if you'd like to try each entrée and side, one by one. he'd offer his own personal opinions on each one, and you'd both laughed at the way he'd described the asparagus - "absolutely abysmal," he'd report, nose scrunching dramatically.

after your plate was adequately filled, az went back to his own food. you began to poke at yours. "thank you," you whispered over to him after a moment. he glanced over at you and replied with a friendly smile, and over his shoulder appeared a small tendril of a shadow - your meddling little companion that had also apparently conspired to bring you closer to its master. it twirled your way happily, looping through your fingers and up your arm. you laughed softly, meeting azriel's sparkling hazel eyes. he smiled fondly at his shadow, "i'm sorry, sometimes it feels like they have a mind of their own," he paused for a moment, watching the smoky tendril weave through your hair. "they like you," he whispered, meeting your eyes with a grin.

"don't apologize," you replied softly. "i like them too. i think they knew i needed company," you said pointedly, not dropping his gaze for the first time all evening. he nodded in understanding, plopping another bread roll onto your plate.

"well, welcome to the family, y/n," his words were soft, but the weight you felt in your chest was overwhelming. warmth, true warmth, spread through your limbs, snuffing out the chill that had left you constantly shivering.

[purinfelix]

you're here, that's the thing ˚⟡˖ ࣪ - franco colapinto

summary: your boyfriend tries his best to make your schedules, as a racer and student, work - even when miles apart w/c: 900

a/n: it's finals season for me and i needed to write something self-indulgent as a break from cramming forgive me 🙏

Being a full-time student was one thing, but being a full-time student in a relationship with an extremely clingy boyfriend, who also happened to be travelling the world to race in Formula One, was a whole other challenge.

You and Franco had had some time to adjust to a long-distance relationship since you started dating, having such different lives, and managed to make it work for the most part. But now, with him having to wholly commit to his racing and finals season rolling around for you, it put a strain on your relationship that neither of you was ready for.

It was a strange paradox - the less free time you had outside of classes and studying, the less you were able to spend talking to him, and the more you wanted just to drop everything and fly to where he was. Your morning texts and voice message updates stopped being enough, and before you knew it you struggled to go longer than an hour studying without sending your boyfriend a message to whine and complain.

You were fully aware of how immature and irresponsible this was, but this awareness did little to stop you. And it didn't exactly help that Franco seemed to share the same sentiment, telling you again and again how hard it was for him as well, how racing seemed almost impossible without you there to cheer him on. It hurt, but the two of you just had to do everything you could to get through it - for you to focus on your studies and for him to try his best at racing.

All this came to a head one Sunday though, the afternoon before one of your final exams and - because of the time difference - the night before Franco's next race. Sitting in your dorm alone, surrounded by piles of textbooks, notes and scattered pens you felt a sudden jolt of vulnerability and before you knew it you were reaching for your phone.

"Can you call?" you typed quickly to your boyfriend, your eyes lighting up upon seeing the three dots begin moving almost instantly.

"My gosh, I was just going to ask you the same thing," he replied, and before you knew it your phone was springing to life with a call from him. Clicking accept, you couldn't help but smile widely at the sight of his face.

"Hi," you say, almost shyly.

"Hi baby, how are you?"

"Good," you pause, "stressed."

He nods understandingly, "You're holding up okay, hm? Taking care of yourself?"

"Of course, Franco," you laugh at his almost motherly concern, "and you?"

"Nervous, of course."

"Well, that makes two of us." You pause after speaking, for some reason this call is turning out less enjoyable and more awkward than you hoped.

"I'm sorry, I'm just really tired," you hear your boyfriend say and when you look up you can definitely see it, his eyelids half closing over deep, dark circles under them.

"Do you want to sleep? I have to study anyways."

You watch as he chews his bottom lip, thinking of what to say though once he finally talks his voice is small, almost like a confession. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"We are talking Franco, and we can talk tomorrow once you rest."

This doesn't seem to quell his worries though, his brows still knitted in thought. "I just feel so useless knowing that you're struggling and stressed and I can't even keep you company like I normally do."

You nod sympathetically until an idea pops into your head. "We can keep the call on, carry me over to your bed - you'll sleep and I'll study."

Even through the fatigue pulling him down, Franco nods enthusiastically, doing as you say. You watch him sink into the plush white bedsheets of whatever hotel he's in, and whilst you feel a little jealous at his ability to rest right now, you turn back to your desk and start pulling out your notes.

"You'll be okay," you hear him mumble.

"What do you mean?"

"With your exams," he smiles sleepily, eyes flitting as he watches you pick up your highlighters and pens, "you're the smartest person I know."

"I don't know how much that's saying, you didn't even finish high school baby."

"Hey! I was trying to be nice," he says, feigning offence though there's a soft smile across his face.

"You're right, I'm sorry," you laugh, "you'll be okay as well, with your race tomorrow."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

"I wish you were here," he sighs, looking at you earnestly and all you can do is give him a nod in agreement.

"But for now," you wave your pen to hint at the fact that you need to get back to cramming and he seems to get the hint.

"Right, right, you won't even know I'm here," he assures you.

And despite that, the entire night passes without you once forgetting it. Not that he's distracting or anything, in fact he falls asleep mere minutes after telling you that - leaving you to work peacefully for the rest of the night. Instead, his presence, even as he sleeps, even through a screen and halfway across the world, is enough. You find yourself smiling as you study because maybe having a long-distance boyfriend, even one as clingy as Franco, has been a blessing in disguise all this time.

[woolysium]

Anatomy Lesson

﹒♡﹒Pairing: Yunho + Mingi (college AU) x reader

﹒♡﹒Summary: As med students, you, Yunho, and Mingi have spent countless hours studying anatomy together—but in this study session, anatomical diagrams turn into hands-on lessons.

﹒♡﹒Word count: 4k

﹒♡﹒Genre: smut (MDNI)

﹒♡﹒Warning: pure filth, very nsfw, threesome, restraint, hand kink, choking, unprotected sex (a no no irl), double penetration, rough sex, very dom!Yunho, whiny mess!Mingi, Mingi is very desperate, teasing, overstimulation (let me know if i miss anything ig its too long)

﹒♡﹒Request: @mingi-s-dimples "Hey pooks 🙂‍↕️💖 it's me, Bia! I'd love to read something written by your for me sooo here is my request 😋😋 Yungi x reader, college au studying anatomy (I have the biggest yungi brainrot rn I'm so sorry + I'm studying anatomy as we speak). They've been study buddies since they started uni 2 yrs ago and they always met to study tgt. SO I'd love to read how reader is like into them but is too shy to tell them and the boys are like.. also kinda into her but they thought it's be weird to like.. tell her cause it'd be a 3some. NOT ANYMORE !! They study anatomy and reader starts touching them intimately explaining some of the structures (for ex thigh/abs and so on) and Mingi for ex gets turned on from it and gets a boner duh. They have some small talk and then they yk.. have a 3some 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ sigh. Anyways, I'd love to see: restraining with their bodies/hand kink/slight choking/double penetration (is not a kink ik), praise, teasing 😌 Gave you all the details I'd love to see and THANK YOU SO MUCHHHH LOVE YOUU 😋💖💖💖"

﹒♡﹒Author's note: This took longer than I expected, and filthier.... I never knew i could do this good until now lmao. Anyways this is a long ass fic, and cheers to my babe Bia for requesting it, even though i kinda died at the end so it looks rushed but, hope you like it, I love your idea so so much. It was a ride writing this, I had to research a shit ton on anatomy, but it was fun tho. This is not proofread thoroughly since it's too long and i was getting sleepy, so please ignore any errors. Enjoy the meal. I love you Bia 💜

You’ve known Yunho and Mingi since the first day of med school. Being more of an introvert, you usually keep to yourself, avoiding any unnecessary attention. But that day, the only open seat was right in the middle of the lecture hall. Yunho and Mingi showed up late, looking a bit lost, and ended up grabbing the two seats on either side of you.

At first, you figured they were just two extroverted guys who’d probably drift off to make other friends once they settled in—exactly the type you usually avoid. But as the lecture went on, they kept leaning over to ask for help, clearly struggling with the material. Yunho, with his easy smile and laid-back vibe, nudged you and whispered, “Think you could explain this? We’re kinda lost.” Mingi, with a shy grin that made him seem more approachable than his confident appearance suggested, nodded along.

You explained the basics, and they were grateful enough to ask if you’d study together outside of class. Despite your initial hesitation, you said yes, you couldn’t even believe yourself. From there, study sessions became a regular thing—quiet corners of the library or your living room, where you’d help them with the tough stuff, and they’d bring snacks and keep the mood light. They made everything feel a bit more bearable at least, even the late-night cram sessions.

Two years later, the three of you are still a team, but things have changed. Somewhere along the way, simple glances and casual touches started to linger. And there were moments—small, fleeting ones—where you could swear they were feeling it too. Like when Yunho would shift closer to you on the couch, his arm draped casually behind your shoulders, his fingers brushing the back of your neck just enough to make your skin tingle. Or when Mingi’s hand would find your lower back during those late-night coffee runs, the touch lingering a little too long to be just friendly. But no one ever said anything about it, all of you dancing around the unspoken tension that had begun to define your time together.

Tonight is just another study session at your place, and you don’t really think much about anything else other than the lessons. You're all spread out across your bed—Yunho sitting up against the headboard, his long legs stretched out, Mingi lying on his side next to him, propped up on one elbow. You sit cross-legged facing them, surrounded by notes and anatomy diagrams.

You're pointing out different muscle groups and explaining their connections, but you notice the looks of confusion on their faces. With a little laugh, you suggest, “Guys, I think it would be better to show you directly. How about I demonstrate them on your body?” Totally innocent request, or so you thought.

Yunho glances at Mingi, who shrugs with a faint smirk. “Yeah sure. Might be easier to understand that way,” Yunho says, scooching to the side a bit to make space for you. Mingi stretches out beside him, nodding along.

You start with Yunho, tracing the lines of his arm, outlining the biceps and triceps as you explain each muscle group. “So, here’s the biceps brachii,” you murmur, fingers gently pressing along the length of his upper arm, feeling the firmness beneath. Yunho listens intently, his usual playful smile tempered by a newfound focus as he watches your hand. “And just behind here, the triceps—helps with arm extension,” you continue, trailing your hand down the back of his arm. His body is relaxed under your touch, but there’s a slight shift in his breathing when your fingers glide over his chest and down to his abs, the smooth firmness beneath your fingertips making you a little more aware of the warmth radiating between you.

When you move over to Mingi, the atmosphere tenses up even more, you are oblivious, somehow. You run your fingers along his chest, explaining the pectorals. “This is the pectoralis major—it’s responsible for moving the arm across the body,” you say softly, your hand tracing the broad curve of his chest. He listens closely, his breathing grows a bit deeper as you outline each muscle. You continue downward, fingertips gliding over his defined abs. “And here’s the rectus abdominis… your core muscles.” Mingi’s body tenses beneath your touch, brows furrowing as he bites his lips, trying to control his reaction.

“This part—your obliques, they help with twisting movements,” you add, tracing the defined muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. Your touch follows the natural curve of his hip, then skims lower. It’s meant to be purely academic, but then your fingers slide over the curve of his hip and graze against the waistband of his jeans.

You’re about to pull away when your hand slips, just slightly, brushing over his crotch. You freeze, the realization hitting you like a jolt, the feeling of Mingi’s arousal under your fingertips sending a rush of warmth to your own cheeks. Mingi’s breath catches audibly, his body tensing beneath your touch. You glance up at him, heart racing, but his expression is caught somewhere between surprise and something more intense, his face flushed.

Before you can say anything, you catch the way Yunho's expression has changed too. There’s a heat in his eyes as he looks between you and Mingi, cheeks a little flushed and his breath coming out uneven, though he’s still trying to keep up his usual playful front. "You know, you might be a little too good at this," he says, his voice dropping, teasing but rougher than usual.

The air in the room feels thicker, making your heart beat faster. Yunho moves in closer, his gaze darker, watching you in a way that makes you swallow hard. There’s this electric charge between the three of you now, impossible to ignore. For a second, it’s like time stops—none of you quite sure how to navigate this shift, but aware that something's definitely changed.

Yunho’s usual teasing grin fades when he catches your gaze, something more serious in his eyes. His breath hitches, and you notice how he glances from your eyes to your lips, then back again, like he’s debating what to do. The room goes quiet, and the tension is thick enough to make you feel like you’re holding your breath.

You swallow hard, nerves making your voice waver as you finally break the silence. “I... I’ve liked both of you for a while now,” you admit, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. “But I was too scared to say anything. I thought... I thought you’d find it weird, or that it would ruin everything.”

Mingi lets out a breath he’s been holding, his expression softening even as his lips curl into a smirk, a mixture of relief and disbelief paints his face. “You serious?” He glances over at Yunho, who gives a slow, almost doubtful nod, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing either. Mingi’s hand moves to rest on your thigh, his grip firm, sending a jolt through you. “Look, Y/N. We’ve been into you for so long, but we thought you’d be freaked out by the idea... of being with both of us like this, you know.”

Yunho’s hand tilts your chin so you’re looking right at him. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, and his voice drops lower. “Yeah, we didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But if you’re saying you’re into this too...” His other hand slides to your waist, tugging you a bit closer. “Maybe we’ve been holding back for no reason.”

You shiver under their touch, heat pooling low in your stomach as the reality of the situation sinks in. Mingi’s thumb strokes slow circles on your thigh, his other hand trailing up your back. Yunho leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “So... what do you want, really?” 

You catch your breath, feeling their warmth pressed against you from both sides. You look at them, and it’s like all the unspoken feelings are right there on their faces. A nervous smile tugs at your lips as you admit, “I want... both of you.”

Mingi’s grip tightens, and Yunho’s breath comes out in a low, almost relieved sigh, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. It’s like a dam breaking—no more restraint, just the three of you finally letting go of the tension that’s been building for so long.

The bed dips under their weight as Yunho settles behind you, Mingi in front. The heat radiating from their bodies is intoxicating, and you shiver as Yunho’s rough hand grips your jaw, tilting your head back. “Look at you. Already so needy,” he growls, the pad of his thumb grazing your lower lip, sending a thrill straight to your core.

His lips crash into yours, rough and eager, as if he can’t hold back a second longer. His hands are everywhere—one cupping your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, the other slipping beneath your shirt, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His grip is firm, possessive, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer.

Mingi’s hands tug at the hem of your shirt, impatience lacing his movements. He pulls the fabric up and over your head, his fingers fumbling slightly as he tosses it aside. “He’s always in such a hurry,” Yunho teases, his voice a low rumble against your lips, but there’s a smirk in his tone that says he’s just as eager.

Your bra is the next to go, Mingi’s hands quickly unhook it and slide it down your arms. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his tongue wetting his lips. “You look so good like this,” he murmurs, his breath coming in shallow pants. He palms your chest, thumbs brushing over your nipples, drawing a gasp from you as he rolls them between his fingers, his touch alternating between gentle and rough.

Yunho’s hand trails down your side, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. He yanks them down in one swift motion, along with your panties, leaving you completely bare between them. He pulls back just enough to admire the sight, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk. “You’re beautiful, I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” he says, but there’s a rough edge to his voice that sends a shiver through you.

His breath is warm against your ear, his hands trailing down your sides, tracing the curves of your body with a possessive touch. He pulls you closer against him, his large hands sliding over your thighs before gently urging them apart. He holds you open, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady while the other spreads you wider, his fingers brushing against your slickness as he exposes you to Mingi.

Meanwhile, Mingi’s hands roam over your thighs, pushing them apart as he leans in, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers tease along the edge of your crotch, just barely brushing over your wetness.

“Already soaked, huh?” Mingi’s voice is husky, tinged with a whine as his fingers press harder, rubbing slow circles over the soaked heat. He’s watching you, eyes blown wide with lust, lips parted as he takes in every little reaction. He lets out a shaky breath, his impatience bleeding through. “You’re so fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Yunho’s hand wraps around your throat, fingers tighten slightly, cutting off your reply. “Mingi, quit messing around,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. His fingers slowly twisting your nipples, hard enough to make you gasp. “She wants it rough, so let’s not make her wait.”

Mingi, positioned between your legs, drinks in the sight of you with darkened eyes, a low groan escaping him. “Yunho, she’s so wet for us,” he mutters, his voice husky with desire. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips trailing a path closer to where you need him most, his breath teasing your skin and making you squirm in Yunho’s hold.

Yunho tightens his grip, keeping you steady, a smirk playing on his lips as he feels you try to press closer to Mingi. “Easy, baby. Let him take his time with you,” Yunho murmurs, his tone low and commanding, his fingers brushing along your inner thigh as he keeps you spread wide for Mingi.

Mingi glances up at you through half-lidded eyes, his mouth hovering just inches away from your core, and you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot. “You ready for this?” he asks, his usual confidence cracking just enough to reveal the desperation underneath. He doesn’t wait for your answer before leaning in, his tongue dragging slowly over your folds, tasting you with a groan that vibrates against your skin.

You gasp, your head falling back against Yunho’s shoulder as the sensation crashes through you. Mingi’s mouth is relentless, his tongue working you over with a rhythm that has your thighs shaking, but Yunho’s grip keeps you from closing your legs, keeps you open and exposed to every lick, every gentle suck. He spreads you wider with his fingers, giving Mingi the perfect angle, and Mingi takes full advantage, his tongue dipping inside you before dragging back up to circle your clit, teasing you mercilessly.

Yunho’s lips find your neck again, pressing rough kisses along your skin, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. “Look at you, falling apart already,” he whispers, his voice filled with amusement as he watches the way your chest heaves with every breath. “Mingi, I think she likes that,” he teases, his hand sliding down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, deliberate circles.

Mingi pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and rough. “She tastes so good, Yunho... I don’t think I can stop,” he admits, his usual confidence slipping into a more desperate edge. He dives back in with a hunger, his tongue working faster now, alternating between soft licks and harsher, more focused attention on your clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue until you’re crying out, your hands clutching at Yunho’s arm for support.

Yunho groans softly at the sound of your moans, his own arousal pressing hard against your lower back. He lets one hand drift down, his fingers grazing over Mingi’s jaw as he works, a silent encouragement as he keeps you pinned in place, making sure you can’t escape the overwhelming pleasure. “Yeah, that’s it, Mingi... make her fall apart,” Yunho breathes, his own voice thick with desire as he watches the scene unfold.

Mingi’s pace grows more frantic, his lips and tongue driving you to the edge, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he devours you like he’s starving. The combination of Yunho’s firm, steady grip and Mingi’s relentless mouth leaves you helpless between them, your body arching as the tension builds, heat pooling low in your belly until you can’t hold back anymore.

“Yunho, please... I—” Your words dissolve into a choked moan as Mingi’s tongue circles your clit faster, pushing you right to the brink. Yunho’s hand slides back to your throat, not applying pressure but just resting there, a reminder that he’s the one in control, a reminder of how completely you’re at their mercy.

“That’s it, baby. Come for us,” Yunho whispers against your ear, his thumb stroking over your pulse as if feeling the way it races beneath his touch. His other hand tightens on your thigh, holding you wide open for Mingi’s tongue, making sure you can’t escape the intense sensations that roll through you in waves.

And when your release finally crashes over you, it’s like everything shatters—your body shaking between them as Mingi holds you steady, his tongue slowing but never stopping, drawing out every last aftershock until you’re a trembling mess in their hands. Yunho’s grip softens, turning soothing as he brushes his lips against your temple, “Good girl,” his voice soft in a low register.

Mingi pulls away from you, lips slick and pupils blown wide, catching his breath as he watches the way your body trembles. He flashes you a wild grin, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he takes in the sight of you coming undone. “You’ve got no idea how good you look like this,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

Yunho’s large hand cups your jaw, his fingers pressing gently but firmly as he tilts your head back, stealing your breath with a demanding kiss. His tongue slides against yours, leaving you dizzy with the heat of his mouth, while his free hand drifts between your legs. His long fingers find the slickness Mingi left behind, sliding inside you with ease, spreading your pussy open, curling to press against that sensitive spot that makes you gasp into his mouth. He groans at how ready you are, his own control slipping as he pumps his fingers slowly, making you arch against him.

“Think she’s ready for us, Yunho?” Mingi teases, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, his voice tinged with a playful edge even as his own breath comes out shaky. His hands press your legs open wider, his grip rough and eager, holding you in place beneath him.

Yunho pulls back, letting his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as he speaks. “More than ready,” he murmurs, his tone low and dark. He withdraws his fingers, leaving you clenching around nothing, and Mingi’s lips twitch into a smirk as he watches the way your hips move, seeking more. He pulls his own shirt over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath, and shoves his jeans down in a hurry, his cock heavy in his hand as he strokes himself, his eyes glued to the way you tremble beneath them.

They both shed the last of their clothes, and the sight of them—Mingi with a desperation in his eyes, his cock hard and leaking, and Yunho’s self-assured composure as he strokes himself slowly—has heat pooling in your belly all over again.

Yunho catches Mingi’s eye, and there’s a shared look between them—a look that you can’t quite make out of. Mingi huffs out a breath, a smirk curling his lips even as his hands tighten on your thighs. “Ready to make her feel good, aren’t we?” Yunho taunts, his tone edged with a dangerous kind of promise.

Mingi’s response is a low hum as he settles between your legs again, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. He presses a final kiss to your thigh, his lips soft before he lines himself up with your entrance. “You’re gonna take us both, sweetheart. You up for that?”

Yunho’s grip tightens on your jaw, guiding your head back so you’re looking at him, his expression dark and intense. “She can take it. Can’t you?” he challenges, his thumb brushing over your lips, the pressure making your breath hitch. You nod, can’t even form words, and a satisfied smirk tugs at Yunho’s mouth.

Mingi eases himself inside you, inch by inch, his moan vibrating through you as he stretches you open. The way his big dick fills you is almost overwhelming, his rough grip grounding you as he bottoms out, shuddering against you. “Fuck, she’s so tight... I’m not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that,” he’s breathless, barely keeping himself together as your body tightens around him.

Yunho smirks, his fingers flexing against your throat. “She likes it, Mingi,” he murmurs, the dominance in his tone sending a thrill through you both. He moves his hand to your clit, his touch unrelenting, and the added sensation sends you spiraling, your body arching back into him as he drives you higher.

Yunho’s smirk widens, his gaze tracking every twitch of your expression as he positions himself behind you, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance alongside Mingi’s. He moves slowly, letting the stretch settle in, and you gasp at the sensation, the stretch is intense, burning in the most delicious way as your body struggles to adjust. They both push forward, filling you to the brim, and you can’t hold back the sharp cry that escapes you, the sensation leaving you breathless.

Yunho’s breath ghosts over your skin, his voice a low growl in your ear. “Look at how desperate he is for you,” he taunts, his fingers pressing down on your clit, rubbing rough circles. “But you love it, don’t you? Being filled like this, over and over until you can’t even think straight.”

Mingi’s head snaps up at that, his lips curling into a defiant smirk even as his movements falter, every thrust turning sloppy and wild. “She loves it... I can feel how tight she gets every time you touch her,” he gasps out, his voice cracking into a moan as Yunho’s fingers tighten their grip, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp, and he holds you there, his grip firm as he watches the way your lips part, vision going hazy. Mingi loses himself in the rhythm, his cock twitching inside you as he chases the edge of release, his desperation palpable in every shuddering breath.

You can feel Mingi’s pace falters, his head dropping to your shoulder as his breath stutters against your skin. “Fuck, I can’t hold back... she’s driving me crazy,” he groans, his voice breaking on a whimper as he feels the way you clench around him.

From behind you, Yunho chuckles, his own control slipping as his hips snap forward, burying himself deeper inside you. “Don’t hold back,” he growls. “Make her come again.” The dual sensations of their thrusts, the weight of their bodies, and the intimacy of the moment push you closer to the edge, and you feel the tension building again. “I can’t—oh, God, I’m so close!” you cry, your nails digging into Mingi’s arms as you cling to him.

The room fills with the sounds of your combined breaths, the wet slap of skin against skin, and the low, breathless curses spilling from Mingi’s lips. His hand slips, reaching back to grip Yunho’s wrist, grounding himself as he rocks into you with wild abandon, his moans turning needy and high-pitched as he finally loses himself in the pleasure.

Yunho increases his pace, and Mingi’s fingers dig into your skin as he matches the intensity. “That’s it, just let go,” he encourages, his voice a desperate plea.

The heat spirals through you, the sensation of being double filled amplifying everything. Your body arches back against Yunho, and with a final thrust from both sides—it pushes you over, and you come with a broken cry, clenching down around them.

Mingi loses it then, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a choked moan, his whole body shuddering against yours. Yunho isn’t far behind, his grip on you steady as he pushes deep one last time, burying himself as he loses control. He keeps moving through the aftershocks, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re a trembling, spent mess in their arms.

They hold you there, their bodies pressed against yours, the heat of the moment fading into a heavy, sated silence. Mingi’s head rests on your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin, while Yunho’s hand gently loosens around your throat, his lips pressing a softer kiss to the side of your neck.

You’re all left panting, tangled together in a messy heap, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. Mingi pulls out first, dropping back onto the bed with a breathless laugh. “Fuck, that was... intense.”

Yunho wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Yeah, it was an intense anatomy lesson, but she took it like a champ,” he murmurs, voice full of pride. “Didn’t you, babe?”

You nod weakly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you relax into their warmth. “Yeah... I did.”

by @woolysium

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 working on love - business party!

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content: fluff, kinda silce of life, company party, mutual pining, alcohol mentioned, bestie Jimin is a wingman for em, smoking together, some cutesy kissing, Jk speaking in satoori mentioned

note from cherry: I´m tired of writing smut so here´s this request without smut.. sorry cloud anonie! ily!!!!,,,,this might get a pt2 if you guys want!!

────୨ৎ────

This is the best night you´ve had for a while. A tight, rather modest cream dress, hours spend on that flowy blowout and natural, brown toned make up all sum up the immediate glow radiating from your figure- glowing, for what seems to be the first time after ending that draining relationship.

Wooyoung was a good guy in the beginning. A gentleman inside the crowd modern day Elvis's, someone who did all the smooth talking, picking you up with a boquet and your favorite food, someone who would have bought you the moon if you asked him too.

Similar to how prominent and illuminated tonights moon hangs up so high in the sky, his love dim, not necessarily bright or precisely large- nonetheless, still it felt as thought he was the single source of hope in a darkness you grew comfortable in,

Wooyoungs love never felt raw- like love. apart from there being small muffled butterflies inside your stomach, there was nothing that exceeded any and all expectations you had set, nothing that breached the occasional warmth in your heart when he had once again bought the same boquet.

You had simply swallowed that down, accepting that the hunger you've been yearning for must be yet another illusion that TV has instilled in the minds of vulnerable women, longing for betterment within their limits of fulfilment

Soon enough, even that small light suffocated in your tight hold, you find out that asking for him to stay respectful and loyal seemed to have been too much. He couldn´t keep his promises and when he stopped being present, it only took so much to figure out why.

"Another glass?" he raises his eyebrow, leaning the grey colored, suited body of his against the counter,

you throw back half the glass of champagne, the third one this past hour. Arguably, too much in too little time for a coorprate work party held for networking,

"yes Jimin, i swear I´ll stop after this one" the city lights twinkle from below- from this 12th floor panorama window, even the biggest cars and buildings look small, people become anonymous figures, they loose their character,

become insignificant.

"you´re lying through your teeth" the blonde coworker says, Jimin could read you like a book; from coworkers to friends and quickly, there was nothing too personal to share with him.

His bright smile could never make you get too mad at him when he reported back all of his drunken mistakes and hook ups,

Alcohol brings out the best in people,

and the worst out of the good people

your head turns back to him, leaving the city to continue behind you,

"I know, i just need to breathe a bit"

"with workplace booze? come on"

his chuckle lights up the mood a little bit, "okay, just don´t embarrass us" he says, patting your back as if to reassure his statement

you promise him not to, moving a strand to the side of your face as he gives you a half smile, wandering off to what you presume to be the buffet.

While staring at your chrome nails tapping away at the small glass, the loud chattering from around you fades out briefly, almost as if everyone had completely gone silent,

thats when you spot him; another star emerges,

another radiant glow, you could see him clearer than any other person around, not because he´s tall- broad shoulders and parted, short hair peeking out from the people around- no, he shone like no other

Blurred out the countless voices and handsome faces that thralled around him, almost as if his presence screamed of his arrival, announcing himself as a starlight without even catching a tone of his voice- a glimmer of how he would pronounce your name,

No knowledge of his own unique one, in a strange way, he tugs at something wihin you- a spot you had only discovered now, as if you had met him in a past life or, rather as if you were supposed to see him

Jungkook´s breath gets choked up within his throat,

almost as if the collegues around all parted to make way for you- to reveal your purity, your radiance to him, his eyes land on you like fate,

it must have been fate, seeing you smile slightly with that glass in your hand, before turning your head back to the panorama window,

he watches your bouncy hair move in slow motion, the glitter on your dress sparkles under the warm, dim light of the confrence room,

The curves of your face resonate with him like a painting you see in a museum, only that you had known that painting before- you'd seen it, this being the first you could feel it, feel its vibrant colors meet your eyes in a fight of admiration and anxiety

"wow" his best mate whispers, hitting him in the side with his elbow,

suddenly, everything returns to normal, humans clouding the line of sight to what he must have deemed an angel, he almost sighs in disappointment, still, your glow reflects on the ceiling, disappearing as you also get lost within the crowd yourself, hiding behind the facade of a regular office worker

"what?" he speaks, turning his attention back on his friend who has an impressed smile clutching the contoures of his face,

"what? dude, you were literally standing here with your jaw on the floor"

Jungkook rolls his eyes, "at least i had my eyes on her face you asshole"

Taehyung makes a face that resembles the expression "fair enough", looking between the huddle of people to try and spot you once more,

To no avail, in fact, he wouldn't have been able to, given you had slipped off right away, fetching for another glass of champagne and your emotional support blonde

Despite the chatter that swallows any small sound not relate to business, you can hear your heels clicking around frantically, thinking for any reason to get out of the room with him, any excuse you could deem plausible, until you end up on something that is undeniably so ordinary, it might even be true

In dire need of a whim of fresh air- a cooling breeze on your skin and definitely, in much more predictable nature, in dire need of a cigarette, you attempt to find him, ask him for a quick smoke break before resuming to the party

When you do find Jimin,it seems somebody familiar also did

Somebody who shouldn't feel magnetic, forcefully pulling you into their space,

Jimin's eye smile upon seeing you catches the two men around him off guard, whipping their heads to your direction swiftly,

his eyes land on yours, you can barely make out jimin's arm extending to wave in slow motion, as your eyes become chained to his,

His gaze becomes devoted to you, with every mindless step you take forward, it feeds he look in his eyes, strengthens the chain you've tangled yourself in with

"hey, where have you been y/n?" he asks, smacking your shoulder in an very unprofessional attempt to make your guy's relationship clear,

Jimin wasn't stupid, even he could feel how tense it had gotten,

"Y/n? Thats a pretty name"

You weren't supposed to know how he pronounces your name, he was destined to stay a fantasy,

"Thank you..?"

"Jungkook"

"you're the one with the nice name, Jungkook"

effortlessly, the syllables of his name roll of your tongue,

It send shivers to his body, jimin's eyes are burning a whole through the side of your face and you know it- you know he's aware how much this wasn't planned-

You weren't supposed to feel attraction like this, not to the intensity that ever movie you had seen creeped back up in a matter of seconds, instantly resuming that hopeful flame to burn once more, igniting not only fear- but need

Your eyes avert to the man in the black suit next to him,

"And your name?"

Jungkook's eyes still haven't left yours, awaiting their turn patiently, a lump in his throat grabbing at all rationality, begging for a chance to speak his mind- tell you that you're an angel- one he must have, must hold

For some strange reason,

Even though jungkook swore love was for the books, not for people like him

And even though a couple minutes of anyone's presence is far too little to utter the word love in the first place, he also knew it was inescapable the second you had granted him a smile

"Taehyung" he answers, sliding his hands into his pockets

"You're from wonder group right?" Jimin asks, returning the conversation back to the nuisance that your lame 9-5 is,

The two guys hum, Jungkook reponds first,

"Yeah. Came here because we were invited by the manager of your media department"

"Well, actually not we specifically were invited, everyone was" Taehyung chimes in,

"Media department? Thats.."

"Me. Wow, what a coincidence"

you freeze after your last statement - thinking foolishly, that meeting him maybe was supposed to happen - maybe when your fingers tiredly typed away at the keyboard when sending your invitation, you had to have laced it with a spell

It confirms what he had thought upon seeing your glow in the crowd of dull faces and grey tints,

Fate, you must be his fate

Jimin taps away at the wine glass in his hand, one you haven't caught notice of since your eyes had been occupied by someone who stood closer than a stranger should feel comfortable with,

In a desperate attempt to do something- anything about this encounter, you shoot jimin a look, a look that says help me, rescue me

"Do you smoke?" he asks, earning a nod from your mysterious soulmate and a very serious "nah" from his friend,

breathless, you manage to let out a small hum

"Let's go for one, tae are you good with waiting here a bit man?" Jungkook suggests, breaching out to ways he never knew he even possessed, ways to get you closer- to get to know a unreasonably familiar stranger no reason

other than having every single reason,

Taehyung nods, quickly, the three of you go outside the big glass door, finding a small spot behind the building to avoid any other, personal space invading collegue that might roam around for small talk

It didn't make sense, not even in the slightest when Jimin disappeared after saying he would go get the lighter he had forgotten, especially not when you had just lit your cigarette with one, perfectly working lighter

Jungkook caught on, laughing slightly at your friends attempt to leave you to a collective solitude, the fresh, 11 pm gust of wind feels like a gentle kiss to the face, almost like what you imagine him to feel like

You shouldn't be imagining that at all,

His head turns away from yours when he takes a drag, pushing the thick nicotine cloud out into the pure night,

You do the same, letting the bitter taste overtake your cherry flavored lip balm,

"Didn't know pretty girls smoke" he says, his deep voice thickly laced with a satoori you haven't remarked until this very sentence,

smiling at his sincerity, you take another drag, "didn't know busan men are this bold"

he doesn't feel like a stranger, far more comfortable than one- far less intimidating

"How did you know?" the small smirk on his lips forms into a gentle, bunny like smile once seeing that dead panned look on your face, merging with a hidden chuckle that manages to dominate your features in the end,

"Your satoori" you answer, watching as his plump lips wrap around the cigarette, he blows the smoke out, "hmm" he says, "do you like it?"

"A lot" truthfully, your answer tumbles out, scanning his response with a longing look on your face, the lit drug burns away between your fingers, forgotten, discarded by a much stronger one that's about 5'10 with an eyebrow piercing

"Glad to hear that, sweetheart " it slips past his lips, naturally yet simultaneously intentional- just like the way he makes sure to lay on his accent nicely

His cigarette bud drops to the floor, he puts it out, then turning to be stood in front of you, smiling softly with a newfound gentleness to his seductive appeal,

"You're beautiful, i mean that. I saw you earlier and i honestly couldn't stop thinking about you. I was going crazy looking for you"

he laughs slightly at the last bit, shyly toying with the metal ring at the corner of his bottom lip, the adrenaline of your sheer beauty and captivating allure overcoming and reluctance he would usually feel held back by, nothing could stop him from talking to the angel he had become keen on,

Your blush deepness, eyes flickering down to his lips, "thank you, i couldn't get my mind off of you either. Didn't know you were looking for me"

his slender fingers reach forward, moving a flowing strand behind your ear with ease before carefully caressing the side of your cheek with his knuckle, tender- soft, as if he had known not to apply pressure to your fragile heart and mind,

"Of course i was. Call me crazy but i swear you were glowing" both of you grin stupidly, you relish in the feeling of his plam flattening against your cheek, embracing it with care- he waited, waited for you to stop him, for you to tell him he's a crazy creep that needs to learn the meaning of a boundary

But you never do, instead, you silently thank him for his honesty, telling yourself he must be your soulmate,

That the television must have been right about love,

your shaky, cold hands lace with his deeply colored hair, fingers dancing between the locs as his breath hitches, getting closer on your face,

your eyes connect briefly, then your lips do too, longer- intertwined with a bond you knew exist from the very first second,

a bond that was so simple it couldn't be explained, so simple, it only took one look to determine it's existance

The nicotine on his lips melts with your cherry lip balm and own, bitter taste, pressing along the soft pillows of your love drunken lips, he thought about love for a moment,

Jungkook now knew that the books were always written about people like him

[sunrizef1]

Speak for Yourself

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Authors Note: not edited woohoo, back to your regularly scheduled programming, planning to shut up now lol

Word count: 4.6k I think

Warnings: light cursing, AUS 24, not edited, inaccurate information regarding f2 seasons for the sake of the plot

Summary: You’d been around as long as Logan had, it was no time until one of the drivers developed a crush on you. Oscar had thought it was obvious you weren’t single. Guess not.

—————————————————

Growing up, Oscar had always known he was quieter than a lot of his friends. He’d just rather keep to himself than be loud in his day-to-day life. Even Logan was considered loud when around the Aussie, and considering Logan was pretty quiet himself, that was impressive.

Everyone around him knew he preferred to be private. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share things with his friends and family, it was just that having his own life was more convenient.

One of the things he’d always been private about, was his relationships. He’d had girlfriends growing up, none of them really sticking around too long as the times changed.

But then he met you. 2018. Logan had introduced you as his best friend, Oscar decided not to be offended. You were the opposite of the Australian. You were loud and happy and Oscar was absolutely captivated by you. He’d asked Logan if he was allowed to ask you out and the American had just laughed with a nod, Oscar practically running over to you the second the race was over.

Of course, you were 17 so Oscar didn’t exactly have the emotional maturity to realize he was in love with you at the time. It only took him six months to say it out loud, though. Three years later and you two were still going strong, Oscars career only moving upwards as he raced through the 2021 F2 season.

Logan had been trying to find a way to get you a job with him the whole season. You’d just agreed, choosing to follow him around for a whole year as he moved through different series. He’d never have told Oscar but he’d needed your support more than anything. Just having to cycle through seats and races and series had drained him, you needing to practically talk him off the ledge multiple times throughout the year.

But you did get a few races with Oscar. Toward the end of the year, Logan got to race alongside his friend, meaning you got to hang out with your boyfriend. Your boyfriend, who was looking likely to win the entire championship.

“Are you nervous?” You hummed under your breath, your words echoing around the silence of the dark hotel room. You feel Oscar shift behind you, his arm tightening around your torso. The next morning, he’d be racing to win the championship, hopes and dreams laid out before him.

“I don’t think so,” he pauses, contemplating his words, “I think I was. Not anymore though, I’ve got you with me. That’s enough for me.”

You take a second to think through his words before a grin splits your face, skin heating up as the sentence sinks in, “I love you, Osc.”

The man in question shifts again, swinging his other arm around to wrap you tighter in his hold, “I love you too.”

You eventually fall asleep, letting the quiet of the room paired with the sound of the beating heart behind you, lull you to bed.

The next day, Oscar wins the championship, your loud yells sounding uncharacteristically quiet in the cacophony of screaming voices that surround you. He doesn’t sprint over to you or anything, big gestures not really his style. But he does make eye contact with you with a warming smile once he steps out of the car and that’s enough for you to know exactly how he feels in that moment.

Logan, though, is being very weird. You were sat in your boyfriend’s room, watching Logan practically wear a hole in the carpet with his constant pacing. He walked back and forth through the room with an absent mind and shaky hands. Throughout the year you’d been forced to follow him around, you somehow hadn’t seen him this nervous the whole time. Impressive considering he’d met about 100 very important people in the span of about two weeks.

“What’s your problem?” Logan’s eyes snap toward you, eyebrows shooting up as he looks at you with wide eyes.

“Nothing,” you roll your eyes at his quickly worded response, he didn’t seem to be in a too concerning state of being so you opted to leave him alone. He’d be fine eventually. He’d also looked about the same last week when the Dolphins had almost lost. He’d recovered from that too.

Your head instead turns toward where the door has just opened. You watch your boyfriend walk through, his gaze immediately catching on the weirdo pacing in the corner.

“Hi, Logan?” Oscar hums with a confused look on his face. Logans gaze locks onto the older Aussie, a stupid grin splitting the Americans face.

“Congrats, Oscar. Have a great evening,” Logan says, slapping his friend on the shoulder. The dumb grin is back on the blond man’s face, proving your earlier hypothesis that he’d heal from his paranoia relatively quickly.

Oscar, on the other hand, is surprisingly quick to take over Logan’s role as village weirdo, moving to rush Logan out of the room. Logan leaves, not before he gives Oscar a suspicious glance but Oscar just replies by shoving him out. You dismiss it as annoyance at the man for intruding, though your eyes do stay trained on the door Logan had just left though for more than a few moments.

“He’s so weird,” you mumble, a confused look on your face as you think back to your friends actions.

“Yeah, he is,” Oscar replies, rolling his eyes. There’s a second layer of agreement laced through his words, though you don’t catch the fact he might have a different reason to agree. You hum, still trying to decode why your friend had been acting like that, not even figuring the cause might be the man in front of you.

Oscar pulls your attention back toward him as he rests a hand on your face, gently tilting your head toward him, “I have dinner reservations for tonight. That place you’d talked about this morning.”

You smile, completely forgetting about Logan’s loser behavior, “Sounds great.”

Oscar grins before letting go of your face, the feeling of his grasp still lingering on your skin, “I’m gonna take a shower, then we can go back to the hotel.”

You laugh, pushing him away from you gently. Oscar stumbles dramatically, causing your laugh to get louder. You don’t notice how Oscar’s smile gets bigger in sync with your happiness.

“Go, then. You stink.”

Oscar pulls a face, offense painting his features, “Rude.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as he moves toward the bathroom, “Go, nerd!”

Oscar laughs a final time before finally stepping into the room, shutting the door behind him. You collapse onto the couch you’re sitting on, mind running with thoughts of the dinner you were about to go to and recent memories of the pure elation you were feeling after Oscar’s win. Content fills your body as you relax, faint sounds of the shower the only sound filtering through your ears.

A few hours later, you’re sat across from your boyfriend, laughing over your food while sharing anecdotes back-and-forth, laughs probably a little too loud for the really nice restaurant.

Oscar grabs the bill from the waiter, smiling politely as the man walks away momentarily. Oscar pulls his card out and slides it back in his wallet before putting it in his back pocket, moving to stand up afterward. You grin as he holds a hand out to you, helping you to your feet.

You hum warmly, tiredness spreading through you as you approached the conclusion of a pretty long day. The food had been delicious and the atmosphere was wonderful.

You had thought you’d be going straight back to the hotel, considering Oscar still had to race again tomorrow.

But as you exit, Oscar pulls you away from the car, interlocking his fingers with yours. You shoot your eyebrows up as you glance at your boyfriend, a tight smile on his lips.

“I thought we could go for a walk on the beach, maybe? It’s really pretty,” Oscar stares straight ahead as he says the words, gaze seemingly avoiding yours. But when you don’t answer for a second, he does glance over to you and you finally nod with a small smile.

“Sure, I’d love that.”

Oscar gulps, a big grin splitting his face. He looks back toward the sand a bit ahead of you, moving to slowly stroll down it with you by his side. You let out a relaxed sigh, head falling into his shoulder. Oscar had been right, this was very pretty. Lights lit up the sand around you, reflecting off the ocean waves that crashed toward you. The sun is starting to set in the distance, casting warm hues over the sky.

You do stop to pull of your heels and Oscar is quick to hold them in his hands, resuming in his passive, slow walk.

You make bare comments about how pretty your surroundings were, the sound of silence just not satisfying you. Although you do leave enough time between sentences to truly take in the calmness that comes with the ocean scenery, wave sounds in the silence and all.

You eventually come to a point some ways down the beach that has more lights than the rest. They form a little semi-circle that perfectly light up the area. Oscar pulls you to a stop in the middle of them and he turns you both to look out at the ocean. You swear you hear a sound from behind you but when you glance over, the beach is clear of anyone else so you turn back around to gaze toward the sunset.

The sun is about halfway down in the horizon and you find your gaze locked on the pink and orange that fades through the sky. You’re so focused that you don’t notice that Oscars grasp on you disappears. When you turn around to point out the colors to your boyfriend, a sharp gasp leaves your throat.

“Oh my god, Osc-!”

You cut yourself off with a hand over your mouth as you look down at your boyfriend, kneeling in the sand, a small box clutched in his hands.

You don't remember much of his speech, too busy trying to not start absolutely sobbing. But you do remember the last words that leave his mouth before the ring is slid onto your finger.

“Will you marry me?”

You nod quickly, hands shaking as Oscar stands up to put the ring onto you. You stare down at it for a few seconds as Oscars hands rest on your waist, waiting for your reaction. You look up, moving through the shock in your veins. You grasp his face in your hands and pull him down into an emotionally-charged kiss, feeling his arms wrap around you tighter.

He smiles into the kiss, head resting against yours once you finally pull away. You look into his eyes for a second before laughing and leaning away, tears dripping down your face.

“That was so wonderful, Osc,” you say through your tears, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Oscar smiles before it drops slightly, a grimace pulling onto his face, “because Logan’s been in that bush the whole time.”

Your head whips toward the bush Oscars hand is outstretched toward, eyebrows furrowed as you search the greenery.

An incredulous laugh leaves your throat as Logan pops his head up, a sheepish glance in your direction being all he offers in response. You snort, grinning as you notice the nice-looking camera in his hands.

“Come here, idiot,” you smile, waiting for your friend to emerge from the bushes so you can share this moment with the man who’d been your closest friend for your entire life, “‘At least, now I know why you were acting like that.”

That was, of course, 2021. Now, two years later, you were still following Logan around. But now, with the Floridian entering F1, you had a contract and a paycheck that came with it. Anyone who didn’t know Logan would think you were his assistant. Which you technically were. But anyone who did know Logan, would instead refer to you as his paid-best-friend, many jokes about him paying you to hang around being thrown his way from fans and fellow drivers alike.

It was very convenient that your husband was entering F1 at the same time as the man who employs you, opening up so many more chances to spend time with Oscar.

No one really questioned Oscar’s continued presence in the Williams garage. Everyone knew that him and Logan had always been close so when he was spotted in the white and blue, no one batted an eye.

Not even his new teammate, who claimed to know the Aussie better than anyone else on the grid. Lando just assumed Oscar was really eager to see his friend every day. Lando didn’t consider that he saw Logan every weekend anyway and that maybe the speed with which he got to Williams might be a little too fast to just be for a close friend.

No one from Williams questioned it either. They all knew that Logan and Oscar had grown up as friends. So when Oscar seemed pretty close to one of Logan's closest friends, they didn't question it. It only made sense.

You didn’t hang around the rest of the grid very often during Oscar and Logan’s first season. You didn’t really know any of the other drivers so you, instead, spent all your time in Williams, Alex and Lily becoming fast friends of yours.

But in 2024, you started to come around more, choosing to venture out of the garage and talk more to the drivers you’d met over the past year. One of the garages you had started to frequent more was McLaren, your husband quite excited to have you in the Papaya as opposed to your usual blue.

You went to the garage purely for Oscar. But he wasn’t always the only driver hanging around. The papaya garages were often frequented by drivers from other teams. Specifically, the Ferrari drivers loved to make their presence in the garages known.

It was the Australian GP, Oscar’s home race and only the third race of the season. You’d only came over to McLaren a few times over the past three races, but you were currently occupied with Logan after his car had been taken away so you were nowhere to be seen.

Oscar was sat with his teammate in hospitality, talking about pretty much anything as they waited out the few hours they had before they had to do anything.

“Lando!” The voice of a loud Spanish man has Oscar’s face splitting into a grimace. He turns his head to see none other than Carlos Sainz making his way toward the pair in papaya, Charles Leclerc in tow behind him.

Lando grins beside him, eyes lighting up as he looks toward his friend. Lando glances down toward his teammate to assess the look on the Aussies face before he stands up and clasps Carlos on the shoulder, “Hey, Carlos!”

Oscar looks away from the two of them, gaze landing on Charles who stands awkwardly to the side. Oscar catches his eye before gesturing for him to sit down in one of the free chairs around the table the McLaren boys had been occupying . Charles smiles gratefully, happy to break the strange stance he’d been stuck in previously.

After successfully bro-ing it out, Lando and Carlos eventually sit down at the table, chairs sliding against the grown loudly as they shift around.

“How are you both feeling about the race?” Carlos asks, eyes shifting between Lando and Oscar, though his gaze does stop on the Brit.

Oscar, though, pipes up to answer the Spaniards question before Lando can, “We feel pretty good. It’s a home race so that’s always great.”

Carlos hums absently, eyes seemingly searching for something behind Oscar. Oscar glances behind him quickly to see if there’s anything worth mentioning but is met with nothing but Papaya shirts. He turns back around. Weird.

Lando seems to notice Carlos’ weird behavior as well, his eyebrows furrowing as he glances around as well before looking back to the Spaniard, “You looking for something, Carlos?”

Carlos’ eyes snap back to the curly-haired man, heat rising to his cheeks as he realizes he’s been caught, “No, nothing.”

Charles snorts from beside his teammate, sticking a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the laugh threatening to leave his throat. Carlos glares at the Monegasque lightly, only making Charles laugh harder before Carlos leans forward to explain.

“Where is that Williams girl?” Carlos asks with a small smile and a confused look passes over Oscar’s face. Who the hell is he talking about?

Charles seems to catch the matching confusion on the McLarens face, rolling his eyes at Carlos’ blunt delivery before starting to explain himself, “Carlos in love with that girl Logan hangs around with. The one that’s always in McLaren for some reason.”

Carlos nods in agreement, leaning back in his chair with satisfaction. Oscar feels his stomach drop.

“I’m not in love with her, I just think she’s really pretty.”

Charles laughs, eyes going wide in response, “Carlos you look for her every time we’re in this garage. You’ve been asking to come over here just so you can see her.”

Lando gasps dramatically, a big grin painting his face, “And here I was, thinking you’d been coming around so you could see me!”

The other three drivers at the table laugh but Oscar stays quiet, teeth digging hard into his bottom lip. An unreasonable annoyance filled him at Carlos’ words, eyes rolling as he watches the Spaniard go on about his love for you, Oscar’s wife.

“Why’ve you never gone to Williams to look for her?” Lando interjects after a few more seconds of mindless rambling from Carlos about you. Carlos glances sideways at Charles, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

“Never wanted to bother Logan, I guess. We’re not really friends,” Carlos shrugs.

Lando tilts his head, shaking it slightly, “I’m sure Logan wouldn’t mind.”

Oscar has to stop himself from scoffing at Landos words. If only he knew how much Logan would mind.

“Yeah, I’ll go over there in a minute. Maybe I’ll actually shoot my shot this time.”

Oscar stands up suddenly, chair screeching against the floor as it pushes backward.

“Where you going, mate?” Lando goes to ask but Oscar’s already practically ran away, feet carrying him quickly toward the Williams garage.

The three drivers he’s left behind look between each other with confused faces, all having no idea what made the Aussie leave so quickly.

Oscar, though, makes it to Williams in record time. Running between employees and the like, weaving his way to Logan’s room. He slams the door open, ignoring the strange glances from Williams employees around him.

He pauses as he sees the sight in front of him, Logans head resting heavily in your lap as you run a hand through the blonds hair. The dejected look on Logans face is enough to make Oscar grimace and move quieter as he enters the room. You glance up with the concerned expression still painting your features. Logan doesn't look up, eyes closed tightly and pure distaste clearly present.

“Hey Osc,” you practically sigh, eyes shifting back down to Logan for a moment. Only after hearing your words does Logan open his eyes, looking over toward the Aussie.

“Hey guys,” Oscar says carefully, his previous reason for rushing into Williams now momentarily forgotten.

Logan mumbles under his breath and closes his eyes again, nodding at Oscar before he does. You pat his head softly and he rolls over, moving his head away from you so you can stand up and talk to Oscar.

“Whats up?” you try to smile through your obvious grimace and Oscar smiles painfully in response.

He nods his head toward Logan who's now lying face-down on the couch, “Is he okay?”

“No, not a great weekend with the whole chassis thing,” You reply, trying to keep your voice low enough so Logan doesn't hear.

Apparently you weren't quiet enough as you hear a muffled shout echo through the small room.

“Im fine!” You can barely hear through the couch cushion but he’s just audible enough.

You shake your head at Oscar, sighing deeply, “Did you need something?”

Oscar nods slightly, grasping your hand in his and pulling you out of the room and away from Logan. Not that Oscar didn’t want to support his friend but he honestly didn’t know what to say. And he was obviously okay with you leaving or he wouldn’t have rolled away from you.

“Do you wanna come back to McLaren hospitality?” Oscar asks, dragging his finger over the wedding ring sat proudly on your ring finger. You notice his attention on the ring and tilt your head slightly.

“For any specific reason?”

Oscar shakes his head innocently, trying to take any look of suspicion off his face. Though it seems you know him too well as you raise an eyebrow and tilt your head, not believing his story.

Oscar rolls his eyes, admitting defeat, “Fine. Carlos was talking about how in love with you he is and I was getting annoyed about it.”

You laugh slightly, not expecting Oscar to claim that the Spaniard was in love with you. But when you see the blush on your husband’s face, you grin softly and pull him into a hug, grasping his face in your hands, “It’s okay, Osc. I only have eyes for you, darling.”

Oscar blushes harder, letting out a small laugh as you pepper his face with kisses and he reaches up a hand to bat your face away from his.

“Come on, let’s go show Carlos what he can’t have,” You laugh, marching forward with Oscar’s hand wrapped tightly in yours. Oscar laughs, following along behind you. But he’s secretly grateful you were willing to shut Carlos’ pining down, not sure if he could take Carlos, of all people, talking about his crush on you for any longer, “Even if he’s not there I’ll still get Logan something to eat.”

You reach the McLaren hospitality quickly enough, garnering some strange looks from people around you as they see your clasped hands. But you pay them no mind, more focused on getting to the food. Oscar drags along behind you, watching as you grab two plates of food, careful not to spill as you balance the plate for both yourself and Logan. Oscar untangles your fingers from his so he can grab one of the plates out of your hand, leading you toward a table so you can eat the food you’ve grabbed for yourself.

Oscar sits across from you as you start to pick at the food lazily, stabbing a lone grape with your fork before bringing it to your mouth. You seemed to have stopped caring about the potential Carlos sighting but Oscar was on high-alert, eyes trailing over the room.

His eyes catch on a scrap of red fabric over your shoulder and he moves his chair slightly closer to you, praying the Spaniard doesn’t catch sight of you. Oscar moves his knee to knock against yours and you smile warmly through the bite of watermelon you’d just taken.

You sit peacefully for a few minutes, eating quietly as Oscar seemingly keeps watch. You don’t ask him why he couldn’t just tell Carlos you were married himself but you don’t question his motives. Men were confusing.

Both of you are surprised when a figure walks up to stand above you. You glance up and see a grumpy-looking blonde man with tousled hair and a disgruntled face looking down at the two of you, exhaustion clear in his eyes.

“Hey, lo. Gotchu food,” You say, sliding the plate toward the American. He hums, glancing around the room. Oscar watches as he sees Carlos and then looks back, glancing between the Aussie and the enemy he had decide to make today.

“Brb,” Logan mumbles with crossed arms, slinking off to a destination you can’t see. But Oscar can, and he watches as his friend slides up to a certain Ferrari driver, his usual shy attitude abandoned due to his already-shit race weekend.

Oscar takes the opportunity to fully move his chair next to yours, grasping your open hand in his, passively fiddling with your wedding ring. You roll your eyes but relax your hand in his, allowing him the chance to be as possessive as he wants.

“Hey, man,” Carlos says as Logan reaches him. Really good timing actually, he’d been wanting to talk to him about you.

Logan blinks through his tiredness, frowning at the older man, “Hey, Carlos.”

Carlos grins, deciding to stick through the poor attitude from the blonde man in front of him, having no idea just how poor this was about to go for him, “I was actually going to ask you about that friend of yours. The pretty American one you’re always with.”

Logan blinks again, glancing back toward the papaya polo sat next to you before he looks back, “Y/N?”

Carlos shrugs, smile unfaltering, “I guess so, any way you could get me her number?”

Logan chews his cheek a bit, eyes quickly switching between the ground and Carlos’ face, “Nah, man. She's taken.”

Only then does Carlos’ face falter, his eyebrows furrowing slightly with confusion, “Really?”

Logan holds back his laugh, rubbing at his eyes as he starts to lose the tiredness he'd previously had, “Yeah, yeah. Married actually.”

Carlos’ head snaps toward the Williams driver, mouth opening slightly as he shakes his head, “No way, mate. You’re joking.”

“I don’t think I am,” Logan smirks, head tilting toward where you’re sitting, “You could ask her but I don’t think he’d let you get within 10 feet after this morning.”

Logan watches as Carlos’ gaze lands on you and your husband, mouth gaping as he catches Oscar’s hands fiddling with the ring on your finger, “Shit…”

“Yeah, shit indeed,” Logan nods, starting to walk away and leave the Spaniard to revel in his shock, “Have a good race, Carlos. I won’t be seeing you out there.”

You finally look up to see Logan sit down across from you, sliding his own plate over to himself and starting to munch down on the food you’d picked for him.

Oscar raises an eyebrow as he catches the incredulous look on Carlos’ face, “What was that about?”

“Just told him you’re married,” Logan mumbles through a mouth full of strawberries, chewing passively, “Had to spell it out for him, been dropping hints for months.”

You glance toward you friend with confusion painting your face, “What do you mean?”

“Yeah, I’ve been scaring him off from Williams since last October. Don’t think he even realized I was doing it on purpose.”

You and Oscar catch eyes, small grins breaking out on your faces as Logan continues to stare intently at his snack.

“Thanks, Logan,” you smile, happy to hear about your friends committed defense of your marriage.

“Don’t thank me, I’m still in a bad mood,” he says as he stabs a grape violently, biting the green sphere with a crunch.

Oscar hums, pulling you into him and resting his head on top of yours, eyes falling closed momentarily, “Sure, Logan. Eat your food, you’ll feel better.”

Logan just replies with a stab of his fork and you laugh, relaxing against your husband behind you, grateful for the great friend you’ve got in front of you.

————————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

[lumi077]

X-Men HCs

A/N: my hyperfixations are not very hyperfixating rn. literally they’re changing so fast. But take some nice little relationship headcanons, and the next Chapter of Winters’ Servants is coming soon!!

Characters included: Logan (Wolverine), Scott (Cyclops), Kurt (NightCrawler), Jean

Warnings: potential OOC, nothing else really. kept it nice and light.

Logan (Wolverine):

Logan would absolutely, if you use them, stretch out your new hairbands for you. If you express that you dislike using them unless stretched, he’ll offer to wear them on his wrists for a day or two till they’re stretched to your liking. It could be the most girly hair ties and he’ll proudly wear three on each wrist. When asked, he’ll happily tell them “Just stretchin ‘em for my woman/man/partner”

Scary dog privileges? Scary dog privileges. He adores making you feel safe enough to wear the most skin revealing or feminine clothing. You want to wear something revealing/very feminine but tell him you're scared? He’ll instantly assure you and tell you to wear anything you want. If someone says something, he won’t hesitate to shut them up before you even hear.

There’s going to be a point in your relationship that you’ll realize he absolutely doesn’t care about any of the gross stuff you do. Burp, Fart, don’t shave? He really doesn’t care in the least bit. Definitely the boyfriend that will go, unphased, into the bathroom while you're on the toilet and brush his teeth or shower without a care in the world. If you are comfortable that is, and he secretly preens when he realizes that you're comfy enough to do that stuff around him lol.

I wholeheartedly believe that when he realizes he wants you to be his forever partner, he’ll gift you his dog tags. His past is very personal to him, because he could never remember it for a good part of it. His dog tags are only second to him getting down on one knee. 

Speaking of getting down on one knee, sorry for all the people who want it to be a surprise, but he won’t make a big deal and will tell you about his plans beforehand. No surprise engagement, and no public one. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he wants to make sure you’re ready and want it too. He doesn’t put much on marriage because it doesn’t change much, and doesn't want you to feel pressured to say yes because there are people there. He’ll love you the same married or not, but he does note how pretty you look with the ring he bought you on your finger.

I personally believe he would be more likely to get in a committed relationship with another mutant. I just think a lot of the X-Men would want to be able to relate to their partner and have their partner relate to them, and Logan is going to live a long life so…I can't truly see him with a normal person. 

If you are apart of the X-Men, while he won’t baby you or anything, he finds himself keeping an eye on you the most. There have been a fair amount of times that you find yourself having a Logan shield on the field, and even more often if you are susceptible to projectiles. 

Dates are a norm at this point, Fridays are always the day he takes you out. It’s usually the same place, but he thinks it’s nice. 

Flowers are also a norm, if you mention you like them. 

He doesn’t do much on Valentine’s day because he already does all the normal valentine’s day stuff it weekly or bi-weekly. Does get cheat food so you guys can eat it and watch stupid rom com movies though. 

Scott (Cyclops):

First and Foremost Scott is such a golden retriever. Anything you want, he obtains quickly and with 0 thoughts of you getting him something in return. He just wants to see his partner happy and healthy, with a smile on their face as often as possible.

He is very big on PDA, likes to hold your hand, or slip an arm around your waist, put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, etc. Overall he just likes touching you, and just because you're in public doesn’t mean anything.

Adding on to his liking of PDA, I feel like he’s possessive. Like in the one X-Men movie, when Logan goes into the past and stops bad shit from happening and goes to touch Jean and he blocks him? Yeah he does that with you but with everyone. He likes people knowing your his and what’s better than you two being attached at the hip in public?

He likes when you wear his things as well, not so much for people knowing you’re his like mentioned above but just because you're adorable in it. Want his sweatshirt? He’s giving it to you even though it's negative 5 out. His cologne? Just take the whole bottle, even though it’s brand new. He’ll get another one!!

When he’s on missions and away, he gives you so many shirts and even a pair of sweats. Sprays the stuffed animals he got you with his cologne, same with your pillows. He will expect the same if it’s you going away for a long time. Or you’ll come back to him sleeping on your side of the bed where it smells the most like you, his face stuffed in one of your pillows that has one of your shirts on it. 

He is very vocal about being your boyfriend, and you being his partner. Everyone in the world knows, yet no one asked. He’ll gush about you to whoever will listen, the rest of the team is so done but they do admit his devotion to you is adorable.

All the ladies and gents and nonbinary pals who want an over the top surprise proposal, this is your man. It’s super romantic, he pays for your nails if you wear them, getting your hair done, and a new outfit. And you can’t even tell it’s because he wants to propose because he does this all the time. Then he takes you to your fav restaurant and pops the question.

Make no mistake though, he has to be 100% sure that you want him to propose to do so. He’s so attuned to you and your likings he gets your dream ring without having to ask everyone close to you first. Which also assures him no one can spoil the surprise.

He is one of the few ones who probably doesn’t care if you're a mutant or not, because his love is 100% blind. He would probably want a mutant partner, but once he falls he falls hard.

He also won’t baby you if you’re in the X-Men, but if he happens to laser them first? Not his fault.

Kurt (NightCrawler):

He is a very shy partner at first. But once he falls for you, and you make it obvious you have fallen for him it all goes out the window. He is a completely different person around you, confident and flirty. He is just so in love. 

Teases you almost constantly, he’s a teaser with everyone but he loves to see you blush and squirm from his words. 

Loves if you run your fingers through his fur, and almost emits a low purr when you do. If you brush it for him, especially if he doesn’t ask you but you WANT to, he swears he is going to marry you one day. 

He takes you places you told him you wanted to go to when you guys were in the talking stage. Paris? Done, let’s get some baguettes for back home! The Bahamas? Pack a bathing suit, and make sure to bring the detangling brush.

He loves non sexual acts of intimacy, like taking baths together!! Your fingers feel like heaven on his scalp when you massage the shampoo and conditioner in his hair. He also loves touching your body, he’s always careful with the fact he has claws but he would never dream of hurting you.

Big on cuddling and all that stuff in private, but I feel like he would want to keep it behind closed doors. Not because he doesn’t love you, but because he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands on you otherwise. 

Long missions with him are never a problem, he’ll just teleport to you wherever you may be and spend time with you before heading back. 

He’s your call bird, and the gossip you two are able to share with one another? It is divine. He seems to know everything, and you know the most obvious stuff but he always makes you feel like Sherlock Holmes when you tell him things he already heard and was going to tell you about. Which is why he always makes you spill the tea first lol.

For marriage and proposing, I can see him accidentally proposing on a mission. Tensions are high, and he’s worried that one of you won’t make it home to the other. The thought alone makes him dread the upcoming battle, but he grabs your hand and looks into your eyes and states with all the conviction in the world “We’ll get married after this.”

You brush it off, after you both survive the battle, that he didn’t mean it. He just wanted you to know how much he loved you. But oh how wrong you are when you walk into a room with all your close friends and family, Kurt in the middle down on one knee and asking you to marry him. Your face was priceless, and lucky for him everyone took pictures. 

He definitely carries around a photo with you wherever he goes, and when he prays he takes it out and not only asks that God protect him, but you as well because there is no life beyond you. Even if you’re not religious he’ll still do it, just for the peace of mind. 

Jean:

She’s the black cat of the relationship for sure. I mean, she has a lot of issues but she always makes you her first priority. 

She keeps tabs on you constantly. What’s your mood, why? She’ll talk to you in your mind when you’re anxious to calm you, and let you know that she’s there with you. She’s probably an anxious persons’ best friend. You don’t even have to talk, she knows what you mean and changes accordingly. 

She is big on communication for sure. If you do something that bothers or hurts her feelings she will sit you down and talk to you about it. And she has this certain way of doing that doesn’t make you feel guilty. She’s just letting you know what she does and doesn’t like and won’t tell anyone else. These things are very private to her. And she expects you to do the same, and her feelings are never hurt by it. 

Jean’s type of love is selfless. She would put herself in danger tenfold just to keep you safe. Mutant or not, she would be the one to baby you if you’re a part of the X-Men as well. There’s always a kind of bubble around you, that not many but you notice. Hence, people think you’re indestructible because you’re the only one who came back uninjured for the fourth time. 

She wants to be independent, but also loves when you do stuff for her. She will never ask, but her heart warms so much when she sees you did something for her because you wanted too and not because she asked. 

She plans your dream proposal. She is almost a roommate in your own mind, she knows what you like and don’t like. 

Small extra blurb: imagine giving telepathic hints that you want a proposal. She thinks “Why are they broadcasting their ring si-ooooh. I see.”

She is so gentle with you, almost afraid that you’ll break and it’ll be all her fault. The way her hands gently caress you or how she holds your hand is so incredibly gentle.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Defending His Lady

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Both Feyd and your son take issue with the people of Giedi Prime not accepting you as their Lady. Part of the His series

Notes/Warnings: Based on a request. It's a little bit different. Typos, probably.

Words: 1250

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Years ago, when you imagined your future, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t on this planet. It wasn’t with the husband and child you have. It wasn’t with the title you obtained from your marriage. You imagined light glowing through an open home, frilly gowns, a stuffy Lord, and a daughter who would be treated like a princess. It wasn’t necessarily what you wanted for your future, but it was what was likeliest to be. You’d be a foreign Lady on a new planet, yet respected just as much as their home-grown Lord.

You learned rather quickly that that’s not always how it works. And while you wouldn’t trade the life you have—not your husband, not your son—for anything the universe could offer, you can’t deny the difficulties that come with being the wife and mother of the Harkonnen line of Giedi Prime. 

The people wanted Feyd to marry one of their own, certainly not the concubine their na-Baron once took. They wanted purity. To them, you are tainted blood, and despite your status on this planet, many cannot resist treating you like a parasite. In the five years that have passed, you’ve taken the poor treatment and whispered words with as much grace as you can, knowing Feyd is always there to end the lives of those who step out of bounds, but it’s harder to ignore now that Fionn is no longer a baby.

Your son is growing. His ears catch more than you’d like. He notices how his father reacts to the harsh words directed at you and how he never sees the people who speak them ever again. He’s gathering the pieces that his mother is often disrespected, and that is the last thing you want.

—

“He sees it,” you tell your husband as you slip into your nightgown.

“He doesn’t see it,” Feyd says, pulling back the top layer of covers on the bed and settling under the sheets. When he reaches out his hand, you snuggle into his embrace. His arms are snug around you. His lips press a kiss to your hairline. “You worry too much.”

You hold in your huff of frustration. “I do not. He asked me as I put him to bed if bad people are hurting me and if that’s why Daddy keeps making them disappear.” Feyd pulls back to look down at you, his brow furrowed. You nod. “He sees it.”

Feyd exhales heavily through his nose. As a father, he’s been diligent, so very careful with how he leads his son; a surprisingly delicate guidance—something he didn’t have growing up. What started from Feyd’s fear of your son being too much like him died as the boy showed only love, but Feyd has continued his intricate training. He has trained so that even at the age of four, Fionn is vigilant, particular with his words, and practical in his choices. He trains so that outside factors are not as influential. He trains so the boy can think for himself. And it shouldn’t be a shock that he notices what happens in his own home. 

“It’s time he understands then,” Feyd says.

Your eyes go wide and you let out a light gasp. “Feyd, he’s four.”

“There’s no point in hiding what happens to them if he’s already curious. He’s as stubborn as you are,” he tells you. “And he’s old enough.”

—

“Mommy, where are we going?” Fionn asks, his little hand tugging on yours to get your attention. 

You take a deep breath, sucking in the dank air that leads to prisoner cells. You’re not sure how this is going to go, but you agreed and you need to let it play out. “Daddy wants to show you something.”

Fionn’s head turns to Feyd. “Is it a bad man, Daddy?”

Feyd pauses halfway down the hall and crouches in front of his son. You release Fionn’s hand so he can fully face his father. 

“Yes,” he says. “It’s a bad man.”

“He hurt Mommy?”

“Some of our guards heard him talking about your mother. He said rude things, called her names. He wished for harm to come to her.”

Fionn makes a soft noise of surprise. Name-calling—he considers that one of the worst of crimes, knowing what it got him when he insulted the little Lady of House Kenric. 

“But why?” he asks. 

“It doesn’t matter why,” Feyd says. “What matters is that we protect the ones we love, yes?”

“Yes,” Fionn agrees with a sharp nod.

Feyd looks up at you, silently commanding that you stay here. The last time you entered a cell to face the one who insulted you, more abuse was hurled at you until it tapped into a well of internal shame. It took you three days to shake that off, all the while your husband begging for you to return to your natural state of uncaring. 

You’ve always cared though, to some degree. It doesn’t matter that they like you so much as it matters that you’re not a stain on Feyd’s reputation. After all, he’s the Baron now, and one day, his son will be. If the people of Giedi Prime cannot forget where you come from, you worry they will never forgive Feyd, and worse, that they will never accept Fionn as their ruler. 

Feyd takes your boy’s hand once again and leads him the rest of the way. They stop at the correct cell and when a guard turns a key, they head inside. 

Inching your way down the hall, you halt just outside of it. Your finger goes to your lips to ensure the guard does not give you away, and with your back to the stone wall, you hear Fionn.

“He did it?”

The man is silent, likely knocked unconscious from Feyd’s earlier visit. You suppose he’ll be awake soon enough. 

“Yes,” Feyd tells him, his voice dropping an octave, “He did.”

“Did he apologize? He should apologize to Mommy.”

Feyd releases a sigh. His son is much more diplomatic than himself. But your husband can’t fairly be bothered. That’s the point of his parenting: to raise a better Baron than both he and his uncle have ever been. 

“Son, we do not let men like this apologize. We do not let them near your mother.”

“Oh.”

“So what do you think we do with them?”

Fionn hums, and it’s so much like his father that it’s as if he has stood on the sidelines of every death your husband has executed. The way Feyd hums as he plays with his victims. A fake hum of consideration, of contemplation. What should I do with them? How should they leave this world? Questions he pretends to ask as if he hasn’t planned their deaths out from the moment he was informed of the crime. And that’s the hum your son gives. He hums like a natural monster in the making. You wouldn’t be surprised if the boy is tapping his finger against his chin as he thinks. 

You feel an ounce of pride. There’s more to him than a kind heart, lovely as that heart is. He will be a fearsome Baron, but one that will show mercy when mercy is fit. However, here, now, mercy is not fit, and his father has made that clear.

“Would you like the first stab?” Feyd asks. “Top of thigh.”

The shing of metal scraping against Feyd’s sheath fills the space. A small blade. Good for Fionn’s hand.

“Which thigh, Daddy?”

Feyd chuckles. “You choose.”