#it's not as if i had been subtle about it
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ok yall! i couldn't stop thinking of neglected Reader falling for Clark Kent, so instead of writing a new chapter of "I bet on losing dogs" I wrote an AU!!! Batfam's neglect stays till reader is 18, Tiffany isn't exposed till later. I got kinda carried away tbh! Remember, THIS IS AN AU!!!! Ya'll aren't ready for this plot actually. Or who really steals readers heart. Thank you to the wonderful anon who sent me down the rabit hole of this man. Reader is 18 when the romance actually starts.
When you were younger, you had always idolized Superman. Clark Kent, the unassuming, nerdy reporter with glasses, was a far cry from the intimidating presence he became when he donned the cape. You first saw him when you were 9, during a charity event your father had taken you to. At first, you thought he was just another well-dressed man who smiled too much. But then, when he lifted a car to save someone from an accident, you felt something shift in your chest.
That’s it, you thought. That’s what I want. I want him.
From that day on, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he saved people with a smile, how gentle his voice was. You’d daydream about being near him, holding his hand, his deep blue eyes looking down at you with affection. But Clark never saw you that way. To him, you were always just Bruce Wayne’s little girl—the kid he barely knew.
Maybe it was a result of being neglected by every man in your life that made you so feral for Clark Kent. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person you knew who didn't prefer Tiffany to you. Whatever it was, it didn't matter, he'd never feel the same.
So, you pushed your feelings aside.
Or at least you tried to.
You’d flirted with boys before. You’d flirted with grown men. With your powers, you needed an outlet, a way to let go of your frustrations, to feel good. You lost your virginity only days after gaining your powers. It felt amazing, during those moments you were in control of your body, the pain went away, the neglect went away and you were loved.
But nothing had ever been like the times you found yourself in Clark’s presence. At 16, you’d started testing the waters, teasing him with subtle remarks. You’d gotten a little bolder in your attempts over the years, but he always brushed them off as playful jokes.
"Don’t you think you’re a little young for me, kiddo?" he’d chuckle every time you got close.
You hated that. He saw you as a kid. That was it.
But you didn’t stop. Because you were determined.
And by the time you turned 18, the world around you had shifted. You had grown into someone new, more mature, more confident. Your body had changed. Your personality had changed. But Clark... he still looked at you like you were that little girl from all those years ago.
It hurt. But you told yourself, Just be patient. It’ll come around. I just need more time.
You soon realized time was too long. Clark would never see you as anything more than a kid, he literally had children your age. He was old enough to be your father. His youngest son had a crush on you and Clark is a good man. He would never consider you romantically.
You couldn't keep chasing after another unrequited love. Not after years of chasing your family's. Not after years of being pushed aside for an imposter who always outsmarted your attempts to expose her.
You wanted to move on. To leave everyone behind.
And that's what you did. There was no dramatic breaking point, no emotional stand-off. You were looking out your window one day and you realized you've done nothing. You've never been happy, never once truly happy, you lived for everyone but yourself. Not anymore. One random sunny Tuesday, the summer after you graduated highschool, you packed up and left everything behind, no goodbyes. Not even a note for Alfred. None of them deserved it.
You were tired, tired of chasing people.
You wanted to be chased and that's what you got. Every week it was someone new, your professor, your friends, your boss, anyone who was attracted to you, you slept with. It was so freeing. It was euphoric, making them fall in love, leading them into your bed, then kicking them out as soon as the next one came along.
The only thing that you truly loved now was music, it was all that got you through years and years of mistreatment. No matter what happened in the manor, you could turn your headphones on and forget. You could grab your guitar and strum your worries away.
College sucked. Long ago, you would've pushed yourself to go, even though you hated it, just to make your family proud. To chase approval you would never get. Not anymore, you knew you needed a degree to make a living, but a gap year never hurt anyone.
You began working as a singer in different bars. It let you write songs and make money. There was nothing more addicting than feeling eyes on you, enchanted by you. Your voice was magnetic, drawing people in, and like any good predator, you feasted on their hearts and left as soon as they stopped inspiring you. Yet, no matter how good-looking or good in bed they were, they would never be Clark.
One night, after a few months of your reckless, self-destructive pattern, you found yourself in a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of Gotham, a place where nobody would recognize you. You weren't gonna sing, not tonight.
You weren’t here to find love, you weren’t here to talk or connect. You were here to forget.
The clink of glasses and low murmur of conversation surrounded you, but it was the figure in the corner that caught your attention.
A man with a commanding presence sat alone at the bar, his back straight, eyes locked on the dim-lit television above the counter. His hair was peppered with gray, but there was something ageless about the way he carried himself; tough, confident, dangerous. The eyepatch over his right eye only enhanced the mystery, adding a cruel allure to his already intimidating presence.
You couldn’t quite place why you were drawn to him, but the moment you saw him, a spark ignited. Slade Wilson. He worked with Bruce somehow one time, everyone hated him, even Clark. You remembered him because he was the only man, other than Clark, not to fall for Tiffany's charm and that was a win in your book.
You’d heard of him in passing, mostly in rumors—whispers of a deadly mercenary, a ghost in the shadows of Gotham, a man you wouldn’t want to cross. But here he was, sitting like a predator in a place filled with prey.
You weren’t afraid. You never were. You’d been raised in the shadows of Gotham, after all, with men who didn’t even know how to love you. You’d seen dangerous men before. You knew how to handle yourself.
You sauntered over, taking a seat next to him, your movements casual but purposeful. He glanced at you briefly, his lips twitching into the slightest of smirks before his eyes returned to the screen.
"Mind if I join you?" you asked, leaning into the counter, placing your drink beside his.
His gaze flicked toward you again, this time a little longer. There was something predatory in the way he sized you up, assessing your every move. "Not at all."
You smirked, tilting your head slightly. "I’ve been told I’m a good time."
A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, but it was cold, calculated. "That so?"
You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped briefly to your lips, but he didn’t let his attention linger for long. He took a long sip of his drink and leaned back, unbothered, as though you were nothing more than another fleeting distraction.
You were used to this, the indifferent types. But you weren’t going to let him slip away that easily.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who spends his nights in places like this,” you said, turning towards him with a sly grin. “I imagine you’ve got better places to be.”
Slade didn’t look at you when he responded, his voice low and smooth, like gravel being ground underfoot. “I’m where I want to be.”
You laughed, the sound rich and teasing. "So, what does someone like you do for fun, then?"
For a moment, the silence stretched between you, and then he finally turned to meet your eyes, the weight of his gaze making your stomach flutter for reasons you couldn’t explain. "Fun... isn’t what I’m here for."
You let out a slow breath, leaning in a little closer, just enough for the scent of his cologne to hit you, something spicy, with a touch of danger.
"Then what are you here for?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You could see the muscles in his jaw tense slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he met your gaze head-on, his lips curling up ever so slightly at the corners.
"Business."
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Business, huh? I love business."
“I'm sure you do” he said cryptically, but his voice was thick with unspoken meaning.
The tension between you was palpable, electric. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. It wasn’t just his looks, though they were undeniably attractive in their own gritty, dangerous way. No, it was the way he carried himself, like he was someone who could destroy everything in his path if he wanted.
You weren’t intimidated, though. If anything, it intrigued you more.
You leaned closer, the warmth of your body pressing against his, your breath hot against his ear. “So, what do you do when business is done?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just stared at you, his eyes hard and calculating. And then, before you could react, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t want to know."
You shivered at his words, at the heat of his breath, but you were beyond caring. You were tired of being the one who was always desired but never loved, the one who always chased but was never caught. Tonight, you wanted to be wanted, and you wanted him to want you more than anything.
"Maybe I wanna find out" you breathed, your hand sliding down his arm.
His hand shot out like lightning, grabbing your wrist before you could make contact. His grip was firm, but not painful—just a reminder of his control, of how easily he could break you if he wanted.
“Not tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. "Not the way you think."
You stared at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze for the briefest of moments. You had gotten used to men not wanting you the way you wanted them, it was all you knew growing up. But now things were different with your abilities. This wasn’t the first time someone had pulled away, but with him, it felt different, like he was holding back, just as much as you were.
You smirked. "What makes you think you can stop me?"
His lips curled again, this time with something darker in his eyes. "Because I’m the one who calls the shots."
A challenge. A warning. And for some reason, that only made you want him more.
Before you could react, he stood up, his hand lingering on your wrist for just a beat longer. "If you’re serious about this, I’ll be at the back exit in thirty minutes."
Then, without waiting for a response, he was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the bar.
You sat there for a moment, staring after him, the heat of the moment hanging in the air between you.
You weren’t sure whether to follow or not, but you knew one thing for certain: tonight was going to be a night you wouldn’t forget.
And so, you found yourself standing outside in the cool night air, your heart racing. You hadn't planned for this, but somehow it felt inevitable.
When you saw him again, waiting by the dark alley, it was clear this was a man who didn’t let anything slip through his fingers. And tonight, you weren’t going to let him slip away either. You approached him, your steps measured and confident.
He didn't speak immediately, just gave you a slow, knowing smile as you came closer.
This wasn’t the start of a love story. This wasn’t about feelings or connections. This was something darker, something more primal.
This was a game. And you weren’t sure if you were the predator... or the prey.
But you were ready to find out.
The cool Gotham air settled in your lungs as you closed the distance between yourself and Slade, your heels clicking softly on the pavement.
He stood by the alley entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall, his figure lit only by the faint streetlight behind him. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, making his presence feel like an almost dangerous secret—something you weren’t sure you were ready to unravel, but damn, you were more than willing to try.
Slade didn’t say a word as you approached, his one visible eye catching yours with that piercing, unreadable stare of his. You knew that look. It was the same kind of look your father gave you when he had to make tough decisions, when he saw things for what they truly were. Cold, calculating. But this? This felt different. This felt like a challenge. And you were more than ready for it.
“Still think you can handle me?” His voice was low, but it had that same teasing bite, as if he were daring you to prove him wrong.
You were close now—too close for comfort, but you didn’t care. You stepped into his space, the heat of his body now radiating against yours, his scent filling your senses. “I don’t need to handle you,” you murmured, your lips barely brushing his ear as you leaned in. “I think you need to handle me.”
There was a flicker in his gaze, something almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken. He didn’t move away, didn’t flinch like others would have. If anything, the air around you both seemed to crackle with intensity.
“Is that what you think this is about?” Slade asked, his voice rougher now, as though the control he so carefully maintained was slipping just a little. “You’re not the first woman who’s come to me thinking they can make me want them.”
You were sure he was referring to Tiffany, there was no way a man like him ever forgot a name or face. Knowing he knew who you were and knowing he didn't care made you want him more.
You smiled, feeling that familiar rush of excitement surge through your veins. It wasn’t about making him want you. It was about making him need you.
“Maybe,” you said, leaning even closer, your lips almost touching his. “But I’m the first one who might actually make you lose control.”
For a heartbeat, you could have sworn the world around you stopped. Slade’s eye darkened, the intensity in his stare shifting from challenge to something sharper. More dangerous. But there was something else in his eyes now. Something that made your heart race faster than you cared to admit.
His hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that had your breath hitching in your throat. The familiar spark of danger lit up your skin, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your body melt into his, feeling the pulse of raw, untamed power that radiated off him.
“You think you can push me?” he growled, his voice like gravel, each word like a warning and a promise all at once.
You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you let your fingers trail across his chest, feeling the ridged muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Your touch was deliberate, slow, each movement a calculated game of power.
“Maybe I want to push you,” you said softly, your breath a whisper against his neck, “until I break you.”
The grip on your wrist tightened for a split second, his muscles flexing with controlled restraint. For a moment, you wondered if this was where it would end, that he’d push you away, tell you it was all just a game. But when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with tension.
“Careful, sweetheart,” Slade murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for.”
You let out a breathy laugh, your body pressing even closer to his as your lips hovered dangerously close to his own. “Maybe I don’t,” you whispered. “But I’m willing to find out.”
Slade didn’t move for a long moment, just holding you there in that thin space between danger and desire. And then, finally, he closed the gap, his lips crashing into yours with the force of someone who had been holding back far too long.
The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a brutal, desperate collision of mouths, a clash of power and need. You could feel the tension in every muscle of his body as he claimed your mouth, his hands gripping your arms, his touch insistent and almost hungry. But you didn’t break, didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back just as fiercely, hands roaming up his chest to grasp the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer.
For a second, you wondered if this would be the point where you lost yourself to the heat of the moment, but the longer you kissed him, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just about passion. It was about control. About testing boundaries.
And you were willing to play that game, because you were ready to win.
As the kiss deepened, Slade pulled away suddenly, his breath ragged, eyes darker now with desire and frustration. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to someone who didn’t give in.
“Not so easy, is it?” you whispered, your voice rough from the kiss, your body still pressed against his.
He glared at you for a moment, lips curling into a knowing smirk, the kind of smirk that made you feel like you were dancing on the edge of a knife.
“You’re not the first one to test me, Slade said, voice low and dangerous, his hands sliding down your arms with intent. “But you might be the first one who wants to."
Slade didn’t pull back, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm, but his gaze never left yours. His hand, still gripping your wrist, was no longer a force of restraint; it was an anchor, a silent promise of just how far this could go.
The weight of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or something deeper, something darker that he carried with him, but you felt it in every inch of your body. You weren’t here for games anymore, you were here because you wanted this. You wanted him.
But there was more to it. Something about the way he held you in his gaze told you that, for once, you weren’t in control. Slade Wilson was a man who played by his own rules. And now, you were learning the cost of trying to break them.
He released your wrist with slow precision, letting his fingers linger over your skin for just a second longer than necessary. You could feel the heat of his touch as he took a step back, eyes darkening with a new kind of challenge.
“You really think you’re the one calling the shots here?” His voice was low, rough, as though it had been soaked in whiskey and smoke.
You weren’t about to back down now. You smirked, leaning into him again, almost too close for comfort. “I think I’m just... along for the ride.”
Slade’s lips twisted into something dangerous, a mix of amusement and something else, something far more raw. He took a step toward you, crowding your space, his presence suffocating in the most exhilarating way.
“Not sure you know what that ride entails,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending another shiver down your spine.
“I’m starting to,” you replied, reaching for him, but this time, you didn’t touch him the way you had before. You trailed your fingers slowly, almost teasingly, down his chest, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath the fabric.
Slade didn’t stop you. His body stiffened, though. Just enough for you to feel that tight pull of control he was holding onto. It only made you want him more. You pressed a little closer, your body brushing against his in a subtle reminder that you were still in the game, too.
“I like doing things i'm not supposed to” you said, your lips grazing his ear as you spoke. “And I think you do, too.”
He stiffened at your words, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, you thought you saw something flash behind his gaze—something far more primal than the cold, calculating predator you’d come to know.
Slade’s hand shot out, gripping your chin with surprising gentleness, forcing you to look up at him. The control was unmistakable in his hold, yet his eyes… his eyes were like a storm just about to break. “Don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”
“I never said I did.” Your voice was steady, confident, even though the truth was you didn’t fully know what this was. But you knew what you wanted, and right now, it was him.
He searched your face, his gaze intense, like he was deciding something. just as you thought he might break, he leaned in, closing the gap between you both.
His lips brushed against yours, barely a touch, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. For a moment, it was almost like a game of cat and mouse. He was holding back, just enough to make you ache for more.
His lips moved to your ear, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “You should walk away now. Because once this starts, there’s no going back.”
You leaned into him, your breath shaky, but your resolve unwavering. “I never look back. Not anymore.”
Slade didn’t hesitate. His lips crushed against yours with an urgency that felt like a storm breaking free. There was no softness. It was rough, driven by something savage, and it made you lose your breath as you kissed him back just as fiercely.
You felt his hands on you, strong and sure, pulling you into him, his grip possessive in a way that made your pulse race even faster. You let him guide you, let him take the lead—because, for the first time in so long, you didn’t need to be the one in control. You didn’t want to be.
That night, Slade Wilson made you forget about every other man in your life, even Clark Kent.
For the next three weeks, you and Slade continued game of cat and mouse. Every other day, you would go to a bar to play and he would somehow appear in the crowd, like a sailor lured by a siren.
Yet everytime, in the morning when you woke, still hot after the previous nights activities, Slade Wilson was nowhere to be found.
You knew he was too old for you, too rough and unstable, but he could be kind at times, when he wanted.
And he was fun.
And you're sure your family would have a joint aneurysum if they found out.
It was fun until one night, he didn't find you.
Two months later, nothing changed. No word from your 'family' asking where you were, only Alfred's weekly check up, and Damian's insufferable posting of him, Tiffany, and the rest the family having fun without you on Instagram. He didn't even bother to block you.
No word from Slade either, yet you still hoped he would show one night. Seems like you had a thing for men ignoring you.
But tonight, something felt electric in the air.
Slade’s shadow stretched across the dimly lit bar, his presence pulling every ounce of warmth from the room. You hadn’t seen him in two months, not since he’d walked away without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces of everything. You’d told yourself you didn’t care, that his absence meant nothing. But seeing him again, standing there with that predatory stare of his, you couldn’t help but feel the heat rise in your chest.
You were busy, sure, singing and flirting, giving the crowd exactly what they wanted. But you couldn’t ignore the sudden heaviness in the air. The way the music seemed to fade as his eyes locked onto yours from across the room. The same gaze that had always made you feel like you were his—like he could take whatever he wanted and leave you with nothing.
You kept the smile on your face, tossing your hair over your shoulder, a flirtatious laugh escaping your lips as you tossed a wink at one of the men leaning against the bar. You could feel Slade watching you, not just with his eyes but with every inch of his body. He hadn’t come to listen to the music. He didn’t give a damn about the crowd or the drinks. He was here for you.
And he was pissed.
He approached you with slow, deliberate steps, his frame imposing, his eyes cold with that familiar edge. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, almost drowned out by the noise of the bar, but it cut through everything like a blade.
“Well, well, well… look at you, darlin’. Didn’t take you long to move on, huh?”
Your pulse quickened, but you kept your head high. ��Didn’t realize I needed your permission, babe.”
He ignored the jab, his lips twitching in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in two months, and this is what I come back to? You’re out here playing with the other boys now?”
You didn’t flinch. “You didn’t exactly leave me with much of a choice. You were the one who disappeared, remember?”
Slade's gaze hardened, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you, close enough that his breath stirred the strands of your hair. He leaned down, his voice dropping low, rough. “You really think you can just forget about me? Move on with them? Cute little act you've got going, sweetheart, but I can see right through it.”
You pushed back, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just having fun. I’m living my life, Slade. You should try it sometime.”
His smirk curled, but there was no warmth in it. “I don’t need advice from you. And I don’t give a damn about your ‘fun.’” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a brutal grip, pulling you closer. “Where’s your old man? Where’s your daddy been? What about your brothers? Do they even know what the hell you’ve been up to?”
The sharpness of his words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. Slade always knew how to hit you where it hurt, and he wasn’t giving you any room to breathe. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, but the defiance didn’t reach your voice the way you wanted it to.
“Funny, that’s what I thought you’d say.” He released your wrist, but not before giving it a firm squeeze. “I already know what’s been going on with your family. They’ve been too busy holding onto their precious Tiffany, haven’t they?”
You flinched at the mention of her name. Everyone knew Tiffany was the golden child, the one your family had actually cared about. The one they’d all protected, even when she turned out to be the one using them. You’d known for a while that she was a spy, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
Slade’s eyes glinted with that sharp, calculating look. “You knew what she was doing, didn’t you? All this time, she was playing them like puppets, and now they’re gonna come crawling back, pretending they care. They’ll be looking for you soon enough, you know. Guilt’s a hell of a thing.”
The words sank into you, twisting painfully. You hated how right he was. Your family had always been so focused on Tiffany that they hadn’t noticed how you were slipping through the cracks. And now, with her gone, they were going to realize their mistake. They were going to come for you, but it wouldn’t be because they cared. It would be because they felt guilty.
Slade took a step closer, his hand lightly grazing your cheek, the touch cold and commanding. “They’ll come running for you when they realize what they’ve lost, sweetheart. But don’t fool yourself. It won’t be about you. It’ll be about guilt. About making things right because they fucked up. But you know better than anyone, those kinds of people always forget when the next shiny thing comes along.”
You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “What do you want from me?”
His smirk widened, his fingers trailing down your jaw with a casualness that made your skin crawl in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “What do I want from you, sweetheart? Maybe just the same thing I’ve always wanted. But let’s be clear: I’m not here to save you from them. Hell, I don’t even know if you want saving.”
You glared at him, feeling the bitter edge of your own anger. “Then why the hell are you here?”
Slade's eyes softened for a brief second—just long enough to make you wonder if this was something more than just a game to him. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone, replaced by that familiar coldness. “I’m here because you’re a hell of a lot smarter than they’ll ever give you credit for. And you’re not stupid enough to think you need them. You know they never cared, not really.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. He was right. You did know it, deep down. You’d always known. It stung, more than you cared to admit, but you were done being angry about it.
He leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear. “When they come, and they will come, you can show them what it feels like to be abandoned. You can make them feel just how you felt. But don’t think for a second you can do it without me.”
You didn’t respond right away, your heart pounding in your chest. He wasn’t offering you a way out, he was offering you a choice. A choice between playing the victim to your family’s guilt, or standing beside him as he carved his own path. Neither option was a clean one, but something about him made it feel like the one you’d always been meant to choose.
Slade stepped back, his eyes scanning you as if he was trying to figure you out. “You’re not like them, sweetheart. And you’re not gonna let them walk all over you. Not this time.”
You finally met his gaze, the anger and frustration swirling in your chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Slade grinned, that predatory, dangerous grin that made you feel like you were in over your head. “Oh, I know more than you think.”
Slade’s presence was suffocating, his shadow looming over you like something darker than the night itself. He’d always had that effect on you, but tonight, with the way he leaned in so close, his words cutting through the air like daggers, you couldn't help but feel a chill creep down your spine.
His eyes never left yours, not for a second, his smirk tightening as if he knew exactly how to push every button. "You know, sweetheart, you always think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?” His voice was soft, dangerous, like a whisper in a dark alley. “But you’ve been running from something for a long time. Something you can’t hide from anymore."
You felt your heart beat a little faster, but you refused to show it. You’d dealt with him long enough to know that showing weakness only made him more dangerous. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Slade’s gaze slid over you, dismissive yet calculating. “I think you know exactly what I mean. But let’s not play coy here. You used to be close with Jason. Back when he was alive, at least. You were a team, weren’t you?”
The mention of Jason made your stomach twist, but you clenched your jaw and forced your face into something resembling indifference. You refused to let Slade see you hurt. “What about it?”
“Nothing, just... funny, isn’t it?” Slade’s lips curved into a grin that made your skin crawl. “You two were close. But then, Jason died, and who was left? The family? They couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to you. They didn’t notice when Tiffany came around, and they sure as hell haven’t noticed since.”
Your breath caught in your throat, the truth hitting a little too hard. But you kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung. “What do you want, Slade?”
His eyes softened just enough to make you think for a second that he might’ve been telling the truth—only for that same grin to return, sharper than before. “What I want? You're not getting it, sweetheart. It’s not about me. It’s about you.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out just how much of this conversation was manipulation. And how much was something more... personal? The tension between you two was so thick, it felt like it might snap at any moment.
Slade took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You’ve been wasting your time, haven’t you? Hiding behind that bar, singing, flirting with men who’ll never understand you. You could do so much more than this, you know. You’ve got potential.”
He said the word like it was something sacred. A promise or a curse, you couldn’t quite decide.
You shook your head, taking a small step back. "I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what I can and can’t do."
Slade’s eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. “Oh, I think you do. I think you want to know. Deep down, you’re craving someone to show you how to unlock it. Your powers. Your real potential. You want something bigger, something more than this.”
Your pulse quickened, and a sickening unease washed over you. How the hell did he know about your powers? How much did he really know? The idea that he’d been watching you from afar, or worse, had been tracking your every move, made your skin crawl.
You tried to push that thought away. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you’re wrong. I don’t need anyone’s help.”
Slade studied you for a long moment, his gaze never faltering. He was evaluating you, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on your chest. When he spoke again, his tone was almost... too calm, too casual.
“Let’s be real here, darlin'. You do need help. You’ve got power, and I’m not talking about the small-time tricks you’ve been playing with. You could be so much more. But you're stuck. Trapped in this little life you’ve built for yourself because you’re too afraid to face what's really inside you.”
“Why are you even here?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the edge was starting to creep in. You wanted answers, and you wanted them now. “You disappeared for two months, and now you’re showing up like you know everything about me. What’s your game?”
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his figure blocking the dim light above you. “My game? I’m not here to play games. I’m here because I’m offering you an opportunity. An opportunity to stop hiding from yourself. To work with me. To really figure out what you’re capable of. I’ve seen the way you move. The way you think. And I know you’re capable of so much more than this little bar. But you’ll need training. You’ll need guidance. My guidance.”
Your eyes narrowed, and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that ran through you. He was offering you something, something you didn’t quite understand, but the implication was clear: he wanted you to join him. To work together.
But there was something... off. The way he was talking. The way he seemed to know everything about you, the things you hadn’t told anyone, not even yourself.
“How do you know all this?” You demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound confident. “How do you know about Jason? About Tiffany? About whats happening to me?”
Slade’s grin widened, a strange glint in his eyes as he leaned in, almost as if savoring the tension. “There's nothing I don't know. I know more than you think. But here’s the thing: you don’t need to understand everything right away. You just need to trust me. Trust that I know what you need. And trust that I can give you what you’ve been searching for. What they could never give you.”
His words were like a knife, each one digging deeper. “I’m not asking for your loyalty. Not yet. But think about it, yeah? I’m offering you something bigger than this... this place, these people. I can offer you something real. Power. Freedom.”
Your eyes were still locked with his, but your mind was racing. You couldn't stop the unease creeping through you. There was a part of you that wanted to know what he meant. Wanted to know how far your powers could go. Wanted to trust him, even though everything in your gut told you not to.
“And what about Clark?” You blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “I’m supposed to just... forget about him too? You don’t think I notice? You think I’m some naive little girl who doesn’t know what’s going on? You think I can't see you using me? Trying to groom me?”
Slade’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, before his lips curled into a snide smile. “Clark.” He scoffed. “The big, shiny boy scout with all the answers. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. You and I both know how far that age gap really stretches. He’s too good for you, always will be.”
He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with something dark. “But me? I don’t need to pretend. I know exactly what you need. And I won’t keep running from it like your little superhero friend. I’m offering you something real, and you’re smart enough to see that.”
His words, sharp and possessive, lingered in the air. You swallowed, your throat dry.
“I’ll think about it.” The words came out more breathless than you intended, but Slade didn’t seem to mind.
“Good girl.” His tone was sharp, like an order, but there was something more in it, something possessive, like a claim. He reached out, his fingers brushing your arm as if he had every right to touch you. And the worst part was, you didn’t pull away.
“Don’t take too long,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “I’m not the patient type. And when I come back, you’ll have an answer. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”
You hated how that sent a chill down your spine.
OKKKKKK WHAT DO YALL THINK??? IS IT GOOD??? BE HONEST!! I BARELY KNEW WHO SLADE WAS BEFORE THIS SO IT MIGHT BE OOC! REMEBER THIS IS AN AU! SORRY IF THERE'S TYPOS I WROTE THIS ON MY PHONE IN BED. I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKS SO I MIGHT TAKE IT DOWN AND NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!!!!
#yandere dc#yandere batfam#yandere batman#yandere jason todd#yandere damian wayne#yandere tim drake#yandere dick grayson#yandere x reader#yandere bruce wayne#yandere bruce wayne x reader#yandere clark kent#yandere slade wilson#yandere batfamily#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batman x reader#yandere batfam x reader#yandere
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rin itoshi wasn’t the type to watch silly little rom-coms, but here he was, sitting on the couch all alone while you were out. the movie on the screen showcased a disgustingly rich man who adored his wife and showed it by spoiling her with everything money could buy—designer clothes, shoes, bags, jewelry, you name it. the woman looked happy, beaming at her husband like he’d hung the stars for her.
rin couldn’t focus on the rest of the movie. his mind snagged on that one thought: she looked happy because of all those things.
rin knew you deserved the best. no question about that. and sure, he worked hard, brought in more than enough money, but had he ever gone out of his way to spoil you like that? could you ever feel that kind of happiness with him if he didn’t? the idea gnawed at him, quiet but insistent.
the next day, he started. subtle, at first—a new designer coat left on your chair when you woke up. when you tried to ask, rin just mumbled something about how “you needed a good coat for the winter.”
then, the gifts piled up. shoes. jewelry. bags. a random cartier box sitting on the counter one morning. an envelope stuffed with tickets to an exclusive spa retreat the next. by the weekend, your closet looked like the flagship store of every luxury brand in existence.
“rin,” you called one evening, holding up a glittering necklace you swore you’d seen on a celebrity once. “what’s all this for?”
rin didn’t look up from where he was pretending to focus on his phone. “you deserve it.”
“i mean, thanks, but why?”
he seemed to hesitate, his fingers twitching at the edge of the phone. “i just… want you to be happy,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.
you tilted your head, a puzzled expression crossing your face. “you’re already making me happy, rin. i don’t need all of this stuff.”
he cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes avoiding yours. “i thought… i thought maybe you’d want it. or, i don’t know, i thought i might’ve been… i don’t know, not enough?” his voice faltered, something like worry creeping in.
you blinked at him in confusion before your lips curled into a soft, reassuring smile. “rin, you’re more than enough. i’m not going anywhere, okay?” you stepped closer, gently cupping his face with your hands. “i don’t care about the gifts, the bags, or any of that stuff. i just want you. and you’re all i need.”
he didn’t respond right away, his eyes softening as he processed your words. and then, slowly, his shoulders relaxed, his usual tense expression giving way to something far more vulnerable. the tension in his chest loosened, replaced by a warmth that made his heart flutter.
“you sure?” he asked quietly, his hands slowly finding their way to yours.
“i’m sure,” you said, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “you’ve always been enough, rin.”
your smile was so genuine, so full of love, and rin realized then that he would do anything to keep that smile on your face forever.
#bllk#blue lock#bllk x reader#rin itoshi#blue lock x reader#itoshi rin#rin itoshi x reader#itoshi rin fluff#itoshi rin x y/n#itoshirin#rin fluff#bllk x y/n#bllk x you#bllk rin#bllk rin itoshi#bllk itoshi rin#itoshi#rin itoshi x y/n#rin itoshi x you#bllk fluff#rin itoshi fluff#bf rin itoshi#bf itoshi rin#bf rin#husband rin itoshi#husband itoshi
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Terms and Conditions Apply
Yan!SatoSugu x Reader - unwholesome edition
Sum: Normal college roommate activities, except your roommates, are madly in love with you and have a really weird way of showing it.
TW: Yandere Behaviors (manipulation, obsessive, possessive,etc), Omorashi/Piss, noncon/dubcon, oral (m! receiving), Abuse of showerhead, Reader is a bit dense, Power Dynamics, Alcohol consumption, unhealthy relationships, Infantilization, MDNI
WC: 6.0k
A/n: I will probably finish editing the wholesome edition later this week. :) I feel like I've been too angsty lately and I lowkey prefer the wholesome version a bit more, however, my beta reader likes this one so we'll see!
How far is one willing to go?
Willing to sell their soul to the devil—or in this case, devils. The ones you once called your best friends. The ones who stripped you of your rights because you owed them. Because they owned you.
Suguru and Satoru—two trust fund kids with more money than they could ever spend—had waltzed into your life during your freshman year of college, offering friendship cloaked in charm and generosity.
They’d given you a place to stay, sliding a 52-page lease across the table. A document so thick and dense that it had made your stomach turn. Your heart, your instincts, your very soul screamed at you to stop. To read between the lines. But you didn’t.
You trusted them. You ignored the red flags.
You brushed off the subtle proclamations of love buried in their actions, their words, their very presence. How they’d spoke of living up to your standards. How they hinted they’d have truly courted you—if only you’d given them the time of day.
But you didn’t. You dismissed their flirting as harmless.
And like any rich men who refused to be denied, they did the next best thing. They bought you.
You really should’ve let them court you.
Because if you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here now—trapped in their twisted acts of devotion. Acts they called love.
Satoru, with his dazzling grin and sharp blue eyes, always joked about wanting a dog. Something to take care of, to love him unconditionally, to always come when called.
Suguru, ever composed and calculating, never hid his desire for control. He wanted something—or someone—to care for, to command, to obey his every word.
And now, that someone was you.
You’d gone too far for free rent, hadn’t you?
It was almost funny, in a cruel way. You’d joked once about selling feet pics to creepy old men to make ends meet, and Satoru had flashed you that sharp, wolfish grin and asked, “How much?”
You’d laughed it off, calling him ridiculous. But he hadn’t been joking. Not even a little.
If you had said a number, he would have bought them on the spot, saving them for later use.
When you couldn’t afford drinks on karaoke night, you’d waved it off, saying you’d be fine with water. But Suguru had just smiled, handing over his black card without hesitation.
“Don’t worry about it,” he’d said, his voice smooth, almost tender.
The whole night, he had coddled you, his arm a steady weight around your waist as you sang along to the music. When you were tipsy and laughing, stumbling into him, he’d pulled you onto his lap, his hands lingering just a little too long.
You didn’t notice.
You didn’t notice how his hands trailed along your thighs, how he tilted his head closer to catch the scent of your perfume, how his dark eyes gleamed with something dangerous.
They loved you.
They loved you so much that buying you was the easiest option.
Kidnapping you would have been messy, after all.
This? This was clean.
A lease. A signature. A series of favors and debts that quietly piled up until you were ensnared—unable to leave or even think about leaving.
You thought of them as just weird, quirky roommates. That’s what you kept telling yourself.
Satoru had the habit of barging into your room unannounced, sprawling across your bed like it was his own. He’d hug your pillows to his chest, burying his face in them, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement.
And behind your back?
He punched and slapped every single one of your stuffed animals.
All except for the ones he bought you.
Like the stuffed alligator he’d gifted you last month. “Because you’re so snappy,” he’d said with a wide grin, teasing you endlessly as he mimicked your glare. “And because you do those little alligator rolls when I try to cuddle you.”
He wasn’t lying. You did twist and squirm to escape his grip whenever Suguru was away, and Satoru found himself “too lonely” to sleep in a big bed all by himself.
“I need you,” he’d whine, tugging at your blanket as he wedged himself onto your mattress. “Friends can cuddle, y’know. It’s even in the lease—clause 22!”
You’d scoffed, rolling your eyes. “There’s no way that’s real.”
But, of course, you hadn’t read the lease.
You hadn’t read clause 22, clause 34, or any other fine print buried in those 52 pages.
If you had, maybe you’d have noticed the way they’d written their love into the lines of the contract. The way their obsession had been framed as something so mundane, so harmless, that you never thought to question it.
Instead, you dismissed it. Dismissed them.
They were just your weird, clingy roommates, right?
That’s what you told yourself every time Satoru squeezed the stuffed alligator to his chest, grinning as he teased, “See? It’s like me and you! You’re the snappy little gator, and I’m the big, lovable guy keeping you from biting anyone else.”
It was playful. Harmless, you managed to convince yourself.
But sometimes—especially in the dead of night, when the world was quiet, and there was nowhere to hide from the truth—you struggled to ignore the way his hands would wander.
How he’d press open-mouthed kisses against your chest, the wet heat of his lips leaving trails along your skin. The way his hands would squeeze your plush breasts, fingers digging in just a little too roughly, as if claiming them, claiming you, in his sleep.
You told yourself he was dreaming—lost in some haze where he thought you were someone else, or something else.
But when morning came, and you hesitantly brought it up, he’d blink at you with feigned innocence, his blue eyes wide and unbothered. “Did I really?” he’d ask, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface of his words. “Man, I must’ve been dreaming about something really good.”
His grin would widen, that devil-may-care attitude making you question if you’d imagined it all.
“Hey,” he’d say, throwing an arm around your shoulders as he steered you out the door, “let’s grab breakfast. My treat. Consider it a ‘thanks’ for not ripping my arm off in my sleep.”
The offer, so casually given, left you with no choice but to follow. To let him guide you down the street to the café he liked, where he’d order for you without asking—a gesture that felt less thoughtful and more… presumptive.
As he filled the table with plates of food you hadn’t asked for, his laughter echoing through the small, bustling space, you found yourself playing along. Smiling at his jokes, laughing when he wanted you to, pretending that everything was normal.
Because what else could you do?
Confronting him felt impossible. Denying him? Even more so.
It was easier this way—going along with the current, letting him pull you wherever he wanted, feeding you bites of his food like you were some cherished pet rather than a person with agency of your own.
“Open up,” he’d coo, holding a forkful of syrup-drenched pancake to your lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction when you complied. “Good girl.”
And you’d swallow it down, the sweetness coating your tongue as his praise sent a shiver crawling along your skin.
Because it was easier to pretend.
Easier to act like this was just how things were—how they’d always been.
But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the question lingered, heavy and unavoidable:
How far were you willing to go?
You kept telling yourself to endure. Just two more years until you graduate. Two more years, and you’ll be free.
You could play along until then. You had to. You needed the cheap rent.
And it wasn’t like you could even prefer one of them over the other. They were equally clingy, equally overbearing in their own ways.
Suguru, at least, had the decency not to invade your space outright.
He never barged into your room unannounced like Satoru. He didn’t sprawl across your bed or bury his face in your pillows. No, Suguru was different. His methods were quieter, subtler.
Whenever Satoru left for the weekend to visit his family, it was Suguru who kept you company. He’d coax you onto the couch with him, his deep voice laced with calm reassurance.
“You’ll keep me company, won’t you?” he’d ask, his tone so soft, so genuine, that refusing felt impossible.
And before you knew it, you’d find yourself in his lap, his strong arms wrapping firmly around your waist as he leaned back, settling you against his chest.
“It soothes me,” he’d murmur, his voice low and almost apologetic. “I’ve been so stressed with my master’s lately. You don’t mind, do you?”
How could you say no?
Suguru always had a way of making his needs sound so reasonable, so innocent. You didn’t even think to question it—not until his hands started to linger. His thumbs would trace small, deliberate circles against your hips, his breath warm against the back of your neck.
Clause 12.
That’s what he’d called it the first time you hesitated.
“Roommate will always provide emotional comfort,” he’d said, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his dark eyes held yours.
You hadn’t read the lease, of course. But when Suguru spoke, his voice so calm and assured, it was hard not to believe him.
So you let him hold you.
You let him keep you there for hours, his hands warm and steady as they rested on your waist, his quiet hums vibrating against your back. You sat frozen, unsure of where the line had blurred—or if there had ever been a line at all.
Things changed after one night.
You’d gone out for drinks with some friends—a rare occurrence these days. Between their constant presence and your dwindling social circle, opportunities like this had become few and far between.
Maybe that’s why you drank more than you should have.
The alcohol buzzed warmly through your veins, leaving your mind foggy and your limbs loose as laughter spilled freely from your lips. You didn’t even notice how late it had gotten until someone pointed it out, and the world tilted slightly as you tried to check the time on your phone.
“Shit,” you mumbled, your voice slurred as you stared at the blurry screen. You scrolled to Satoru’s contact—he always answered first—and hit call.
When they arrived, it was like the entire bar shifted.
“Oh my God, those are your roommates?” one of your friends teased, dragging out the words as she nudged you with a playful grin. “You’ve been holding out on us! Are you playing games or something?”
A giggle bubbled out of you as you swayed in your seat, the room spinning slightly. “Nooo,” you slurred, shaking your head a little too hard. “They’re just—”
Before you could finish, Satoru’s tall frame appeared in front of you, crouching down to your level. “Having fun, huh?” he asked, his bright blue eyes glinting with something unreadable.
You buried your face in his shirt, giggling uncontrollably. “Satoruuu,” you slurred, your voice high-pitched and childlike. “I’m fineeee. I was just… just hanging out!”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, chuckling as he shifted you in his arms, holding you upright as your legs wobbled.
Meanwhile, Suguru quietly slipped away to the bar, his expression calm and collected as he handed over his black card to settle your tab. When he returned, his eyes gleamed with something dark, though his lips curved into a faint smile as he glanced at your friends.
“Ah, sorry we haven’t announced we’re dating yet,” he said smoothly, his voice low, a grin playing at his lips.
The table erupted into laughter and cheers, glasses clinking together in celebration.
You blinked slowly, your alcohol-heavy mind struggling to process his words. “Wait… what?”
You tried to straighten up, but Satoru’s grip on you tightened, pulling you back against him. “Shh, don’t make a scene,” he murmured, his voice light and teasing, though the edge to his grin made your stomach twist.
“He’s joking,” you said, slurring as you waved a hand lazily. “You’re jokinnng, right, Suguru?”
But Suguru’s smile didn’t falter. He leaned closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he said softly, “Does it sound like I’m joking?”
Your friends erupted into louder laughter, their voices blurring together as your head spun.
“Let’s get you home,” Satoru said brightly, steering you toward the door.
You were too drunk to argue, your body slumping against his as the cool night air hit your face.
“You didn’t have to say that,” you mumbled, your words barely coherent as Suguru helped you into the car.
“Say what?” he asked, sliding in beside you, his voice calm and measured.
“That… we’re dating,” you slurred, your head lolling against Satoru’s shoulder as he climbed in on your other side.
Satoru laughed, his hand ruffling your hair as he pulled you closer. “Oh, come on. It’s not a big deal. Besides, they loved it. Right, Suguru?”
Suguru’s hand brushed lightly against your knee, steady and deliberate. His dark eyes met yours in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tender.
You tried to answer, your lips parting, but your mind was too foggy, your tongue too heavy. The alcohol clouded your thoughts, dulling the sharp edges of your confusion and concern. The only sound you managed was a quiet, slurred mumble before sleep tugged at your consciousness.
When you woke up, the world felt too soft, too still.
Your eyes fluttered open, the dim light of early morning filtering through unfamiliar curtains. The silk sheets beneath you were far too luxurious, the plush mattress beneath your body a stark contrast to your usual bed.
You sat up slowly, a pounding headache hammering at your skull as the events of the night before came back to you in blurry flashes. The bar. Your friends. Satoru. Suguru.
And now this.
Waking up in their bed was unexpected.
You winced as the urge to pee hit you, the discomfort pulling you fully awake. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool floor as you prepared to stand. But before you could rise, a hand shot out, gripping your wrist.
The sudden tug sent you back onto the mattress, your heart skipping a beat as you turned to see who it was.
Satoru.
His snowy white hair was messy, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep as he pulled you closer to him, his grip firm but not painful.
“Where are you going?” he mumbled, his voice groggy yet tinged with something along the lines of annoyance.
“I… I need to pee,” you stammered, your voice hoarse as you tried to free yourself from his grasp.
Satoru’s eyes opened fully then, his bright blue gaze locking onto yours. He looked at you for a long moment before his lips curved into a sleepy grin. “Mmm, can’t you wait a little longer? It’s too early to get up.”
The warmth of his body pressed against yours, heavy and unmoving, trapping you in place. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if he were anchoring you there.
“I’m serious…” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to squirm away, but his grip didn’t loosen.
Instead, you felt his grin against the back of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice soft and drowsy but carrying that familiar edge of control. “You’ll wake up Sugu… You can wait.”
The mention of Suguru made you freeze, your eyes darting toward the other side of the bed.
Sure enough, there he was.
Suguru lay on his side, his face calm and serene in sleep, his dark hair spilling over the pillow. His breathing was deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic.
“You don’t want to wake him, do you?” Satoru hummed, his voice low and teasing, though there was something almost mocking in the way he said it.
You swallowed hard, the weight of the situation settling heavily over you as Satoru’s arms remained firmly around your waist. He shifted slightly, nuzzling into the back of your neck like a contented cat.
“Just relax,” he murmured, his voice already trailing off as sleep pulled him back under.
You lay there, stiff and silent, the dull ache in your bladder forgotten as your mind raced.
The warmth of their bodies on either side of you, the sound of their steady breathing, the oppressive weight of Satoru’s arm around your waist—it was suffocating.
But you didn’t move.
You couldn’t.
Because somewhere deep down, beneath the haze of confusion and discomfort, a single, chilling thought crept into your mind:
They weren’t going to let you go.
And for now, it was easier to stay still. To let Satoru’s grip keep you in place, to let Suguru’s presence loom quietly beside you.
To endure.
Because what other choice did you have?
You waited an hour. Generously. The way your bladder felt like it was going to spill if you even moved an inch made it agonizing, but what else could you do?
Why did I have to drink so much? you thought bitterly, biting your lip to keep yourself from groaning.
“Satoru…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, tinged with a small, desperate whine.
No response.
His soft snores filled the room, and you felt the faintest flutter of hope when you realized his arm had gone slack around your waist. It was loose enough—just enough—that you might be able to slip free without waking him.
Carefully, you began to move, inch by inch.
You winced at the painful, overfull feeling in your bladder, a burning reminder that if you waited even a second longer, you were sure you’d humiliate yourself. The thought of staining such expensive, silken sheets filled you with dread.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to wriggle out of Satoru’s grip. He stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling back into his slumber.
You held your breath as you slid off the bed, crossing your legs tightly as you stood. The sensation made you want to scream, but you forced yourself to stay quiet, moving as carefully as you could across the room.
You reached the bathroom door, relief flooding through you as your hand grasped the handle.
But when you turned it, the handle didn’t budge.
It was locked.
Your stomach dropped, a cold wave of panic washing over you as you tried again, jiggling the handle more forcefully this time.
Still locked.
You glanced over your shoulder, your heart pounding as you looked back at the bed. Satoru hadn’t moved, his snores still soft and steady. Suguru remained motionless, his dark hair spilling over his pillow like ink.
You turned back to the door, biting your lip hard enough to sting. Why the hell was it locked?
You tried again, pressing your weight against the door this time, but it wouldn’t give.
Panic began to rise in your chest as you crossed your legs tighter, your body screaming at you for relief. You couldn’t go back to the bed—not now, not like this. You couldn’t face them if something went wrong.
Your bathroom was… across the apartment.
You could make it, right? You just had to waddle your way there.
The thought alone filled you with dread, but what choice did you have? The idea of pissing yourself in your weird roommates’ bedroom—on their luxurious, expensive sheets, no less—was enough to make your face burn with humiliation.
A soft, desperate whine escaped your throat as you shifted your weight. It’s too much.
But you had to try.
You moved carefully, every step a torturous mix of sharp, burning pressure and overwhelming panic. Your breaths came shallow and uneven, your legs trembling as you shuffled forward, praying the noise wouldn’t carry back to the bedroom.
It was just the hallway, the living room, and then the bathroom.
Easy, you told yourself, though the pounding of your heart and the sting of tears in your eyes screamed otherwise.
You barely made it to the end of the hallway before your legs gave out, your body sinking to the cold floor as a sob built in your throat.
Tears brimmed in your eyes, the humiliation of the situation crashing over you like a wave. You couldn’t stop them, hot streaks rolling down your cheeks as you clutched at your stomach, the pressure unbearable.
Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t the door just unlock? Why couldn’t you have made it just a little farther?
You pressed your forehead against your knees, trying to muffle the soft, broken whimpers escaping your lips. The silence of the apartment felt suffocating, every sound you made echoing in your ears like a cruel reminder of just how trapped you were.
And then, the sound you dreaded most.
Footsteps.
Slow, deliberate, heavy against the hardwood floors.
You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the footsteps grew louder, closer.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Suguru’s voice was soft, calm, almost soothing, but it made your stomach twist into knots.
You didn’t lift your head, your body trembling as his presence loomed over you. You could feel his gaze, heavy like he could see straight through you.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, crouching down so he was at eye level with you. His tone was steady, almost kind, but there was an edge to it that made your chest tighten.
“I… I just…” Your voice cracked, the words stumbling over themselves as you tried to think of an excuse, something that wouldn’t make this worse.
Suguru tilted his head, his dark hair falling over his shoulder as his sharp eyes scanned you. “You could’ve just woken me up if you needed something,” he said softly, his lips curving into a small, affectionate smile.
Before you could respond, another voice chimed in.
“She’s crying.”
You flinched at the familiar, teasing lilt of Satoru’s voice, your heart sinking further as you felt him approach.
“Aw, did we scare her?” he teased, his grin audible in his voice as he crouched beside Suguru, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement.
“It’s not that,” Suguru murmured, his gaze never leaving you. “She’s upset.”
“Hmm,” Satoru hummed, leaning in closer, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with something that made your chest tighten. “Why’s that, little gator? What’s got you all worked up, huh?”
You wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and vanish entirely. Anything to escape their piercing stares, the weight of their presence pressing down on you like a cage.
But then, you felt it.
The warmth spreading beneath you, dampening the hardwood floor.
Your breath caught in your throat as the realization struck you like a tidal wave. You’d pissed yourself.
Silent tears trickled down your cheeks, shame and humiliation crashing over you in waves as you dared a glance at Suguru.
His dark eyes flicked down to the wet patch spreading across the floor.
And then he smiled.
Not his usual small, measured smile, but something broader. Something that sent a wave of goosebumps.
Satoru followed Suguru’s gaze, his brows lifting in surprise before his grin widened into something almost predatory. “Well, would you look at that,” he murmured, his tone light and teasing but laced with something darker.
Suguru tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes meeting yours as he spoke.
“Clause 52,” he said softly, his voice calm and steady, like he was reciting something he’d known by heart.
Your stomach knotted further, anxiety pooling. You really should have took time to read the absurdly long lease.
“‘If a roommate is deemed unfit to take care of themselves, it becomes the other parties’ duty to assume full care of the roommate, gaining full autonomy over the party deemed unfit.’”
The words were a death knell, ringing in your ears as your tears fell faster.
“Unfit,” Satoru repeated, his tone dripping with mockery as he leaned closer, his hand gentle as it brushed a tear from your cheek. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think, Suguru?”
Suguru’s smile didn’t falter, his dark eyes steady as his hand came to rest on your trembling shoulder. “It’s not harsh if it’s true,” he replied softly, his voice almost tender, but the weight of his words crushed any chance of denial. “She clearly needs us.”
“I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to push away the rising panic. You clung to the last shreds of your dignity, your hands trembling as you tried to wipe your tears. “It was an accident. I just—”
“You just proved you can’t take care of yourself,” Suguru interrupted, his grip tightening slightly, his words cutting through your feeble attempts at an excuse.
Satoru chuckled, leaning against you, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker. “You know,” he started, his tone almost conversational, “we could have enacted Clause 52 sooner.”
Your breath hitched, your eyes darting to him as he tilted his head, his grin widening.
“I mean, your grades this semester? Not exactly stellar.” He chuckled, shaking his head as if scolding a child. “And let’s not forget that blunt you took from Shoko a few months back. You do know weed is very illegal in Japan, right?”
The blood drained from your face as he spoke, your mind scrambling to keep up with his words.
“Could’ve gone to jail,” Suguru added, his voice calm and matter-of-fact as he straightened, his hand leaving your shoulder only to slide under your legs.
You yelped as he scooped you up effortlessly, your body trembling as you tried to claw away from him, your hands weakly pushing against his chest.
“But a grown woman pissing herself?” Satoru said, standing and shaking his head as he followed Suguru toward the bathroom. “Now that’s a pretty clear sign you need help. I mean, we’d be neglecting you if we didn’t take care of you at this point.”
“Put me down!” you cried, your voice breaking as you struggled against Suguru’s hold, your heart pounding in your chest.
“Shh,” Suguru murmured, his grip unyielding as he carried you down the hall. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”
Tears blurred your vision as the door to their bathroom came into view, the realization of just how powerless you were sinking in with every step.
Tears blurred your vision as the door to their bathroom came into view, the realization of just how powerless you were sinking in with every step.
“We’ll clean you up,” Satoru said brightly, his grin firmly in place as he swung the bathroom door open. His tone was light and teasing, but the words twisted in your stomach. “That’s what good boyfriends—sorry, roommates—do, right?”
Suguru carried you inside without hesitation, his movements smooth and calculated, like he’d done this a hundred times in his head. He set you down gently on the edge of the bathtub, his hands lingering on your arms as though steadying you. The care in his touch felt unnervingly intimate, blurring lines you hadn’t even realized were being crossed.
“I don’t need—” you started, your voice trembling, but Suguru cut you off.
“Do we need to treat you like a child too?” He hummed as he turned on the water, you noticed Satoru take a spot on the floor, his hand….gravitating to….
You forced yourself to look away.
Instead pleading to Suguru that you can wash yourself, that he doesn’t need to climb into the tub with you pressing himself behind you. As he grabbed the handheld shower head, changing the settings as he deemed fit as you squirmed and sobbed.
“Have to clean you now, hm?” He hummed behind you, changing the setting of the handheld shower head to the highest setting, the pressure was too much as you squirmed and clawed at his hands shaking your head. You looked over at Satoru the smile on his face, the way he seemed blissed out as he stroked his…
Oh god.
They enjoyed this.
You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as your cunt clenched onto nothing, as your clit was being tormented by the harsh pressure of the showerhead Suguru had directed.
“Shhhh, just let go… I got you,” Suguru murmured, his voice low and soothing as he adjusted the spray of water once more, there was purpose in his insistent touches, firm and absolute.
You couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked your body, your tears mixing with the water cascading over your skin. Your mind felt like it was spinning, your thoughts fragmented and overwhelmed by the unbearable mix of sensations and emotions crashing over you.
And then, you reached the peak—your body betraying you, shuddering in his grip as your climax washed over you. Shame burned hot in your chest, your face flushed with humiliation as the sobs came harder, raw and broken.
Suguru’s hand never faltered, his movements steady as he lowered the setting on the showerhead to a gentle spray, hushing you softly as you came down from your high.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his tone almost tender as his hand smoothed over your damp skin. “Just let me take care of you.”
You couldn’t muster the strength to respond, your body trembling as exhaustion began to creep in.
But he wasn’t done.
Before you could catch your breath, Suguru adjusted the water pressure again, the sharp sensation snapping you back into focus as he began once more.
“No, please…” you whimpered, your voice weak and cracking as you squirmed in his hold.
“Shhh,” he hushed you, his lips brushing lightly against your temple as his grip tightened. “You’re fine. I’ve got you.”
You didn’t have the strength to fight him.
Again and again, he pushed you over the edge, your sobs gradually giving way to soft, broken whimpers as your body betrayed you. Your limbs felt heavy, your mind clouded with a haze of exhaustion and humiliation.
By the time he finally relented, your eyes were half-lidded, sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness.
Satoru, who had been watching the entire time, stood from his spot on the floor, his sharp blue eyes raking over your limp form with a grin that made your stomach twist.
“Since Suguru did a good job cleaning you up, think you can clean my mess?” Satoru’s voice was light, teasing, but the sharp glint in his blue eyes told you there was no room for refusal.
Your head weakly shook in response, your body trembling with exhaustion as you tried to avert your gaze.
But Suguru didn’t let you.
“Be a good girl,” he murmured, his voice calm but firm as his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face back toward them. His thumb pressed against your lips, prying them open with gentle insistence.
You whimpered, tears welling in your eyes again as his thumb slipped onto your tongue, the weight of his touch heavy and suffocating.
“There you go,” he said softly, almost soothing as though this was something to comfort you. “It’s easier if you don’t fight.”
Before you could protest, Satoru was pressing the tip of his cock onto your tongue, sliding his length down your throat despite your gags as Suguru ensured you wouldn’t bite down, keeping your mouth open.
“Good girl,” Satoru cooed, his voice low and saccharine as he watched you with amusement, the corners of his lips twitching upward as you instinctively flinched. “Be a good little gator, don’t bite”
You couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that trickled down your cheeks, your body frozen under the weight of their attention. Every movement felt heavy, every breath labored as you struggled to take the full length down your throat.
Suguru’s dark eyes bore into you, steady and unyielding. “See? You can do this,” he murmured, removing his thumb to help guide your head as you sucked on Satoru’s cock. “You’re already doing so well.”
“Better than I thought she would,” Satoru replied, a soft groan escaped his lips as he tilted his head back, gently rocking his hips forward despite your tears, Suguru was forcing your head to bob on Satoru's length, keeping his touch gentle.
“We’re going to take such good care of you,” Suguru hummed, his voice smooth and steady as his hand’s methodical movements, his dark eyes gazing at you in adornment as you choked on the sticky white ropes that trickled down your throat.
His words made your stomach twist, but the calmness in his tone—the way it almost sounded affectionate—made it all the more suffocating.
“I think we can work with this arrangement, right?” Suguru murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. His tone was calm, almost soothing, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.
“We love you so much, don’t you know?” he continued, his voice softening further, as if the depth of their love for you was as much a burden for them as it was for you. “We’ll give you time to adjust to the new arrangement. Don’t you worry.”
You flinched, your body trembling from a cocktail of exhaustion and humiliation. The words wrapped around you like a cage, their gentleness only making the weight of them heavier. Your eyes darted toward Satoru, searching desperately for some sign of relief, some thread of normalcy—but his expression only made your stomach twist.
His smile was lovesick, almost dazed, his half-lidded eyes clouded with fatigue, likely from his final exam. Yet his fingers found their way to the top of your head, the touch soft and deliberate, giving you a gentle, almost affectionate pat.
The gesture should have been comforting. It should have eased the tightness in your chest. Instead, it felt like a reminder—a quiet assertion of control, of just how tightly you were bound to them.
“Let’s get you ready for bed, shall we?” Satoru said, his voice light and teasing, laced with his usual carefree charm. But beneath the playful tone, there was an undertone of finality, a quiet edge that made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion.
Suguru’s hands were steady as he adjusted the towel around your body, his touch disarmingly gentle, as though he were savoring the act of caring for you. Each movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were worshipping the process of drying you off. He ensured the towel wrapped around you modestly, yet his fingers lingered just long enough to make you question if there was more to his care.
When he stood, his tall frame towering over you, he extended a hand. His dark eyes met yours, calm and unreadable, as if silently urging you to trust him.
You hesitated. Every instinct screamed at you to pull away, to run, to do something. But the exhaustion weighed you down, rooting you in place. Your legs felt like lead, your thoughts foggy and scattered, a tangle of fear and resignation you couldn’t untangle.
“You’re tired,” Suguru murmured, his voice a soothing balm that did little to ease the tightness in your chest. There was an undercurrent of quiet authority in his tone, one that made resistance feel futile.
His hand enveloped yours, warm and steady, guiding you to your feet before you could summon the strength to protest. “Let us take care of you,” he said softly, the words carrying a tenderness that felt at odds with the unease curling in your stomach.
Satoru was already waiting by the door, leaning casually against the frame. His bright blue eyes watched you with his signature grin—a grin that normally felt harmless but now carried an edge that made your chest tighten. “Come on, little gator,” he cooed, beckoning you with a casual wave. “We’ve got everything ready for you.”
You let them guide you, too drained to resist. Suguru’s hand rested lightly on your lower back, steadying you as Satoru walked ahead, his playful hum filling the quiet hall.
When you finally crawled into the cool sheets, your body sagged into the mattress, the weight of the day pressing down on you. The bath had left your skin warm and your limbs heavy, the overstimulation making it impossible to think straight. Exhaustion was a tide, pulling you under, and for a fleeting moment, you were grateful for the comfort they had so carefully orchestrated.
Perhaps you were too far gone to notice—or to care—about the faint noises behind you. The soft murmur of voices, the rustle of fabric, the low, intimate sound of Satoru’s moan as he lowered himself onto Suguru.
Your mind barely registered it, the sound blurring into the background as sleep took hold. You ignored the quiet gasp, the rhythmic creak of the mattress in the other room, and the muted groan that followed.
The warmth of the blankets, the scent of lavender, the haze of exhaustion—all of it conspired to drag you deeper into unconsciousness, letting the world fade away as your body surrendered to sleep.
#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere satosugu#satosugu x reader#yandere satosugu x reader#yandere satoru gojo#yandere satoru x reader#yandere suguru x reader#yandere suguru#yandere geto suguru#yandere gojo satoru#yandere#dark content#yandere x reader
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The Landlady
PAIRING(s): Landlady!AgathaHarkness x Tennant!Reader
SUMMARY: New place, new beginning, and strange nights.
WARNING(s): Non-Con, Dub-Con, Stockholm Syndrome, Somnophilia, Manipulation, Breastfeeding Kink, and other Dark Themes
A/N: Just exploring some kinks that I find interesting.
The room was small but cozy, bathed in warm hues from a Persian rug and a few old-fashioned lamps that gave off a golden glow. The walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed to the brim, their spines worn from years of use. It felt inviting, charmingly cluttered, and smelled faintly of lavender and something richer—something earthy and intoxicating.
"This is the space," Agatha said, gesturing toward the spare bedroom as she turned to face you, her smile like a velvet trap. Her dark hair was swept casually over one shoulder, and her blouse clung in all the right ways, accentuating her confidence and an air of playful mystery.
You felt impossibly out of place, standing in her perfectly curated home with your battered suitcase and freshly broken heart. Your ex’s harsh words still echoed in your mind, but you pushed the memories aside, forcing a small smile. “It’s perfect.”
Her smile widened, and she leaned against the doorframe, a spark of amusement in her piercing blue eyes. “Perfect, hmm? High praise. I’ll take it.”
Her flirtation was subtle, but it didn’t escape your notice. Since you’d replied to her ad, she had been effortlessly charming, her wit sharp but never cruel. At first, you’d been nervous about moving in with someone so... magnetic. She was older, sophisticated, confident in a way that left you fumbling for words. But when Agatha leaned into that confidence—throwing in a wink or letting her hand linger on yours during mundane moments—it left your chest tight and your cheeks warm.
You blamed the tiny crush forming in the back of your mind on the turbulence of your breakup. Agatha couldn’t possibly see you that way—her endless flirting was surely harmless.
Wasn’t it?
For the first few weeks, things felt easy. Agatha proved to be an ideal roommate. She shared her carefully prepared meals with you, the kind that were always spiced just right. She kept the kitchen spotless, offered advice when you sheepishly confided about your ex, and filled the silence with laughter when the weight of your heartbreak threatened to pull you under.
The only odd thing, you’d noticed, were the nights.
You began waking up feeling... strange. As if you were buzzing, every nerve in your body unusually sensitive. Your dreams grew more vivid and peculiar, filled with a phantom warmth you couldn’t quite explain. Fingers tracing your skin, soft breaths grazing your neck, whispers you couldn’t make out. And every time you woke, you felt flushed, your heart racing, the sensation too tangible for a mere dream.
At first, you shrugged it off as residual stress. The breakup. The move. It was a lot to process, after all. But then, strange details started to pile up. You’d wake with your blankets slightly askew or your shirt riding up your stomach. Once, you swore you smelled Agatha’s perfume on your pillow—the same lavender and musky hint you could only associate with her.
It was easy to dismiss at first. Coincidence. Sleepwalking. Overthinking.
But the feelings lingered—tingling warmth along your neck, an ache in your chest you couldn’t place, as if you were missing something you didn’t understand.
What you didn’t realize was that your dreams weren’t dreams at all.
Agatha sat perched at your bedside every night, thankful to the drug she slipped in your evening tea, ensuring you stayed in a deep, pliant sleep. Her fingers trailed softly over your cheek as she watched you, her expression caught between tender admiration and raw hunger.
“You’re so sweet when you sleep,” she murmured one night, her voice a low whisper meant only for your unconscious ears. Her hand brushed the strands of hair from your face, and she let herself indulge, pressing her lips to your forehead in a possessive kiss.
Each night, her touches grew bolder. Her fingertips ghosted down your arms, tracing invisible lines along your skin as though she could draw you closer to her even in sleep. Sometimes, she let her hand linger at your waist, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breath as you laid helpless beneath her gaze.
“You don’t even know how much I’ve longed for this,” Agatha whispered another night, her hand curling into a fist briefly before relaxing again. “Every sigh, every smile—it’s all mine now.”
Her lips found your neck one night, brushing the sensitive skin just below your jaw. Her teeth grazed the spot lightly, her body trembling with the restraint it took not to leave a mark—a sign of her claim that only she would know was there.
“I’ll have all of you soon,” she promised, pressing a kiss to your ear. “And when I do, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without me.”
Agatha didn’t just visit you out of obsession—she believed this was her way of grooming you, breaking down your resistance bit by bit. She’d made sure you found her ad, planned every detail of your arrival, and watched with satisfaction as you settled into the life she’d so carefully orchestrated for you.
Her nights of devotion were her reward.
Every brush of her fingers, every whispered promise, was a secret she kept just for the two of you—a bond you weren’t even aware existed.
Unaware of what happened after you closed your eyes each night, you started noticing subtle shifts during the day.
Agatha’s glances lingered longer, her touches more frequent—a brush of her fingers against your wrist as she handed you a mug of tea, the way she smoothed your hair absentmindedly as you passed on the couch. Her presence was overwhelming, intoxicating, but part of you began questioning the growing pull between you two.
You told yourself it was just her confidence, her charm—nothing more. But the strange feelings, the dreams, and her piercing gaze lingered, leaving you flustered, confused, and vulnerable in a way you couldn’t quite name.
You had no idea just how completely Agatha already owned you.
Life with Agatha grew more perplexing as the weeks passed. Your days blurred together in a haze of shared laughter, casual touches that lingered too long, and the peculiar warmth that bubbled beneath the surface every time she looked at you.
Yet, the nights still held the strangest weight.
The dreams persisted, each one more vivid than the last. You felt her hands—a phantom presence sliding over your skin, stroking your hair, tracing patterns along your exposed arms or stomach. Whispers filled the spaces between sleep and waking, soft murmurs that sent shivers racing down your spine even as your mind clung stubbornly to its unconscious state.
More and more, you awoke tangled in your sheets, your heart pounding as if you’d run a marathon. And every time, you felt her presence—Agatha’s scent lingering on your pillow, the faint impression of a figure beside you that vanished when your eyes opened.
One morning, as you sat across from her at breakfast, picking at the edge of your toast, you caught her watching you again. There was something almost predatory in her gaze, as though she were savoring a secret you weren’t yet privy to.
“Sleep okay, darling?” she asked, sipping from her mug.
You froze for a moment, your hand stilling midair as you reached for your coffee. “I—I guess,” you stammered, your cheeks heating under her scrutiny. “I keep having these... weird dreams.”
Agatha tilted her head, curiosity feigned but expertly calculated. “Weird how?”
You shrugged, unsure of how much to share. “They just feel... real. Like someone’s in the room with me.”
Her lips quirked upward in a knowing smile, the corners of her mouth curling like a cat playing with its food. “Do they, now?”
You nodded, unsure if you imagined the flicker of amusement in her eyes.
“Well,” she said after a pause, “maybe it’s just your mind adjusting to a new space. Moving in with someone new can bring out all sorts of feelings. Don’t worry about it too much, sweet thing.”
Her words were meant to reassure, but something about her tone only made you more uneasy.
That night, as you lay curled beneath your blanket, exhaustion threatened to pull you under, but your nerves kept you teetering on the edge of wakefulness. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming—something you couldn’t escape.
It wasn’t long before you fell into a deep, fitful sleep, lulled into submission by a strange comfort you couldn’t explain.
The dreams came swiftly, vivid and disorienting. But this time, the touch wasn’t as ghostly, as faint. This time, it was clear—unmistakable.
The room was thick with the scent of lavender and something darker, something primal. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bed where you lay, your body limp and pliant under the weight of Agatha’s doing. She sat perched on the edge of the mattress, her fingers trailing lazily over your exposed skin, her touch feather-light but deliberate. You were deep in the throes of drugged sleep, your breathing slow and even, completely unaware of the violation unfolding around you.
Agatha’s lips curled into a wicked smile as she leaned over you, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a curtain. “Such a sweet little thing,” she murmured, her voice a low, sultry purr that sent a shiver through the room. Her hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, her fingers brushing against the soft skin of your stomach. “So innocent. So perfect.”
You stirred faintly, a soft whimper escaping your lips as her touch grew bolder. Agatha’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she watched your body respond to her, even in sleep. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. “Shh, darling,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “Mommy’s here. Just let me take care of you.”
Her hand moved higher, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. She squeezed gently, her thumb brushing over your nipple, coaxing it to hardness. You moaned softly in your sleep, your body arching into her touch, betraying the pleasure you couldn’t consciously acknowledge. Agatha chuckled darkly, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric to tease your bare skin. “That’s it,” she cooed, her voice dripping with possessive affection. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? My sweet, helpless little thing.”
Her other hand slid down your body, her fingers tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. You gasped in your sleep, your legs parting instinctively as her fingers found the warmth of your core. Agatha’s smile widened, her touch growing more insistent as she explored you, her fingers slick with your arousal. “Look at you,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “So wet for me already. You don’t even know what’s happening, do you? But your body knows. It knows who it belongs to.”
She leaned down, her lips brushing against your neck as her fingers worked you, slow and deliberate. “You’re mine,” she whispered, her teeth grazing your skin. “Every part of you. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”
Her fingers curled inside you, drawing a soft cry from your lips as your body clenched around her. Agatha’s breath hitched, her own desire flaring as she watched you writhe beneath her touch. “That’s it,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “Let go for me, darling. Let mommy make you feel good.”
You moaned again, your hips rocking against her hand as the pleasure built, your body responding to her even in the depths of sleep. Agatha’s lips found yours, her kiss deep and possessive as she claimed you, her tongue sliding into your mouth. She swallowed your cries, her fingers moving faster, pushing you closer to the edge.
When you came, it was with a shuddering gasp, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Agatha held you through it, her lips never leaving yours, her fingers drawing out every last drop of your release. When you finally stilled, she pulled back, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she gazed down at you.
“Such a good girl,” she murmured, her voice soft and adoring. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
Agatha’s lips lingered on your forehead, her breath warm and heavy as she pulled back just enough to admire your flushed, trembling form. Your body was still twitching faintly from the aftershocks of your forced release, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. She smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes as she shifted her weight, her hands moving to the buttons of her blouse. One by one, she undid them, revealing the pale swell of her breasts beneath. Her nipples were already hard, pebbled with arousal, and she let out a soft, satisfied sigh as the cool air brushed against her skin.
“You’re so perfect like this,” she murmured, her voice low and honeyed, dripping with a sickening sweetness. “So soft. So pliant. Just the way I like you.” Her fingers trailed down your cheek, her touch almost tender if not for the possessive hunger burning in her gaze. “You don’t even know what’s happening, do you? Poor thing. But that’s okay. Mommy’s here to take care of you.”
She leaned down, her breasts brushing against your face as she guided your head to her chest. “Open up, darling,” she cooed, her fingers slipping into your mouth to part your lips. You stirred faintly, a soft whimper escaping you as she pressed her nipple against your mouth. “That’s it. Just like that. Take what mommy’s giving you.”
You resisted at first, your body instinctively recoiling from the intrusion, but Agatha held you firmly in place, her will overriding your own. She tutted softly, her fingers tightening in your hair as she forced you to latch onto her. “Don’t be difficult,” she chided, her voice sharp but still laced with that sickening sweetness. “You need this. You need me.”
The moment your lips closed around her nipple, a shudder ran through her, her breath hitching as she felt the pull of your mouth. “Oh, yes,” she moaned, her head tipping back as she rocked her hips against the bed. “Just like that. Such a good girl for mommy.” Her fingers tightened in your hair, holding you in place as she ground herself against the mattress, her own arousal building with every suckle.
You whimpered around her, the taste of her flooding your mouth. It was too much, overwhelming, but Agatha didn’t care. She only moaned louder, her free hand slipping between her thighs as she worked herself to the rhythm of your suckling. “That’s it,” she panted, her voice trembling with need. “Take it all. Drink up, darling. Mommy’s got so much to give you.”
Her fingers moved faster, her hips jerking as she chased her own release, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “You’re mine,” she hissed, her voice breaking as she came, her body shuddering violently. “Mine. Every part of you. You’ll never escape me.”
When she finally pulled away, her chest heaving, she looked down at you with a satisfied smile, her fingers brushing over your lips. “Such a good girl,” she murmured, her voice soft and adoring. “Mommy’s so proud of you.” She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling back against the pillows, her arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace. “Sleep now, darling. Mommy’s got you.”
“I’ll protect you. Love you. No one else will ever know you like I do. No one else deserves you.”
“I’ll make you understand,” Agatha promised, pressing her lips to your temple.
When you finally woke hours later, the room felt heavier, the air clinging to you like a second skin. Your hands trembled as you pulled back the blanket, noticing how it seemed to cling to the faintest remnants of warmth that didn’t belong to you.
You sat up, your heart hammering in your chest. Something was wrong.
Dreams didn’t leave bruises.
As you pulled your shirt down to get dressed, you caught sight of something in the mirror—a faint, purplish mark high on your neck, near the hollow of your throat. Your breath hitched, panic surging through your veins as you stared at the spot.
No.
It wasn’t possible.
You clutched at the mark, your mind racing to explain it. Maybe you scratched yourself in your sleep. Maybe you leaned against something. Maybe—
“Morning,” Agatha’s voice called from the hall, making you jump.
You quickly yanked your shirt higher, covering the mark as she entered the room with her usual confident air, carrying two mugs of coffee. She handed one to you, her fingers brushing against yours in that deliberate way that made your stomach flip.
“You look flustered,” she noted, her eyes sparkling with amusement as they lingered on your throat for a moment too long.
“I’m fine,” you lied quickly, your voice shaky as you avoided her gaze.
Agatha’s smirk widened. “Oh, I’m sure you are, sweetheart,” she said, her tone dripping with knowing. “I bet you slept like a dream.”
The weight of her words sent a chill down your spine.
She knew.
The tension between you and Agatha was palpable, but it wasn’t just in the way she looked at you. It was in every gesture, every word. Every moment she seemed to linger just a bit too long, or touch you just a bit too much.
You tried to push the thoughts away—tried to focus on your work, to put the strange sensations and the feeling of being watched out of your mind. But it was impossible.
You found yourself growing increasingly disoriented, as if the boundaries between dream and reality were starting to blur. The nights were the worst—especially since waking up feeling flushed and disheveled had become an unsettling routine. Sometimes, it was only the sound of Agatha’s low, comforting voice that pulled you from the fog, telling you everything was fine. “You’re just adjusting,” she’d say with a knowing smile. “New place. New rhythm. It’ll settle.”
But it didn’t settle. The weight of the mark on your neck, the growing feeling of being watched, gnawed at you. The marks started to appear more often, always just out of view—hidden beneath your hair or the collar of your shirt—but you could feel them. It was as if Agatha had claimed you, and no matter how much you tried to fight the idea, your body betrayed you.
You could feel her eyes on you constantly, even when she wasn’t in the room. And sometimes, when she was there, it was like the air itself thickened, charged with something you couldn’t understand. The room seemed smaller with her in it, her presence overwhelming, magnetic, like the pull of gravity itself.
It was a Thursday night, and you didn’t take your evening tea. This time, the restless energy felt different—it was as if your skin was too tight, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you in a way you couldn’t escape. You tossed and turned for hours, but it wasn’t until the soft sound of footsteps in the hallway that you knew.
She was coming.
Your pulse quickened, and you swore you could feel your heart beating in your throat. Agatha’s presence was undeniable.
The door creaked open, and her silhouette appeared in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the hallway. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze trained on you with such intensity that it made your breath hitch in your chest.
“Agatha…” you whispered, the sound thick with a mixture of dread and something darker, something you didn’t want to acknowledge.
She stepped inside without a word, her soft shoes making no noise on the floor. She didn’t need to speak; her mere presence was enough to still the room, to still your mind.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” she said softly, her voice the perfect balance of sweetness and something far more dangerous. Her fingers brushed against your hair, a touch so tender it almost made you lean into it. “You know what’s happening. You know what I’m doing.”
Your throat tightened. “What are you talking about?” you tried to ask, but it came out like a plea.
Agatha smirked, moving closer, her body language predatory, her movements slow and deliberate. She gently cupped your face in her hand, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Don’t play coy with me, darling. I’ve given you everything. I’ve been here, every night, for so long...”
You couldn’t pull away from her touch, and though you wanted to shout, to run, your body didn’t listen. You felt caught in her web, helpless to escape. The mark on your neck still burned faintly, a constant reminder of her claim.
“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” Agatha murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her thumb ran over your lower lip, the touch so soft, it made your head spin. “But now… now I think you’re finally starting to understand.”
Her lips parted, and before you could react, she closed the distance between you two. Her kiss was slow, methodical, and almost unbearably tender. You should have pulled away. You should have screamed. But instead, you melted into it, the heat of her body overwhelming, pulling you deeper into the spell she’d been weaving.
Agatha broke the kiss with a soft chuckle, her lips hovering just over yours. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Completely mine.”
The weight of her words settled in your chest like a stone, and as she smiled, a cold shiver ran down your spine. There was no escaping this—no way out. Agatha had been preparing you for this moment, molding you with every touch, every whisper, every night. And now, in this quiet, shadowed room, the truth was undeniable.
She leaned in again, this time her breath hot against your ear. “You’re going to beg me for more soon. I’ll make sure of it.”
You woke the next morning with your head pounding and your body aching in ways you couldn’t explain. Your skin felt too sensitive, like every nerve was firing at once. You blinked a few times, your vision blurry, trying to make sense of the hazy memories that danced at the edges of your mind.
Your neck throbbed where the mark had been—had it always been there? You glanced into the mirror, but the spot was gone. Still, the lingering sensation remained. The faintest trace of her lips, her hands, as though she’d marked you in a way that no physical mark could explain.
You pulled your shirt down quickly, but it wasn’t enough to hide the feeling that something had changed. Something fundamental. You were different now—changed. And it wasn’t just because Agatha’s kiss had stolen all your breath, or because her words still echoed in your ears.
It was because you wanted it.
You wanted her.
The days after that night were nothing short of a blur. The haziness of sleep deprivation and the strangeness of your own body’s responses left you walking around in a fog. But the fog wasn’t just in your head—it was in every room, in every corner. Agatha’s presence lingered everywhere, like a scent you couldn’t wash away, no matter how hard you tried.
The subtle touches were still there—her fingers brushing your wrist when handing you a mug, her breath too close to your ear when passing by. But it wasn’t just her touch that affected you now. It was her gaze. Her eyes followed you, studied you with an intensity that felt like you were being stripped bare, analyzed, and claimed in ways that made your stomach churn and your heart race.
You couldn’t escape it. You didn’t want to.
It was late afternoon when Agatha cornered you in the kitchen. You were drying dishes, your hands still trembling slightly from the events of the previous night, when she casually leaned against the doorframe, watching you.
"You seem distant today," she said, her voice lilting with a mix of concern and amusement. "You haven't been yourself lately."
You glanced up quickly, feeling an electric charge run through you as her eyes met yours. "I’m just tired," you said, but even to your own ears, the excuse sounded hollow, forced.
She smiled softly, a quiet understanding settling in her expression. "I think it’s more than that, darling." Her eyes flicked down to your hands, where you gripped the dish towel a bit too tightly. "You’ve been... distracted. Like something’s on your mind."
You opened your mouth to protest, to deny it, but her gaze held you captive. Her voice dropped lower, smooth and seductive. “I think you know exactly what’s been on your mind. Don’t you?”
Your heart fluttered, an irrational warmth spreading across your chest as her words sank in. “I—” You froze. You couldn’t lie to her anymore. She knew.
“You’re thinking about last night,” she continued, stepping closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor with each step. “About what we did. What I did to you.” Her breath brushed your ear, sending an involuntary shiver through your body. “And you want more, don’t you?”
Your breath caught in your throat. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. The truth—however uncomfortable it was—was right there in the air between you. You did want more. You did. And you hated yourself for it.
“Just say it,” Agatha purred, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of your ear. “Say it, and I’ll make it all go away. Or rather, I’ll make it all come true.”
“I—” You shuddered, a desperate gasp escaping your lips. “I want you.” The admission was soft, but in that quiet kitchen, it felt like a bombshell.
Agatha smiled then, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips. “I knew it.” She stepped even closer, her hand brushing your cheek, her thumb stroking over your lips in a slow, deliberate motion. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ll take care of you. Always.”
Her lips were on yours before you could react, soft and insistent, and for a moment, all the noise in your head vanished. All the doubts, all the fears—they were gone, drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of her mouth on yours, her hand on your waist, pulling you closer.
It wasn’t like the soft, tentative kiss from the night before. This was something deeper—more consuming. Agatha’s kiss was possessive, hungry, her tongue sliding into your mouth with a certain urgency that sent a jolt through your body. You kissed her back, unable to stop yourself, your hands grasping at her shirt, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric.
Her hands roamed, exploring the contours of your body, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. You moaned softly into her mouth when she cupped your breast, squeezing gently. It was enough to make your knees feel weak, to make your chest tighten with desire.
“You’re so beautiful,” Agatha whispered against your lips, her voice raw and thick with need. “I’ve wanted you for so long. And now, you’re mine. All of you.”
From that moment on, there was no turning back.
The nights grew more intense, more charged with an unspoken tension that neither of you could resist. Agatha took full control—no longer subtle with her touches or her words. No more drugging you. Every night, she came to you, claiming you piece by piece, until your very bones felt like they belonged to her.
But it wasn’t just in the darkness of the night. During the day, her presence haunted you, her eyes never leaving you, her touch always just a second away. She was always there, in every quiet moment, in every shared glance, in every brush of her fingers across your skin.
She’d been patient, waiting for you to surrender, waiting for you to come to her on your own. And now that you had, she was determined to make sure you never left her side.
One night, as you lay in bed, tangled in the sheets after another heated, desperate kiss, Agatha gazed down at you, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.
“I’m going to make sure you never forget who you belong to,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your collarbone. “I won’t let anyone else have you. Not after everything I’ve done.”
The words hit you like a blow to the chest, and though part of you wanted to run, another part—one you couldn’t quite control—felt a twisted sense of relief. You wanted this. You needed this.
And in the quiet of the night, with Agatha above you, holding you with a possessiveness that almost scared you, you knew deep down you weren’t the same person anymore.
You had become hers.
_-_-_
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#dark fanfiction#agatha all along#agatha harkness x reader#agathario#rio vidal#agatha harkness#agatha harkness fanfic#kathryn hahn#marvel#aubrey plaza#dark!agatha harkness#agatha x reader#agatha coven of chaos#yandere
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PRIVATE SHOPPING
Synopsis -> When Chrome Hearts employee Y/N meets global idol Ni-ki, a professional encounter turns into forbidden tension. Despite the rules, their undeniable connection pushes them to risk everything for a chance at something real.
PAIRING: idol!ni-ki x fem!chromeheartsemployee!reader
GENRE: oneshot, romance, forbidden love, Celebrity/Non-Celebrity Relationship, Workplace Drama
STARTED: 1/26/2025
STATUS: complete
WC: 2.9k
Note: haha i just wrote this for fun, after seeing all those videos of ni-ki in the chrome hearts store on tiktok. Enjoy :)
The quiet hum of the air conditioner filled the otherwise silent Chrome Hearts shop. You were used to the serene atmosphere, where the only sounds were the clinks of jewelry and the murmurs of clients admiring the pieces.
Today, however, the shop wasn’t open to the public. A private appointment had been scheduled for someone important—so important that the entire store had been rented out for the occasion.
You adjusted a display of necklaces for the third time that morning, your hands steady but your thoughts racing. Your manager had emphasized the importance of professionalism today, which you found slightly redundant. Being professional was second nature to you.
When the glass door finally swung open, the sound startled you out of your thoughts. You straightened instinctively, your gaze falling on the figure walking in.
He was taller than you’d expected, his dark hair slightly tousled and his oversized hoodie making him look effortlessly casual. You recognized him immediately—Ni-ki, the youngest member of one of the most famous idol groups in the world.
His fame wasn’t something you actively followed, but even you couldn’t avoid hearing his name. It was everywhere—on billboards, in magazines, and in playlists.
“Good afternoon,” you greeted politely, bowing slightly as he stepped further into the shop.
He looked at you, his eyes curious but guarded. “Afternoon,” he replied, his voice quieter than you’d imagined it would be. He pulled down his mask slightly, revealing a polite smile.
“Feel free to let me know if you need assistance,” you added, keeping your tone neutral.
He nodded, his attention already wandering to the displays around him.
For a while, you let him browse in peace, watching discreetly as he moved from one case to another. Despite his casual demeanor, there was a sharpness to the way he observed each piece of jewelry, as if he were studying it.
Finally, he paused by a display of rings. You stepped forward, maintaining a respectful distance. “Are you looking for something specific today?”
“What would you recommend for someone who already owns a lot of Chrome Hearts?”
The question caught you slightly off guard. “That depends on what you’re looking for,” you replied smoothly. “Are you interested in adding to your collection, or are you looking for something unique?”
“Both,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “I’ve been collecting Chrome Hearts for years. It’s kind of an obsession at this point.”
You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “An obsession?”
He smiled, sensing your interest. “Yeah. I think I was fifteen when I got my first piece—a ring. It was a gift from a stylist on one of our first shoots. Ever since then, I’ve been hooked. I love the craftsmanship, the designs... everything about it feels timeless.”
You nodded, genuinely impressed. “You don’t hear that often. Most clients are more interested in trends.”
“I’m not really into trends,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “I like things that have meaning, things that last. That’s why I keep coming back to Chrome Hearts. Every piece feels like it has a story.”
You considered his words for a moment, then reached into a nearby display case. “If that’s the case, you might like this.”
You handed him a silver chain with an intricately designed cross pendant. “This piece is part of a limited collection. The design is inspired by vintage Chrome Hearts from the early 2000s. It’s subtle, but the detail makes it stand out.”
Ni-ki examined the necklace closely, his fingers brushing over the pendant. “This is perfect,” he said after a moment.
“I’m glad you like it,” you replied, stepping back slightly.
As he continued to look at the piece, he glanced up at you. “You know a lot about this brand,” he remarked.
“It’s part of the job,” you said simply.
He smirked. “Yeah, but you sound like you actually care. That’s rare.”
You didn’t respond immediately, unsure how to take the compliment. Instead, you focused on returning the other pieces to their proper places.
“So, what about you?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
“What about me?”
“Do you have a favorite piece from the collection?”
You hesitated, not used to being the one answering questions. “I don’t own any Chrome Hearts,” you admitted.
“Really?” He looked genuinely surprised.
“It’s not exactly in my budget,” you said with a small shrug.
He chuckled softly. “Fair enough. But if you could pick one piece, what would it be?”
You thought for a moment before pointing to a sleek silver cuff bracelet in one of the displays. “That one. It’s simple but versatile.”
Ni-ki followed your gaze, nodding in approval. “Good choice. Maybe one day I’ll see you wearing it.”
You glanced at him, unsure how to respond. Before you could say anything, he placed the necklace and a few other items on the counter.
He looked up at you then, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “How long have you been working here?”
“Long enough to know what fits our clients,” you answered, deflecting the question slightly.
He chuckled softly, slipping the ring onto his finger. “You’re good at this.”
“Thank you.”
There was a brief silence as he admired the fit of the ring, and you took the opportunity to step back, giving him space.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, catching you off guard.
You hesitated. “It’s Y/N,” you said eventually, keeping your tone polite.
“Y/N,” he repeated, as if testing how it sounded. “I like it.”
You offered a polite smile but didn’t respond, returning to rearranging a nearby display.
Ni-ki continued browsing, occasionally asking for your opinion on a piece. As the minutes turned into an hour, you found yourself impressed by his genuine interest in the craftsmanship. He wasn’t just buying for the sake of it—he seemed to truly appreciate the designs.
Still, you kept a professional distance, even as he grew more conversational.
“You’re really serious about this, huh?” he said at one point, leaning against the counter as you placed a necklace back into its case.
“It’s my job,” you replied simply.
“And you’re good at it,” he said again, his tone sincere this time. “I mean it.”
“Thank you,” you said again, not letting his compliment fluster you.
He smiled at your calm demeanor, clearly amused by your lack of reaction. “You don’t get nervous around clients, do you?”
“Why would I?” you asked, meeting his gaze evenly.
His smile widened. “Most people do.”
“Well, I’m not most people,” you said before you could stop yourself.
He laughed at that, the sound warm and genuine. “I can see that.”
The rest of the appointment went smoothly, though Ni-ki’s subtle attempts at small talk didn’t go unnoticed. By the time he’d chosen a ring and a necklace, the tension between professionalism and casual conversation hung in the air.
As he approached the door to leave, he turned back to you. “Thanks for your help, Y/N.”
“Of course,” you replied, bowing slightly.
“Have a good day, Mr. Nishimura,” you replied, your tone as professional as ever.
He paused by the door, looking back at you one last time. “See you around, Y/N.”
You didn’t respond, watching as the door closed behind him. Shaking your head, you returned to organizing the displays, telling yourself it was just another workday.
But deep down, you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see him.
The Chrome Hearts event was in full swing, a buzzing culmination of celebrities, designers, and photographers mingling under the warm glow of chandeliers. You stood off to the side of the bustling fitting area, adjusting racks of jackets and accessories while trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.
This wasn’t your first time working an event like this, but it was your first time with stakes this high. Chrome Hearts had pulled out all the stops, and ENHYPEN, one of the biggest names in the industry, was headlining the night.
You’d been assigned to assist with styling, specifically to help dress Riki Nishimura.
Your mind flashed back to your first encounter with him at the store. Despite his playful demeanor, he’d left an impression that was hard to shake. And now, here you were, preparing to see him again, knowing full well that professionalism was non-negotiable.
“Y/N, they’re here,” your manager said, motioning toward the private fitting area.
You turned just in time to see the group of seven walk in, their presence commanding the room instantly. Cameras flashed as they greeted the event organizers, each member exuding confidence in their own way.
Ni-ki trailed at the back, dressed casually in ripped jeans and a hoodie, but his sharp gaze scanned the room until it landed on you. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, followed by a small, knowing smirk.
You quickly looked away, busying yourself with the clothes rack in front of you.
“Y/N, you’ll be with Mr. Nishimura,” your manager reminded you, handing you the clipboard with his outfit details.
“Understood,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.
When Ni-ki stepped into the fitting area, you greeted him with a polite nod. “Good evening, Mr. Nishimura.”
“Y/N,” he said smoothly, his tone teasing. “Nice to see you again.”
You kept your expression neutral. “Let’s get started. Your outfit is over here.”
He followed you to the rack, where a carefully curated ensemble awaited—a tailored leather jacket, silver accessories, and sleek black boots. As you began arranging the pieces for him, he leaned against the wall, watching you with an intensity that made your skin tingle.
“You’re really good at this,” he said after a moment.
“Thank you,” you replied without looking up, focusing instead on adjusting the jacket’s cuffs.
“Have you been doing this for long?” he asked, his voice low and casual.
“Long enough,” you said curtly, stepping back to give him space to change.
He chuckled softly, after hearing nearly the same answers to his questions like the last time. “Still keeping it professional, huh?”
“It’s my job,” you reminded him, crossing your arms.
As he slipped into the jacket, his movements deliberate, you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly the pieces fit him. He had a natural presence that made even the simplest outfits look like high fashion.
When he turned to face you, fully dressed, you adjusted the silver chain around his neck, your fingers brushing against his skin for the briefest moment. The contact sent a jolt through you, but you quickly pulled back, masking your reaction.
“Looks perfect,” you said, stepping away.
“Thanks to you,” he said, his voice quieter now. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken.
You turned away quickly, busying yourself with the clipboard. “You’re ready for the photos.”
As he joined the rest of the group, the atmosphere shifted. The other members greeted you briefly—Jay’s charismatic smile, Sunghoon’s quiet nod, Sunoo’s cheerful wave—but your focus remained on keeping everything running smoothly.
It wasn’t until the group dispersed for a break that Ni-ki found a moment to approach you again, this time in a quieter corner of the venue.
“Y/N,” he said softly, his tone different now—less playful, more serious.
You glanced up from the accessory case you were organizing. “Yes, Mr. Nishimura?”
“Drop the ‘Mr.,’” he said with a small smirk. “It’s just Ni-ki.”
You hesitated, your professionalism warring with the tension that seemed to grow every time he was near. “How can I help you, Mr. Nishimura?” You emphasize his last Name.
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was wondering if you’d let me have your number.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “That’s against the rules,” you said firmly, though your resolve wavered under his gaze.
He tilted his head, a sly smile playing on his lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
You stared at him, torn between the strict boundaries of your job and the undeniable pull of his presence. Finally, with a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, you reached for a notepad on the counter.
“Don’t make me regret this,” you muttered, scribbling your number down and tearing off the piece of paper.
His fingers brushed yours as he took it, his smile softening. “I won’t,” he promised.
Before you could respond, your manager’s voice called you back to work, and the moment ended as quickly as it began.
As you walked away, you felt Ni-ki’s eyes on you, the forbidden tension between you lingering like an unspoken secret.
Weeks passed after the Chrome Hearts event, and though you tried to maintain a professional distance, everything had changed. The slip of paper with your number on it had been the beginning of a line you never thought you’d cross.
It started with late-night texts.
The first one came a day after the event:
[Unknown Number]: Is it weird that I can’t stop thinking about how you chose that bracelet?
You stared at the screen for longer than you wanted to admit before typing a response.
[You]: It’s weird that you’re texting me when this is technically against the rules.
He replied almost instantly.
[Ni-ki]: Rules are overrated. Especially for something that feels this… different.
And that was how it began.
Over time, the texts turned into calls, the playful teasing evolving into deeper conversations. Ni-ki wasn’t just a global idol with an obsession for Chrome Hearts; he was surprisingly down-to-earth, funny, and honest in a way that caught you off guard.
But as the weeks went on, keeping things secret grew harder.
The first time he showed up at the store unannounced, you nearly had a heart attack.
He arrived disguised in a plain hoodie and cap, his presence still unmistakable. “I was in the area,” he said with a grin, leaning casually against the counter.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you hissed, glancing nervously at your manager, who was busy in the back.
“And yet here I am,” he replied, his tone light but his gaze serious. “I couldn’t help it.”
Against your better judgment, you allowed him to linger, though every minute felt like a risk. When he left, he slipped a small silver ring onto the counter, one you’d once admired during your conversations.
“For you,” he said simply.
You stared at it, shaking your head. “Ni-ki, I can’t—”
“You can,” he interrupted softly. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
And just like that, the line blurred even further.
The turning point came during another Chrome Hearts event, this time at a private gala where the brand unveiled a new collection. You were there to assist again, your role similar to before, though now the tension between you and Ni-ki felt almost unbearable.
He arrived with the other members, dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit adorned with silver accents. When his eyes found yours across the room, the connection was instant, as if the noise and chaos around you didn’t exist.
As the evening wore on, he found small excuses to be near you—a whispered question about his cufflinks, a fleeting brush of his hand against yours as you adjusted his collar. Every interaction sent your pulse racing, though you tried to hide it.
But it wasn’t enough for him.
Toward the end of the night, he cornered you in a quiet hallway outside the main ballroom. His expression was serious, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more vulnerable.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, “this thing between us… I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t exist.”
You crossed your arms, trying to put up a wall you knew would crumble under his gaze. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Ni-ki. If anyone finds out—”
“I don’t care,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “I know it’s risky, but I can’t ignore how I feel. Can you?”
His words left you speechless. For weeks, you’d tried to convince yourself that it was just harmless flirting, that you could keep things professional despite the way your heart raced whenever he was near. But now, standing so close to him, the truth was impossible to deny.
“Ni-ki…” you began, your voice faltering.
“I’m not asking you to break every rule,” he said softly. “I just want a chance. A real chance.”
You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. Part of you wanted to say no, to walk away before things got even more complicated. But the way he looked at you—as if you were the only person in the world who mattered—made it impossible.
Finally, you nodded, your resolve crumbling. “Okay,” you whispered.
His expression shifted into a mixture of relief and joy, and for the first time, he let his guard down completely.
From that moment on, everything changed.
The relationship that followed was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. You met in secret, stealing moments when his schedule allowed it. Late-night car rides, quiet dinners in hidden corners of the city, and whispered conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning.
But the secrecy only fueled the intensity. Every touch, every glance, every stolen kiss carried the weight of what was at stake.
And though the risk was always there, neither of you could walk away.
Because in the end, some rules were meant to be broken.
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the way he loves you
Summary: The Dagger Squad starts to notice the subtle ways Jake Seresin shows his love for you, from quiet moments at home to stolen glances at the Hard Deck. As each of them pieces it together, they realize Jake isn’t just Hangman—he’s yours.
Warnings: use of Y/N, she/her, fluff.
Word count: 1121 (oops i got a bit carried away)
A/N: someone reposted my last “curious gazes” and requested one with all the daggers, and i’ve been thinking about it ever since. i finally got time to write it so i hope you enjoy, i’ve been loving these!!
***
Jake “Hangman” Seresin had a reputation for being bold and larger than life. To most, nothing more than a cocky, overconfident pilot, the kind of guy who never seemed to take life too seriously. But when the Daggers met you, they began to see a side of Jake they’d never expected—a side that made them realize there was far more to him than they ever realized.
And it happened in little moments, each one chipping away at the image of Hangman and revealing Jake.
***
Phoenix
Natasha had always been sharp. She could read people easily, and Jake was no exception. She’d noticed the changes in him before anyone else: how he wasn’t as quick to boast, how he lingered on his phone more often, smiling at something no one else could see.
Still, it wasn’t until that night at the Hard Deck that she put the pieces together.
Jake walked in with you by his side, and Natasha immediately noticed the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the casual charm he used on everyone else—it was softer, almost reverent.
“Guys, this is Y/N,” Jake said, his voice filled with a kind of pride that made Natasha blink in surprise.
You smiled and waved, introducing yourself as Jake’s girlfriend, though you didn’t need to. Natasha had already figured it out.
She watched as Jake stayed close to you all night, not in his usual attention-seeking way, but quietly, as if he couldn’t bear to let you out of his sight. When you laughed, he leaned in just a little closer. When you spoke, he listened like your words were the most important thing in the world.
Later, as Jake brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek and a soft smile, Natasha smirked and leaned over to Bob. “He’s gone.”
Bob
Bob Floyd noticed it in the details, in the quiet moments that others might overlook.
When Jake and you invited the squad over for dinner, Bob didn’t know what to expect. He’d never pictured Jake as the hosting type, but as he stepped into your cozy home, he could tell this was different.
“Make yourself at home,” you said warmly, handing Bob a glass of sweet tea.
Jake was in the kitchen, wearing an apron—an apron, of all things—as he stirred something on the stove. Bob couldn’t hide his surprise.
“You’re domesticated, Seresin,” Rooster teased, leaning against the counter.
Jake smirked without looking up. “Happy wife, happy life,” he said easily, earning a laugh from you.
“Not your wife yet,” you teased.
“Yet,” Jake said, glancing at you with a grin and tossing you a wink that made Bob’s chest ache with secondhand fondness.
Bob noticed the way you moved around each other, wordlessly passing utensils and dishes, finishing each other’s sentences. There was a quiet rhythm to it, a kind of unspoken understanding that came from deep love and trust.
When dessert came out, Jake set the plate in front of you first, brushing a kiss to your temple. Bob caught the way you smiled, the way Jake’s hand lingered on yours for just a moment longer than necessary.
Bob glanced at Phoenix, who raised her eyebrows knowingly. “That’s love,” she whispered, and Bob couldn’t agree more.
Rooster
Bradley Bradshaw noticed it during a pool game at the Hard Deck.
Jake had always been competitive, but tonight, he wasn’t playing to win against the squad—he was playing to impress you.
Every shot he made, he’d glance over at you, his grin widening when you clapped or cheered. But it wasn’t just the showmanship that caught Bradley’s attention. It was the way Jake handed you the pool cue, guiding you through your shots with a patience Bradley hadn’t thought him capable of.
“Am I doing this right?” you asked, laughing as you tried to line up your shot.
“You’re perfect,” Jake said softly, his voice so low that only you and Bradley heard.
Bradley rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. “You’re whipped, Seresin.”
“And happy about it,” Jake shot back, winking.
Bradley couldn’t argue with that.
Payback & Fanboy
Fanboy and Payback noticed it on the beach.
It was a rare day off, and the squad had decided to hit the sand for some football and relaxation. You’d tagged along, sitting under an umbrella with a book in hand while the others played.
Jake kept sneaking glances at you between plays, his grin growing every time you looked up and smiled.
When the game ended, Jake jogged over to you, dropping to his knees in the sand beside your chair. “Having fun?” he asked, brushing sand off his hands.
You smiled, closing your book. “Always, when I’m with you.”
Mickey nudged Reuben, jerking his chin toward the two of you. “Look at him. That’s not the Hangman we know.”
“Nope,” Reuben said with a grin. “That’s Jake. Big difference.”
Coyote
Javy had known from the beginning.
He’d been there when Jake first mentioned you, his voice tinged with something Javy hadn’t heard before: vulnerability. He’d watched as Jake navigated the early days of your relationship, unsure of himself in a way that was both endearing and rare.
At a barbecue one weekend, Javy pulled Jake aside, nodding toward you as you chatted with Phoenix and Bob.
“She’s good for you, man,” Javy said.
Jake nodded, his gaze fixed on you. “Yeah. She is.”
“You ever gonna tell her how whipped you are?” Javy teased.
Jake smirked. “She already knows, no need to say it.”
The Moment They All Realized
The squad’s collective realization came during another gathering at your house.
It was late, and the group was sprawled across the living room, laughing and swapping stories. You were in the kitchen, tidying up, when Jake disappeared without a word.
A few minutes later, he returned with a dish towel over his shoulder, carefully carrying a handful of freshly washed glasses.
“Need a hand, sweetheart?” he asked, walking straight to you.
The room went silent as the squad watched him press a kiss to your temple before helping you dry the dishes.
Phoenix broke the silence first. “Holy shit. He’s a househusband.”
The room erupted in laughter, and Jake looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Jealous?”
“Absolutely,” Natasha said, grinning.
As the laughter died down, Javy raised his beer. “To Y/N,” he said.
You looked up, surprised. “To me?”
Javy nodded. “Yeah. You turned Hangman into Jake. And we love you for it.”
The squad cheered, and as Jake’s hand found yours, you squeezed it, your heart full.
Because while Jake might not have always been the loudest about his love, the people who mattered most could see it clear as day.
#florawrites#top gun maverick#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake hangman x reader#jake seresin#hangman x reader#jake seresin x reader
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DR. RATIO. HONKAI STAR RAIL ノ fem reader ノ words 0.7k ✘ so about that headcanon that he has a mole on his dick… that’s his weakness. mentioned long foreplay. panties stay on. very sexy but with a pinch of goofy teasing :3 no proofreading, i needed to get it out of my system before going crazy ✘ ADULT CONTENT ノ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
Oh, for sure it wouldn’t be anything quick. He has been working on you diligently with fingertips patting the pearl of your throbbing clit for long, long minutes until you push yourself onto him with your gaze dazed from pleasure, seeking his eyes. With an unattained burn coming from between your sodden folds, you try to coax him into switching from using his hand to his cock.
Seeing the throbbing, fat outline behind the thin veil of his underwear is just too frustrating — so close, yet you can’t do anything about it besides writhing underneath his touch and looking up at him with shiny, hopeful eyes.
“What’s this? Restlessness? Say, for what reason? Have I not already indulged you enough to satisfy your every whim?” he croons with a low hum — fingers coming to a halt in their circular movement around the sensitised bud as if to underline his words. You quiver underneath him from the sensation of loss and let out a frustrated whine.
The side of your neck burns as if seared by a hot iron where his lips press against your skin. His free hand slides over the wet silk of your panties as the one buried between your thighs relentlessly carries on with its slow ministrations, eliciting from you another effort to shift under him so he could feel your pussy against his clothed shaft.
“Veritas, please. Don’t be mean.” A mewl of pleasure and defeat slips from your mouth, not permitted to be spoken, as you turn your face into his hair. “Just until the mole, okay? You know…”
He grunts with difficulty, his blush darkening akin to a ripe peach. There is no need for you to elaborate — it’s all perfectly clear as he withdraws his fingers from your arousal to gently press on your lower stomach. At last, he reluctantly agrees, getting up to reach behind the waistband of his briefs.
Precum pearls on the tip, dribbling down the underside to where his sack is bulging heavily. Without taking his eyes off you, he sets his hand just where his thumb is right next to a small darker dot adorning the flushed skin. After ending the trembling sigh, he grips the base of his cock and starts slowly pumping up and down while gliding back and forth between your clit and your hole.
“Just till there, Veritas,” you repeat with your finger brushing near his thumb over the place where the mole decorates the side of his shaft. Your legs part wider as you throw your head back as the bulbous head pushes into you.
“You are remarkably well-versed in discerning my vulnerabilities. I couldn’t possibly refuse.” A grunt escapes him as he struggles to maintain his self-control. “Mhm, not bad… five points.”
“Silly!” you chuckle and clasp your arms around his neck. Your hips buckle forward involuntarily once he leans more of his weight upon you. “Five points for what?”
The response comes muffled and accompanied by a kiss being pressed onto your temple when Veritas’ forehead rests against it. “Five points for knowing how to persuade me.”
After that, he falls silent. His face turns dark red with a hint of subtle sweetness whilst he glances down where your bodies meet — this little mole on his cock still visible. It makes his muscles spasm with pleasure; and as soon as you clutch at his length, his breathing hitches and turns uneven.
This mark has become something much more intimate than just a discreet part of his appearance.
As a man of science and research, he had already tested it — and without the meticulous preparation, you wouldn’t be able to take enough of his length to make it disappear. Well, not without many slow pushes that get you guarded from the sensation and properly aroused only with time.
A tingly surge ripples through you after the initial stretch. He has been working on you diligently with fingertips patting the pearl of your throbbing clit for long, long minutes solely for this purpose. So he can sink into you smoothly until the mole passes the tight, creamy entrance of your pussy and fades from his sight. You grip his forearm and wrap a leg around his hip for leverage while he slowly adjusts the pace.
“Just like that, ah,” you breathe out upon feeling him bottoming out before being overtaken by an indescribable bliss.
You know — you have never seen him lose control of himself; but once you’ve noticed how he bites his lip and how the vein on his throat protrudes from tension, how his hands squeeze your hips firmly as he thrusts forward, you get that tingle of satisfaction that he’s struggling because of you…
#writing.#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#honkai star rail smut#hsr x reader#hsr x you#hsr smut#dr ratio x reader#dr ratio x you#dr ratio smut
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🔞“He says he’d do anything for you. But would you believe him?”
❤︎ Synopsis. Beneath his playful smile lies a predator in waiting—muscles honed for control, a filthy mind veiled by charm, and a dark obsession that festers with every glance you give him. You think he’s harmless, but when his restraint finally snaps, you’ll learn just how wrong you’ve been.
♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.
♡ Pairing. Yandere! Best Friend x Fem. Reader
♡ Headcanons. Unspoken Desires - Part 1
♡ Word Count. 5,580
♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, fear play, isolation, monitoring, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, depression and mental illnesses, implied suicidal tendencies, unhealthy coping mechanisms, masturbation, hinted needle play, degradation, name calling, implied drugging
♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving mental illnesses, self-harm, and suicide, some plot details of the original story were purposefully made ambiguous to fit the platform.
♡ A/N. Actually I was trying to write wholesome, then it went to my usual writing style oop. Though, I wouldn't really say this is explicit. Seems lax for me, but that also has its own appeal.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who grew up with you in a tiny village nestled deep in the heart of a high fantasy world, where magic thrummed beneath the earth like a heartbeat and gods were whispered about in the rustling of leaves. A world where war and peace ebbed and flowed like the tides, and your childhood playgrounds were forests that spoke in riddles and rivers that glowed faintly under moonlight.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who first met you when you saved his life—or maybe he saved yours. You can’t even remember anymore. But you were just kids back then, barely old enough to wield a knife, much less survive a wolf attack in the woods. He’d laughed with bloodied teeth and sparkling eyes, like almost dying was the best day of his life.
"You’re an idiot," you’d muttered as you yanked him out of the beast’s jaws, dragging him behind a tree.
"Yeah, but you saved me," he grinned through bloodied teeth, his grin wide enough to split his face.
"Only so I don’t have to explain to everyone else why I let you die."
"Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that."
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was always a little too much—too fast, too loud, too bright. The kind of kid whose presence filled every corner of a room, whose schemes were impossible to ignore, and whose laugh could somehow make you feel both exhausted and alive.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was the sun, burning at a temperature that should’ve incinerated him, and you? You were the moon, distant and cold, orbiting him only because you didn’t mind the warmth.
"You’re like a puppy," you said once, watching him pace excitedly as he rattled off yet another harebrained scheme.
"Like a what?" He froze mid-step, his eyes wide with mock offense.
"A puppy. Annoying, loud, and too full of energy."
"I am not annoying!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out dramatically. "I’m charming."
"Sure you are."
"And loud? That’s just passion!"
"Passion’s another word for obnoxious, you know."
He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him. "Take it back!"
"No."
"You’re heartless!"
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was your partner in everything. You weren’t just two kids in a village—you were an unstoppable duo, a myth in the making. Climbing mountains to see if you could touch the clouds, sneaking into the elder’s home to steal forbidden scrolls, setting traps for monsters that only existed in bedtime stories.
"You’re going to get us caught," you whispered as he crouched beside the elder’s door, fiddling with the lock.
"Not if you keep watch," he replied, grinning like this was the most fun he’d ever had.
"Keep watch? I’m not an accomplice to your idiocy."
"Too late. You’re already here."
"By force."
"Uh-huh. And yet you’re still standing here, helping me."
You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "I hate you sometimes."
"Only sometimes? I must be doing something right!"
Everyone else thought he was insane, but you always followed. Not because you believed in his harebrained schemes, but because his chaos made you feel alive in a way you didn’t understand.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was terrifyingly smart in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. He didn’t just think outside the box; he dismantled it, set it on fire, and then asked why it existed in the first place. He could weave together plans and schemes that made grown adults stammer in awe—or fear.
"You’re going to blow us up one day," you deadpanned as he rigged a trap out of nothing but twigs and string.
"Not ‘blow up,’" he corrected, his hands moving deftly. "Just… scare off the bad guys."
"Bad guys? You mean the squirrels?"
"They’re shifty little things."
"You’re insane."
"And yet, you’re still standing here."
"To see how you plan to die this time."
But he was also the same boy who fell into rivers because he forgot they were slippery, or who got stuck in a tree because he didn’t think about how he’d climb back down.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, even as a child, hated the idea of losing you. He didn’t show it in ways you’d notice—he wasn’t clingy or possessive yet—but he’d always insist on being there.
"You don’t have to follow me everywhere," you grumbled one day, watching him trail behind you.
"Yeah, but what if something happens to you?" he said, grinning like it was a joke.
"Like what? Tripping on a rock?"
"You joke, but rocks are deadly."
"You’re impossible."
"And you’re stuck with me."
Wherever you went, whatever you did, he was there. Even when he got mad at you, even when you got mad at him, the idea of being apart was something neither of you could bear.
────────────
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, as you both grew older, turned your childhood games into full-fledged adventures.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who always made sure you had his back, just as he had yours. It didn’t matter if you were facing bandits, cursed creatures, or labyrinths that seemed impossible to escape—he would always find a way to pull you through.
And you’d do the same for him, even when he tried to stop you. Especially when he tried to stop you.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who hated how you always put yourself in danger for him.
Whether it was throwing yourself in front of an attack, volunteering to distract enemies so he could escape, or using the last of your strength to save him, it drove him absolutely insane.
He’d smile through gritted teeth, trying to play it off as his usual carefree self, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started to argue with you more and more because of it.
At first, it was just teasing jabs—“You know, one day you’re going to get yourself killed pulling stunts like that.”
But when you kept doing it, his tone grew sharper, his words harsher. “Do you even care about your own life? Do you think I’d just let you throw yourself away like that?!”
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, despite his frustration, couldn’t stop you.
No matter how many times he argued, begged, or outright yelled at you to stop risking yourself, you always brushed him off with that infuriatingly calm logic of yours.
“If I didn’t, you’d be dead. So what’s the problem?” And every time you said it, he felt like his chest was going to explode—partly from anger, but mostly from fear.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who would never admit it, but the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything else in the world.
He’d rather lose a limb, his powers, even his own mind, if it meant keeping you safe.
And the fact that you didn’t seem to value your life as much as he did made something dark and desperate coil in his chest.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, during one of your worst arguments, snapped. His usual charm and humor vanished, replaced by raw, unfiltered rage.
“Do you think I need your sacrifices? That I’m some helpless idiot who can’t survive without you throwing yourself in harm’s way? I’m not weak, and I don’t want to watch you die for me, do you understand that?!”
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who stormed off after that, leaving you both in silence for hours, maybe even days.
But when he came back, he wasn’t angry anymore.
His voice was calm, his smile soft, but there was something unsettling about the way he looked at you, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you in case you disappeared.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started to take more control over your adventures after that. He’d laugh and joke like normal, but he always seemed to steer you away from the most dangerous paths, even if it meant taking longer to reach your destination.
And if you ever tried to put yourself in harm’s way again, he’d find a way to stop you—whether it was with words, tricks, or, in the most extreme cases, outright forcing you to stay behind.
———
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who never thought he liked you as anything more than a best friend. You were his partner-in-crime, his constant, the only person who truly understood him. He couldn’t imagine his life without you, but that didn’t mean he liked you like that.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who felt something strange the first time you smiled at someone else like you smiled at him.
It was during one of your adventures—a random stranger you helped along the way. They cracked a joke, and for the first time, you laughed. Not your usual quiet, wry chuckle, but something brighter, something real. He grinned along with you, but inside, something cold and heavy settled in his chest.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t understand why it bothered him so much when others got too close to you.
You’d always been his.
Not in a romantic way—just in the way best friends were.
You were his partner, his moon, the person he trusted more than anyone.
But when someone else tried to share your attention, that bad feeling in his chest twisted into something darker.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started noticing it more and more.
The way you’d listen to someone else’s plans without questioning them, even though you always teased his. The way you didn’t hesitate to step between someone else and danger, even though you knew it would make him furious. The way your expression softened when you thought no one was watching, as if you never looked at him like that.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who told himself it was nothing, just a weird phase.
Maybe he was overthinking it.
He had no reason to be upset.
You were his best friend—you weren’t going anywhere. But the more he thought about it, the more that thought didn’t feel like enough.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started acting without realizing it. His smiles grew sharper when others talked to you, his words more cutting, his presence heavier. He’d laugh it off when you called him out, waving his hand like it was all a joke, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t.
He just couldn’t figure out why.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, during one of your adventures, snapped at you for the first time in a way that wasn’t about your safety.
It was something small—someone you met on the road had complimented you, and you’d actually smiled back.
He didn’t know what came over him, but before he could stop himself, he was already muttering, “You’re just going to smile at anyone now, huh? What’s next, inviting them to join us?”
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who immediately regretted it when you frowned and looked away. You didn’t argue back, didn’t tease him like usual. You just stayed quiet, which somehow felt worse than anything you could’ve said.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started avoiding the subject entirely after that. He went back to his usual carefree self—laughing, joking, pulling you into more wild adventures.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t know why he felt this way until one night, while camping under the stars, he caught himself staring at you. The way the firelight flickered across your face, the way your usually emotionless eyes softened when you stared into the flames, the way you always sat close enough for him to feel your warmth but never closer.
Something in his chest ached, and for the first time, he realized why.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to ruin what you had, didn’t want to think about what it might mean.
But he couldn’t stop himself from wondering. Wondering if anyone else could make you smile the way he did.
Wondering if anyone else could be your constant.
———
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who isn’t stupid—he knows you don’t see him the way he sees you.
He can tell by the way you laugh around him, carefree and unguarded, like you’re sharing a joke with an older brother. By the way you roll your eyes at his antics, always more amused than annoyed.
By the way you lean on him, not like someone who’s in love, but like someone who trusts him to always be there, no matter what.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who knows he’s just your best friend, the person who drags you on adventures and watches your back.
Nothing more, nothing less.
But that doesn’t stop the knot in his chest from tightening every time you treat him like something so casual.
Like he’s just another part of your world, instead of your entire world, the way you are to him.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who wonders sometimes if he’s being selfish, wanting more than what you’re already giving him. You let him into your life, trusted him in a way you trusted no one else. But it wasn’t enough.
It was never enough.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who pretends it doesn’t bother him, flashing his usual grin and cracking jokes whenever you call him out for being clingy.
“Can you blame me? You’re my favorite person in the world! No one else even comes close.” But underneath the laughter, his mind is racing, twisting, plotting.
Because if you couldn’t love him the way he loved you, then he’d just have to make sure no one else could either.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who starts pushing the boundaries of your friendship without you even noticing.
Casual touches linger just a second too long, playful teasing takes on a sharper edge, and his protectiveness turns into something almost suffocating. If you notice, you don’t say anything—maybe because it’s easier to brush it off as just him being his usual self. But he knows better.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who tells himself it’s fine.
That he can wait. That you’ll realize it eventually.
That you’ll see no one else will ever understand you the way he does, no one else will ever protect you the way he does, no one else will ever love you the way he does.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who grows darker, quieter, when someone else gets too close to you. The usual charm and humor are still there, but there’s something off about the way he smiles, too sharp and too cold.
He won’t say anything at first, just watching, waiting, calculating.
But if they try to take you away, to pull you out of his orbit, that’s when things start to unravel.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who starts isolating you without you even realizing it. He’s the only one who can keep up with you, the only one who knows how to handle your quirks and your flaws.
The only one who will never leave you. He plants the idea so carefully, so subtly, that you don’t even question it.
It’s just the way things are.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who knows, deep down, that you don’t love him the way he loves you.
Not yet, at least. But that’s okay.
Because he doesn’t need your love—he just needs you.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who tells himself it doesn’t matter how long it takes. Days, months, years—it’s all the same to him.
Because in the end, you’ll cave.
You’ll see that no one else could ever love you the way he does. That no one else could ever deserve you.
———
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t even realize how far gone he was until one day, when you were bathing, he accidentally walked in.
You didn’t scream, didn’t flinch, didn’t even care.
Just stared at him with those cold, emotionless eyes of yours and calmly said, “Door’s unlocked.”
As if it was nothing.
As if the sight of your bare skin, the water sliding down your body, wouldn’t haunt him for the rest of his life.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who felt his breath catch in his throat, his usual wit failing him for once.
He laughed it off awkwardly, muttered some excuse about needing something, and stumbled out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
But the image of you was burned into his mind, refusing to fade no matter how hard he tried to shake it off.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who hated himself for it, hated how much his body reacted to you.
He wasn’t supposed to think about you like this, wasn’t supposed to feel this way.
But no matter how much he tried to fight it, the memory of you kept creeping back in, setting his skin on fire and making his heart race.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who found himself lying awake that night, your image replaying in his mind on an endless loop.
He could still see the way the water glistened on your skin, the way your hair clung to your shoulders, the way you looked at him so casually, so apathetically, as if you had no idea what you were doing to him.
———
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who you’ve always seen as a goofy, harmless puppy.
Sure, he’s tall and muscular—towering over most people effortlessly—but his easygoing attitude and boyish charm have always made him seem more like a loyal guard dog than anything remotely dangerous. You’ve never thought twice about sharing space with him, leaning on him, treating him like the oversized, overprotective best friend he appears to be.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who knows exactly what you think of him. He plays his part so well: the playful idiot, the one who makes you laugh when you’re down, the one who keeps you safe without asking for anything in return.
And while some parts of that are true, they’re far from the whole story. Because the truth is, underneath that sunshine grin and those puppy-dog eyes, he’s not your harmless protector. He’s something much darker, much more dangerous, and he hides it all so well.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who doesn’t just want you—he wants to own you.
Every glance, every laugh, every little touch you give him fuels something primal inside of him, something he keeps locked away beneath layers of charm and wit. Did you think his broad shoulders and ripped physique were just for show?
That all those hours spent training, honing his body, were just about looking good? No. It was for you. It’s always been for you. To keep you safe. To keep others away.
To ensure that when the time comes, no one—not even you—could stop him from taking what’s his.
———
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who goes home after a long day with you, his head swimming with the way your body brushed against his, the way your apathetic expression softened for just a second when you cracked one of your rare, sarcastic jokes.
It’s unbearable, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest, and by the time he’s alone, he’s already burning up with the need for release.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who hates how much power you have over him. Hates how weak you make him feel when he’s wrapped around your little finger, playing the role of your goofy best friend when all he really wants is to pin you down and make you look at him differently—to see him not as your protector, but as something darker.
Someone who could ruin you in ways you’ve never even imagined.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who locks himself in his room, leaning back against the door with a sharp exhale, his muscles tight with tension.
The second his hand dips into his waistband, it’s like a dam breaking. He doesn’t even try to fight it anymore. His mind goes straight to you—how you’d feel, how you’d sound, how you’d look beneath him, your apathetic mask cracking under the weight of his touch.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who starts slow, dragging his hand lazily over his length as he pictures the way you’d squirm beneath him, trying to keep your composure. He knows you’d fight him at first—of course you would—but he also knows how easily you’d give in if he played his cards right.
How easily he could shatter your walls and make you depend on him, need him, the way he needs you.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who whispers your name under his breath, his voice rough with desperation as his strokes grow faster, harder, more erratic.
His mind races with all the things he wants to do to you, all the ways he wants to mark you, claim you, destroy you so completely that no one else could ever have you the way he does.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who bites his lip to muffle the low, guttural sounds escaping his throat, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turn white.
He pictures you underneath him, tears welling in your eyes as you try to push him away, only to melt under his touch. The thought makes his head spin, and his hips jerk up involuntarily as he chases his release.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who finally spills with a choked groan, your name falling from his lips like a broken prayer. The pleasure rips through him like a tidal wave, leaving him trembling and breathless, his body taut with the intensity of it.
But as the high fades, a darker satisfaction settles over him, mixed with a burning hunger that refuses to be quenched.
♡ Yandere! Best Friend who leans back against the wall, wiping a hand over his face as he catches his breath.
He feels no guilt, no shame—only a gnawing desire for more.
Because this isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough.
He wants you for real, not just in the dark recesses of his mind.
———
You lay there, the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing the only thing that pierced the quiet of the night. The warmth of the small, candlelit room was comforting, a stark contrast to the cold, dark woods outside the village walls.
You were nestled in your bed, the soft fabric of your nightgown clinging to your body as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your dreams filled with the excitement of the adventures you and your best friend had shared throughout the years.
Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were fixated on your form, his gaze hungry and possessive. He'd been watching you for hours, his thoughts growing darker with every passing minute.
He knew you didn't see him the way he saw you, but that was a problem that could be rectified.
He took a deep breath, his hand moving to the bulge in his pants, and whispered to himself, "Mine. You're always mine." His grip tightened as he began to stroke himself, his eyes never leaving your peaceful face.
The sound of his zipper was the only disturbance in the stillness, and he felt his heart pound in his chest as he grew harder at the thought of you, his untouchable moon.
"Sleep tight, fucktoy," he murmured, a twisted smile playing on his lips, "because when you wake up, you'll finally know who you truly belong to."
The tension grew palpable as his strokes grew quicker, his breathing becoming ragged and erratic. He was lost in his own twisted fantasy, imagining the way your eyes would widen in shock and fear as you awoke to find him there, invading your personal space, claiming what he believed was rightfully his.
"You think you can ignore me?" he whispered harshly, the anger and frustration in his voice barely contained.
"You think I don't notice when you laugh with others, when you let them touch you?" His hand moved faster, his teeth clenched in determination. "You're mine, and you always will be. I'll make sure of it."
His eyes roved over your body, lingering on the curve of your hip, the swell of your breasts, and the delicate line of your neck. The urge to reach out and touch you, to mark you in some way, was almost overwhelming.
But no, not yet.
The anticipation was too sweet.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the soft mattress groaning slightly under his weight. The room was suffocating in its darkness, only the flickering candle on the bedside table casting dancing shadows across your peaceful face.
He could see the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft sound of your breaths echoing in the quiet space. It was a sound he'd become all too familiar with, a sweet melody that lulled him into a sense of security and power.
His hand moved under the covers, the fabric of his own trousers straining against his growing arousal. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his breaths even as he touched himself.
His eyes never left you, studying every curve and line of your body as if he could burn the image into his mind. You were so close, yet so far away. It was infuriating, a constant reminder of what wasn't his.
Yet.
He corrected the thought in his head with a smirk.
You were his, had always been his, even if you didn't know it yet.
He'd make sure of it.
His hand stroked faster, the wet sounds of his self-indulgence seeming too loud in the otherwise silent room. He couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of triumph as he watched your chest rise and fall, oblivious to the dark desires that swirled around you like a tempest.
"Bitchy cumdump," he murmured under his breath, the word a vile whisper that seemed to hang in the air like a curse.
"Rape slut." He liked those names, the way they painted a picture of you that was so much more… palatable than the cold, untouchable moon you portrayed to him.
But you could also be warm, alive, full of passion and fire, and he knew it.
He just hadn't figured out how to make you burn for him alone.
His hand stroked himself roughly, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. You had your back to him, the soft curves of your body hidden beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown.
It was almost translucent, revealing the shadowy outline of your curves, your skin so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight filtering through the window.
His eyes roved over you greedily, taking in every detail, his mind racing with thoughts of what lay beneath that delicate exterior.
He reached out with his other hand, the one not busy with his own desires, and traced a line down your spine.
You shifted slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips, but you remained asleep. The sound of his own breath grew heavier, his strokes more frantic as he felt the heat of your body through the fabric.
"Mine," he whispered again, his voice low and guttural.
It was a promise, a vow that echoed in the quiet of the room, a declaration of war against anyone who dared to claim you.
His breath hitched as he reached the peak of his desire, his hand moving faster and faster as he thought of claiming you, making you his in every way possible.
With a low, primal growl, he came, his seed spilling onto the bed sheets.
The warmth and wetness of his release brought him back to reality, his hand slowing as he stared at the evidence of his obsession with you.
His heart raced in his chest, a heady mix of longing and satisfaction coursing through his veins. He had never felt so alive, so powerful, so… right.
He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes still glued to your form. You hadn't stirred, hadn't woken up.
It was like you were a doll, a perfect creation made just for his amusement.
He felt a twisted sense of pride that you hadn't noticed his depravity, that his need for you was so strong it could only be expressed in the dark when you were at your most vulnerable.
But that would change.
Oh, how it would change.
As he withdraws his hand from the warmth of his climax, he was careful not to disturb you, his eyes lingering on the soft rise and fall of your chest. He reaches for a cloth beside the bed to clean up the mess he’s made, his mind racing with thoughts of what he’ll do next to claim you fully.
He’s always been the one to watch over you, the one to save you, the one who understands you better than anyone else.
But now, it’s no longer enough to just be your best friend.
He reaches under his bed, his hand brushing against the cold, rough fabric of a hidden bag.
The zipper whispers open, revealing an assortment of morally questionable items: ropes, gags, handcuffs, and a few bottles of clear liquid with handwritten labels. The scent of leather and something else—something darker—wafts out, mingling with the stale air of the room.
His breath hitches as he runs his fingers over the contents, feeling the weight of each item. They're tools of his obsession, tokens of the future he's crafting in his twisted mind.
His eyes flicker back to you, sleeping so peacefully, so utterly unaware of what's to come.
He pulls out a syringe from the bag, the cold metal glinting in the moonlight.
With practiced hands, he fills it with a pink liquid, the viscous substance swirling within the glass tube like a trapped, desperate thing.
It's a potion of his own making, something that would ensure that when the time came, you'd be too compliant to resist him.
He's not a complete monster—he doesn't want to take you by force, not yet at least.
But he knows that the path to your heart is paved with fear and obedience.
He rolls the plunger between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the liquid warm against his skin. The anticipation of using it on you makes his breath catch.
He watches you sleep, the fabric of your nightgown clinging to your body like a second skin. His eyes trace the gentle curves of your breasts and the way your hips dip before flaring out, the shadow between your thighs taunting him with what lies beneath.
The urge to claim you fully is overwhelming, but he reminds himself that patience is key.
Instead, he allows his gaze to linger, his hands straying to the syringe filled with his homemade potion—a blend of aphrodisiac and sedative that would make you pliable in his hands. He imagines pushing it into your soft flesh, watching as the liquid fills you, turning you into a vessel of his desires.
He reaches out with trembling hands, his breath shallow and ragged with anticipation. His fingertips graze the soft fabric of your nightgown, tracing the line of your slit, feeling the heat radiating from your body. You stir slightly in your sleep, but do not wake, oblivious to the violation he's about to commit. He gently parts the fabric, exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the room.
He takes one of the syringes filled with his potion and holds it up to the moonlight, admiring the way the liquid shimmers. "Soon, you'll be mine," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, thick with lust and possession.
He brings the needle closer, poised at the entrance of your pussy, savoring the moment. "And no one will ever be able to take you from me."
────────────
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General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn
❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.
♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.
#yandere best friend#yandere x reader#smut#yandere imagines#yandere smut#smut x reader#yanderecore#yandere headcanons#yancore#yandere male#male yandere#yandere x you#yandere oneshots#male yandere x reader#yandere boy#yandere scenarios#yandere drabble#yandere male x reader#yandere x darling#yandere#obsessive yandere#possessive yandere#tw yandere#yandere blog#yandere romance#yandere oc#smut fanfiction#shameless smut#smut writing#yandere boyfriend
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superbloom
bf! chan x fem! reader: you almost ruin your own proposal
pairing: chan x reader
genre: fluff!
word count: 1.7k
warnings/tags: public proposals, y/n is a bit of a mess but its ok
a/n: this is a request from @taevhs who requested reader accidentally saying no to her own proposal out of shock and stressing chan tf out (ask is linked HERE). i am SO sorry this took so long to get to 😭😭😭 i hope it was at least semi-worth the wait
The thing is: you should’ve seen it coming.
Chan is a lot of things, but he’s not subtle. Especially when he gets really into something. He’s good at disguising the planning, at worrying in private and then clearing his face when he sees you, but you know him too well. You can sense the vibe even without him saying anything.
And anyway, you’d talked about marriage before. You’d thought about wedding planning and what time of year would be best, who would you invite. You inquired about a marriage license. You planned on getting a better apartment together. You were engaged in everything but name. So really, the proposal was imminent. It was just a matter of waiting for all his plans to come to fruition. So, you played dumb when he started paying special attention to your hands and the rings you wore most often. You didn’t start fights when you noticed him texting your best friend more than usual. You pretended not to see when you saw him researching photographers on his open laptop. You were willing to play into the surprise, and honestly, you didn’t want to pry. You wanted to be enchanted and impressed when the time came. It would make it more exciting.
You must’ve had a lapse in mentality for a second, or perhaps you just had a lot on your mind that day, because when he asked if you wanted to play hooky and go on a day trip with him, you didn’t suspect a thing.
“How spontaneous,” you’d said, delighted.
He’d only smiled. “Gotta keep you on your toes, y’know.”
You didn’t notice how the nervousness pulled at his eyes as you called in sick to work and put on a cute blue dress. He suggests a white sundress, but you decline, feeling like it’s more of a blue kind of day. You don’t notice how he doesn’t comment on the choice the way he normally does.
Your destination was a botanical garden up north, a prospect that excites you. Your Instagram needed something to spruce it up and some photos against the foliage would be perfect to introduce a vernal vibe. He leads you over to a wall of hydrangeas, and helps you rearrange your hat and jewelry so they stand out in the bright afternoon sun.
"Okay so look left, now look up, now hold out your bag." He's always good at directing you for photos, copying the same directions he's been given on his various shoots, and you've become much better at taking direction the longer you've been together.
"Okay now look at the flowers and pretend to pick off a petal. No, reach out a little farther. Okay, hold that." You hear his voice moving as he changes angles, trying to find exactly where the best shot is. Your eyes fixate on the hydrangeas, at the vast greenish blooms that are climbing up the trellises, smelling almost sickly sweet. For a moment you worry that the pale green of them might clash with your dress, but if that was the case then at least you have dozens of other photos in different locations. No great loss. Inside the bush, you can see small insects climbing along the branches. There are a few buds deep int he recesses, too young to push their way out and bloom. All whole world beneath you, sheltering in soft petals. A home for smaller creatures.
You get so distracted by the flowers themselves you don't notice that Chan has stopped speaking.
"Did you get it?" you call out. No response. You turn to where he was standing across the way.
He's gone.
Confusion settles in. Your eyes dart back and forth. "Baby? Where'd you go?" He's nowhere. You turn completely around, towards the other end of the wall of hydrangeas, and that's where you finally find Chan.....down on one knee.
Your vision immediately tunnels. His hair is out of place, as if he's been running his hands through it. He does that when he gets nervous. Your gaze darts down to see an open ring box in one hand, the gem glittering in the bright sun, nearly blinding you just from the intensity of its presence.
"Oh my god." You can't breathe. Your heart stutters in your chest.
"Y/n," he says, looking up at you with so much tenderness and love. "these past few years with you have as beautiful and perfect as a spring day. You're the most wonderful woman I've ever met, and I’ve never been so glad to know anyone. I never want our time together to end. I love you more than life itself.” He takes a breath then says those four words. “Will you marry me?"
Your brain short-circuits. It’s like the sun is dimming above you, your whole body struck still. You think of the hydrangeas washing out your dress, and the sun in your eyes, and all the people around watching you flounder and struggle for something to say. You’re so shocked and excited that it’s overwhelming you- cold sweat breaks out on your brow and you lose control of your mouth entirely so instead of saying a resounding "Yes!" the word that comes out is a very quiet "No..."
Chan freezes. The smile that had been spread across his face falls, his eyes dim.
"No?" he asks, clearly unprepared for this answer. "You don't-"
His own shock snaps you out of yours and your brain kicks back into gear. Horror overwhelms you.
"Oh my god! No, no I just- I was thinking about how I look and how everyone is looking at us right now and I should've worn that white dress you suggested to me and now I've fucked up all the photos and-"
You can't tell if you're making it worse or making it better, so you give up. You grab him by the coat, haul him up, and kiss him.
Suddenly, there's movement around you, and several people burst out from behind the hydrangea bushes that surround you. You open your eyes and see all your friends and family swarming and excited. They were watching the whole thing. They’re all wearing white. Chan invited them so they could share in this happy moment with you. The people around you in the garden clap politely and call congratulations. You look up and notice someone pointing a camera at you a distance away. Chan had the whole thing filmed.
It's a picture-perfect proposal and you'd almost ruined it.
You step back from him, and god he still looks so unsure and you hate yourself for stealing even a little of his joy.
"Yes, Chan. Yes, I'll marry you. A thousand times yes."
Relief sinks into every part of his being, and he leans in to kiss you again. And then your friends and family reach you, and it's all chaos. Your friends are shattering excitedly at you about oh my god Y/N you don't know how hard it was to keep a secret we've been planning this for ages, and the guys in your friend group are clapping Chan on the back, giving more sincere congratulations than you've heard from them in years, but all of it is white noise to you. The only person who exists to you in this moment is Chan. The adrenaline slowly ekes away, and you feel more at peace, more right than you ever have before.
Later that night, you're sitting in your apartment flipping through some zines you'd picked up from the gift shop on the south end of the garden. Chan is in the kitchen putting away leftovers, and the TV is turned on low, white noise for your quiet evening. Your new ring gleams on your finger, and you can barely focus on the botanical facts you're wearing because it keeps catching your eye and distracting you with private glee.
You feel the couch dip as he sits down, and you lean into his side. His hand comes up to wrap around you automatically.
"You scared the shit out of me today," Chan says, and his tone is light but you know he's telling the absolute truth. You wince, setting the zine down and turning to face him properly.
"I was nervous about doing a public proposal," he continues. "I know you said you were okay with it but when I saw you panic I started to worry."
"I'm sorry. I really was just surprised. My mind was in a thousand different places."
You both know you have a tendency to put your foot in your mouth. It's rare you fumble on such a serious occasion, though.
"When you said no, I think my heart dropped into my stomach."
You sigh, cursing your past self for planting any seed of doubt in his mind. "I got overwhelmed. With love for you, I swear, but I started spiraling because I was so caught off guard. I regretted not wearing the white dress you told me to wear. I'd already been thinking that my blue dress clashed with the flowers, and then I realized you were proposing and I thought I'd ruined your whole plan. I felt bad.”
Chan let out a sigh, but it wasn't a tired or exasperated sigh. Instead, it was fond.
"You could've insisted on wearing sweatpants today and it wouldn't have ruined the proposal. You look beautiful in anything. All I wanted was your answer."
"You must've known that there was no way I would've said no."
"But you did."
"Out of shock! Cut me some slack, it's not every day you get proposed to! I've never done it before! I didn't know what to do with myself!"
"I've never proposed to anyone either," Chan says. "I was sweating bullets."
"I just thought it was the heat."
"You're a menace."
"I'm your fiancée," you say, and it's the first time you've said it out loud, and it fills you with so much excitement that a smile splits your face in half all over again. "I'm going to marry you soon."
Chan's smile is a twin of yours. "You are," he says. "And you've never done that either."
"We'll figure it out," you vow. "And I'll learn to watch my mouth."
"Please do. If you don't say "I do" at the altar, I'll collapse out of cardiac arrest."
"Then I guess I better start practicing," you tease. "I, F/N L/N, do take you, Christopher Bang, to be my lawfully wedded husband. I'll repeat it in the mirror every morning."
You're joking of course. You know that when the time comes to say vows, you won't be stuttering or stumbling over the words. They're already echoing in your head over and over again. You think you might start saying them in unrelated conversations, the words bursting out of you like water from a dam. I do, I do, I do.
Chan leans over, finally relaxed, and kisses your cheek. You close your eyes and bask in the attention.
Next time you’ll wear a white dress, and you won’t flinch for a second.
#skz x reader#skz x you#skz fluff#bang chan x reader#bang chan x you#bang chan fluff#bang chan imagines
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ghosts of the past
hwang hyunjin x fem!reader
synopsis/request: the more hyunjin compares you to his ex, the more you begin to lose yourself in the relationship. after an emotional confrontation, hyunjin is left to reflect on his past and his feelings for you.
wc: 2273
The tension between you and Hyunjin had been building for weeks, making it difficult to ignore. It was hard to understand at first. Just small changes; he was more easily distracted, distant when you tried talking to him, and his smile didn't reach his eyes like it once did. What stung the most were his silent remarks. Every now and then, he'd casually mention his ex-girlfriend, Nabi, and you'd brush it off, thinking yourself it was just a harmless slip of the tongue, a hint of nostalgia that wasn't supposed to hurt.
You knew about Nabi. You'd met her once before things between you and Hyunjin became serious. She was sweet and smart, and it seemed that they had parted ways peacefully. There was no animosity. They had been friends for a long time before they started dating, and even after their breakup, they had maintained a respectful, even friendly relationship. You can understand that friendships from previous relationships weren't forgotten quickly. But it wasn't only her presence in the background that bothered you. It was the constant, unintentional comparisons Hyunjin made, as if everything he said or did was subconsciously weighed against what Nabi had done in the past.
The first few times it happened, you convinced yourself it was only a throwaway comment, a moment of exasperation that didn't mean much. But as the weeks passed, you saw a pattern: anytime Hyunjin was upset with whatever you did, whether it was how long you took to get dressed or how you handled a situation, he'd always make a remark about how "Nabi never did that" or "Nabi would've understood."
And it stung. Every time it gnawed at your insides, you stayed quiet. You didn't want to seem insecure or petty. Maybe he didn't really mean it. Maybe it was all in your head.
But today, as you stood in front of the mirror, checking your reflection before heading out to your friend’s birthday dinner, something inside you snapped. You had tried to shake off the feeling of being second place, tried to brush it aside as just your own insecurity. But today? Today, you were done pretending you didn’t feel like you were suffocating under the weight of his words.
You could hear him from the other room, pacing in frustration. “I don’t know why it takes you so long to get ready. Nabi never took this long. It’s just a dinner. Seriously, we’re gonna be late.”
His voice floated through the open door, and even though you tried to focus on your outfit, trying to keep calm, the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at your reflection, trying to control the emotions rising in your chest, but they refused to be contained any longer.
With a sharp inhale, you turned around and walked toward the living room, your heart beating loudly in your chest. Hyunjin didn’t see you at first, his back turned as he stared at his phone. But you didn’t need to be subtle anymore. This needed to be said, once and for all.
“Why do you keep doing this?” Your voice was low, almost too calm. It felt unnatural, like you were forcing the words to come out.
Hyunjin turned around, surprise flashing across his face. He hadn’t expected you to confront him. He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could say anything.
"Every time, Hyunjin. Every time we argue, you bring up Nabi. And I get it. You two are close. I'm fine with that. But what am I supposed to do with the way you talk about her as if she were a gold standard?" Your voice was trembling now, despite your attempts to keep it firm.
He grimaced, obviously not understanding where you were coming from. "What are you talking about? I'm just frustrated by how long you take. That’s all. I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't mean to?" You scoffed and shook your head. "Hyunjin, how many times? How many times have you compared me to her without even thinking about it? Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?”
He looked taken aback now, guilt creeping into his expression. He took a step toward you, but you held your ground. You couldn’t let him think it was just a misunderstanding anymore.
“You keep comparing me to Nabi. And I’m just supposed to sit here, pretend it’s fine, like I’m not constantly feeling like I’m falling short? Like I’m not constantly second best?” Your voice cracked, and you couldn’t hold back the emotion that spilled out. “You can’t even admit it, can you? That maybe… maybe you still have feelings for her. That maybe you’re just holding onto me because it’s easier than letting go. Because you still have her in your heart.”
The silence that followed was overwhelming. Hyunjin stood still, frozen. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came. There was a strong sense of guilt between you. You could see it on his face, his eyes wide, as if everything you said had suddenly broken through a barrier he hadn't even knew existed.
"Well?" you urged, barely maintaining your composure. "If you still have feelings for Nabi, go back to her. If you still miss her, I won't stand in your way. But I'm not going to keep pretending that this us is enough for you when it's obvious that it isn't."
Hyunjin flinched like you’d slapped him, his expression full of regret and confusion. “No, I—I don’t want that. I never meant to make you feel that way. It’s just... I don’t know why I’ve been doing this.”
“You don’t know?” you repeated bitterly, your voice trembling. “You’ve been doing it for weeks, Hyunjin. And I’ve just been letting it slide, because I thought I could handle it. But I can’t. I’m not gonna sit here and watch you live in some fantasy where I’m just a replacement for someone who was ‘better.’”
His face softened, the apology in his eyes so clear, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hear it. Not right now. Not after everything that had been building up between you two, all the things you’d buried deep down to protect the relationship.
“Don’t follow me,” you said quietly, your throat tight. You turned away from him, grabbing your jacket and bag, the weight of your emotions suddenly too heavy to bear. “I’m going to the dinner. I’m going alone. I need to be alone.”
You didn't wait for him to respond. The words were out now, and you could feel the distance between you two growing with each second. You couldn't pretend anymore. You couldn't keep shrinking into his shadow, wondering where you stood in his heart.
You approached the door, the cold evening air welcoming you as you opened it. You didn't look back. Not this time.
"Don't follow me," you repeated one more time, your voice quiet but assertive. "I need to be alone."
As the door closed behind you, the weight of the unspoken things, the things you had held in for so long, hung in the air, and you walked away, uncertain of what the future held but certain that you couldn’t stay where you were anymore.
After you went, the night was uncomfortably quiet. Hyunjin felt each minute last longer than the last, the silence in the apartment bearing down on him, making him feel smaller and more helpless by the second. He was mindful of your need for space. You'd made it obvious, and he didn't want to do what he usually did: jump in to fix things right away.
He felt that the pain couldn't be soothed by words alone. But damn, he hated the sense of knowing he was to blame, as well as the thought that you were most likely out there alone, bearing all of that weight.
He spent most of the evening sitting on the couch, restless, repeating everything in his mind. The way your voice cracked as you approached him. That look in your eyes as you told him you weren't enough. He felt stupid; how could he have been so blind? How could he have allowed his frustration to manifest itself in such an unfair way toward you?
By the time you returned, it was obvious that the night hadn't been kind to you either. You went through the door, exhaustion on your shoulders, but the moment you stepped inside, Hyunjin couldn't stop looking at you. His stare followed you around the apartment as you removed your jewelry and makeup. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, but he couldn't stop watching you either, his heart heavy with regret.
You didn’t look at him when you spoke. Your voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it. “If you have something to say, Hyunjin, just say it. Stop staring at me like that. You’re making this worse.”
He flinched at the words, the sharpness cutting through the air between you both. His heart tightened, guilt sinking deeper. He knew he needed to say something. He knew he had to make it right, but the words wouldn’t come out.
Finally, he said, his voice raspy with guilt. "I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I had no idea what I was doing. I never thought I was comparing you. It was not like that. "I'm really sorry." You shook your head, letting a bitter laugh escape your lips.
"Hyunjin, how did you not know?" How did you not realize you were making me feel like I was second best? That every tiny remark was about her? You turned to face him, eyes piercing and raw. "Did you still think of her? Do you still want her? Because that could be everything you've been looking for, and I've only been a placeholder."
His eyes widened at the accusation. “No. No, that’s not it,” he said, rushing to explain. “I—I never wanted her back. I’m not in love with her anymore. I love you. I love you so much, and I swear I never meant for any of that to make you feel less than what you are to me. I’ve been an idiot, and I regret it. Please, just—please let me show you how much I love you.”
Your heart twisted at his words, but you couldn't suppress the anger and hurt that still lingered. “Then why did you keep comparing me to her, Hyunjin? Why does she even come up in every fight we have?”
He took a step forward, his voice desperate now. "I'm not even sure why it came out like that. I don't want to be the one to hurt you, and I know I've made mistakes, but I promise you that I love you. I'll do whatever to get you to forgive me. I don't care how long it takes. Please don't leave me thinking I've lost you because of my stupid mistakes."
You caught his eyes, looking for anything that would make you believe this was worth fighting for. His eyes were filled with despair and anxiety. Fear of losing you because, at that moment, he recognized how close he was to doing so.
But even with all the pain you felt, you could see that he was genuine. He wasn’t making excuses, wasn’t deflecting or gaslighting you. He was laying himself bare before you, acknowledging the hurt he’d caused, the mistakes he had made.
You took a deep breath, letting the tension of the argument slowly drain from your body. It wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t going to be fixed in one conversation. But maybe just maybe there was hope.
“I’m not going to lie and say everything is fine right now,” you said quietly, your voice raw, “But I’m willing to try, Hyunjin. I need time to process all of this, but… I can’t do this if you keep making me feel like I’m competing with her.”
He nodded, his expression sincere. “I won’t. I promise. I’ll never compare you to her again. You’re the one I love. You. And I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise.”
You looked at him for a long moment, the weight of the argument still lingering, but slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. You didn’t know what the future held for the two of you, but you were willing to let him show you that he could learn from this. That he could really see you.
“Just… be better,” you whispered, the words thick with emotion. “For both of us.”
Hyunjin nodded quickly, relieved, but the air between you stayed fragile. He knew he had to prove himself to you, and he was determined to do whatever it took to make sure you never felt this way again. "I will. I swear that I will do better. I just...” “I just want you to be happy, and I'll fight for that," he replied, his voice thick with sincerity.
You didn't say anything else right away, instead letting the silence fill the gap between you. You both knew it wasn't over just yet, but it was a start. A step toward repairing what had been broken, an opportunity to find your way back together. The silence wasn’t comfortable, but it was at least a little less heavy than before.
You took a deep breath and finally let yourself relax for the first time that night, the exhaustion from the argument slowly sinking in. It was going to take time, but you hoped just hoped that this time, things would be different.
//
masterlist.
#stray kids imagines#stray kids x you#skz imagines#stray kids x reader#skz x y/n#stray kids fanfic#stray kids scenarios#kpop x reader#kpop imagines#hyunjin angst#hwang hyunjin#hwang hyunjin imagines#hyunjin imagines#hwang hyunjin fanfic#hwang hyunjin fluff#kpop angst#kpop fanfic#kpop bg#stray kids reactions#stray kids hyunjin#skz angst#skz x reader#skz fanfic#skz x stay#skz scenarios#skz#skz fluff#stray kids fic#stray kids x female reader#stray kids hwang hyunjin
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✈️⌇ Beneath the Skies
pairing. flight attendant!reader x captain!jeno | genre. fluff, smut, slight angst | wc. 4k | requested. here | mdni!
warnings. fingering, nipple play, penetrative sex, protected sex (not mentioned but always play safe), lots and lots of kissing and jeno is the greenest flag ever
summary. you and jeno were walking on eggshells around the airline staff, limiting to subtle touches and lingering glances until you sneaked away from the prying eyes. Everything was fine until it wasn't as rumors spread faster than fire.
a/n. guys i love jeno! (ugly crying) anyways if you're uncomfortable with the smut portion you can skip it
The overhead announcement crackled through the cabin speakers, smooth and steady, delivered in a deep voice that always seemed to command attention without even trying.
“This is your captain speaking. We’re beginning our final descent into Osaka. Local time is 7:42 PM, and the weather is clear with a light breeze. We’ll have you on the ground shortly. Thank you for flying with us.”
Jeno’s voice.
You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as you walked down the aisle of the aircraft, your polished heels clicking softly against the floor. As always, his words sparked a ripple of excitement across the cabin. You could practically see the passengers—and some of the other flight attendants—swooning as they tilted their heads toward the speakers.
“Captain Lee Jeno sounds like he should be in a movie,” whispered one of your colleagues, Sara, as she leaned in close to you near the galley.
You gave her a polite smile, hoping it wasn’t too forced. “Yeah, I guess he has one of those voices.”
One of those voices, and one of those faces. And one of those personalities that made your heart ache with an almost unbearable tenderness every time you thought about him. Which was too often.
Sara sighed dreamily. “Seriously, isn’t it unfair? He’s so good-looking and he’s a pilot. He’s the whole package.”
You glanced down at the tray of drinks you were holding, focusing on steadying your hands. “Yeah,” you said softly, unable to resist the flicker of warmth spreading in your chest. “The whole package.”
Sara didn’t notice the way your lips curved slightly or the way your voice softened. No one did. That was the point.
At work, you and Jeno were just coworkers. You had to be.
The first time you met him, you’d been a bundle of nerves, fumbling with your flight manual on your first day as a flight attendant. He had stopped you in the hallway leading to the crew briefing room, his white captain’s uniform crisp and impossibly neat. His voice had been calm and reassuring as he asked if you needed help, and his smile had been so genuine that your tension had melted away in an instant.
Since then, you and Jeno had become… close. Closer than you ever thought possible.
Somehow, between the endless flights, layovers in strange cities, and the long hours spent together in cramped crew lounges, he had become more than just your captain. He had become your anchor.
When turbulence hit—both in the air and in your life—Jeno was always steady. Always there.
But no one could know.
Not when you worked for an airline that prided itself on professionalism and strict boundaries between coworkers. Not when the rumor mill among the crew could destroy someone’s reputation in a heartbeat.
And so, you kept it quiet. Stolen glances in the cockpit. Soft, lingering touches when no one was looking. Conversations that stretched late into the night during layovers, when the rest of the crew was asleep and it felt like the world was just the two of you.
It was enough. Most of the time.
You stood near the exit as the passengers began filing off the plane, bowing and thanking them with a practiced smile. Jeno stood just a few feet away, his tall frame commanding and composed in his uniform.
You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, even as he greeted the passengers with the same professional smile you wore.
When the last passenger exited, Sara let out a dramatic sigh, leaning against the cabin wall. “Okay, I’m officially done for today. That flight was too long. Who’s up for drinks tonight?”
“I think I’ll pass,” you said quickly, unbuckling the thin scarf around your neck and folding it neatly. You glanced at Jeno out of the corner of your eye. His lips twitched in amusement, but he said nothing.
“Boring,” Sara teased. “You’re always skipping out on crew hangouts. It’s like you have a secret life or something.”
You laughed lightly, brushing off her comment. “Just tired, that’s all.”
It wasn’t a lie. You were tired—tired of pretending you didn’t notice the way your heart raced every time Jeno’s hand accidentally brushed yours, tired of hiding what you really wanted.
Jeno caught your eye as you both stepped off the aircraft, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused. His gaze was soft, full of something unspoken, and it sent a shiver down your spine.
The night in Osaka had started innocently enough.
The hotel room was larger than usual, the soft hum of the air conditioning filling the space as Jeno leaned against the dresser, his arms crossed over his chest. His tie was already loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and you couldn’t help but notice how unfairly good he looked. Relaxed. Comfortable.
The kind of comfort he only ever showed you.
“You didn’t have to come in here, you know,” he said, though the teasing lilt in his voice gave him away.
You rolled your eyes, sinking onto the edge of the bed as you kicked off your heels. “I wanted to.” That much was true. You weren’t ready to say goodnight to him yet—not after a flight full of stolen glances and moments that had left your chest tight with longing.
Jeno’s smile softened as he walked over to you, kneeling so he was eye level with where you sat on the edge of the bed. “Long day?”
You nodded, letting out a soft sigh as you leaned back on your hands. “Yeah. But this is the best part of it.” He tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. “What is?”
“Being here,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “With you.”
The words hung in the air between you, heavier than they should have been. Jeno’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching slightly as if he was holding himself back from saying—or doing—something.
“Sometimes I think this is all we’ll ever get,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “These moments when no one’s watching.” Jeno reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a gesture so light it sent shivers up your spine. “Maybe that’s all we need.”
You shook your head, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” he said, his voice firm. “If it means I get to be with you, even if it’s just like this… I’ll take it.” Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling deep in your heart. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, and he leaned into your touch without hesitation.
“Jeno…”
Whatever you were going to say next was forgotten as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, his proximity dizzying.
“You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Every single time I see you, all I want to do is—”
He cut himself off, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as his forehead pressed more firmly against yours.
“Jeno,” you whispered, your voice trembling. That was all it took.
He closed the distance between you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was as much a question as it was an answer. It was soft at first, hesitant, like he was afraid to push too far. But when you tilted your head, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer, the tension between you snapped like a rubber band.
The kiss deepened, growing hungrier, more desperate, as the weight of every unspoken feeling between you spilled over. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you lost yourself in the way he felt—warm, solid, grounding in a way nothing else ever was.
When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead dropped against yours once again, his breath warm against your skin.
“I meant what I said,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “I don’t care where we are or who’s watching. All I want is you.”
Your heart felt like it might burst as you reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss.
The kiss was passionate as if Jeno tried to convey everything he felt for you through it. His thumb ran over your cheekbone in a soothing manner while his other hand slid under your dress shirt feeling the warmth of your skin under his.
When he broke the kiss, his lips trailed a wet path from the corner of your lips to the base of your neck. His grip on your waist became rough as he pulled you even closer while he kissed over your collarbone slowly as his lips found their way back to yours where he whispered “I need you.”
Your breath hitched slightly when he gently tugged at your shirt and all you could manage was a gentle nod. “You are going to be the death of me.” he whispered against your lips before pulling you into another soft kiss, his fingers undoing the buttons of your shirt with practiced ease.
Everything Jeno did always made your heart flutter. It wasn’t the first time you were being intimate with him, you have lost count on how many times both of you had shared a kiss and it led to this… both of you craving each other but that never stopped him from asking for your permission, even if he knew the answer. He didn’t have to ask but he did and this made you fall for him deeper and deeper.
Soon your clothes were on the carpeted floor, he had guided you to lay down on the mattress as he moved above you, his hands gently moving up and down your sides while his teeth lightly bit down on your neck making you moan. He licked over the same spot and moved to the other side of your neck repeating his actions.
“You’re beautiful.” he said, trailing his lips down to your chest and between your breasts, sucking and gently biting down on the skin there. He loved marking you up not because he wanted to assert his possession over you but he did so that whenever you look at them you can remember how much he wants you, needs you, loves you. He wants you to remember the words he whispers while he is making love to you, remember the nights of passion and just remember him.
His hands moved to where you needed him the most as he licked your nipples before taking them in his mouth making you arch your back. “Jeno” you whimpered, holding onto his bicep. “Fuck you’re so wet” he said running his fingers along your folds as he peppered wet kisses around your breasts.
He pushed one of his fingers between your folds and rubbed over your clit with his thumb all the while sucking on one of your boobs and fondling the other with his free hand. The simultaneous pleasure sent you moaning loudly and as if he sensed your need he added another finger increasing the pace. “Jeno please…” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed him further down on your chest.
He let go of your nipple with one final kiss as he whispered “Use your words baby.” looking at you while he continued to move his fingers inside you at an almost relentless pace all the while rubbing at your clit. He knew what you wanted and also how far he could push you. “Tell me what you want.”
“You! I want you please.” you begged, reaching out for his hand. Every constraint he had was slipping by, he intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to place gentle kisses on your knuckles. “Come on my fingers first? I don’t want to hurt you baby.”
With this said he curled his fingers inside you and rubbed at that spot making you throw your head back as your eyes rolled up. He cradled your face with his other hand and kissed down on your neck once again. “Does it feel good?” he asked and you could only manage to moan at the way his fingers were stretching you out. “I am close Jeno” you whimpered.
“Let it go. Come for me baby.” and as if you were waiting for his permission you came on his fingers moaning his name. He continued to move his fingers through your oragasm prolonging it. Fuck you loved sex with him.
“Do you want more? Or we can do it later.” He wiped the sweat on your forehead gently as he placed a lingering kiss over there. “You need a release too” you whispered looking at how hard he was under his boxers. He followed your gaze and chuckled, cupping your face in his hands as he leaned down to softly kiss your lips “Don’t worry about me, tell me what you want.”
Could he make you love him even more? You smiled back and rested your hand over his “I want you Jeno in every way possible. I want everything you’re willing to give me and everything we can be behind these closed doors.” you promised.
The promise held a thousand unsaid words and Jeno took a moment to just gaze in your eyes with the same desperation and helplessness before he kissed you again but this time it was gentler and slow. It was passionate but not quick and rough.
When he carefully and slowly slid inside you his eyes not once left yours, when he brought your intertwined hands to his lips again he closed his eyes to savour the feeling of your skin against his lips. He looked at you with an intensity that made your cheeks burn but you knew he was just memorizing you for all the time he would spend pretending he isn’t in love with you.
“You’re my heaven.” He groaned at the feeling of your warm walls taking him in as he moved, quickening his pace. “Fuck you feel so good.” he pressed his hand over your stomach slowly pushing you over the edge as you arched your back crying out his name.
His thrusts became faster and he wrapped his arms around your thighs pulling you closer, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. “Jeno… I-” you almost screamed at a particular hard thrust. “Does it hurt?” he asked, slowing his pace as he looked down at you concerned. You whined “No no, it feels so good… Please don't stop”
“I just want to make you feel good.” he leaned down to kiss you, drinking up your moans and soft whimpers as he once again increased his speed. His thumb reached down to rub on your clit adding to the pleasure and once again you found yourself close. And Jeno felt it too with the way you clenched around his length or how your grip on his back tightened and he pushed into you with more force and pressure.
You also felt him getting closer with his thrusts becoming erratic and sloppier. He bit down on your lip as he moaned, his fingers digging in your skin. “You are close?” he asked, pulling you closer. “Yes, yes- fuck Jeno” you moaned as he brushed against that spot making you see white. It might have been an involuntary response but the way you squeezed on him in response made him reach his high too and he came undone with a loud groan “Fuck baby… fuck”
He didn’t stop and fucked you both through the orgasms making you writhle under him due to oversensitivity. He smiled seeing you like that under him and slowed down his movements before pulling himself out and lying down next to you. “It was amazing.” He commented, breathing heavily.
You smiled wrapping your arm around his torso as he pulled you closer “It is always amazing with you.” He chuckled his chest rumbling with the sound as he placed a kiss on top of your head. “I am glad.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence comfortable. Jeno reached out instinctively, tucking a strand behind your ear. His eyes studied your face for a moment and he noticed your distant expression.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly. You swallowed hard, looking down at your hand which was playing with his fingers. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because I know you,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “And I can tell when something’s bothering you.” You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Jeno waited patiently, his dark eyes watching you with a tenderness that made you want to fall apart.
“It’s my family,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “They don’t… They’ve never really treated me the same as my siblings. No matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m never enough.”
Jeno’s jaw tightened, and you saw the flash of anger in his eyes—not at you, but for you. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re more than enough. You’re…” He paused, his brows furrowing as he searched for the right words. “You’re kind and hardworking and amazing at what you do. And anyone who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve you.”
Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Jeno…”
He reached out, his hand moving under your chin to make you look at him. His touch was warm, grounding, and you clung to it like a lifeline.
“You don’t have to be perfect for anyone,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Not your family, not anyone. Just… be you. That’s all I need.”
And when you ended up tangled together on the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you, it felt like everything you’d been missing had finally fallen into place.
The next morning had been quiet between you, the comfort of his presence lingering as you shared a knowing smile before slipping out of his room. You’d thought you’d gone unnoticed.
You were wrong.
That morning, you’d heard the first murmurs: how you’d gone into Captain Lee’s room at the end of the night, how you’d been in there for hours.
They didn’t know what had happened. They didn’t need to. The damage was already done.
The rumors… they are subtle at first. Whispers in the break room, sideways glances from coworkers. But it doesn’t take long before you realize the truth: the two of you are the talk of the airline. Someone saw you leave the cockpit together. Someone noticed the way you look at each other during every briefing. And before you know it, the whispers turn into gossip, and the gossip turns into questions. The not-so-subtle questions about how you got your position and whether you’d been “using” Jeno to get ahead.
It hurt more than you expected.
Some of your colleagues, mostly the women, start acting strange around you. The sidelong glances, the not-so-innocent comments—it all builds, the pressure growing heavier by the hour.
“You and Captain Lee,” Sara says with a smirk as she hands you a coffee during a layover. “He’s such a charmer, isn’t he?”
You force a smile, but inside, you’re screaming. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, and the constant barrage of questions is slowly starting to crack your resolve.
Another colleague, this time a more direct one, doesn’t hold back. “Is it true? Are you two dating? I mean, it’s not like you can keep a secret around here.”
You feel your face flush, the weight of the question sinking in. “No,” you say quickly, but even you can hear the uncertainty in your voice. “We’re just... friends. Coworkers.”
But as the days pass, the questions don’t stop. And neither does the growing realization that your coworkers have already decided the truth that you slept your way up, and it’s nothing like what you’ve claimed.
The hardest part isn’t the gossip itself—it’s the way you feel when you realize that none of them see you as anything more than an object of their curiosity. The whispers of your coworkers, the rumors spreading like wildfire—it’s too much. It feels like everyone is watching, waiting for you to break.
But Jeno...
Jeno is there.
He’s always there.
You know he’s been feeling the tension too, the way he’s been watching you during flights, how his hand brushes against yours a little longer than necessary when handing you paperwork. You see the glint in his eyes, the quiet understanding of how hard it’s becoming for both of you.
And then, one evening after a particularly grueling flight, when the weight of it all is almost too much to bear, Jeno finds you crying in the staff lounge one day, you couldn’t hide it anymore. “I know what they’re saying,” he says quietly, as if reading your mind.
“Talk to me please, don’t shut me out.” he said, kneeling in front of you and gently tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes.
You broke.
“It’s the others,” you admitted, tears streaming down your face. “They think… they think I’m only here because of you. That I’m not good enough to do this on my own and I earned this position by sleeping with you.”
Jeno’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he processed your words. “That’s not true,” he said fiercely. “You’re one of the best flight attendants I’ve ever worked with, and you earned your place here. Don’t let them take that away from you.”
His words made something inside you crack wide open. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” you whispered. Jeno’s hands tightened around yours. “Yes, you can. And you’re not alone. I’m here, okay? I’m with you.”
“I hate… hiding,” you said, your voice trembling. “I hate feeling like I have to apologize for being with you. Like I’m doing something wrong.”
Jeno reached out, his hands settling on your shoulders as he pulled you closer. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said firmly. “And you don’t have to apologize for anything. Not to me, not to anyone.”
Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at your eyes again as you looked up at him. “But it’s not just me. They’re saying things about you, too. About how you—”
“Stop,” he said gently, his hands sliding down to take yours. “Let them say whatever they want. None of it matters. What matters is us.”
His words wrapped around you like a shield, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe again.
Despite the whispers and the tension, you held your head high. And Jeno was with you every step of the way, his quiet support and unwavering belief in you giving you the strength to keep going.
And when he held your hand during a layover in Paris, walking with you along the Seine as the city lights reflected in the water, it felt like all the pieces of your world were finally falling into place.
“You’re my favorite co-worker,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You laughed, your cheeks flushing as you leaned into him. “You’re so cheesy.”
“Only for you,” he said, his voice dropping to a soft, serious tone. He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. The city seemed to fade away as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks.
“I love you,” he said, the words spilling out like a promise. “And I don’t care who knows it or what they think of it.” Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. But then you smiled, your heart swelling with so much emotion you thought it might burst.
“I love you too,” you whispered.
And when he kissed you, it felt like the beginning of something new—something that was entirely yours. No matter what anyone else thought, no matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew one thing for certain:
With Jeno by your side, the skies were always clear
navigation.
masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv
#nct dream#jeno#nct dream fluff#nct dream smut#nct smut#jeno smut#jeno x reader#lee jeno#nct dream x reader#nct#nct fics#jeno imagines#jeno fluff#nct imagines#nct scenarios#jeno scenarios#jeno nct#smut#flight attendant#workplace romance
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"you know what we are. you just want to hear me say it." with bucky please!
debts paid - bucky x reader insert
author's note; thanks for your request, anon! hope you like it! (I may make a part 2 with this one!)
"So, what are we?"
Bucky grunted, a response you got when he didn't know what to say, or when he was just playfully annoyed. This time you couldn't tell which one it was.
"What happened to not asking questions?" He said as his back remained to you. He was hunched over the balcony, looking below at the bustling streets filled with people heading to their destinations.
"The same thing that happened to no secrets," you mumbled, shoulders dropping as if the miniscule book you held in your hands weighed a ton.
There was a rule you both had agree upon back in the day—a two for one special that kept your relationship—friendship, whatever—thriving: If you were both honest from the jump, there was no need to ask questions, no need to harbor secrets.
Looks like you both were breaking the rules tonight.
Bucky did a double-take as you stood next to him and nudged the little black book against his bicep. It took him a second or two to realize what it was. When he did, he took it before as if you hadn't already read the contents inside.
You sighed and looked straight ahead at the skyline. "I don't know whether to be relieved that you didn't forget about me," You sighed. "...or offended that I'm the last person on that list."
Granted, you didn't even bother skimming the list hard enough to recognize any of the names. You didn't even know what the list meant. You only managed to see your name—your first initial and last name scrawled at the very bottom— and that was enough for you to confront him about it.
Gently, he settled his hand on yours as he shoved the book into his back pocket.
"You weren't supposed to find this—"
"To be fair, I didn't have to go looking for it. You don't have much furniture."
Bucky's apartment was desolate save for a tv, and whatever bundle lay in the corner of what was supposed to be the living room. No furniture, not even a coffee table was in sight. The book happened to be laying on his makeshift bed made of disheveled blanket and jacket.
Bucky sighed as you pulled your hand away from his. You turned to head inside, but he made another quick attempt at your wrist. This time with a more firm grip. You spun around, though made no effort to close the space between both of you. Bucky took it upon himself to step forward, his grip on your wrist transferring to your hand. His thumb ran over the back of it in remorse.
"Okay," he said with a heavy sigh, eyes softening as he looked down at you. "I'm sorry. I know I should've been more honest. I know I should've found you sooner." He lifted your hand and gave it a soft kiss before lowering it. "Forgive me? Please."
"Under one condition," you said, appearing unphased on the outside in regards to his gesture of affection. He knew it was one of the things that worked to settle your nerves.
He lifted a brow in curiosity before lowering your hands, though he didn't let go of them.
"I get to ask three questions," you stated, chin lifted in defiance.
"One," he argued.
"Two," you countered, taking a step forward with a subtle grin on your lips.
Bucky's brows furrowed. "One."
You narrowed your eyes in defeat. "Then my question still stands." Your eyes traced his tired face. He looked beaten, like he had gone more than hundred rounds with the world. The bags under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep. The rough stubble crawling across his jaw made him look more rugged. His hair was cut short—a stark contrast to the longer dark locks you were used to. Six years had certainly done a number on him.
With a sigh of your own, you gave his hand a squeeze. "What are we, Bucky?"
He groaned in internally, though it wasn't out of annoyance, you knew. He wasn't the best at talking about his feelings, but you never held that against him. At least after years of not seeing him on account of The Blip and a year after, you believed you were owed an explanation to this question. A question you had been holding on your tongue since the moment he told you he might not be coming back.
His gloved thumbs traced your hands as he gently tugged you towards his chest. "You know what we are. You just want to hear me say it," he said.
You grinned. "I do," you said tilting your chin upwards with a lifted brow.
With dark eyes, the infamous Winter Soldier stroked your cheek. He placed a kiss on your temple.
"I can't be the only one to say what we are," he sighed, "but I know that you're one of the only people I can trust, and losing you again would be another devastation I wouldn't be able to bear." He stroked your cheek gently, eyes looking everywhere but at you. Your fingertips migrated over his stubble and guided his eyes back to your face. The Winter Soldier gave you a look of surprise before his lips settled into a subtle smile.
He kissed your temple once more.
"Does that answer your question, doll?"
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes x reader insert#bucky barnes fluff#marvel cinematic universe x reader#mcu x reader#mcu x y/n#marvel cinematic universe x you#bucky barnes#bucky buchanan#bucky buchanan barnes#bucky fic#bucky x reader#mcu imagine#mcu fanfic#thunderbolts#thunderbolts bucky#thunderbolts mcu
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*ੈ i had this this fucked thought about the recruiter/salesman and it wouldn’t leave my mind.. so here i am writing it
cw: fucking in a pool of bed near a murdered dead body lmfao, impregnating/babytrapping threats,
You’d be lying if you said that the ‘creepy’ saleman who’s been following you around wasn’t cute. He was, truly, however you weren’t one to hook up with random men, especially not when they were so adamant at getting you to play a silly game of ddakji. But something about his sly grin, subtle flirting and the way he seemed to always know where you always were managed to get your panties into a wet mess, even if it was big, bold, red flags.
But, again, you’d never go for some random guy you see and speak to a couple times. Especially not when there was a perfectly hot guy in your class who was interested in you.
What you didn’t know however, was that it wasn’t mere coincidences that the salesman managed to always find where you were, so he of course knew and watched your date with your fellow classmate. What you also didn’t know was that you already belonged to that same salesman.
Hence, your current position. Laying in a pool of blood while you stared at your dead, stabbed to death, failed date while one hand held up your hips. Cock ramming into you and against your cervix at an almost painful pace and consistency. The salesman free hand messily gripping a fistful of your hair as his hips continuously met with your ass that bounced with each thrust.
Your cheek was soaked in the puddle of blood and you could even taste the bit of blood that managed to make it’s way into your agape mouth, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Not when an absolutely beautiful man was fucking into you from behind.
“look so fucking pretty covered in blood, princess.” He teased tauntingly, sadistic smile on his face. His bloody hand that fisted your hair getting the soft strands sticky with blood. Moans begrudgingly spilled out of your lips as you lazily attempted to move away from him, mostly to be able to keep some of your own ego and for the added thrill.
Moans spilled from your lips as you curled your fingers into your palms, blood piling up between the cracks and crevices of your fingers and skin. He was fucking you so good it had you seeing stars, for such a fucking psychopath he sure knew how to fuck a girl.
“Don’t be shy, tell me how much you like it.” He taunted, tugging at your hair rougher and up before letting go and letting your head fall to the floor, blood jumping up as your head landed with a thump. The slight pang in your head was the least of your concerns as you let out a strangled moan at the harsh slap he places to your cheek. “Say it.” He demands in a firmer tone, his hand finding the back of your neck tightly.
“Yes! i love it i love it,” You rambled, toes curling and you groaning as his pace picked up and he pulled your hips both higher and closer to him.
“Knew you were a slut, getting so wet from some man you know nothing about fucking you in front of the dead body of your own date that the same man you know nothing about killed.” He continued to degrade, smirk gracing his features. So focused on your own pleasure that you weren’t even focusing on his words, just rambling continuous agreements. “Too bad you didn’t go to the games, you would’ve loved it.”
“But i prefer it this way, now you fucking belong to me. I’ll make you so dumb that you can’t even think of leaving. Yeah? Like that? Might even get you pregnant too.”
#squid game smut#squid game#squid game x reader#x reader smut#the recruiter#the recruiter smut#the salesman#the salesman smut#smut
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Yan! Mindreader x reader
Imagine how annoying it would be if your obsessed stalker had the ability to read your mind.
He was a part of your life before you even knew of his existence. Every day, he would follow you around and listen to your thoughts; the good, the bad, the angry and the sad ones.
He wished to know all there is to know about you and what better way was there than to intrude on your most inner, private feelings?
Yan! Mindreader always thought his power was a curse he’d gotten the misfortune of being born with. All day and night he’d been forced to hear everything peaople were thinking. That’s how he got to know his parents hated living together and his friends only saw him as a piggy bank. No one truly cared for him. Anyone who believe they’d want this power is wrong. All it has done is bring him misery. If he had the option to be normal he wouldn’t hesitate.
Then came you. You barged into his life without warning and set his whole body on fire- but in a good sorta way. You made him feel all tingly and light, like he could fly. You were one of a kind; nothing like the others who were selfish, vain and completely fake.
He knew. After all, he could read your mind.
Slowly he introduced himself into your life. It was subtle and natural, just like he’d prepared. He didn’t want to scare you. It was quite easy to fabricate running into each other and after it happened on plenty occasions you joked about it being fate. You saw him at the grocery store, in your apartment building-apparently he’s moved in just next door- and he even visits the same coffee shop as you do! He wanted to scream ‘yes!’, in agreement, it was indeed fated for you to be together.
It wasn’t after too many charming, well-practiced smiles and flirtatious hints that he received the greatest gift of all; you, on your back in his bed with him thrusting vigorously into your warm heat. Oh it was simply heaven. Hearing your moans whilst simultaneously listening in on your thoughts- they were far from disappointing. That was one of the only times he’s blessed his mind reading ability. Thanks to it he knows all your kinks, desires and needs, which he doesn’t hesitate to use to his advantage.
He’d be the perfect boyfriend. You will never want anyone other than him ever. Only he truly knows you and that includes parts if yourself you’ve hidden away or have never acknowledge.
Isn’t he your perfect fit?
———-
Sunlight pours into the room and wakes you up. You don’t want to. Waking up means dealing with reality and its shitty way of treating you. You resolve to just ignore the warm presence behind you and pretend to still be asleep. You hoped he wouldn’t notice.
“I know you’re awake, sweetheart.”
Damn it.
“You can’t hide it, I can tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re conscious. Although I like it when your brain imagines me naked and on top of you subconsciously, I prefer you being awake and in control of those scenarios. It makes me feel good knowing I’m wanted and I’m not sure your dirty dreams actually count.” He teased whilst placing a gentle kiss on your bare shoulder.
Fuck this guy. It was just your stupid brain working against you and he had the nerve to make it seem like you have any affection for him.
“You hurt me wit your words. Where were these feelings yesterday when I took you deeply agai-“
You hit him in the face with your pillow in order to shut him up. You wouldn’t let him bring up anymore of your shame. You knew it was bad but since you were stuck with this man-forever presumably- you didn’t know what else to do. There was no escaping since he would just pick up any plan you had immediately. Hell, you doubted you’d even get past having the thought ‘escape’ in your head before he goes ballistic.
Besides, you couldn’t help but to admit no one had made you feel as good as he had. It killed your soul to think it but it was true.
“Hmm, I like the thought of that. Thank you. I’ll also let you know that you feel just as good and pleasure me endlessly~”
Seriously, fuck this guy.
#yandere imagines#kyseya oc#yandere male#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#yandere x reader#kyseya’s dungeon#yandere#possesive#yandere Mindreader#Mindreader yandere#yandere Mindreader x reader#yandere stalker x reader
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Writing Notes: Foreshadowing
No one likes a spoiler, but everyone loves a good breadcrumb. When done the right way, foreshadowing brilliantly steers a reader’s journey through a story.
Foreshadowing - a literary device used to give an indication or hint of what is to come later in the story. It is useful for creating suspense, a feeling of unease, a sense of curiosity, or a mark that things may not be as they seem.
How to Use Foreshadowing in Your Writing
Foreshadowing does not necessarily mean explicitly revealing what will happen later in your story. In fact, when it is used effectively, many readers may not even realize the significance of an author’s foreshadowing until the end. Examples of foreshadowing range from the very subtle to the incredibly pointed. No matter how veiled your hints are, there are a few time-honored ways to weave them into your storytelling:
Dialogue: You can use your characters’ dialogue to foreshadow future events or big reveals. This foreshadowing may take the form of a joke, an offhand comment, or even something unsaid that adds personality to your characters while planting the seed for later revelations. A prime example of dialogue foreshadowing occurs in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, when Romeo says, “My life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.” This line foreshadows Romeo’s eventual fate: committing suicide over the loss of Juliet.
Title: The title of a novel or short story can be used to foreshadow major events in the story as well. For instance, Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher” foreshadows not just the destruction of the physical house, but the demise of an entire family.
Setting: The choices you make about the setting or atmosphere of your story can foreshadow events as well. In Great Expectations, Charles Dickens uses descriptions of foreboding storm clouds and inclement weather to foreshadow the dark turn Pip’s story will take: “So furious had been the gusts, that high buildings in town had had the lead stripped off their roofs; and in the country, trees had been torn up, and sails of windmills carried away; and gloomy accounts had come in from the coast, of shipwreck and death.”
Metaphor or simile: Figurative language like similes and metaphors can be effective foreshadowing tools. In David Copperfield, Dickens uses simile to foreshadow the betrayal of David by his mother, comparing her to a figure in a fairy tale: “I sat looking at Peggotty for some time, in a reverie on this suppositious case: whether, if she were employed to lose me like the boy in the fairy tale, I should be able to track my way home again by the buttons she would shed.”
Character traits: A character’s appearance, attire, or mannerisms can foreshadow that character’s true essence or later actions. On second reading, Lennie’s death at the end of John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men comes not as a shock but as an echo of a moment much earlier, when George must put down a dog. For George, the two events are not directly linked, but the reader learns that he is willing to do something gut-wrenching in a moment of greater need.
Foreshadowing is a key tool for writers to build dramatic tension and suspense throughout their stories.
It’s a quiet flag from the writer to the reader to pay close attention, and it’s also a great tool to prepare your reader emotionally for big reveals.
For instance, if an abrupt revelation or plot twist is not adequately set up via foreshadowing, your reader may come away from your story feeling annoyed, disappointed, or confused, rather than surprised and satisfied.
Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs
#foreshadowing#writing tips#writing notes#writeblr#literature#writers on tumblr#writing reference#dark academia#spilled ink#writing prompt#creative writing#books#light academia#writing advice#writing inspiration#writing ideas#writing resources
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Do you think Lottie's parents would let her poor best friend (cough cough, her girlfriend) visit her in Switzerland?
Like imagine it, we're together before the crash, she disappears and we lose her, she comes back and she's 'different' and silent. It's sickening upsetting to see happen to the person you love.
Trying to help as best as possible but just as there's improvement, she's shipped off. After a while she is finally allowed visitors and we're greeted with 'our Lottie' (the Lottie we saw with the bob cut, acting somewhat normal when she calmed her roommate down ?)
- 🌿
— YOU’RE AS FAR FROM ME AS MEMORY
— warnings: hurt/comfort. angst. established relationship. post-crash lottie & gn!reader.
— a/n: after receiving some lottie requests, i finally sat down to edit this old draft. i’m so sorry it took over a month to finish 🌿 anon! i hope you like it <3
before the crash, back when you and lottie were inseparable, practically two halves of the same whole, you were hers, and she was yours.
you weren’t the same, far from it, but where she was softer, quieter, you had no trouble filling the gaps. the differences never mattered. not to her. not to you.
you were her safe place, her person. it didn’t matter what anyone thought, not the other girls on her team, not even her mother, with her sharp eyes and even sharper comments.
the disapproving glances, the subtle digs about how you spent too much time at their house, how you were ‘a distraction’, none of it ever phased lottie. she would just roll her eyes, brushing it off like it was nothing. ‘ignore her,’ she’d say, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door.
and for a long time, nothing could get between the two of you. what did change that, in the end, was the crash.
when the plane goes down, you lose her in the worst way imaginable: not to death, but to the agonizing unknown. there’s no closure like this, no way of saying goodbye, just the silence that follows the chaos and a stretch of empty days that bleed into weeks, into months. 19 torturous months. you cycle through grief, hope, and despair as the world gives up on the girls one by one.
you never do.
you hold on to her in the only way you know how, clinging to every memory to keep whatever remains of her alive: the sound of her laugh. the way lottie would say your name when no one else was listening, soft and unguarded.
even as the days go on endlessly and everyone around you insists it’s time to let go, you refuse to believe she’s really gone. you don’t care that the world seems to move on without her, without any of them. you don’t.
because in your heart, in your stubborn, aching heart that refuses to let go, you know lottie is out there. somewhere.
and then, against all odds and after almost 2 years, she comes home.
she’s thinner than you ever could have imagined, gaunt and hollowed out as she steps off the plane. the shadows beneath her eyes seem to belong to someone else, someone you’ve never known and her face bears the mark of whatever things she’s been through out there.
a new scar cuts across her face, a jagged line of red against her pale skin and her eyes don’t look at you. they don’t meet yours as she steps forward, as if the world around her is something she can’t quite make sense of anymore. lottie’s alive. she’s standing right in front of you, but somehow it feels like she’s still a thousand miles away.
she doesn’t speak at first. not to you or anyone else.
the girl you remember is gone. in her place is someone entirely different. someone guarded. quiet.
lottie flinches at any loud sounds, her body tensing, an instinctive reaction that feels so foreign. her hands are twitching at her sides when she’s anxious, restless, unable to stay still even when she’s trying.
at night, it’s even worse.
the first time you hear lottie screaming in her sleep, it chills you to the bone. it’s not words, nothing coherent, just these sharp, guttural sounds that tear from her throat, like lottie is fighting something in her dreams, something that’s trying to get her, that won’t let go.
you rush to her side immediately, gripping her hand, whispering her name until she wakes up, gasping and drenched in sweat. still, lottie doesn’t say anything at all. you can see it in the way she trembles, in the way her body curls into itself, that she’s seeking comfort in a world that feels too big, too loud, too overwhelming.
physically, lottie has come back, but it feels like a part of her has stayed behind in the woods where they’ve been found.
you visit her every day, bringing her little things; flowers, books, her favorite snacks. you tell her stories about school, about what she missed.
you know she’s listening. you feel it in the way lottie sometimes glances at you, the way her eyes flicker over your face, as though she’s trying to remember something. but she doesn’t speak. not yet.
one day, you bring a photo of the two of you from before the crash: you, wearing her soccer uniform. lottie, with her arm slung around your shoulder. both of you grinning for the camera.
you place it gently in front of her, your fingers brushing hers as you do. for a moment, there’s a shift. you don’t know if it’s the picture, or just the sheer act of bringing a piece of her past into her present, but something stirs in lottie then.
her fingers hover over it, trembling slightly as though she’s unsure of how to react, but it’s enough to make your heart race. lottie’s lips part, and her breath catches, but instead of saying anything, she simply shifts. slowly, she drapes her arm around you, just like she did in the picture.
it’s not a verbal response, not the reunion you’ve imagined a thousand times, but it’s more than you could have asked for.
you feel the familiar weight of her arm around you, the warmth of her body leaning close. for the first time in what feels like forever, she feels like your lottie again.
slowly, she starts to come back to you.
a nod here, a faint smile there: small but significant changes, each one another glimmer of the girl she used to be.
the first time she speaks, it’s barely more than a whisper: you’re sitting in her room, reading aloud from a book you brought, when she suddenly says, “that’s dumb.”
you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. “what?”
lottie looks at you, her brow furrowed like she’s trying to piece together how to have a conversation again. “the book,” she says, her voice hoarse. “it’s dumb.”
tears spring to your eyes as you laugh, relief flooding through you. “it kind of is, isn’t it?” you agree, setting it aside. “you want to pick something better next time?”
she doesn’t answer, but the corner of her mouth twitches, and she nods.
and just when you start to feel like everything is falling back into place, just when things begin to feel like they’re normal again, it happens.
her parents announce they’re sending lottie away.
it happens suddenly, without warning or time to prepare. one moment, everything is tentative and fragile but steady, and the next, it all shatters.
her mother pulls you aside, her face determined. she explains, almost rehearsed, that it’s for lottie’s own good, that she needs ‘specialized care’ they can’t provide at home.
the next time you see her, her suitcase is already packed.
lottie doesn’t say anything about leaving. when you ask her how she feels about it, she just shrugs, as though it doesn’t matter, as though she has no say in it at all. there’s no fight left in her, not like before.
but when you hug her goodbye, your arms wrapped tightly around her fragile body, you feel it: lottie’s hands clutch the back of your jacket a little too tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric, her breath shaky against your shoulder. you know that she doesn’t want to go.
“i’ll write to you,” you promise with a stolen kiss to her temple. “every day. i mean it.”
lottie doesn’t respond, just nods faintly. and then she’s gone.
the months that follow are almost as unbearable as her time away had been, only this time you know that she’s alive. somewhere out there, across an ocean, in some place that you can’t even imagine, with no real way of knowing what’s happening to her.
theres nothing to find about the facility her mother had told you about, where her parents have placed her in the hopes of fixing what can’t be fixed.
you write to lottie constantly and tell her everything: how much you miss her, how you’re counting down the days until you can see her again, how impossibly quiet it feels without her even though she barely spoke at all in the time before she left. you write her about the little things, too: what the weather is wiskayok is like, updates on your favorite tv shows, silly memories that make you think of her. anything to make her feel like you’re still there with her.
for the longest time there’s no response to your letters.
you try to tell yourself it’s because she’s busy, that maybe the clinic has rules about correspondence, or maybe the letters are just getting lost in transit.
deep down, you’re terrified, scared that lottie is slipping away even more than before.
then, finally, you get one back.
lottie’s handwriting is messier than you remember, shaky and uneven, but it’s unmistakably hers.
she doesn’t say much, just that she’s okay, that she’s adjusting, that she misses you too. there’s one part you cling to, one line that you reread a hundred times: ‘i promise I’m going to be okay’.
you don’t even realize you’re crying until the tears blur the ink on the page. it’s not much, but it’s enough. for now, it’s enough.
over time, the letters start coming more frequently.
at first, they’re short, simple updates on how her therapy sessions are going, what the clinic is like, little details about the group activities they have her doing.
as the weeks go on, they start to feel more like her. she tells you about her roommate, shares stories about the other patients. lottie even slips in a joke now and then, and when she does, you can’t help but smile.
and then, after what feels like an eternity of letters, her parents finally agree to let you visit.
the building is tucked away in the swiss mountains, its clinical white buildings surrounded by green hills and snow-capped peaks in the distance. it’s beautiful, serene, even, but the moment you step through the doors, the atmosphere shifts: inside, things feels too still, the walls too white, too sterile. the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the quiet murmur of staff members moving through the halls only add to your unease.
you’re directed to the common area, your fingers twisting anxiously in your lap as you wait.
you instantly drop them when lottie walks in.
the moment you see her, you freeze. you barely recognize her: lottie’s hair is shorter than you’ve ever seen it, barely brushing past her jawline, but she looks less hollow, less outside of her own body than she did when she stepped off that plane.
then her eyes meet yours, and her entire face lights up. for this one moment, it’s like nothing’s changed. that smile, the one you’ve missed so desperately, breaks through.
“hey,” lottie says, her voice steadier than you expected.
“hey,” you echo.
neither of you moves.
you’re not sure if you should hug her, if that’s too much, if she’s even comfortable with something like that. before you can overthink it, lottie closes the distance between you. she steps forward and wraps her arms around you, holding you tightly.
instinctively, you bury your face in her shoulder, your breath catching as you fight back tears.
“i missed you,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your shoulder.
“i missed you too,” you whisper back.
you don’t let each other go for what feels like forever, and even when you do, lottie’s hand lingers on your arm, like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go entirely.
the staff gives you a few hours to spend together, and you’re determined make the most of it.
lottie walks you through the clinic’s garden, catching up on everything she’s missed. she listens, really listens, and for the first time in so long, you feel like you’re finally connecting again.
when she starts to open up, she tells you about her therapy sessions, how hard it was at first to trust anyone there, but that it’s getting easier.
“i’m not…fixed or anything,” she says at one point, glancing at you hesitantly. “but it’s better. i feel…calmer”
“you don’t have to be fixed,” you say firmly, giving her hand a squeeze. “you’ve always been enough, just as you are”
lottie looks at you for a long moment, her eyes softening. “thanks,” she says quietly.
the two of you keep walking, but her hand stays in yours.
as the visit winds down, you find yourselves sitting together on a wooden bench near the edge of the garden, where the mountains stretch out in the distance.
lottie rests her head on your shoulder, her short hair brushing against your neck. her fingers graze against yours absentmindedly, tracing patterns on your skin.
her touch is light, moving as if guided by instinct. you smile as lottie traces a small circle, then angles downward into a triangle, her movements branching out with sharp lines. the pattern shifts, ending in a soft curve in the palm of your hand.
“do you think they’ll let you visit again?” she asks, knowing your time is running out.
you turn your head slightly, resting your cheek against her hair. “i’ll make sure of it,” you mumble. “they’re not keeping me away from you.”
lottie tilts her head slightly, just enough to glance up at you. “you’re always so sure of everything,” she smiles.
“not everything,” you admit, chuckling. “but this? you and me? i’m sure about that!”
when the staff approaches, lottie lifts her head, and you feel the loss of her weight against you immediately. she stands slowly, her eyes never leaving yours.
“you’ll write me?” she asks.
“every day,” you assure, standing up to face her. “and i’ll be back as soon as they let me!”
before you can fully process it, lottie steps forward and wraps her arms around you. the hug is different from the one when you first arrived: this one feels like a goodbye, like she’s holding onto you with everything she has left.
“i don’t want to let go,” she whispers, so quiet the staff won’t hear.
“i’ll come back for you,” you say as you clutch her tighter.
she pulls back just enough to look at you, her hands still clutching your jacket like it’s the only thing anchoring her. “you’re sure about that?”
“always,” you tell lottie firmly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
finally, the staff clears their throat, and you know it’s time. she hesitates before letting her hands drop. “i’ll see you soon,”
“soon,” you echo, watching as she turns and walks back toward the clinic.
you hold onto the hope that next time will be different. that with each visit, she’ll feel a little less like a stranger, and someday, when she finally gets to leave this place, she’ll feel like your lottie again, the one you’ve been waiting for all this time.
the one you will wait for, no matter how long it’ll take.
— c.ai
#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works#🌿 anon#lottie matthews#lottie matthews x reader#lottie matthews x fem!reader#lottie matthews x you#yellowjackets#yellowjackets x reader#yellowjackets x female reader#yellowjackets x you
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