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beloveds-embrace · 2 months ago

Note

Nah, I didn't have a kink for men grovelling (/lie) I have a kink for men suffering. I need reader to have her own happiness

Reader suddenly switches and starts acting more energetic again. For a while the boys like it bc not they don't have to face the consequences of their actions and can escape the guilt if there's no constant reminder.

But something's wrong. It takes them a while to notice - or rather, they take a while to notice BC noticing shatters their illusion that everything is well and they aren't bad people

She's still not eating Johnny's prepared meals but she's gaining weight again and it takes a while to notice BC he's not in charge of stock but some ingredients have been disappearing at nights. Some that can be eaten right away, but funnily enough he also finds himself low on ingredients that need to be prepared. It just so happens that he notices when he makes one of his more easy and filling dishes most all of the ingredients he reaches into are much lower than last time he made it.

She still seems unkempt but her hygiene improves. Her hair is brushed and Gaz hears the showers, though he knows that none of her maids have taken up their duties again. She also still doesn't wear any of her dresses, not that the boys see her enough to notice, but Gaz knows how difficult those are to put on on your own. So when he swears he hears the rustling of fabrics or sees a glimpse of her holding a dress through a crack in the door, even though he knows he saw all her maids elsewhere, he tells himself he just miscounted.

She's more energetic sure, but she's hardly more happy, in fact there seems a determination that borders on desperation to her if anyone watches her for long enough. Not that she lets them. She doesn't leave her room during the day still but once Simon was awake and saw her walking the grounds in the middle of the night. If he had looked again the next night he'd have seen the same, but, well, who wants to face their mistakes

The boys notice, because of their guilt, but choose to ignore. Price, on the other hand, doesn't notice at all

Well, he notices his reputation dwindling. And seeing his wife less and less often. But he doesn't notice any of the changes and doesn't even realise she's began to leave her room again as no rumours change

He does, however, pay attention to his boys.

When Gaz seems jittery at meetings, when Johnny lingers at the table, when Simon stalks the halls more frequently, with the attitude of a predator ready to strike fleeing prey.

So when they tell him they haven't seen her in a while, he's confused. He thought they all hadn't seen her in weeks?

At their explanations - which devolve into pleas - he goes to check up on his wife. Only to find her room empty.

See, she knew she wouldn't have to worry about anyone interrupting her or noticing her, and realised how much of a power that was.

Learning how to cook by spying on the cooks and Johnny, finding little recipe books for when he would leave. Stocking up on food.

Beginning to take care of herself, but only just enough. Dresses that were heavy and difficult forgone in favour of stitching old tablecloths and sheets into simple and freeing garments.

Walking the grounds as much as possible at night to build up her strength again. Background training in dancing and standing with heavy garments for long periods of time helping in building her cardio back up.

She'd had to have a little subtlety in hiding her intentions around the boys, but her real weapon was her husband.

Her husband with an extensive library with books about survival, hunting, wilderness guides. Her husband with plenty of money and expensive items scattered across the place. Her husband with maps and notes of the nearest towns and their prospects and differing prices.

Her blind husband who didn't notice as his wife planned her escape right underneath his nose.

And finally, her. Just her. No husbands or titles or maids or society breathing down her neck. Her, free and already behind a mountain in the distance on the back of a working donkey - the Duchy's fine horses would have gathered too much attention. She stopped for supplies and to sell her goods where possible, but left as quickly as she came, knowing the village folk would write her off as a thief but any who knew would be able to trace where she sold the items. Best to ditch them at her journeys start rather than end.

Not that she knows where it will end. Not that she cares. She could die tomorrow and would still take her last breath more free and happy than she's ever lived before.

(idk maybe she joins some bandits or meets a wandering knight or jumps aboard a ship or something and makes it far far away. Maybe she becomes a stable hand to a Grand Duke and his dashing young right hand man Mr Parra (can you tell my bias). I need her to have a happy end tho, so that if/when the 141 find her they have to realize that she really is better off without them.)

Holy fuck. I’m in awe of you??? Of your brain?? This was amazing to read omg thank you so so much!! You’ve already written so much of her with the 141, so i wrote a little bit of her with rudy! I hope you’ll enjoy this as much as I enjoyed reading your ask! 🫶🏻💕 also i feel like i will never learn how to do a decent ending that isn’t abrupt as fuck 💀😭

Dukedom au masterlist

The sun poured golden light through the arched windows of the estate, its brilliance softened by sheer, embroidered curtains. The atmosphere was serene, the kind that made one’s soul settle into quiet contentment. Seated by the window, harp nestled against your shoulder, you plucked the strings with practiced grace and ease. Music spilled into the room, lilting and wistful, speaking of stories not with words, but with melodies.

Grand Duke Alejandro sat nearby, sharp eyes softened by the rare tranquility your melodies provided.

He had been the first to notice your talents, taking you in when you stumbled upon his estate seeking work. What began as small performances to soothe his guests had blossomed into something more. You were now a cherished member of his court- an artist whose music could bring grown men to tears and whose presence brightened even the darkest days, and your past a thing of, well, the past.

You glanced up briefly, right as Rudy entered the room. His eyes immediately sought yours, like a compass pointing north, a warmth in them that never failed to make your breath catch. He wasn’t the Grand Duke, but he carried himself with a quiet power- a man who commanded loyalty and admiration with ease, especially yours. And though his duties often kept him busy, he always found time to sit and listen to you play even if only once a day, as though your music was as essential to him as the air he breathed.

Never before had you felt so cherished.

Today was no exception to his focus. He lingered by the doorway for a moment, his gaze enthralled, before moving closer to you.

You smiled, the motion soft and genuine, your fingers never faltering on the harp strings even as you leaned towards him the way a flower leans towards the sun.

When you finished, Rudy (and Alejandro) applauded, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile that felt like the first rays of dawn. “You outdo yourself every time, mi querida,” he murmured, his voice low and rich. You felt like you would melt into his should he choose to cradle you.

Alejandro chuckled from his seat, always ever so entertained by the two of you. “You’re lucky I tolerate your interruptions, Rudy. I’d have her play all day to myself if I could.”

Rudolfo grinned but never looked away from you. “A day very well spent, I’d say."

Your cheeks flushed, but there was no embarrassment in it. Just a gentle warmth, the kind you hadn’t felt in years. Rudolfo’s attention wasn’t like John’s distracted glances, Simon’s intense, disdained looks, the unseen glares of Johnny and Kyle. It wasn’t tainted by resentment or obligation. He saw you- truly saw you- and cherished what he found.

You fell into an easy conversation, one Alejandro occasionally joined, though he often just watched with an amused glint in his eyes. It was clear to anyone who observed you that something unspoken yet profound was growing between you and Rudolfo- if not already at full bloom. Alejandro wasn't going to intervene, he knew his friend had a lovely little proposal awaiting just the right moment.

Though not everyone was quite as content as you.

They hadn’t expected to find you so far from the duchy, let alone flourishing like this. The rumors of your presence in the Grand Duke’s court had been thin whispers, barely heard, yet they had clung to them in their desperation for answers.

Price led ahead, his jaw tight and his expression grim. Duke Riley followed close behind, his unease well-hidden. They entered the estate under the guise of seeking an audience with Alejandro, but their true purpose to themselves.

It was Simon who first spotted you through an open doorway, seated at your harp. For a moment, he froze, his breath hitching as he took in the sight of you.

You were radiant. Your hair, no longer a tangled mess, shone in the sunlight. Your once sickly complexion was now warm and healthy. And the way you played- it was as though the music flowed from your very soul, unburdened and free. The few times he'd heard you play back at the Price duchy were nothing compared to the melodies you now strung.

“Bloody hell.” John muttered, his voice barely audible and just as shocked as Simon.

John stepped forward, his presence imposing, but before he could even make his way towards you, Rudolfo appeared beside you. He leaned down to speak to you, his expression gentle and fond, and you laughed- a soft, delicate sound that made Price’s chest tighten.

They watched as Rudolfo offered you his hand, which you took without hesitation, without any fears. He guided you to your feet, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that spoke volumes, more than any words would or could.

The two of you looked at each other with such affection it'd make the stars sigh in envy.

Simon and Price could only stand there and stare. No words would come to them.

Much latwr, when they returned to the manor, Johnny and Kyle were waiting, their expressions anxious. “Did you find her?” Johnny asked, voice tight.

Price nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “We found her.”

“And?” Kyle pressed.

Simon shook his head, lips pursed. “…she’s not coming back.”

#noona.asks #cod x reader #cod x you #cod #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #tf 141 #cod imagines #poly 141 #rudolfo parra #rudy x reader #rudolfo parra x you #rudolpho parra x reader #rudy x you #noona.writes

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angelfic · 9 months ago

Text

— IT’S SO SWEET

pairing: jason todd x best friend!reader

summary: the 3 times jason takes care of you and the 1 time he lets you do the same. alternatively, jason thinks he's invincible, but his best friend needs to be protected at all costs.

warnings: unedited. again. pls don't kill me. swearing, kissing, mentions of blood/weapons/injuries, mentions of periods, reader is a nursing student, best friends to lovers!!! <3

author’s note: *shoves it at you* another one of these fics with the same format, this time with jason :) listen to 'sweet' by cigarettes after sex while reading this btw. and let me know what you think!! drop an ask or a message, don’t be shy!💌

1. when finals are going to kill you.

Sometimes you think being a vigilante like your best friend is worth the constant risk of dying if it means you never have to open another textbook again. When you voice this to Jason, he scowls like you've just threatened to kill a kitten in front of him.

"That's not funny. Don't even joke about that," he scolds, still frowning at you from the opposite end of your kitchen island. His Red Hood suit is sprawled out in front of him as he stitches up a loose hem, compliments of the last goon he most likely beat to a pulp. You make a face at the fact that his sleeve is covering your anatomy notes, ignoring the way he leans down in attempt to catch your eye. He resorts to snapping his fingers in your face. "Hey. Hey, I'm serious."

"Jason," you sigh, setting down your pen and resting your chin on your hand as you talk to him. "I'm studying for nursing school finals in my kitchen, because I didn't want to walk the five more steps it takes to get to my bedroom after making instant ramen. Do you really need me to tell you I'm not being serious about becoming a vigilante?"

His shoulders relax very slightly, but his expression stays annoyed. "You're going to give me an entire head of grey hair before I'm even thirty."

"Well, at least we know it'll suit you," you say through a yawn as you point to the white streak running through his hair. "So, if anything, you're welcome."

He gives you another withering glare, going back to his stitching. The tiny needle in his large hand distracts you for a minute until you realise that Jason has stopped sewing and you're actually staring into nothing now. He notices your eyes that have glossed over and immediately reaches over to slam your textbook shut, startling you back to attention. It isn't until he does this that you feel the exhaustion seeping into your bones, emphasised by the knot in your neck and the cramp in your writing hand.

Jason drags your textbook away from you, along with your notes. You take a second to appreciate how careful he is not to crease the pages, knowing you'd lose your mind. "Okay, you're done for today."

"Huh?" you mumble stupidly, his words registering in your mind too late and you realise he's just hijacked your study material. "Wh- Hey! Give it back, Jay, I have-"

"Finals, I know. Last I checked, you need to be alive to take finals and I don't see that happening unless you take a nap," he says, voice a little too calm for someone who you're about to pounce on and claw at until you get your textbook back. You sluggishly clamber off your stool and step in front of Jason, who immediately raises his arm to hold your textbook out of reach.

You look up at him and attempt an intimidating glare. "Hand over the textbook, Todd."

Jason raises his eyebrows, huffing out an exasperated laugh. "Lift one of your arms to get the book and its yours."

Your finger doesn't so much as twitch, but you sway a little until you reluctantly accept that maybe he's won this one. And maybe a nap does sound pretty good right now, you think with a groan, dropping your head so it rests on Jason's chest. Your arms hang floppily at your sides. "I'll kick your ass after my nap," you mumble into his shirt.

"I'm terrified," he deadpans, and you hear the thud of the textbook on the counter before his large hands come up to grip your waist so he can walk you backwards to your couch, knowing you well enough to anticipate your grumbles if he were to attempt to take you all the way to your bedroom. You smile into his chest.

"You've met your match, Red," you say as dramatically as you can for someone who's practically the equivalent to a sack of potatoes against Jason right now. When you feel the back of your legs hit the couch, you grip onto the bottom of Jason's shirt and tug at the fabric before he can let you go. "You're my human pillow, where do you think you're going?"

Before he can answer, you nudge him onto the couch and he obediently lies down so you can nestle in next to him and plop your head back onto his warm, muscled chest. You blame your exhaustion for your shameless behaviour.

Despite the tiredness, you can't help irritating Jason just a little bit more. "Hey, Jay. What would my vigilante name be?"

"Shut up," he says without any bite, resting his chin on top of your head. You snicker into his shirt, half delirious with fatigue but awake enough to feel his face moving as he smiles when he thinks you're not looking.

"Something cool. Like Nightwing," you mutter sleepily, poking the bear.

"What? Nightwing is not as cool as-" Jason starts incredulously, but cuts himself off. "Whatever. Go to sleep."

You hum, eyelids feeling heavy and you start drifting off, the last thing you register being Jason's fingertip tracing circles on your back.

When you wake up, Jason and his suit are gone, but you have a blanket tucked around you and a box of your favourite cookies on the coffee table.

2. when, apparently, you aren't immune to the streets of gotham.

Considering you live in the most corrupt city in the world, you probably should be a little more cautious about going out at night. It's not like you don't take precautions, though. Like every woman in Gotham, you're loaded with pepper spray every time you leave the house. Unlike every woman in Gotham, you also have multiple vigilantes in your phone with whom you share your location with.

Even then, you aren't stupid enough to step into any alleyways. You wish that were enough to stay out of trouble, but as soon as you realise the streets have completely emptied while you've been distracted with your thoughts, you start panicking a little.

You're fine, you reassure yourself as you slide your phone out your pocket to pull up your recent texts. You keep your screen open just for some reassurance, gripping the sides of your phone tightly when you hear some distant footsteps.

It's only ten more minutes to the convenience store, so you're more irritated than scared when you hear the footsteps quicken behind you, catching up. Your fingers fumble to text an SOS to Jason, but you accidentally tap send on your chat with Dick instead. With slightly shaky hands, you try and send one to Jason as well, hoping it's gone through when your phone is suddenly knocked out of your hand.

"Oh, for the love of-" you hiss, when you hear the cracking noise of your screen against the pavement and you don't risk reaching down to grab it. Instead, you turn around slowly to face a dark figure, clad in a cliche, all-black outfit and stood in a threatening stance. God, you hate Gotham.

"Hand over your-"

"Wallet, money, most prized possession," you cut the man off, probably very stupidly. "I know the drill, hang on."

He falters for a moment before anger clouds his expression and he pulls out a knife before you can get your wallet out. You try not to sigh in relief. For anyone else that might sound crazy, but knives you could manage. Being best friends with Jason Todd means of course you've been made to learn self-defence. Disarming someone with knives was doable enough to learn as a nursing student. Guns, on the other hand, are out of your league.

The fact that you know how to defend yourself doesn't make the knife look any less threatening and sharp, though.

"Hey, look, I'm not gonna be difficult," you say, dropping your voice to a low murmur as though you're trying to coax a cat out of a tree. "I'll give you my money."

"Yeah. Yeah, you do that," he rushes out, sounding confused. You kind of feel bad for him. Most people confronted with a mugger would probably be a lot more scared than you're acting and it's clearly throwing him off his game. You almost regret bothering to send your SOS and as you're thinking about how you're going to apologise to Dick for wasting his time, you go to grab your wallet to try and stall before the mugger becomes violent. "Stop! Put your hands up. I'll grab it myself."

You furrow your brows, about to argue that no, he fucking won't. But you see that the man's face suddenly becomes ten times paler than before and he's looking behind you instead. Your shoulders sag with relief as you spin around to see Nightwing in all his black and blue glory.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" he lowers his voice an octave and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. He seems to be focusing hard on acting like strangers, because anyone with eyes would see the problem very clearly in the form of a man wielding a knife.

"Please, help me," you respond, drily. Dick raises a brow at your flippant attitude, so you clear your throat, kicking it up a notch. You glance at the man behind you and try to look more terrified than you feel. "Please help me, Mr Nightwing. This guy's got a knife, and he's going to stab me with it."

The man frantically shakes his head, dropping the knife immediately and backing up. "I wasn't! I swear, man, I was just trying to scare her. Look, I'll just-"

"Hey." You hear another familiar voice boom, this time through a modulator. You sigh, lifting your head to see Jason, all the more threatening as Red Hood. His guns are already in either hand by his side and you have to respect the mugger for not passing out where he stands. If you didn't know it was Jason behind that mask, you'd be terrified to death. He tilts his head, evaluating the man. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere, I-"

"Exactly," Jason's warped voice comes out tight, and you hear the cocking of his gun, making you whip around to send a panicked look to Dick. He runs closer to you and you drop your voice to a whisper.

"I've got Hood, you take care of the guy."

"Don't do anything stupid," he says, not unkindly and the two of you snap into action.

You run back over to the mugger and step in front of him, making Jason falter in his movements and lower his gun. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths like he's exercising real control. "Move."

You stay as still as possible, arms splayed out in an attempt to cover the man behind you, despite the fact that Jason definitely possesses the skill to take him out even with you in the way.

"Put your guns away," you hiss when Dick has successfully restrained the man out of earshot and is dragging him away with ease. Jason steps towards them, but you stay in his way, using both hands against his chest to stop him. It's more of a symbolic gesture than anything, since you know you wouldn't be able to budge him an inch even if you threw yourself at him with full force. He stops anyway, looking down at you with his hands gripping his firearms tightly. "He was practically harmless. Let Nightwing deal with him. Please."

You're talking him down, trying to waste time so Dick can leave before Jason is able to do anything. You know you've succeeded when he tucks away his weapons, albeit reluctantly. Dick is too far away with the man now, anyway.

"What the hell were you doing out at this time?" he says, raising his voice instead of the usual quiet, deadly anger he reserves for the people who deserve it. It's how you know he's worried, when he doesn't try and control his temper. "And without dropping me a text first, so I could check on you? You do understand where you live, right?"

"Don't yell at me!" Your voice cracks in the middle of your sentence and you feel your lower lip tremble slightly. Jason stills. You refuse to cry, cursing your damn hormones and the fact you're a woman and the fact that you're cramping again. You aren't in the mood to talk to Red Hood right now. You want Jason. "And turn off your stupid voice thing!"

He obliges quickly, stepping closer to you. You're angry at one less thing now that his voice is back to normal. "I'm sorry for yelling. Please don't be upset with me, I was just worried-"

"You were going to kill that guy."

"Damn straight," he fires back, defensive again.

You glare at him and he has enough sense not to speak further. Shaking your head, you let out a frustrated groan. "He was a lousy mugger. That hardly deserves a bullet through the head."

"Are you forgetting that he had a knife?" he exclaims, throwing his hands up. Suddenly, as though he's remembering something, Jason folds his arms across his chest. "Why'd you call D- Nightwing for help first?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. How about next time, I'll ask the guy with the a knife if he can hold off for a second while I select the right contact number!" you grit out, hit with another wave of cramps, extremely tired of this conversation. "It was an accident, you idiot. I meant to text you first."

You can't see Jason's expression beneath his Red Hood mask and you aren't going to ask him to remove it in the middle of the streets, but you imagine he's mollified with the way his shoulders relax a bit.

Huffing, you walk away to get your phone, gingerly picking it up to inspect the newly made cracks all over. You vaguely register Jason standing over your shoulder before you shove your phone in your pocket, a problem for tomorrow. You turn around to face him and clutch at your lower stomach, breathing turning shallow.

"I was on my way to the convenience store," you explain, gritting your teeth. "I assume you're coming with me now?"

"Why did you need to go so late?" he questions, typically not letting it go. Instead of responding, you screw your eyes shut and puff out a few pained breaths. He immediately grips your shoulders and begins inspecting you. "What? Are you hurt? What happened, did he get you?"

"I have cramps, you ass," you groan, shoving his hands away. He ceases looking for an injury, and you don't need to ask him to remove his mask to know that he's relieved. "I was going to the store so late because I'm out of my sanitary products."

"Oh," Jason says gruffly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his voice due to his excessive worry. "Well, I kept a whole box of pads and stuff from the other month in my apartment. It's closer, come on."

You sag with relief, dragging your feet to follow him as the two of you walk to his place. You're in his apartment so often that you're not surprised it's stocked up with period products as well as your usual things for when you stay the night. You feel a funny little flip that has nothing to do with cramps when you consider how he kept everything.

"Do you need me to carry you?" Jason asks, completely serious, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I know how bad the cramps can get."

"I took some meds a couple hours ago, they're not the worst yet," you explain, shaking him off and trying not to think about him offering to carry you all the way to his apartment just because you have cramps.

You reach his complex quickly and he sends you up while he enters through the fire escape from a back alley as not to expose Red Hood's living quarters. By the time you've entered through his door, Jason is already there, judging by his helmet sitting on his kitchen counter.

"Be out in a second," he calls from his bedroom and so you flop down on his couch, face down in one of the cushions as you try to think about something other than the sharp needles stabbing your lower belly. He walks out while you're writhing in pain and sets down some pads, two painkillers and a glass of water on the coffee table. "Here, take them now and go sleep in the bed. There's some snacks in my nightstand if you get hungry. Do you need me to stay home?"

You reluctantly turn over onto your back and see that he's also holding your fluffy panda hot water bottle. You might combust, there and then. Pouting, you reach out for the panda, grabbing it to hold it close to your body and sighing at the slight pain relief. "I'm okay, you can go back to patrol. Thanks for looking after me, Jaybird."

"It's nothing," he shrugs, turning away to hide the pink flush appearing on his cheeks and grabbing his helmet. He shoves it on quickly and you try not to let out an unattractive snort of laughter. He turns on his voice modulator. "Text me if you need anything."

With that, he slips out of his window, making sure to shut it tightly behind him. You stay on the couch after knocking down a couple of painkillers and try to entertain yourself with some TV while you wait for Jason to come back.

You mournfully scroll through your phone, trying not to cut your fingers on the broken glass. The actual phone seems to be giving up on you as it takes forever to click on one thing to the next. Giving up, you toss it on the table and close your eyes. Making make a mental list in your head of things to do tomorrow, you add buying a new phone to it and prepare to say goodbye to a healthy chunk out of your bank account.

You don't remember dozing off, but your alarm startles you awake and you grab around for it on the nightstand next to you. Turning it off, you decide to brave the world outside the comfy sheets and realise you're in Jason's bed. He must have gotten back late and put you there, you think with a smile, suddenly happier than you were when first waking up. This happy attitude sours a bit when you nick ur finger on the broken glass of your phone screen trying to turn off the rest of your alarms.

Making your way out of his room and following the smell of toaster waffles, you see Jason plating up some breakfast for you. "Morning," you yawn, plopping down on a kitchen stool. "How was patrol?"

"Same old," he says, giving you the usual, non-descriptive answer. For all you know, he could have taken down an entire drug ring single-handedly and you'd be none the wiser. He sets down a plate in front of you, as well as a rectangular box. "Here."

You inspect the box, confused and wanting to focus more on the food before you process what it is and your jaw drops. "Jason Peter Todd. What the hell did you do!"

"Your phone broke," he says, gruffly, clearly trying to downplay the fact that he bought you a brand new smartphone, a later model than the one you already have. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Of course I'm going to make a big deal, Jay," you say, frowning. "I was going to get one myself today. Why did you waste your money on me? How much was it?"

"Don't worry about it," he says flippantly, plating up his own waffles. You should have known better than to ask. There's no way he's taking money from you.

You sigh, shoving your waffles and the phone out of the way to make your way over to him. "Jay," you say softly, grabbing his face in your hands. His eyes widen slightly and you fight the urge to smile. "I can't accept it."

"I said it was nothing," he replies, furrowing his brows and you release his face in favour of hugging him instead. "And it's not a waste if it's on you. You're taking the phone."

"It's everything," your voice comes out muffled by his hoodie. The cost of a phone really is nothing to Jason. It wouldn't have made even the slightest dent to his bank account, but that's not the point. "You need to let me take care of you for once. Oh, one more thing."

He hums in question, resting his chin on your head and wrapping his hands around you.

"If you buy anything for me again, I'm cutting a heart shaped hole in your suit."

Jason huffs out a laugh and you feel the vibration through his chest. "What about the coffee I get you after class every Friday?"

You stay silent.

He snorts, knowing he's got you. He drops a kiss on your head and grins when you look up to frown at him. "That's what I thought."

3. when this guy just won't take a hint.

Jason owes you big time. You've had the longest week of your life and yet here you are, in a floor length, dark red dress and heels, for crying out loud.

Realistically, this is the least you could do for him, showing up to a gala thrown by his father to keep him company. You're more than happy to do this as a favour to him, but that fact doesn't make the heels pinch at your toes any less.

"I haven't worn this dress since high school," you grumble, twisting it around your waist where it fits snugly. You're thankful for the fact that it falls loosely past your waist, or you'd have ripped it from your body by now. "If I eat one thing, it might actually tear."

"I'll give you my jacket when you spot the appetisers," Jason says, absentmindedly. You squeeze his bicep gently in thanks from where your arm is looped in his as he leads you into the venue. "Anyway, we'll be in and out, as always. Just making an appearance for Bruce."

"In and out," you repeat, lowering your voice as the two of you enter a more populated area. You know even though Jason moans about these events, he wouldn't be here if he really didn't want to be. He cares, even though he'd never admit it.

Groups of businessmen, celebrities, entrepreneurs; basically a bunch of rich people who are dressed in clothes that are definitely more expensive than your rent are milling about, every one of them with a drink in their hand. Their unwavering smiles and the constant trips to the bar are nothing new and you wrinkle your nose at the atmosphere of the place. "Do they even know what charity Bruce is throwing this for?"

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Bruce could be throwing this thing for homeless badgers and they'd be none the wiser," he mutters, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. Rolling his neck, he takes a deep breath. "I should go say 'hi' to him, while he's talking to a bunch of people. Prove that I actually showed up. You wanna come?"

You almost agree, not wanting to be left alone, but just before you reluctantly trudge over to a group of Bruce's boring business associates, you thankfully spot Jason's brothers by the bar. "I'll just go hang out with Dick and Tim, is that okay? I can come with though, if you want."

"Nah, go ahead," he says, detangling his arm from yours and giving you a reassuring smile. "Come grab me when they start getting annoying."

"Be nice," you warn, gently shoving him towards the group of men as you make your way to Dick and Tim.

"Hey," Tim greets you with a smile, glancing up quickly before returning to his phone. He does a little double take, eyes snagging on your dress and his smile turns devious. "Well, you look nice. You're wearing a very... nice colour..."

"Tim," you heave a deep sigh. Dick rolls his eyes, but he can't help the corners of his lips quirking up. "You can't keep doing this every time I wear red."

"I'm not doing anything, just making an observation," he shrugs, rocking back and forth on his heels in an attempt to look casual. Tim glances around to see make sure no one is in earshot before lowering his voice. "Hey, totally unrelated, but I heard Jaybird nearly shot a guy for almost mugging you."

"Tim."

"Leave her alone," Dick intervenes before Tim can needle you further. He definitely enjoys it too, but ever the golden boy, he seemingly wants to keep the peace. "How are you doing after that, anyway?"

"Fine," you nod reassuringly. "Thank you, again for showing up, Dick. I really appreciate it."

"Don't be silly, it's-"

"I heard he got you a brand new phone, too," Tim pipes up, cutting his brother off.

"Tim," you groan, thwacking him in the arm with your clutch. He barely flinches. "For the last time, Jason and I are just friends."

Tim opens his mouth to respond, but his eyes dart behind you and he thinks better of it, choosing to just smirk like the troublemaker he is.

"That's good news." You whip around to locate the source of the voice, finding yourself looking at a guy you've never met before. He seems to be around your age, dressed smart and very rich looking. You stand there stupidly.

"For who?" you ask, chuckling nervously.

He shrugs, giving you a charming smile. "Anyone who wants to buy you a drink. May I?"

Understanding dawns on you and you glance at Dick and Tim with wide eyes, feeling a little awkward that they're here for this interaction. Dick keeps his expression carefully neutral as he considers the man, whereas Tim frowns when he meets your eyes, jerking his head as subtly as possible in Jason's direction.

This has you glaring at him and just to prove a point, you plaster on a wide smile of your own and return your attentions to the stranger. "Yes. You may."

The two of you walk closer to the end of the bar and away from the others. You pointedly don't look at them. "What was your name?" you ask the stranger, mostly for the sake of being polite.

"George." A rich guy name, you think to yourself. If Jason were here, you know he'd have a million things to say.

He asks your name and you give it to him as he orders you a drink without actually asking what you want.

"Pretty name," George remarks, handing you a glass of something you've never had before. You pretend to take a sip, smiling in thanks. "So, what's your story?"

You try not to outwardly cringe at the question, sorely regretting tonight's decisions despite the fact you've been here less than half an hour. "I'm just here to keep my friend company." You keep the story short, not bothering to explain how you know the Wayne family.

"Ah, well. I dont blame you for looking so bored. I'm just here because I have to be as well," he mutters, swirling the contents of his glass. "Business connections and such."

"Oh." You find yourself being less and less interested in this conversation. "Do you know what the fundraiser tonight is for?"

"God, no," George laughs, taking a sip of his drink. You try your hardest not to grimace, mentally checked out of the conversation already. "It's always the same shit, anyway. Forget all that. Drink up and we can get out of here."

You nearly choke on your own saliva at his sheer confidence and set down your drink. "I really shouldn't. I'm, uh, I'm okay staying here."

"Aw, come on," he leans in a little closer than you'd like and you try to look as imperceptibly as you can for Dick or Tim, but it seems they've left you to face the consequences of your own actions. Traitors. "You don't look like you're enjoying yourself. What, you don't like me-?"

"Hey." You feel Jason's presence at the same time as hearing his voice. You almost laugh at how relieved you suddenly feel and you and relax into his hold when he places both hands on your waist. Jason drops his voice to a murmur that only you can hear. "Ready to go home?"

You nod, turning to leave. About to bid a quick goodbye to George as not to be rude, you open your mouth but get stopped in your tracks.

"She's fine right here, man," George says, voice as smooth as glass. If the glass is shattered into sharp, pointy spikes that are as uncomfortable as this conversation, that is.

Jason's previously polite smile hardens as his front is now practically plastered against your back. "She can talk for herself."

"She was actually just-"

"She's right here," you interrupt, squirming out of Jason's arms to step back. He drops his hands immediately, but doesn't look at you. Instead, he assesses George through a narrow eyed gaze. You can't decide if George is being brave, or stupid for not cracking under the weight of Jason's intense glare as he stands there, all six foot two of him posing a threatening picture. "Right, well. I'm just going to-"

"Hey, hold on," George says, averting his all-too arrogant gaze back to you and gripping your upper arm, jerking you slightly. You flinch a little when he moves into your personal space. "You aren't going to give me your number?"

His grip doesn't hurt, but it's a world away from gentle and you almost gape at the fact he doesn't seem to be aware of how uninterested you are.

Jason immediately clocks this, stepping forward. "Yeah, I don't fucking think so," he says darkly and then he shoves at George. Hard.

The people nearest to you gasp and titter when they see George careening into the stools at the bar and you slap a hand over your mouth, shocked. Shocked that Jason had actually gotten violent as Jason and not as Red Hood. All over a random creep, no less.

Before George even has the chance to recover from the surprise of Jason's brute force, you pull harshly on Jason's suit jacket, steering him out of the venue and into the hall. He follows you without protest, still breathing heavily.

"What the hell was that?" you hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet, despite being alone out in the entrance hall.

"He grabbed you," Jason says slowly, as if he's confused as to why you're upset. His expression is tight, like he's being careful to control his anger even now that you're away from George. "I would have done a lot fucking worse to him if you hadn't dragged me out of there."

"You cannot go all Red Hood when you're Jason! It's suspicious as hell. Not to mention how you were practically back-hugging me like some sort of reverse bulletproof vest."

"I always do that," Jason says, calmly. The fact that he isn't raising his voice just spurs you on to raise yours higher. The multitude of emotions swirling around in a confused whirl around your stomach makes you nauseous.

"You hate being touchy in public," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Last month, you punched Tim in the stomach for putting his arm around your shoulder. Anyway, that's not the point! You're so occupied with trying to take care of everyone that you never consider yourself. Or let anyone else do so. Yeah, that guy was an asshole. But he was just an asshole trying to talk to a single girl. He wasn't some... some crime boss or villain or evil freaking mastermind for you to take down!"

"I don't need looking after. And he didn't know you were single," Jason scoffs, running a hand through his neatly combed hair, mussing it up. If you weren't so irritated, you'd take a moment to appreciate how much you prefer it when he looks like this. Real and raw, like the current expression on his face rather than closed off and emotionless. "You came here on my arm, wearing my colour, like Tim's always fucking going on about. You... you're my..."

"Your what, Jason?" you ask, hysterically. You're almost yelling now, finally ready to snap at Jason's inability to share his thoughts with you. He stays silent, face going blank again, an indication that he's closing himself off to you. Your shoulders sag from exhaustion. "Come talk to me when you can give me an answer. I'm going home, I'll get Dick to give me a ride."

You don't wait for a response as you walk back into the venue. Thankfully, Dick is near the entrance and you don't have to subject yourself to too many stares before he takes you home. You don't glance at Jason on your way out.

4. when he asks for your help.

You're moping. You don't bother trying to deny it, but you're definitely moping around your apartment since your fight with Jason. You wake early every day and get dressed and study, but your movements are almost robotic in nature.

Dick has tried texting you a few times, but you've decided to just avoid looking at your phone, because it's the one Jason bought and it just makes you feel even worse. You aren't sure if Jason's tried contacting you, but your phone stops going off around the same time as Dick's evening patrol and you don't let yourself dwell on it further.

The two of you have never gone this long without speaking and aside from the pit of unease in your stomach as well as the sadness hanging over you like a dark cloud, you're also just bored. You have acquaintances from your nursing course, but no one close enough to do anything with this late at night.

Oh, well, you think to yourself, Chinese food and Grey's Anatomy for the second night in a row it is.

You take a quick shower, standing under the hot water for longer than necessary to let the time pass. Getting out, you change into your second pyjama set of the day, opting for a hoodie when you feel a chill in your room that wasn't there before.

You go to shut your bedroom window with a frown, not remembering why you opened it. The handle is stiff and you internally curse your landlord for still not fixing it as you finally succeed in shutting the damn thing after a particularly hard tug.

It shouldn't have taken that much energy out of you, but you're panting when you walk out of your bedroom to enter the living room so you can sit in front of the TV and order the takeout that you probably shouldn't be eating.

Before you can even attempt to regulate your breathing, you look up in the direction of your couch to find Jason sitting there in his Red Hood suit and slap a hand over your mouth to smother your shriek.

"Oh my God," you gasp, your free hand flailing out frantically to grasp the door frame in an attempt to steady yourself. The minute it takes for you to catch your breath is enough time to take in the state of the vigilante sitting in the dark of your living room.

You switch the light on and Jason winces at the sudden brightness, but you take the opportunity to give him a thorough once over. His dark hair is disheveled and falling into his eyes from hours of confinement in his helmet and he has a fresh bruise blossoming across his cheekbone.

You hardly ever use the main light, usually opting for a warm-toned lamp instead, so when the main light casts the cuts and scrapes on Jason's body in a harsher light, you want to turn it off even more.

Jason's eyes flutter shut for a second and you immediately rush forward to assess him for any injuries causing major blood loss. "Did you get stabbed?" you ask clinically, your voice void of any emotion. "Are you bleeding under your suit? You need to stay awake-"

"I'm fine," Jason mutters, opening his eyes to peer up at you through tired eyes. "I'm not bleeding or anything. Just wiped out from patrol."

You relax slightly, taking a step back to create some distance between the two of you. "Oh. You snuck through my window to tell me that you're tired?"

"Anyone could have snuck through that damn window," he says, brows furrowing in disapproval. He's been hassling you about the security of your apartment since you can remember and you usually wave him off, but in this moment you bristle.

"You don't get to be annoyed at me right now," you say, crossing your arms and glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "Why are you here, Jason?"

He grimaces at the use of his government name coming from you and takes a deep breath. "I haven't slept."

"So, go home and take a nap," you say, exasperated, letting your hands fall to your side as you're about to turn around and walk back into your room. Before you leave, you hear your Nursing teachers' voices in your head, reprimanding you and you sigh. "And you want to clean those cuts before they get infected."

"Could you do it for me?" Jason asks quietly, barely audible. His jaw clenches with the effort of asking you the question. "Please?"

You blink at him. "But, I- You've never..." you trail off, not knowing what to say. Jason has always refused to let anyone else patch him up after patrol. Hell, he's even learned how to do stitches on himself when you're the one learning how to do them for a living.

"I want... to let you look after me," he whispers, looking at you imploringly like you're going to refuse. Your irritation immediately melts into something else that you don't want to analyse any time soon.

"Oh," you exhale softly, heart twisting unwillingly. You nod slowly, words escaping you again. "Okay."

Jason's head flops back onto the couch cushion and he sighs like all of the tension is leaving his body. His hair covers his eyes, but you don't miss the dark circles under them, contrasting starkly with his skin, pale from exhaustion.

You consider letting him stay there, but you know it'll be easier in the bathroom where you keep all of your first aid supplies and the lighting is better for when you're practicing your techniques. "Come on. Up," you say, gesturing to the bathroom with a jerk of your head and you walk away, allowing him to come in his own time.

While you're digging through your bathroom cabinet for all the supplies you've haphazardly thrown in after using them, Jason slips in and you glance over at him quickly. "Sit down," you mutter, reaching up for the disinfectant. It sits on one of the higher shelves and you have to get on your tiptoes to reach it. Jason instinctively moves to help you but you shoo him away, managing to grasp it yourself. "Sit down."

"Yes, nurse," he huffs out a quiet laugh and you bite back a smile, opting to roll your eyes at him instead. Setting your supplies down behind Jason, you focus your attentions on unzipping his suit. The way his arms are resting limp in his lap tells you that he's not wanting to move anytime soon. You bring the zipper down yourself and pull off each sleeve cautiously, not wanting to rip the suit further where the torn fabric is clinging to the bloody cuts in his skin.

Once the suit is hanging loosely around his waist, you see from the black tank he's wearing that the cuts are localised to his now bare arms from where he's been defensive, whereas the fabric on his chest and abdomen are intact.

Jason's eyes track your face as you assess the extent of his injuries and when you lift your face to look at him, he's unabashed, continuing to look directly into your eyes. Your cheeks warm and you stutter out a sentence "I-I'll be right back, one sec."

You rush out of the bathroom and into your kitchen to pull open the freezer and scramble around for a bag of frozen anything. Settling on a bag of peas that you have no intention of cooking anytime soon, you hurry straight back to the bathroom.

Jason eyes the peas warily and you raise a brow, daring him to challenge you. When he stays silent, you move forward to shove the peas onto his cheek where the bruise is a darker red mark than before. He hisses when the icy bag makes contact with his face, flinching away from it.

"Ouch," he mumbles belatedly, giving you a sheepish smile when your mouth sets in a line. You should probably be gentler with him considering it's the first time he's allowing someone to physically care for him and it's you he's choosing to cross that boundary with. It's not like you want to scare him off so he never asks you again, but you can't help still being annoyed with him after your fight.

You sigh, trying to relax your face into a non-threatening expression. "Sorry. Keep it on your face to stop the swelling."

Jason grasps the bag slowly as you let go, letting his fingers brush over your own. You clear your throat and focus your attentions on the cotton pads, dousing them with disinfectant. Jason looks at you through one open eye, the other obscured by the bag of peas. "You shouldn't be the one apologising," he says, after a beat.

You purse your lips, bringing a cotton pad up to Jason's shoulder. "I know," you say simply before you press the disinfectant into one of the larger cuts, harder than probably necessary. Jason screws his eyes shut and works his jaw, but stays quiet. "Did that hurt?"

Jason shakes his head immediately, letting out a short breath he was holding. "Nope. Felt good actually. Kinda like a cooling effe- Shit," he hisses, tensing his arm. You think that's enough torture for now, instead continuing to gently wipe away the blood and dirt.

"I won't apologise about that one," you say, shrugging. Jason cracks a smile and you find yourself hiding one of your own as you clean off the other, smaller cuts and scrapes that don't need bandaging. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Promise I'll be nicer about it this time."

Jason shakes his head again, so you dispose of the cotton pads and get the band-aids, the only noise in the bathroom being the sound of you rummaging through your supplies. When you spot the choice of band-aids, you grin. "Pick one."

Surveying the two that you hold in your hand, Jason's gaze lingers on the dinosaur patterned band-aid, before flicking his eyes up to yours and raising an eyebrow. He points to the other one. "I'll take the Hello Kitty."

Your grin widens, knowing he's only choosing the pink Hello Kitty band-aid to appease you. You're certainly not going to challenge him about it as you carefully peel off the backing to stick it over his shoulder. Stepping back, you tilt your head to evaluate him and nod. "You look very pretty."

Jason smirks, but the slight blush creeping across the cheek that isn't covered by the frozen peas doesn't fool you. "Pretty enough for you to forgive me for being such an ass?"

"That depends." You take a tentative step towards him, crossing your arms. "Are you going to stop being stupid?"

Jason lowers his arm holding the bag of peas and places it behind him. With both hands, he reaches over to your arms, uncrossing them to bring you forward until you're standing close. He's so impossibly tall in your tiny bathroom that even standing up, you're only eye level with him as he sits on the closed toilet seat.

"I can't promise that I'll never be stupid in front of you again. You kind of have that effect on me," he says, sighing like it's some curse inflicted on him. You thwack his rock-solid arm and he grins. "I can promise I'll let you take care of me from now on, though. And that I'm going to stop lying to you."

"What?" you ask, eyebrows furrowing. You're even more confused when Jason places his hands around your waist to guide you onto his lap, both your legs hanging off one side of him. You raise both eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his answer, but he merely stares at you, smiling. "Jason. When have you lied to- mmph-"

He cuts you off by pressing your lips together in a kiss, one hand still holding yours, intertwining your fingers while the other tilts your chin up so he can kiss you deeper. You're a little slow on the uptake, frozen from shock for a second, but it isn't long until you're kissing him back just as eagerly. You shift in his lap, lifting one of your legs to swing over to his other side until you're straddling him and Jason takes a sharp inhale, sitting up straighter and pulling your body closer to his.

He pulls away for a millisecond, before his lips reattach to your jaw, travelling down to pepper soft kisses down your neck and you let out a noise halfway between a sigh and an embarrassing whimper. Jason groans at the sound, nipping at your neck and you feel like you can't breathe enough air.

He pulls away again to catch his own breath and you take the opportunity to come to your senses and lean back, gently pushing at Jason's chest. You breathe hard, trying to lift your gaze from Jason's swollen lips and he seems to be having a hard time looking away from your own.

"Jason," you say, voice shaky and uneven.

"Mhm?" he hums distractedly, pressing a soft kiss on your jaw before looking at you again.

"You kissed me," you point out, stupidly. "You really, really kissed me."

"I did," Jason murmurs, both hands cupping your face. He swallows, expression going from dazed to nervous before he speaks. "You asked me what you are to me before you left the other night."

You nod slowly, head still reeling from the kiss. Truthfully, you were willing to pretend the conversation never happened if you could go back to being friends again. You missed Jason.

"You're everything to me." Jason's shoulders are relaxed, his face free of tension as he says this. You're so shocked by the fact that he doesn't seem to be in pain as he opens himself up to you, that it takes a minute to process the actual meaning of his words. Your lips part but he shakes his head, continuing to speak. "You're everything. And sometimes I can't even think about that too much, let alone speak it, because I'm scared it'll consume me. I'm scared you'll consume me. The idea of compromising your safety, the idea of you loving me back, all of it. I'm... I was scared."

You lift your hand to place it over Jason's, still resting on your cheek. "That's okay. I can think and speak enough for the both of us," you tease and Jason laughs quietly, his breath tickling the inside of your wrist and sending a shiver down your spine. "You're everything to me as well, by the way. And sometimes all I can think about is loving you. I was just waiting for you to say it first."

Jason smiles and you think the corners of his lips lifting up and his eyes lighting up is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, each time blowing you away like it's the first time you've witnessed it. "Does that mean I lose? Kinda feels like I've won," he tilts his head, pretending to think about it.

"Oh, you've so lost," you furrow your brows in a mockingly serious frown. "And I'll be telling Tim as much."

Jason stills. "Please do not tell me that he bet you fifty dollars I'd confess first as well."

Your jaw drops. "That little bastard was playing both of us?"

You start laughing when Jason lets out an irritated groan, dropping his head onto your shoulder to bury his face in your shirt. You thread your hands in his hair and wrap an arm around his neck. He sighs, half content and half resigned. "I say we don't tell him for as long as we can get away with it. Live in peace for a while."

"We're talking about Tim here," you remind Jason, leaning back to lift his head and look at him. "I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew. And he'd literally never talk to you again if he knew we were hiding it after he finds out."

"I don't care," Jason says, lifting your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles. He leans back to run his eyes over your face, drinking you in like looking at you is a rare occurrence that he doesn't get the opportunity to do much. "You're all I need, anyway."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd scenarios #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fluff #jason todd fic #red hood imagine #jason todd imagines #red hood x reader #red hood x you

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iznsfw · 1 year ago

Text

Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself.

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung.

It’s all because of her.

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation.

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it.

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do.

hey, it reads, you need to—

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it.

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands.

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together.

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth.

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours.

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin.

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look.

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane.

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?”

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to.

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection.

Deception can’t lead you away.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?”

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart.

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve.

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for.

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder.

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.”

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin.

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You.

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that.

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger.

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right.

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service.

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already.

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her.

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game.

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.”

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.”

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected.

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too.

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity.

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again.

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction.

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you.

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you.

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers.

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs.

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care.

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes.

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff.

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent.

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung.

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down.

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open.

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good.

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore.

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both.

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?”

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips.

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had.

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect.

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking.

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker.

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some.

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too.

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting.

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

2K notes · View notes

martiniblues · 1 year ago

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weave your little webs of opacity ; 이민형

pairing spiderman!mark x female!reader

synopsis dating your friendly neighborhood spiderman was never an easy task. having to hide his identity from your family and friends was tough, but his life being put in constant danger was even worse. one night, he shows up at your window for reasons you feared most.

genre mutual comfort, so so so much fluff, slight angst, mark has cuts and bruises, reader uses she!her pronouns, established relationship, slightly suggestive towards the end.

wc 1.5k

tap tap tap

that’s what you heard as you lay in bed, attempting to fall asleep. you sat up, looking around your pitch-black room to navigate where the strange noise sprouted from. assuming it was nothing, you laid back down, pulling your comforter back up your body.

a few seconds passed before another sound was heard. "baby… it’s me." you could recognize that voice from anywhere.

mark.

quickly throwing yourself out of bed, you rushed to your window. after pushing up the glass, you were able to take in his appearance. he was wearing his spidey suit without the mask, revealing many cuts scattered across his beautiful cheekbones.

"mark what happened?" you quickly pulled him to your carpeted floor and examined the rest of his body. his suit was ripped in various places to expose more cuts that were littered across his abdomen and chest.

"it’s not too bad." he joked as his head fell back against the edge of your bed. you ignored his comment and held his face in your hands, inspecting it once more before running to your bathroom and grabbing your first aid kit.

crouching in front of him again, you began getting out the disinfectants and gauze you needed. "mmmm~" mark groaned, reaching for your waist and attempting to pull you to sit in his lap.

"dude, you have cuts all over you; i’m gonna hurt you!" you protested, trying to free yourself from his grip. "i think you being closer to me will help more than some stupid medicine." his head rolled to the side as he looked at you with a stupid smirk.

you fought back the urge to slap his chest but retorted to sitting in his lap after all. "you cheesy loser." you commented before working on moving his hair back from his face.

"hey, that’s not very nice. i’m injured here!" he whined, laying his head back once more. "baby, seriously, sit still." you held his head firmly as you picked up one of the soaked disinfectant cloths. "this might sting a little." you said before dabbing one of his cuts and quickly blowing on it softly to ease the stinging sensation he clearly felt due to the hiss that fell from his lips.

"i’m sorry." you cooed as you continued to work your way across his face. with every dab on his cuts, his grip got tighter on your waist.

after finishing his face, your fingers looped under the collar of his suit. "can i… um." you stuttered, knowing what was underneath. you and mark had been together for over a year, but still, the sight of him shirtless left you blushing like a little girl.

he laughed at your nervousness and kissed your flushed cheek. "you act like you’ve never seen me shirtless before." he teased you as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, making you grow even more red.

"whatever, i’m just making sure i won’t hurt you or anything." you rolled your eyes, trying to hide the fact that you were burning from the inside out. "that’s not how you were last night-" he was quickly cut off by a hand to his mouth. "shut up!" you shrieked, causing him to laugh as your palm left his lips.

you began to slowly pull down his suit to rest at his waist. if this were any other scenario, you would have begun kissing him right then and there, but the sight of many cuts and bruises left your heart to pang with worry.

"oh mark…" your fingers lightly grazed over a large pink spot on his side that was slowly blooming into a dark bruise.

"yeah those guys weren’t playing around." he laughed, but you could see the pain stitched between his brows. "baby, you have to be careful. i don’t know what i’d do if-" mark cut you off instantly by pulling your lips to his.

suddenly, all worry melted away, and all you could feel was him. forgetting about the cuts and bruises between you two and just feeling him on you.

"i know. i don’t mean for things to end up this way." he sighs, slowly pulling away from you. the little light from your lamp next to you two left a beautiful glow on his breathtaking features.

"how could someone be so senseless as to mess up such a pretty face?" you said before you even had time to think about your words. mark’s cheeks instantly flushed at your words, biting his lip to hold back a toothy smile.

"i think it’s kinda hot, don’t you think?" he moved his face to show off his battle scars. "whatever…" you will admit that it is insanely hot when you ignore how they got there. but he doesn’t need to know that.

you continued your doctor-esc duties before realizing you never got an answer to how he ended up like this in the first place.

leaning back slightly, you softly held his face to look into his eyes. "what happened, mark?"

he sighed and stretched his body slightly before his hands came to rest on your hips once again. "these idiots were trying to rob the bank a couple blocks away, and i tried to stop it on my own, but it turns out they had some bats and plenty of rings on their fingers to nearly take me down. but…" he reached under himself to get his phone to show you the news headline that he (spiderman) had in fact beaten the criminals and gotten them arrested. "i got ‘em anyway." he smirked cockily while you tried not to slap him for his stupid actions.

"i’m proud of you and everything, " you averted your gaze from his phone to lock eyes with him, stroking his cheek with your thumb. "but you shouldn’t be doing these things on your own. i know you’re strong and amazing at what you do, but i worry about you all the time. these guys could have done so much worse to you if one thing went wrong!" you expressed your distaste for his actions.

mark did take you seriously because he knew what happened when he didn’t, but you just looked so pretty above him that he couldn’t find it to control himself.

"so you think i’m strong and amazing?" he teased, turning his face slightly to kiss your wrist that he now held. he then stretched his torso to accentuate his sculpted body and defined arms.

"that’s all you got from my speech?" you tilted your head in disappointment but still couldn’t fight your eyes from taking all of him in.

he just made it so hard.

"dude, you don’t even try to act like you don’t love it." he titled his head to catch your eyes but winced slightly when he irritated a specific cut on his jaw.

"okay pretty boy, just sit still for a minute; i’ll be back." kissing his cheek where he wasn’t hurt, you made your way to your closet, where you kept the clothes mark left at your house, which was quite a lot.

picking up a shirt and shorts, you made your way back to the boy, who began to take off his suit. your cheeks still flushed at his bare skin, even if you had seen it countless times. "it’s not polite to stare." he commented as he stole the clothes from your hands, beginning to pull his shorts up his legs.

you just rolled your eyes and sat on the edge of your bed, relishing in his appearance for the hundredth time that night. you helped him pull his shirt over his tender skin and guided him to sit against your headboard with you.

"aren’t you forgetting something?" he asked as you reached over to turn off your lamp, leaving only the moonlight to illuminate your bodies. "hmm?" you hummed, unsure of what you could have possibly forgotten. silently, mark tapped his cheek, his forehead, his lips, and finally his nose.

you laughed at the childish pout pulled on his lips and rolled over to be flush against him, making sure to avoid hurting him.

"oh how could i forget?" you could feel the smile on his lips as you kissed all over his face. it was lazy and slow due to your tiredness, but you also took your time, wanting to absorb as much of this moment as you could. even though mark always came back to you in one piece, the thought of that not always being true hung in your mind like a curse.

"i love you so much, mark. more than anything." you pulled away before kissing his lips softly. he pulled you closer to him, squeezing your hips and raking his fingers in your hair. "i love you (y/n). i promise that i will always come back to you." it was as if he could read your mind, and maybe he could with his spidey senses, but you would never know.

you two stayed like that all night, slowly and deeply expressing your love for each other. it wasn’t until the sun began to outline your figure from the window behind your body that you finally decided to sleep.

you two were both tangled endlessly in each other’s webs of love and wanted no way to escape.

notes | this is completely inspired by that one andrew garfield spiderman scene (ifykyk). there are not enough spidermark fics on here it’s truly tragic!!! hope you enjoyed <33

#nct #nct dream #nct dream fic #nct fluff #mark lee #mark lee fic #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #nct 127 #nct 127 fic #mark lee angst #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #nct angst #nct scenarios #mark lee scenarios #nct mark lee

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itsabouttimex2 · 9 months ago

Note

This can be for anyone you think would best fit.

I have a personal comfort item that I cuddle to sleep. I get pissed if I am not cuddling it so what would ANY of the yanderes do about this?

Stuffie Reactions

Sun Wukong, MK, Azure Lion

What does this character think of your comfort item?

Cute, cute, cute. Sun Wukong considers your attachment to be simply adorable, and doesn’t interfere with the attachment you have for the thing. We get to see that he’s a little nostalgic for the past, so I think he’d understand the love for a long-standing comfort item. If it’s a plushie of some kind, the Great Sage will probably have a few commissioned in similar fashion to give you a ‘troop’ of cuddle-buddies.

That being said, he still wants your attention! Cuddle your plushie all you’d like, but come and lay your his in his lap while you do. Clean and brush it, but let him wrap an arm around you while you’re at it.

As long as he gets the same amount of love that you dish out to the personal possession, Wukong won’t complain. Start ignoring him I’m favor of it… and he’ll find a nice little cranny to hide it in. Maybe a few sleepless nights spent looking for it will drive you to his arms… eventually. He can wait.

He’s not the one losing sleep over it, after all!

MK is, in a word, jealous. He wants to be your hero, the one who scoops you up and delivers you to safety, the one who comforts you and wipes away tears. And instead of him, an actual hero, you have… a toy.

Regular MK wouldn’t care- in fact, he’d sympathize with you, given he’s got a massive monkey plush of his own! But with obsession to bog the mind, he’s more demanding of your time and attention- as well as your affection.

He wants those cuddles you give to the precious plush you’ve kept since childhood! He wants to be the pillow you rest on! Honestly, MK is more than a little hurt that he’s being one-upped by a literal object.

He briefly considers stealing and trashing the stuffed animal, but settles on an even better idea that won’t break you heart- his power to transform.

MK slips the worn plush under your bed and stealthily takes the thing’s place, shifting into an exact replica- every bead, stitch, and discolored patch is just as you remember, left right where you always put it before leaving your room-

So you don’t hesitate to give him it a good cuddle.

Azure Lion has a tendency to view his obsession as much younger than they truly are- you having a stuffie only reinforces this incorrect view.

Anytime he sees you holding your plush, it’s as though ten to fifteen years drop from your age. He can’t see a teen or an adult in you- just a child that needs him. (If you are a child, he spoils you with plushes and dolls to make up for his frequent absence. It’s not like he’d allow you to have real friends, after all.)

It’s not like Azure is going to grow jealous over a stuffed piece of sewn fabric- he’s just happy that you have something that makes you happy. He can just steal away into your room at night, settling for stroking the hair from your face and tucking the blankets tight.

(And a forehead kiss. Always. He’s never once forgotten it.)

Unlike the monkeys above, though, Azure Lion will remove your plush as a punishment. Not out of jealousy or desire for affection- but as a method of keeping you in line.

To him, it’s a particularly beloved toy, not really an object worthy of respect or love. And since taking it seems to be a good way of getting the response he wants, Azure is prone to snatching it away without hesitation- and returning it promptly once you’ve “learned your lesson”.

Thankfully, he’s not cruel enough to destroy it.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere MK #Yandere Azure Lion #Yandere Headcanons

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monseulamourrr · 1 year ago

Text

→ “can’t help but love you.” || ahn yujin x reader fic.

— you planned a study date with your favourite girl after a long time of being separated due to your busy lives, and you noticed a tiny change on her that made you itch to do something new for the night…

word count: 1.7k.

tags: tooth-rotting fluff. that's it. tee hee.

requested? : nope.

a/n: hiya 🤓 welcome to ena’s fluff era 😭😭 i’m still gonna be very active on pupyuj and ofc i’ll still do tons of work there but this account is where all of my works that aren’t smut will go!! i hope you guys enjoy the work i will do here as much as you enjoyed the ones on pupyuj 🥺 p.s. ik the title is a bit far-off from the synopsis but let’s ignore it—

2:07 a.m., it said on the digital clock sitting on your desk.

surprisingly enough, you were not tired. maybe it was the caffeine coursing through your veins, or the fact that you were actually enjoying studying for once. you weren’t a masochist; you could only be enjoying studying for one reason and it was because of one ahn yujin—your girlfriend who you were fortunate enough to accompany you this night.

“where are you going, (y/n)?” you heard yujin whine as soon as you started shuffling away from her side. she looked cute! with her oversized sweater that had her volleyball team’s mascot (in chibi form!) stitched on it (yujin was a middle blocker), her big glasses, and the scrunchie on her wrist that was so obviously yours.

between the hours and hours of staring at a screen, scribbling down notes, and reading material, yujin was fucking exhausted and it showed on her (very handsome—) face. she had a pout on her pretty lips—neither of you have spoken to each other too much in the name of trying to focus on your studies but yujin loved just having you there with her.

“i’m just going to get another cup of coffee. i’ll be back,” you said, squeezing her hand. but as soon as you tried to pull away, yujin yanks you back to her side, wrapping an arm around your waist tightly and pressing up against you. “baby! it takes like three minutes.” you giggle.

“no, you’ve already had too much… we’ll go to sleep soon,” her words were a bit muffled since she had her face buried on the crook of your neck. she raises her head slightly, looking up at you with her big puppy eyes that never ever failed to soften you up. “and i don’t like it when you’re away.” she mumbles.

oh, how she melts your heart.

“alright, cutie. i’ll stay.” you said, bumping your nose gently against hers.

if the way she almost immediately agreed to having a joint study session when you texted her about it days ago wasn’t enough to tell you how much she missed you, perhaps how she kissed you right now would. so soft you could barely feel it, and so sweet that warmth bloomed in your chest. you broke the kiss slightly just to take yujin’s glasses off her face, making her giggle softly before kissing you again.

a bit stronger this time—her hand rested on your waist, gently squeezing every now and then as she whimpered while you put your hand on the back of her neck, playing with her hair. her lips tasted like chocolates, most likely from the little treats she consumed every now and then because it helped her ‘focus’. you knew yujin just had a sweet tooth.

you could taste the chocolate on her lips, and after a single swipe of your tongue on her lips, you could taste it in her mouth. this was a much needed break, so you didn’t complain when yujin pulled you to her lap. both of you laughed at the way you nearly knocked yujin’s laptop off the bed, willing you to put your hands on her cheeks and control the kiss as you pleased.

‘finally,’ you thought. you felt your girlfriend tug at your shirt, making you laugh once again. she can be so needy. ‘we’ve both been waiting for too long.’

just as the kiss started to lead the two of you in that direction, something tickled the tip of your nose. you leaned back slightly, wondering just what gave you that weird sensation. yujin’s eyes slowly fluttered open, her lips forming another pout since she was so desperate (and determined!) to kiss you all night. then, you notice it—her cute bangs that have grown way too long.

they were nearly poking at her eyes! at first glance, yujin looked so cute but then you remembered the way she would shake her head softly every now and then to get her bangs away from her eyes, or how she would brush them away every second… and just then, you had a brilliant idea.

“baby, no… come back.” yujin whined when you slid off her lap. you grabbed a spare folding chair from the depths of your closet (you don’t remember why you have that, actually…) and disappeared into your bathroom. you were thankful to conveniently have a roommate who took cosmetology classes because any extra equipment she had, she stuffed it under your bathroom sink.

and so, you pulled out a cape and a pouch that contained various combs and scissors before swinging the bathroom door back open. yujin was standing right there, all cute and sleepy and very much confused.

“i need you to change into one of my shitty shirts.” you said, earning a head tilt from the taller girl.

“i love all your shirts, though.”

“come on…” you sighed deeply and went through your drawer on your own. inside you found a grey t-shirt with its design all faded out and chipped. yujin puts the shirt on as you so kindly requested and immediately, you dragged her inside the bathroom and sat her down in front of the mirror on the chair.

“look,” you gave her a kiss on her crown and softly patted her bangs. “i’m going to give them a little trim!” you exclaimed with a big smile.

yujin should be scared. not once has she ever seen you cut hair nor has she seen you hold a pair of scissors so clumsily like you did with the one you had on your hand now but instead, she grinned as widely as you did. “really?! i didn’t know you knew how to cut hair, baby!” she says excitedly. she turns her head to you—with her ‘brightness of a thousand suns’ grin and eye-smile, you couldn’t help but melt.

“j-just a little… but you don’t mind?” you asked.

“of course not! i believe in you,” yujin assures you. “plus, this is way cheaper than going to the salon and paying hundreds just for a little cut.”

you chuckled, “you’re lucky you’re my girlfriend then. otherwise i would’ve charged you like fifty dollars.”

yujin laughs along, “yeah. i’m really lucky.” she replied with warmth and sincerity in her voice. you couldn’t hold yourself back; you leaned down and gave her a sweet kiss on the lips. chocolates, still.

not long after you decided to get to work—yujin sat there quietly, trying her very hardest not to bop her head to the music you’ve put on (it was one of your shared playlists, particularly yujin’s favourite of the bunch) to fill the silence. yujin stared at your face through the mirror, her heart increasing its size every time she catches you do your little habits: biting the corners of your lips, blowing your own hair away when it gets in the way of your eyes, and the way your eyebrows furrowed so deeply from how focused you were.

“does that look okay?” you asked after a few minutes, stepping aside. her bangs were still a bit long, but you didn’t want to overdo it just in case yujin actually liked having them long.

“hm… they’re still a bit…” yujin replied, moving her head softly. obviously she wanted it shorter, so once again you gave her a kiss on the cheek before continuing your work.

it was obvious that yujin was struggling to sit still. she was a very active person! heck, while you were studying for hours, yujin would take small paces around your room and poke around every forty minutes just to keep herself entertained. of course, yujin wouldn’t dare ruin her hair so instead, she decided to keep her hands busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. she’d poke on your stomach, making you laugh and jokingly kick her shin but she’d do it again and you wouldn’t say anything. her cold hands felt right against your warm skin.

a few more laughs, short kisses, and ‘snips’ later, you once again stepped aside to let yujin have a look of herself.

“whoa!” your girlfriend exclaimed. she touches her bangs, moves her head around, and beams up at you. “you’re amazing, baby!” she was saying as you cleaned up the scissors and the cape. as soon as you took it off of her, yujin leaps up from her chair and hugs you tightly.

she peppers your face with kisses amidst your giggles and half-hearted attempts of kissing her back. “you’re the best, (y/n). thanks a lot.” yujin whispers in your ear as she embraced you a bit more gently. your caressed her hair, giving her a chaste kiss on her shoulder, before melting into her.

the two of you stayed that way for a while, until you leaned back to take a look at your girlfriend’s face. she was beautiful, except that her bangs were a bit shorter and, in yujin’s most honest opinion, a lot cuter. you pulled her down to give her a kiss in the forehead, her favourite, before she captures your lips in a kiss. having been this amazing girl’s lover for years now, you’ve come to know where these unexpected make-out sessions lead up to… and you definitely did not want the two of you to go there when the bathroom floor was littered with tiny strands of yujin’s hair.

“clean up first, babe,” you whispered against yujin’s lips. that got you another whine. “please?”

well, that quickly got yujin moving around. you laughed as she cleaned up the entire bathroom in record time and before you knew it, it looked as good as new. the least you could do was put the equipment away, so you folded up the cape and put the scissors in the pouch before tossing it all under the sink once again.

as soon as you stood back up, yujin hugs you from behind. you smile at her through the mirror, she smiles back. even brighter. you intertwined your hands and of course… yujin’s lips were on your skin again.

you giggled, feeling her soft kisses from your neck to your cheek, “do you ever get tired, baby?” you asked, turning your head and catching one of her many, many kisses.

yujin shakes her head, smiling at you like she wants you to fall in love with her all over again, “can’t help it.”

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pugh-bug · 1 month ago

Text

Voiceless

Paul Atreides x servant reader

SFW, quite angsty with some fluff

Word count: 2,105

First Dune fic, I hope you enjoy! I know people follow me for Challengers content mostly but this was so nice to write for a change. I hope everyone has a great New Years <3

——————————————————————

You had been Paul’s servant for two years. He’d hand picked you out of a line up of seventeen and kept a close eye on you from the moment you began washing his suits. It was no secret to Jessica, his Mother, that her son harboured certain feelings for you but if kept at bay she knew you posed no threat. Despite that unshakable belief, you’d catch her commanding stare several times a day. The one that said you are nothing, never forget it.

It took several months of unprofessional, longing looks and delicate hand touches before Paul finally kissed you and since then your life had been consumed by a need for him. Sometimes it frightened you. The hours in between seeing him stretched on endlessly, you’d find yourself staring at walls waiting. You did a lot of it and it only got worse the closer Paul became to inheriting his Father’s title. His duties were greater, his training was longer and the weight of responsibility was heavier. You had to make the most of every minute spent together and those were becoming few and far between.

“Gurney should be more careful.” Paul flinched as you caressed his bruised rib, your fingers barely grazing the blackened flesh. “You should dodge, you’re just giving me more work.” You gestured to the rip in his tunic, already dreading the needle work. His shirts were getting so frayed there was barely enough sturdy fabric to stitch together. It used to hurt you to see Paul so beaten but two years of licking his wounds and kissing his scars had left you numb to the sight.

“Can you do something for me?”

Paul didn’t miss the tightness in your voice and the insecurity brewing in the room as he awaited your request.

“I can’t take another evening of being your servant and nothing more in front of your family. Please… please ask for Milena.”

Milena was the ‘middle man servant’, her job was to be on call incase any Atreides needed a temporary replacement. Paul never asked for her, he always found her incessant desire to please irritating.

“Paul?”

He hadn’t spoken for a few moments.

“Milena’s serving Feyd. His servant is still missing.” Missing but presumed dead was the rumour. You hoped for her sake that she was. Whether she was or wasn’t didn’t help your dilemma however. Paul squeezed your hand, his eyes scanning your reaction despite knowing your thoughts. He knew you inside and out, it was unnerving how much power he had over you. What you loved was how little satisfaction that truth brought him. He did his best to ignore it - to level the playing field. Impossible of course but try he did for you.

“I could-“

You raised your hand in polite protest, feeling a sigh come on.

“No. I’ll endure it.”

Paul brushed a piece of hair off your forehead before gifting you a tender kiss. You’d see him in the morning.

——————————————————————

“Quickly.”

To keep up appearances you’d had to sleep in the servants quarters and were paying the price for the hard beds as you poured drinks. Course after course you brought out, feeling Paul’s eyes on you at every turn but Feyd’s as well. Unwelcome as his attention was, it did provide Paul a reason to show his possessive side. That was welcome.

“Have you been practising Paul?” The harsh tones of Jessica silenced the jolly table. Duncan, suddenly mesmerised by the door, ceased his chatting and braced himself for the voice. Jessica used the voice on you at least once a week, when Paul was away, to punish you for the sin of being you. It never became a force you grew accustomed to, in fact on occasion it felt stronger. The first promise Paul ever made was that he would never use the voice on you. A promise he’d never break for anyone.

“Yes.”

Liar.

Jessica stared Paul down across the silenced table of hungry guests. Everyone’s eyes were fixated on the pair and what they were going to do next. Who would they choose as the recipient? Standing behind Paul, as was traditional for servants, you avoided his Mother’s smug gaze. As the white hand of Feyd Rautha snaked tightly around his glass, Paul stared at Milena.

“SIT DOWN.”

Immediately Milena found herself sitting on the cold, unforgiving stone of the hall - her face in shock. You didn’t miss the elation in Feyd’s face. Fixated on Paul’s movements, he stood up from his chair and demanded to ‘see it again’. Paul refused.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. You did your duties as expected, paying Paul no mind and taking plates away as swiftly as you brought them. Milena wiped the sweat from her brow on the back of her hand before serving Feyd his final platter, earning her a disgusted look from Jessica. Nothing was out of the ordinary until later.

“What’s your name?”

Everyone had left: the staff, the guests, the hosts and Paul. He couldn’t wait for you as it would arouse suspicion. You and the man before you were alone.

“Do you like being Atreides cattle?” The man circling you, asking probing questions, was Feyd. His eyes ran shamelessly over your face and body, you had to suppress the shiver of disgust surging through you.

“I’m sorry?”

Feyd loomed over you, his wolf like intimidation efforts reminding you of an old rhyme. One your Mother had once read you.

“For she could not move whilst she did know of the rumbling, thundering beast below.”

The beast before you spoke in a husky voice you found repulsive but words spoken with black tongues often lose their charm. “You’re wasted as a servant,” Oh. Paul would be beside himself. “I could look after you,” spoken by a man who fed off the suffering of others. “If you were my mistress you’d belong to me.” He ceased his predatory circling so his feet almost touched your own and his eyes could soak up your horror. “Belong only to me.”

“The beast knew only of her pain

And the suffering he brought her again and again.”

You steadied your breath refusing to look at the floor, tempting as it was. Feyd’s eyes chilled you. “You have two days,” he whispered before grinning unpleasantly. “There’s a lot of women who’d die to be in your position.”

——————————————————————

“And then what?”

Paul faced the bed, not you. His voice was unreadable.

“I left! I felt like an ant, what am I supposed to tell him? A servant turned mistress is seen as a great opportunity by so many here that I-“ you felt your blood pressure rise with every word. “I fear I can’t say no to him - if - if I do I need a reason. A proper reason. I can’t say no for the sake of it, I’d need to be diseased or married.”

You pictured Jessica’s smug face watching you drag your used body from Feyd’s room to the kitchens, knowing you were apart from her son. Knowing she’d won.

“Surely it’ll pass, he has the attention span of a gnat. He has a reputation-“

“I’m well aware of his reputation Paul, why do you think I’m panicked?”

Paul looked at you with a mixture of pity and fear. Though he tried to minimise Feyd as a villain in his mind he couldn’t ignore the very real risk he posed. He was becoming worse, the walls were whispering about it. He wasn’t just an arrogant boy playing with others for his own entertainment anymore, he was psychotic.

“I-“

Knock knock

Your heart sank knowing someone was about to pull Paul away and as was routine you’d have to look busy when they did.

“Paul? Gurney is waiting for you.”

You didn’t bother to watch him leave, knowing he’d run after anyone who needed him but you. His love but always his servant.

——————————————————————

The sun hit your face reassuringly the next morning with the promise of something good on the horizon. What it was you couldn’t think or dare to guess.

“Y/N?”

You turned your head to see Paul, he must have climbed into bed without waking you. A difficult task. He looked beautiful in the morning with his mop of curls and slightly confused expression. His dark eyes met your own as you curled into his warmth. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Paul smiled down at you, snaking an arm around your shoulders. Smug.

“I want it to.”

His eyes held sadness in them at your words, at the disappointment on your face. He’d let you down again, he knew that much. Being a Duke’s son, inheriting an empire and the knowledge of the Bene Gesserit didn’t align with you. As much as the two of you denied it the truth was you didn’t belong in each others worlds. Thinking just that, and resenting it, Paul ran his fingers through your hair and kissed you.

“So beautiful…”

You melted at his morning voice and his words, the way he looked at you as if you were all that mattered. If only that were true. You kissed him back with all the love in your being, pulling him close to you. You wanted to keep him with you ‘always’ as you had once said in the night unbeknownst to sleeping Paul.

“I love you.”

As soon as the words left your lips you felt assured you’d needed to say them. They were always bound to burst out of you at some point and the day before Feyd took you in his clutches seemed as good as any. Paul beamed at you and with only the smallest bit of hesitation, as he had to take in your words, returned them. “I love you.” Your heart could have sang but instead the door flew open and the frenzied face of Jessica stared at you.

Paul jumped at the sight of his Mother, grasping for the duvet to cover you both. “Stand up.” Jessica snapped, only looking at you with more disdain than ever. You wrapped the covers around yourself, trying to keep some dignity intact but you knew what was to happen. You watched the floor and waited for the inevitable, feeling the happiness of the morning dissipate all too soon.

“Am I dismissed?”

“You must think me an angel.”

Jessica clasped her hands together before taking intentionally slow steps towards you. “You’re to be banished…” Another step. “You’ll never see these halls or anyone in them again.” Paul’s eyes grew wide as his Mother dulled out her punishment. “I’ll ensure no one will hire you as a whore least of all a servant.”

“You will not speak to her like that Mother.”

Both of you turned to Paul in surprise, neither of you expecting him to defend you but never the less his face was defiant. There wasn’t an ounce of regret in his eyes. Jessica pursed her lips in disappointment. “Don’t be so naive. You know who you are Paul, you’re above this. You’re above her.”

“SILENCE.”

The voice…

His own Mother…

“Y/N is my future wife.”

Your ears must have deceived you, or were you dreaming? Had you fallen asleep in Paul’s arms again? ‘Future wife’…Your heart felt as though it were vibrating, not pounding but spinning inside your chest. You didn’t dare look at Jessica, whose face was surely enraged, instead your eyes met Paul’s. There was nothing but tenderness in them.

You were going to be free.

As if his Mother was gone and of no importance, Paul rushed to you. He squeezed your hand and smiled reassuringly. “Y/N…” It had all become so clear, so simple. Paul had loved you quietly but he wouldn’t anymore. “Will you have me?” Such a modest request from the second most important man of Caladan. You hardly registered the sound of Jessica’s footsteps of retreat as Paul spoke, all you heard were his words. His proposal. Finally a proposal.

You couldn’t speak, you were out of words. All there was for you to do was throw your arms around his neck and kiss him breathlessly. When you finally pulled away Paul was beaming, feeling almost as free as you. No one could harm the wife of a future Duke, he wouldn’t allow it. Feyd would rot and so would his Mother’s hate and you would never clean a plate again.

“I’ve never loved anyone else, I never will.”

No longer would you be a dutiful servant, waiting in the wings for a moment that never came.

“I’ll love you forever.”

——————————————————————

Masterlist

Resources 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩

#dune fanfiction #dune fandom #Paul atreides #Paul atreides x reader #paul atredies x you #paul atreides x reader angst #paul atreides fanfic #paul atreides fanfiction #dune paul atreides #dune fanfic #Paul atreides fluff #Paul atreides angst #pughbug #timothee chalamet

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sunflowersandsapphires · 1 year ago

Text

Life in a Tranquil State

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Just a short drabble about a sweet morning with an injured Matty.

warnings: none

a/n: This piece is rather short but very fluffy! I hope everyone is doing ok, I know this time of year can be difficult for people. Sending you all my love!

w/c: 1.2k

Dashing into the stairwell to escape the chill, you shuddered as the last gust of wind lifted the wisps of hair peeking out at the front of your hat. Inhaling deeply, you trekked up the stairs—relief washing over you at the sight of your front door. After taking a moment to squeeze your fingers in an attempt to shake off the cold-induced numbness, you turned the door knob and scurried inside.

The warmth of the apartment enveloped you in a comforting embrace, causing your shoulders to sag as the general discomfort of the rapidly falling temperature faded away. Your boyfriend was seated in the middle of the living room rug, bare shoulders illuminated by the dim light leaking through the massive window behind him. His eyes were closed, the striking muscles in his legs flexing in their crossed position.

Still meditating then, you thought to yourself, toeing off your boots as silently as you could to prevent disturbing his focus. Rising inflation and consistent apathy from politicians had unleashed a current of building unrest in the city. Matt had been working overtime in and out of the office, helping New Yorkers appeal their welfare denials during the day while stopping corruption and petty crime at night. Honestly, it was downright miraculous that it had taken next to no convincing to get Matt to take a day off, though that might have been because of your desperate begging.

Last night had been especially turbulent, ending with an exhausted Matt, an equally exhausted Claire (who REALLY deserved some time away from the shenanigans), an absurd amount of stitches, and the worst tension headache you'd had in recent history. As the color slowly reappeared in Matt's face, you'd given him an earful between stress-induced sobs, pleading with him to take some time off to recover--and thanking every divine entity in the universe when he'd accepted. Once Matt had taken his painkillers, you both passed the fuck out in a tangle of limbs that was sure to be more uncomfortable for him than for you.

It wasn't that you wanted him to stop being Daredevil, you'd never ask him to restrain the part of himself that had saved the city time and time again. But you'd continue to remind him that his body needed to rest sometimes, a fact he had been pointedly ignoring the past few weeks.

Which is why the sight of him beside the couch was such a welcomed one. This morning had been tense, by no fault of Matt's. You'd slept restlessly, waking up jittery and drained next to an aching, and incredibly guilty, Matt. He'd apologized to you profusely, clenching the fabric of your sweatshirt between his fingers like he expected you to disintegrate. Pressing soft kisses to his head, you'd brushed off his needless worries, promising that you weren't going anywhere.

To Matt's chagrin, you'd dragged him to the living room and encouraged him to meditate so that he could regain his strength. He'd accepted, but only when you agreed to sit in his lap, which he swore would not break his focus. After an hour of listening to his exasperated grumbles and helping him shift positions, you'd clambered out of his lap, cajoling him with the offer of breakfast and a coffee from the cafe down the street.

Padding quietly into the apartment, you set the steaming paper cup and accompanying box of pastries on the counter, using your now empty hands to pull off your hat and comb through your staticy hair.

“Only one coffee?” Matt's voice over your shoulder startled you, causing you to nearly knock his drink to the ground as you turned to face him.

“Christ, Matty, don't do that. I'm gonna make you wear a bell.” You shoved at his sculpted chest, brief irritation dissipating when he let out a low chuckle.

“I'm sure the criminals would appreciate the warning.” His hands slid around your waist, forehead tipping to rest against yours. “Missed you.”

Giggling softly into the kiss he pressed to your lips, you let your hands drift up to cradle his neck. ”I was only gone for a few minutes, you sap.“

”I don't know, it felt like hours.“ Matt sighed dramatically, leaning into your body heavily as he picked up his coffee. Taking a sip, a pleased groan rumbled in his throat, making you grin.

”Too sweet, just the way you like it.“

”It's perfect. What about you?“ Matt frowned, jerking his chin towards the lack of a second cup on the counter.

With a shrug, you snuggled into Matt’s hold, humming in appreciation when he ran a hand along your back.

“Didn’t feel like coffee today. I’m not above napping, Murdock.”

“That can be arranged, darling. I owe you some peace after last night.” Despite his clenched jaw, you watched guilt fill his expression, gorgeous hazel eyes falling to the floor.

”Don't you start.” You chastised gently, rubbing circles on his nape with your thumb. “We talked about this earlier, my love. You didn't do anything wrong, you just bit off a little more than you could chew. Happens to the best of us, yah?“ Brushing your nose against his, you slotted your hips against his and tugged him into an embrace.

Resolve crumbling, he melted into the touch. ”I'm still sorry.“

”And I'm still reminding you that you don't need to be. Just remember to be careful and let yourself rest every once in a while. Speaking of,“ You brushed a thumb under the stitched wound on his shoulder. ”Meditation still not working?“

Whining under his breath, Matt shook his head mournfully. ”Not well. I just...I don't know what's wrong with me today.“

Brow furrowing, you kneaded at your boyfriend's scalp in an attempt to scare away his crippling self-doubt. “Anything in particular that made it difficult?”

Matt shook his head, his lips parting around the tiniest of sighs. “Everything is just...a lot today. I don't think I ever fully relaxed after the adrenaline from last night.”

Biting your lip in thought, you carded your fingers through Matt's hair. “Hmm, well it might help if you were more relaxed before you started meditating? Do you think that might work?”

Smirking at you, Matt purred, “What did you have in mind?” One of his large hands slid down from your waist to palm your ass.

Swatting at his wrist, you snorted. “I didn't mean sex, Matthew. Though I suppose that's one option we could pursue if the others don't work.”

Kissing you deeply, Matt's breath ghosted over your lips as he asked. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, we can start by eating the pastries I painstakingly picked out for my very picky boyfriend,” Ignoring Matt as he pinched your waist and scoffed indignantly, you continued. ”Other than that, we could try showering first? That always makes me feel better.”

“That sounds great sweetheart,” Matt leaned his forehead against yours with a smile.

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mewnewew · 1 month ago

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Sir Crocodile X Reader

Merry Christmas! This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but uh if it's Christmas for y'all today then woop woop let's go Jesus. Have fun! I'm going buckwild. This picture makes me want to bite him and shake him like a dog with a chew toy. This pic was taken from the cover of ch.413 showing him, Daz, Bon Clay and Galdino on a Marine paper being deemed too dangerous and being sent off to Impel Down. JUST LOOK AT THIS MF's FACE IN THE MARINE PICTURE-

TW: SLIGHT MENTIONS OF BLOOD AND KIDNAPPING

Where was she? Was she okay? Why is that damn group not back yet?!

Crocodile was pacing back in forth in his hotel room, cigar being dangerously close to being bitten into and already close to finishing.

Someone had taken her while he was gone. A mere day before he was set free by Strawhat, she was taken from him along with some other women in the town, since she lived alone and no one knew she was his. He'd sent her away with a decent sum of money as soon as he felt things might go awry and soon as he was out he set out to find her.

He knew he cared for her. Originally he was just going to let her be, but the more he thought about his life and situation in prison, the more he realised he loved her. Desperately, painfully but genuinely cared for her. It took a long time for him to come to terms with that fact. But when he was in that prison, it gave him enough time to think things over and enough time to realize. He loved her. He craved her. He wanted her.

As soon as he knew where she had last been seen he set out to that island where she had been apparently working as a seamstress. But then he heard the news. Pirates had come the day prior and taken her and other women, looting the small island and taking off to their lair. A small cove to the west of the island, known as Mango cove, where the island got a healthy amount of rainfall, the soil was half water and sticky and honestly? It depended on the tide whether further inland was submerged or not. The plants provided a nice defense to the outside and usually this would prove a problem for Crocodile to ambush. Usually he wouldn't, or he would hire someone else. So he did.

He had Daz to get some mercenaries who didn't have qualms about doing what as long as they were paid and they had a good streak of staying loyal to their employer. But Crocodile was pacing up and down worrying. They reported they were on their way back, having rescued all the women and that she was there. But then a sea king bumped against the rudder and the snail cut out. So here he was, panicking. Oh what would he say to himself now, 5 years ago?

Then the door clicked, slowly swinging open. He stopped and stared at the figure. Messy black hair, dirt, sweat and cuts across her figure. Eyes wide as she stared back at him in shock, her clothes slightly ripped in places and a bruise on her arm. There was also a cut on one side of her head which disappeared into her hair which probably needed stitches and dried blood on her face. But there she was, unmistakable as she breathed, his lover.

She opened her mouth and closed as he reached her and he pulled her into himself. She then moved her arms to hook around his neck.

"It's you! I didn't-I couldn't believe-!" She cried into his neck. His hook was curled around her waist, pressing her close. His hand woven into the dirty strands on the back of her head pushing her face to his neck.

Her hair was chopped shorter than he remembered. It was shaved underneath, with the top hair let free. It probably looked gorgeous when styled right, but now it was messy and filthy. He could see some tattoos peeking out from the back of her neck and from this angle he could see more peeking our from the tears of the fabric. God she was still beautiful.

"You're here" He whispered softly, ignoring the grime over her, ignoring what usually he would move against and just holding her tight. He felt drunk. Was it possible to get drunk by holding someone you loved? Or was he coming down with something?

A small laugh bubbled out of her, as she moved her head, dried blood and grime now dirtying his collar and skin. "Yes I am. But you--" she cupped his face.

"You're different. What happened?"

And hour and a half later of bathing, speaking, confessing and getting stitched up later, they were curled up in bed. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat as he breathed. He had removed his hook and curled an arm around her, his hand feeling the smoothness of the shirt she wore. She blinked sleepily.

"I have an idea."

"Hm?" She turned her head up to look at him, then slowly turned so she was now laying fully on him.

"I want to make a force, a strength. To stand against the Navy." His hand now found itself back in her hair, lovingly caressing her scalp. He tucked his stump under his head, meeting her gaze.

"And?"

".....I want you with me."

A sigh, and her face became apologetic.

"I can't."

His hand ruffled her hair.

"I know. That's what I figured."

She snorted.

"Why ask then?"

"Just wanted to see. In reality, I want you here."

She quirked an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know how this will go, or whether I'll live. I want you safe." He sat up, shifting her into his lap as he placed his hand on her cheek.

"If you'll have me, I want to marry you"

Her eyes snapped open, her jaw dropping open.

"I- wha-"

He chuckled, then leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"You don't have to say yes but-"

"Of course I'll say yes!'

Now it was his turn and his eyes grew wide.

"What?"

She stood on her knees and pressed a kiss to his nose, her hands on his shoulders.

"Yes, Crocodile. I'll marry you. But you have to promise me"

"Anything" He murmured, kissing her, his hand cupping her cheek.

She smiled between kisses, hooking her arms around his neck.

"Come back to me after it's all over. Or at least, try."

He paused, looking into her eyes, finding bits of fear, love and strength in them. He kissed her forehead before hugging her.

"I will. Wait for me and I promise I will"

~~~~~~~~~

Years later, and many battles later, a much older man but no less strong, stepped off a ship, onto a beach. He walked into town, wearing a large hood, his face was old and bore many wrinkles, but there was one very prominent scar across his face, nearly slicing it in half. His body walked with the still firm stride of someone who was possibly much more formidable in his youth into a small shop. He ducked to enter and let his eyes wander around the walls, holding many stores of pencils, pens and other small writing items. In one shelf, it had files and papers neatly stacked. A small typewriter in the corner stood on an old small table with the sign "ASK BEFORE PRINTING" written in capitals.

The owner walked from a side door to the counter looking down as she wiped her hands on a cloth speaking to him, causing him to turn his head to her. She wore a slightly oversized but comfy looking white shirt, tan coloured pants and her hair much shorter than ever. They had talked only on snails, in late night calls and very very rarely through letters sent by trustworthy messengers. Her hair was now sporting salt and pepper hair as a short bob, a few strands falling forwards as she looked down at the cloth in her hands, wiping off the ink stains from her hands. He smiled, and his heart swelled, she looked gorgeous as ever.

"--apologies, there was a large order placed and-" she looked up, and her face broke into a wide grin.

"Crocodile!"

#sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #x reader #one piece

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epickiya722 · 9 months ago

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Okay, never thought I would see someone say that Yuji needs to "learn that life is not like a story".

I highly disagree because Yuji definitely knows life isn't like a story. In fact, I'm sure he knows this before we, the audience, even meet him. Mind you, most of his life he was raised by his grandfather who is later hospitalized.

And right after Wasuke dies, Yuji's life takes a quick turn due to the incident with the curses and Sukuna's Cursed Finger.

Speaking of, Yuji knows life isn't a story because of his experience with being Sukuna's vessel. Not only his body was used to cage one of the most cruelest beings in the story, but he also had a death sentence placed on his head. And how does he react?

He accepts death. He accepts death as long as Sukuna dies. Of course, he first questions it because one, who wouldn't? Two, he is also a child??? Hello???

Why else later Yuji had developed the whole cog mentality? Because he knows how cruel life is! He fought Mahito, who is just a blue haired, stitched foil to Sukuna.

He watched people he cared about die right in front of him!! Again, just a child!

I think because Yuji does have a more positive personality, people ignore that Yuji is suffering and he is aware of that harshness of life.

You think Yuji fights for fun? Hell no! He fights because he believes he has to. He is not looking to be awarded.

He isn't trying to rescue Megumi because "he's a damsel in distress". He's trying to save Megumi because Megumi is a friend, another person that Yuji doesn't want to lose. Megumi is also another child, another human being. Doesn't he not deserve to be saved?

Oh, what? He's supposed to save himself? Megumi isn't a damsel. He's a child who just had to watch his sister die by his hands because of Sukuna, the guy who went through the means to suppress his soul so no. Megumi is not fit to save his damn self. And guess what Yuji would know how he feels.

(Also, separating Megumi from Sukuna would put Sukuna at somewhat a disadvantage.)

Just because Yuji was able to control Sukuna (unless something happens), doesn't mean he wasn't aware of his cruelty. Yuji, too, witnessed Sukuna's destruction by his hands.

As badass as the "I am you" scene was it was also a tragic scene to the Yuji we, the audience, knew. He accepts he is just another tool to be used to fight in an endless war against curses.

Also, Yuji does think for himself, just not in the way a lot of you think. Let's step outside the box here for a moment.

What's the word you think of when you hear "think for yourself"?

Selfish is probably the word. And guess what? Yuji is selfish.

I don't mean just in a bad way, I also mean in a good way. When you're being selfish in a good way, you're choosing to do things to better yourself so you can be healthy. You're not looking to benefit off of others for malicious means. In a bad way, you're unnecessarily causing damage to others around you for your own benefit.

Yuji does both. His selflessness is his selfishness. Yuji chooses to help others. He could have just ignored Wasuke's words, but he doesn't. He could have chose to lounge at the Tokyo school and wait for Cursed Fingers to be brought to him, but he doesn't. His choices are his choices.

Selfless choices because he's choosing to helps others without being awarded. He doesn't want to be awarded. If he did, he would be cocky about that "Tiger of West Middle" name.

However, his choices are selfish because he doesn't take in account about how others would feel about them. Just because he's doing what he's doing without malicious intent, doesn't mean it's not damaging.

What if Yuji does die with people surrounding him after saving Megumi? How about the others who grew some kind of relationship with him? Imagine if Nanami was still alive in this point of the story. He would be devastated because he lost a kid he cared about.

What about Choso? Yuji is all the family he has left. If he dies, what about Choso?

Yuji does think for himself, but not in a way to benefit himself (good), he's not looking to be a parasite off of others. But his way of thinking for himself also is damaging (bad), reckless on a way that he doesn't think about the aftermath.

[I touch more on his selflessness here.]

So in summary, just because Yuji is a ray of sunshine don't mean he isn't aware life isn't a fucking story. He's not naïve. He is just a selfless boy who is also selfish because he doesn't think about how others would feel about a child dying.

#I'm going to be real #i feel like some of you don't care to understand yuji because he's the mc and a lot of people nowadays have a vendetta against mcs #and yuji is one of them #sorry but to me he is the most imteresting character of jjk #because he's not like others in the way you think #just kiya's thoughts #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #itadori yuuji #yuuji itadori #💖🐯👊

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snippychicke · 1 year ago

Text

It's just Business Eight--Hold On.

Fucking Bounty Hunters.

No. Fucking Luffy who had to have the largest bounty in the East Blue and still traipsed around every island you came across, shouting his name to the skies.

The bounty hunters were left in puddles of their own blood, and you didn’t bother to check if they were even still breathing as you and Luffy helped Zoro back to the ship, Nami and Usopp trailing behind with Sanji. The two had suffered the worst of injuries-- which was proving to be typical, unfortunately.

“I’ll get us out of here,” You heard Nami say, but you were already gathering supplies from the makeshift First Aid kit, mind whirling with what you needed to do. Zoro was still not completely healed from his fight with Mihawk, and then the brawl with Arlong’s pirates. You were pretty sure at this point he was just straight-up ignoring Death.

Your thoughts came to a stand still when you saw Sanji half-slumped in the chair next to the bed where Zoro laid, far more pale than usual and beads of sweat evident on his forehead. “Hang in there, okay Sanj’?” You spared a brief moment to squeeze his shoulder - softly, just in case it was injured - before turning to your first patient. "Let me get Zoro fixed first."

“I’m fine,” Zoro tried to protest until you poked his chest sharply and got a hiss in return.

“Bull-fucking-shit,” You snarled, ignoring the huff of laughter coming from behind you. “I’m not even a doctor and I can tell that lie from a mile away.”

“It’s not smart to piss off a lady, moss head,” Sanji muttered, making you grit your teeth as you worked. Of course he would decide to push Zoro’s buttons while you were trying to treat the swordsman. “Especially one that’s taking your clothes off.”

“Oh my god, Sanji!” You snapped before Zoro could react, turning your head to glare at the cook out of the corner of your eye. “Are you serious?” The blond’s head was hung back as he slumped in the chair, hair covering his eyes but you could still see the faint smile on his lips. Far, far too pale lips.

“You’re just jealous she’s undressing me first,” Zoro added and you saw red.

“I know you are both some of the strongest people I know, but do not think, for one second, that I would hesitate before murdering you both,” You swore between clenched teeth. “And I could get away with it. After all, I’m not a fucking doctor.”

Thankfully, once you started to fix the torn stitches on Zoro’s chest, the swordsman was too busy controlling his breathing to make any quips, and Sanji was unusually quiet - though you presumed you knew why once you heard the click of his lighter. Silence hung in the air along with the smoke from Sanji's cigarette while you worked, allowing you to finish quicker than you expected.

“Alright,” You sighed as you bandaged up the swordsman before throwing his bloodied shirt at him. “You’re good to go. I’d give you strict orders to get some rest, but…”

“I was already planning on it,” Zoro muttered as he stood and gingerly limped out of the cabin.

“Okay then, next…” Your words died on your lips as you turned and watched as Sanji undid the buttons of his blazer, and then his shirt.

Oh. Huh. It was… it was suddenly a lot hotter in the room, and you blamed that solely on the fact Zoro had shut the door behind him.

You swallowed thickly as you tried to focus on the wounds from the bounty-hunters swords. After all, you had seen him shirtless before. Granted, the times he had done so you had found yourself in similar situations of being hit with speechlessness and sudden hot flashes.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Sanji asked, shooting you a look, snapping you back to reality.

"Tired," You excused, gesturing to him to sit on the bedside. "Not used to all this excitement."

"I wouldn't think mosshead would affect you that much," Sanji muttered, making you roll your eyes.

"Hardly." You muttered. "The man's going to end up with more scars than anything else at this point." Zoro was… nice to look at.

But he wasn't Sanji.

Not that you would ever admit that.

Your heart took up residence in your throat as you cleaned Sanji's wounds, yet also relieved to note they weren't as deep or severe as Zoro's - And if your fingers lingered on his skin, gliding across the muscles, it was just part of the assessment. That was all.

"I think you might just need a few stitches," You decided, avoiding looking up at him as you looked through your first aid kit for another suture pack.

"...are you sure this is what you wanted?" He asked as you readied the needle and thread. "Being a jack of all trades for a bunch of pirates?"

You shrugged half-heartedly. "Even if it wasn't, I can't exactly change my mind now." Was this what you wanted--stitching up your best friend's wounds? Listening to him curse in pain because you didn't have the right painkillers, or even some kind of numbing agent?

Not at all.

But you thought that was the end of that line of conversation as you worked - your heart aching in pain with every hiss of pain. You were not meant to be a doctor. Not at all.

"I'm sorry," You repeated for what felt like the hundredth time as you pierced his skin. "Last one, I promise."

"I'd find you a way back," He said through gritted teeth, surprising you. "Back to the Baratie if you wanted. Or anywhere else for that matter."

You finally looked up at his face, meeting his gaze. "I'm not leaving you Sanji. So drop it."

His hand reached out to cup your face, wiping away tears you hadn't realized had escaped your eyes. "I don't want you staying here for my sake. I'd rather you be happy."

Your heart twisted into a knot. Did he really think you could be happy anywhere else? Constantly wondering if he was okay? Wondering if he was alive or dead? Especially now that you knew how dangerous it was.

You scoffed as you focused back on the last stitch. "Sorry, lil' eggplant. I said you were stuck with me forever, and I meant it."

~*~

If you thought Sanji-- the man as strong willed and stubborn as Red-legged Zeff himself, who survived nearly three months with barely any food at the age of nine-- would drop it there, you were wrong.

"Where is this coming from?" You swore after he pressed you again about going back to the Baratie while you helped wash dishes. Thankfully the rest of the crew had left the galley after supper, allowing you two privacy as you argued - though you would be highly surprised if they couldn't hear.

"I want you to be happy," Sanji excused again around his cigarette. "I know you only joined the crew because you felt like you had to. Because we pressured you back at Coco village. I don't want you risking your life because of me."

You ground your teeth as you scrubbed one of the pots. "Is that it, or because I keep cock-blocking you?" You weren't blind, there had been more than a few girls in the various ports that had been charmed by his wiles. Yet every time you had sworn to yourself you were going to turn and look the other way - allowing him to do whatever he pleased - his eyes would catch yours. You don't know if it was the sadness or disgust in your expression that always seemed to ruin his mood, but everytime you retreated back to the Going Merry - he would follow.

"You're not--" He choked out, surprised by your words. "That's not it. This has nothing to do with me, or how I feel."

"Bullshit. Because no one else has a problem with me except you." You slammed down the pot, biting back your tears. "I told you, Sanji. I'm not leaving." Go back to the Baratie, try to live a life without him? Without the promise of seeing him again at the end of every lonely trip?

Even if he disliked you, at least by staying here you would know if he was okay.

"I don't have a problem. I just want you to be happy, that's all. I want you to be following your own dream and not just tagging along because you feel like you have to."

Thoughts tore through your mind quicker than you could really handle. 'I don't have a dream. Not like everyone else. I just want to be happy, and that has always included you. I can't imagine life without you. I don't want to.'

Maybe you were foolish. Being blinded by your feelings. But hell, even if he hated you, you knew you would still care for him.

His hand slid over your shoulder, breaking you from your thoughts. You could barely see through the tears in your eyes as you looked up at him, and you wanted to curse him. Because you were sure the human heart shouldn't be so full of both love and anguish at the same time.

You slapped his arm away, and didn't give him a chance to say another word as you stormed from the kitchens and out to the deck.

》°《

Your eyes burned as you rotated the spices in the small closet, and you wished you could blame it on the sharp pungent smells.

But you couldn't. Maybe it was just because it was close to that time of the month. Or maybe you were overly tired. But after your usual meeting with Zeff to settle the books, you had escaped to your usual little table to watch the patrons of the restaurant.

Except today, one of the beautiful women must have really caught Sanji's eyes. The sous-chef had slipped from the kitchen with some delectable little dessert to serve in-person. The woman had blushed deeply, but seemed just as smitten with Sanji as he was with her. The two talked for quite a while until Sanji picked up her hand to press a kiss to it.

And, well, that had been enough for you. You slipped back into the kitchens to tell them to cancel your order before disappearing into the pantry to put away the items you had delivered.

Organizing and stocking was oddly soothing, though it allowed your mind to wander.

Were you really that idiotic? You knew he was a flirt-- a playboy. So why did it hurt so much? Why couldn't you let this stupid crush go? There was more to life than men. Then Sanji.

You needed something else - maybe even someone else - to think about. To worry about. To dream about.

A shadow fell over the tiny closet, and you looked over your shoulder to see Sanji. "Could you hand me some of the saffron?" He asked, gesturing to one of the shelves.

"Uh…" Despite being the main supplier for the restaurant, you weren't overly familiar with the various spices. Especially the less-typical ones. (You knew oregano, considering the lifelong debate about it, but the others you need to smell or at least see the label.)

It didn't help that the racks were tightly packed from floor to ceiling, so the vague gesture was less than helpful.

"Here," Sanji stepped closer, a hand on your shoulder as he pressed against you to reach over your head. Your face flushed as your breath hitched-this was definitely not helping your situation. "Damn Zeff got it in his head for some Saffron Risotto for some reason."

"Hmm," You hummed, unable to say anything with the lump in your throat.

And then the door slammed shut.

Both you and Sanji swore, though the space was barely large enough for either of you to move. "What the fucking hell," Sanji swore, and you heard the unmistakable sound of a lock.

"You two idiots are going to be stuck in there until you actually talk to each other," Patty's unmistakable voice stated from outside. "We are sick and tired of your teenage dramatics."

"Patty! Patty! Not funny!" Both of you swore, trying to move, which was very uncomfortable as you were more or less pressed into the shelving.

But if Patty was out there, or any of the others, they were unusually quiet.

"Fuck my life," You sighed as you pressed your head against the shelf in front of you. Because, unfortunately, you could easily guess that Patty, and probably many of the others, had jumped to the - correct - conclusion your unusual lack of appetite and sober mood had something to do with the flirty playboy.

"You and me both," Sanji grumbled near your ear. "That pretty brunette at table five is waiting for me."

Yeah, that did not help.

"Speaking of pretty girls, what are you doing in here?" He asked after a moment. "I don't recall your order coming through."

"Not hungry today," You bit out. "Look, do you think you can shift enough to try the knob?" Even though you had heard the soft click of a lock, you had to hold out hope.

"You? Not hungry after coming home?" Sanji scoffed, but also turned slightly behind you, his hands falling naturally to your waist as he tried to turn completely, but failed to do much more than press you against the shelving more.

"Ow ow, wait, no," You hissed, pushing back against him. You felt his fingers dig into your hips as he tensed. "Let me turn first so the damn bar isn't digging into my chest."

Sanji stayed oddly quiet as you wiggled and managed to turn around in the tight space. The hanging light lit the space sufficiently, letting you see Sanji's red face even as he avoided your gaze, his hands no longer on your hips but gripping the shelving on either side of your head.

Ah. Right. Knowing him and everything, having a girl pressing against him was not doing him any favors.

Or, at least when that girl was you.

"Bet you wished it was brunette in here with you now," You couldn't stop from grumbling. "Bear with me another minute and you can get back to your new girlfriend."

"Is that what you're mad about?" He asked as you tried to reach around him for the knob, pointedly ignoring how it felt to be pressed against his chest.

"I'm not mad," You growled as you tried to focus. "I just think it's poor work ethic for you to be flirting with every woman while on the clock."

For a moment you grinned as you were able to grasp the handle, but a small jiggle proved it was locked making you curse.

"I don't see why you'd be bothered by my 'work-ethic'. Hell, as much as the old geezer complains, that's not something he grumbles about."

"Should be," You huffed. "The damn thing's locked."

"Fuck," Sanji swore and you couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. "I'm gonna kill him as soon as we get out of here."

"You'll have to wait your turn." You were going to strangle that blue-haired menace. And whoever was his accomplice, even if Zeff himself was involved.

There was a moment of silence as both of you fumed, thinking of ways to exact your revenge as well as how the hell to get out.

Or, so you presumed.

"She's cute but she's not really girlfriend material."

You were confused for a moment at the non-sequitur before your mind was able to connect the metaphorical dots. You rolled your eyes, unsure if you were more annoyed with him bringing that back up, or the fact that it only solidified your belief he was a playboy despite his insistence otherwise. "You said she was waiting for you," You bit out. "So does she know that?"

"Considering she's waiting for her bill so she can get back to her fiance back on Maple Island, probably." He sighed. "She's here with a bunch of her friends for one last night out before she gets married. I was indulging them, that's all."

He finally met your gaze, face still pink but a faint smile on his lips. "You know it's hard for me not to indulge a beautiful lady. Especially when they ask so sweetly."

You huffed as you looked away. "Yeah yeah yeah, I've heard it all before." Still, there was no denying his admission soothed the wound on your heart. The one you rather not think about. "So, back to our issue at hand, how are we getting out of here?"

"Well, if you pardon my touch for a moment…"

Your breath caught as he gripped your thigh and pulled it up, bracing it against his hip. There was a devilish smirk on his face that did nothing good to your insides that were both twisted in knots and boiling.

"Kick it."

Oh.

Yeah, your face was red judging by the fact your cheeks felt like fire as you shifted your weight, finding the door with the bottom of your foot as you held on to Sanji for balance. You weren't as strong as him or Zeff, but you could still do plenty of damage.

There was a sharp crack as you slammed your foot against the door, though it still held. Even after a second kick, it barely gave any.

"Harder, sweetheart," Sanji whispered in your ear. "Give that damn thing a piece of your mind."

Could you just die after this?

Still, you poured all your energy and slammed your foot one last time, which did the trick. The door freed itself of the hinges and fell to the floor with a loud crash.

Sanji chuckled as you caught your breath, still holding your leg against his thigh, mindless rubbing his thumb back and forth. "You promise to leave a bit of Patty left for me if I let you go?"

"I make no such promises," You retorted, and felt his laughter as well heard it as he pressed a kiss to your head.

"Alright, fair enough. You go kick his ass sweetheart, while I make your favorite dish."

#op sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji #one piece sanji

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sholiofic · 4 months ago

Text

Whumptober Day 25: Surgery

Once more I jump ahead to a prompt that's calling to me.

No. 25: SURGERY Stitches | Being Monitored | “It’s for your own good.”

Algy, team, EvS; somewhere post-canon, 700 wds. Also posted on DW.

Algy disliked the circumstances as much as he disliked the fussing, but he didn't want to admit to either. He sat on the edge of the bed in a hospital gown, putting up with the others' friendly teasing and Ginger prodding playfully at his knee.

"So will it work better now? Will you be an Olympic sprinter?"

Algy aimed a dramatic kick at him, ignoring the twinge. Ginger pulled away just as dramatically.

"I can still outrun you, imp."

Biggles sat on the edge of the opposite bed, somehow still boyish even after all these years, wearing his pilot's jacket -- he had come directly from the airfield -- with his elbows on his knees and an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He smiled at Algy. "We'll keep your desk warm for you. And if you're back before you're cleared for duty, you'll be out on your ear, Flying-Lieutenant."

"Look who's talking," Algy shot back, and picked up a balled-up towel off the metal bedside table to throw at him.

He had no chance, because a ward sister came in, crisp and starched, to sweep them all out and inform Algy that the orderlies would be up to take him to the surgical suite soon. The others left: Ginger with a clasp to the shoulder, Bertie gripping his hand, and Biggles giving him a nod that conveyed more than words.

Algy was left to lean back on his pillows and contemplate the vague ache in his knee, the fact that he was going to wake up with a ligament reconstruction, and strangest of all, the idea that he'd lived long enough for parts of his body to start giving out naturally.

"Brooding?" said a voice from the doorway. Algy jumped violently.

Von Stalhein was lounging there, hair mostly grey now, wearing a long overcoat and evidently just as sneaky as ever. Algy glared at him.

"They're going to come to take me into surgery any minute now. Don't you get tired of sneaking in and out of places like some kind of stray cat? Why didn't you just walk in with Biggles earlier?"

Von Stalhein remained implacable as always. "I had the impression that earlier was for - family."

Algy shied away from the thought that von Stalhein seemed to be around the flat so much these days that he might as well be. Terrible thought, he hoped the anesthesia erased it. "And now is for ex-spies who creepily sneak into hospitals while other people are trying to rest, I suppose?"

Now the corners of the austere mouth twitched. "Knee surgery, I'm told?"

Biggles had been talking, evidently. Algy found he didn't mind in particular; it saved explanations. "Ligament repair. Routine these days, they tell me. Next they'll be replacing the thing entirely."

"I wouldn't be surprised," von Stalhein said. "All that chasing criminals is hard on the knees, I suppose."

Algy raised his head from the pillow, stirred from waiting resignation by sheer outrage. "You should know!"

"Ah, but you never caught me, did you?"

Algy sputtered for a moment. "I can call a sister and have you thrown out."

"I think they're on their way anyway," von Stalhein said, glancing into the hall. "I will be on my way as well."

"Wait -- you --" Algy was not quite sure where he was going with this, but the distraction had been -- not welcome, exactly, but ... distracting. "You don't need to sneak in next time, it's ridiculous. Act your age for once and use the front door."

A quick flash of a smile, then von Stalhein was gone, vanishing as if he had faded into the shadows, and a moment later two orderlies came in to wheel Algy down to surgery.

It occurred to Algy, as the anesthetic mask was placed over his face and he obeyed the order to breathe in deeply, that he had been far too busy being annoyed with von Stalhein to fret about the upcoming surgery. It was really a dastardly piece of emotional manipulation, the bastard; he felt they should all be more concerned about von Stalhein's clear tendency to ----~~~~~

(He woke some time later, drifting hazily back to consciousness in a post-surgical ward to find Ginger and Bertie playing a card game on the table beside the bed, and Biggles and von Stalhein sitting and chatting quietly on an adjacent bed. And he found that he didn't mind the company at all.)

#biggles #algy lacey #erich von stalhein #whumptober #whumptober2024

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2af-afterdark · 1 year ago

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Hello, amazing person.

I am asking for yet again another WHB headcanon from you because I cannot sleep and would like to know; How would our dear demons sleep ? If they sleep at all.

We know for a fact that at least Hades' demons share a room, Barbatos talks in his sleep (from Foras' daily chat), that Stolas needs his pillow... (Stolas' daily chat) but how do you picture the rest of them ?

Do they wear fancy pajamas or stay naked ? Do some of them require a plushie or a special pillow, even drag someone to cuddle with ? Do they even have actual beds or sleep on a couch instead ? Do they sleep on the side of the mattress or with splayed limbs like a starfish ? Tell me everything.

- 🪰

🪰anon sent me a request. I cannot ignore it. Even though they are also making me take a (terrible) test to figure out my second gender. They just keep distracting me from my important task of finishing my OC splash pages. My brain is fried, but I shall respond 😤

Is it bad if I think Andrealphus sleeps with his eyes open? Like, maybe not fully, but at least partly. Like, they were so badly injured when he was young that I feel there was a period of time where he couldn't properly close them, so he learned to sleep with them open to some capacity. Also don't think he can sleep in the same room as other people because he never knows who may stab him in the back/unsure he will wake up to them still alive. He has trauma, man... Also, he sleeps in the clothes he wore all day.

Bathin sleeps perfectly still and can sleep anywhere. In his travels, he has had to sleep in some strange, small, and/or questionable places so he's learned to roll with the punches.

Gusion counts sheep for fun. Except he counts in weird paterns. Think... He'll count by primes (2,3,5,7,11,13,etc) or squares (1,4,9,16,25,etc).

Naberius sometimes sleeps in puppy form. He also sleeps naked.

Bael hasn't used his own bed in so long that it has gathered dust.

Valefor somehow goes weight training in his sleep. I'm not sure how that's possible, but he has.

Eligos bed is filled will stuffed animals of only the highest quality. They each have a name and a backstory. They are absolutely perfect, not a stitch out of place. There are so many that they are used in place of pillows. Also, he has an absolutely insane bedtime skin/hair routine to make sure he wakes up as cute as always. He, of course, has the most adorable sheer pajamas.

Bimet sleeps cuddling an old school piggy bank.

Marbas sleeps tied to his bed. It's his thing. He enjoys it very much.

Dantalian sleeps in an Ebenezer Scrooge outside. I cannot explain this one. It's just a vibe.

Phenix wakes up to ruined sheets every morning because he can't escape endless orgasms even in his sleep. Yes, he sleeps naked. He also has super soft sheets. Like, the softest.

Astaroth's snake is free roam at night, but he always wakes up to it already cuddled around him because it's looking for warmth (and love).

Paimon will never allow anyone to know it, but he wakes up a hot mess every morning and spends hours getting himself put together.

Getting near Leraye while he sleeps? You will be cuddled and he won't let go.

I feel like Glasyalabolas sleeps sitting up? I don't know why, but I can picture him in a chair, arms crossed, and very stoic in his sleep. He wakes up the second someone enters the room and will wake up. Light sleeper things.

Bonus: Solomon never slept alone. I don't think anyone would let him. lol

#❖ 🪰 anon #love letters ❤️#talkin' whb

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 2 years ago

Text

The 24th One

TW: Blood, guns, attempted murder, fear, pain, stitches, painful wound cleaning, emotional breakdown, threats, slightly flirtatious drama queen villain, male whumpee

"Take it easy," a firm, but somehow saccharine voice called out from Civilian's living room.

Treading lightly and letting out an involuntary sharp gasp, her gaze flitted over to a figure mostly hidden by the shadows, like a charcoal drawing, the first rays of the sun peeking through the sheer, half-open curtain outlining his edges.

"Who are you?" she questioned, going back into her room to fetch a gun from the safe.

She tiptoed into the room, fingers tightening on the weapon as she flicked off the safety.

Civilian was met with a soft, amused chuckle. "I thought the spandex would be telling," the man she now identified as Villain replied, practically slouching in her armchair like he owned the place.

Her breathing went shallower, and her face paled. The all-too-happy figure in a dark, form-fitting suit with heavily mussed up light brown hair lounging around in her living room was one of the city's most dangerous criminals. And she was all alone with him and a gun she barely used. She wished to curse the fact that she'd chosen to live somewhere quiet, right on the outskirts, closer to her job. It didn't seem all too convenient now, did it?

"I'm gonna need you to put that down, love," the villain crooned, voice gentle and silky, but the hint of warning in it wasn't lost on her, much like a rose with thorns scattered across its stalk in a subtle manner, but still not invisible to the keen eye.

"And why should I do that?" she challenged, strengthening her death grip on the gun, defiance ablaze in her eyes. She wished she was as brave as she might have looked.

Except that didn't matter because the criminal seemed entirely amused with the situation, raising an eyebrow and letting out a soft laugh, greyish blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight with mirth. "Ah, as much as I admire the courage, I'm not in the mood for any games, so put the gun down and don't even think about calling the police. Not that it would save you anyway," he growled. The playfulness was still there in his demeanour, but he didn't make an effort to mask the threatening air of his tone.

"I hope you don't think I'm joking," he drawled lazily, pulling out a gun of his own and training it on Civilian's face.

"No," she stage-whispered, trying to ignore the nausea washing over her and the tightness in her chest. She mentally cursed herself for not shooting him the second she'd recognised him.

But killing people was not like the movies. It isn't something you walk away from, something a good night's sleep, if you could even afford such a luxury, would help you forget. Only truly terrible people, like the villain in her armchair, she presumed, could treat murder as a mundane part of their daily routine, like how one regards brushing their teeth.

But now, she didn't hold an inkling of power on the crime lord because while the civilian might hesitate, might back out completely, he wouldn't.

And besides, he had goddamn superpowers at his disposal; he could create wind. She would have to be extremely lucky to get a hit on him, and that was never something she was willing to gamble over when it came to her life.

She pried for any weaknesses, anything to use against the villain, but all she saw was a calm, almost relaxed person and a deadly weapon in his merciless grip.

"You know I really didn't want to do this. In all honesty, it's been a while since I've seen a girl this cute," he supplied, and if she didn’t know better, Civilian would've sworn he actually sounded disappointed, "but I don't like having to repeat myself," he concluded, a slight downturn of his lip being the only indication of any negative emotion he may have felt, with nothing behind those cold, steel-coloured eyes.

He rose up from the chair, and panic gripped the civilian. Both of them shot and missed, except the villain cried out, letting out a sharp gasp as he fell to the floor, holding onto the chair's leg like a lifeline. His gun was hurled across the room with a loud clattering noise, far away from his grip. A nasty laceration across his his abdomen spurted out blood.

She wondered how he'd gotten hurt if no bullets had hit him, and when the sunlight moved further into the room, she noticed that he'd popped some poorly executed stitches with his sudden movements. He tried to use his powers to pull his gun closer but to no avail. The pathetic, little breeze he'd created could barely move a leaf. Apparently, his injury had affected his power tremendously.

For a moment there, Villain looked terrified. Frantically groping around for his gun, looking two seconds away from howling out in agony as he moved as fast as his injured body could handle. There were bruises on his face, no doubt from a previous fight, and his eyes were wide as saucers, his breathing laboured. He was now at Civilian's mercy, and he knew it. This was his end, no way around it. For a man the heroes said claimed to 'dance with death', he seemed incredibly frightened of it. For the first time that night, he looked unbearably human.

She didn't understand why some sort of misguided empathy had led her to crouch down to his level and ask, "Can you walk?"

"What?" he choked out, snapping his head up sharply at her. And as though the fear from before had never been, he clenched his jaw, contracted the muscles in his face to pull it into something stone-hard and expressionless, trying his hardest to pull his form up into a semi-standing position, holding onto the coffee table with a white-knuckled grip. He tried again for his powers, but they failed him once more. Still, she could see the hint of wariness in his eyes as his gaze trailed over to her gun.

She got up and threw it aside. "Goddamn it," she snarled, drawing in a sharp breath and exhaling slowly. Well, if she died for being foolhardy, at least it would be a noble death. However, she'd made sure to keep both guns in her room. No more chances.

The villain's eyes widened again, not out of fear, but out of shock, clearly not being used to any displays of kindness. She walked over to him, letting him put his arm around her shoulders, struggling to shoulder his weight. He was incredibly tall, lean muscles outlined by his suit. The civilian finally managed to get him over to the couch. "I'm a med school student, final year," she supplied, and he let out an overly exaggerated sigh of relief.

She would've smirked, but she caught herself. Don't get too familiar. "Friendly reminder that I don't have any anaesthesia on hand right now."

He simply responded with a scoff, rolling his eyes at her.

"Alright tough guy, how would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?" she asked, looking for a needle, thread and some antiseptic.

"Seven," he answered coolly. It still surprised her how he managed to preserve his composure while wounded like this, no wincing or shivers. But she reminded herself again that he was not a normal person.

Civilian unzipped the suit down to his abdomen, and the villain gave her an unbearably cocky grin, somehow managing to do that with blood snaking down from the ugly laceration on his body.

"Don't flatter yourself," she scolded, and she didn't understand why she'd said that, as though they were old friends used to exchanges full of banter. The civilian wondered if she'd become so secluded and terribly lonely that human interaction with anyone seemed appealing to her.

"Don't flatter me yourself with those eyes, love- ahggg!" The velvety tone and the lazy, half-lidded gaze were swiftly replaced with a sharp hiss as the villain squeezed his eyes shut, contracting and relaxing his muscles rhythmically to distract himself from the agonising sensation of the alcohol seeping into his wound, leaving his skin feeling like it was on fire.

"Easy, it'll be over soon," Civilian soothed awkwardly, unable to conceal the pang of sympathy she felt for him right now.

"Don't coddle me," he snapped, clearly more concerned with his wounded ego above anything else. Even beneath the smug smiles and stoicism, he clearly loathed the vulnerability. He hadn't been afraid of dying, she realised; he was afraid of dying in such a humiliating state.

Tragically poetic how he had the words 'Pride is my sin' tattooed on his right arm in all capitals, dark ink and a stylish font.

The civilian got him through the stitches, years of intensive studying and practice overriding her nervousness, stopping her hands from shaking the way they desperately wished to. Villain barely shivered or flinched during the process, and while he raised a sceptical eyebrow at her when she offered him a glass of water and painkillers, he swallowed them readily.

She washed her hands and threw him an icepack for the swollen bruises.

"I'm going to get ready for bed, and you should be uh, fine here," she supplied, gesturing to the couch with one hand as she zipped up the criminal's suit with the other.

"I guess this means I owe you a favour," he stated bluntly, a thoughtful, enigmatic look in his steely eyes.

"What?"

"I'm a crime lord, but that doesn't mean I'm a complete bastard," he reasoned, "you didn't kill me even when you had the chance. It's only fair."

"Why would I need a favour from you of all people?" She raised an eyebrow at him, moving a strand of ash blonde, wavy hair away from her eyes.

"In this city, you'll never know when you might need a favour from a guy like me. Anyway, take care of yourself, love." He sounded genuinely concerned, and the civilian hated it, so she awkwardly nodded at him.

When she got into the shower, finally away from the villain, her emotions came crashing down on her shoulders like solid rock. Her brave face in front of the villain had been a facade. She was terrified, incredibly guilty, all of the worst outcomes tormenting her mind in flurries of terrible thoughts. Try as she might, she couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face. There was no going back now.

Civilian may have preferred to stay awake after sunrise, but she was too exhausted. Or actually, she wished to escape her hellish thoughts, and this was the fastest and easiest way to free herself from her shackles.

We all dream of being kind, of offering help to those in need, yet in an imperfect world, acts of kindness come with an expensive price, one not everyone is willing to pay. This hour's enemy is the next hour's victim, today's proud and cruel are tomorrow's weak and defenceless. But the beautiful irony of life is that no matter how far one runs away from it, vulnerability is a destined fate, written in stone, an unavoidable risk. It is the one thing in a person's nature that marks a human being as such.

Almost forgot, tagging for comfort fics: @roblingoblin285

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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