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bratbby333 · 7 months ago

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i will possess your heart – satoru gojo

-this story contains very heavy nsfw content! please read at your own discretion!-

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 content warnings dead dove fic- heavy stalking, violent obsession, manipulation, forced voyeurism, forced exhibition, drugging, mentions of blood, knives, use of restraints, plot twist, extreme dub-con 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 synopsis for as cocky as Satoru is, it’s oddly fitting. in his mind, everything belongs to him, including you. 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 word count 8k

Satoru fumbled with a tripod as he positioned his camera onto the stand and proceeded to hit record. He was thorough, making sure his chair was perfectly centered before he sat down, staring at himself in the viewfinder while he fussed with his hair, inhaling deeply. A wide grin cut across his face before dropping back into lackluster neutrality. He looked down at his lap, his fingers ran up and down his denim-clad thighs. He snapped back onto the camera blank-faced before a deranged smile pulled at his cheeks.

Click

January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point. I’m plagued by the shadows, my entire life enshrouded in darkness. I don’t remember what things were like before. Day by day, it’s all the same. I cannot escape it—this anchoring feeling of despair. The emptiness eats away at me. I’m in search of release…of some sort of freedom from this pain. I need to fill my life with meaning, to find purpose in this accursed world…I think I’ll go out for coffee today. People watching brings me so much joy. They seem to live much happier lives than me.

Click

January 16th, 6:38 PM

My daydreams must’ve blended into reality because there was no way I created someone as beautiful as she was outside my imagination. I’m certain of it. She was sitting at the bar of the cafe down the street from my apartment, dressed in business casual—she probably works nearby. How kismet. The coffee was bland, as were most things in my life, but she awoke something in me. I hope I see her again. She somehow managed to clear the cobwebs around my heart. I think my life has finally found purpose. She is my driving force. I wonder what her name is.

Click

January 19th, 6:11 AM

Feeling well-rested today. Four hours of sleep is my new record. I plan to go to the coffee shop again. Back to the place where my eyes were first blessed with the mirage of her…where I first fell in love. I hope she’s there. People are so fun to observe when they don’t think they’re being watched…it’s simple psychology. The Hawthorne Effect. When humans notice they are under observation, they change. So inauthentic. But her? She never notices. She sits so obliviously, allowing me to take her in with ease. So good to me. She’s a breath of fresh air. I hope to work up the courage to speak to her soon. My heart soars at the mere thought of being in her presence once again. It’s so refreshing to feel something after all this time. I’ve been numb for so long, but she has set my heart on fire. She is everything to me, my sole purpose for existence.

Click

January 19th, 8:27 PM

I saw her again today. She didn’t see me. Just how I like it. She typed away on her computer like normal…she’s a hard worker, it seems. Driven and strong. And here I was thinking such beauty was a thing of legend. It's refreshing to have been proved wrong–that rarely happens. Oh, how I crave her. I know she’d make me feel whole again. She can save me from all this, I can feel it.

Click

January 23rd, 5:13 AM

Only two hours of sleep tonight. But, for some reason, I feel better than ever… I normally do when I find a reason for living, again. It’s her…it must be because of her. She keeps me going; my muse, my inspiration. She’s worked wonders on me already and she doesn’t even know it, yet. I’m going to the cafe again today, I cannot wait to see her. Maybe today I will finally speak to her.

Click

January 23rd, 9:53 PM

She never showed up today…I wonder what’s going on. Maybe she had other things to do. It’s fine, really. I’m annoyed, honestly. I waited around all day. I’ll keep checking until I see her again.

Click

January 28th, 7:06 PM

My sweet girl has gone missing. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. This is just ridiculous. The woman I love…is she avoiding me? No, no that cannot be.

Click

February 2nd, 8:31 AM

I haven’t slept well in days. I’ve been awake for twenty six hours now…my mind feels like it’s filled with static and yet, I feel sharper than ever. I’ve gone to the cafe every day. Still no sign of her. I’m slipping back into my old ways, the darkness is going to return any moment. I’ve begun to hear the laughter in the shadows again. They’re making fun of me, I just know it. I need her…oh, I need her so bad. How could she do this to me? Does she not know how much I suffer when she’s not around? If I don’t see her again soon, I will never recover.

Click

February 5th, 6:21 PM

I finally saw her again today. My heartrate spiked and I nearly leaped from my seat to kiss her, to hold her, sway her side to side in a deep hug. Instead, I slipped a tracker into her purse as I walked by her chair. I must know where she works, where she lives, and what she enjoys in her free time. She slipped away from me so easily…can’t let that happen again. I need to know every little thing about her. She is my one and only after all. It would be ridiculous to love someone so deeply and know nothing about them. She is too beautiful, I cannot let her wander around unsupervised. There are some crazy people out there—you never know what could happen. I can’t lose her. I must keep her safe. I will possess her heart. No one else can have her but me.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru observed her for months, shadowing her all around town. He knew the woman’s routine like the back of his hand, before he ever learned her name. Sunday’s she went grocery shopping, Monday after work was her pilates class, every couple of Thursday’s she was at the nail salon, and Friday’s were seemingly payday–he picked up on her pattern of going out to nice restaurants every other week. Satoru eventually got an upper-level management position at a company that shared the office building with her job–he is incredibly intelligent and overqualified, after all; they would be foolish to not hire him. Now he could really keep an eye on her.

That was when he finally learned her name–the two of them taking the same elevator. She didn’t recognize him as the man who seemingly had the same routine as her–it’s one of the many reasons why Satoru loved her so much: her naivety. She looked into his eyes for the first time that day, her voice was soft and angelic, and the name that fell from her lips sent waves through Satoru’s body, the same name that would now be coupled with his gasping moans every evening as he stroked himself to the thought of her.

With Satoru’s new job that brought him one step closer to her, he knew he could no longer watch her in the way he used to. His movements had to be more calculated, putting more distance between them than he normally would or hiding behind the deep tint of his car windows. If she saw his face too frequently, she surely would have caught on. Satoru smiled at the possibility of her never catching on…how she’d greet him with a smile and a friendly hug each time they “coincidentally” bumped into one another, giggling about their lives' odd synchronicities. Such a sweet girl. If only she knew.

He stopped into her job, a small gift bag hanging off his slender fingers, desperate to watch her eyes light up with the sweet gesture of an unexpected gift. He asked to see her, only to be informed by the receptionist that she had the day off.

It was no worry, he didn’t let that dull his excitement. “I’m a friend of hers, brought this in to surprise her. Do you mind showing me to her desk, I’ll just leave it there for her when she returns to work,” he said kindly. The lady working the front desk blushed under his piercing gaze and handsome features, nodding shyly and walking him to his lover’s designated area.

Satoru thanked her, stepping into the cubicle to place his gift by her computer. His eyes glazed over her workspace. It was decorated with trinkets and family photos. He picked one up, his thumb tracing over her face. His pretty girl. That smile could bring about world peace; it definitely quieted the angered voices in his head. He scanned her desk, a moment of envy shooting through him at the thought of her dainty fingers dancing over the keyboard rather than tangling in his hair. He groaned internally, looking over his shoulder to ensure no one was around, before ducking down, rummaging through his beloved’s drawers. Stowed away in the bottom of the unit was a fuzzy, white cardigan. He brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply, stifling the filthy moan that nearly echoed through the cubicle. He quickly tucked it into his jacket, took one last look around, and headed toward the exit.

In the safety of his vehicle, Satoru whipped the clothing out from under his wing, bringing it to his face once more. He undid his belt buckle with haste, shoving his dress slacks halfway down his thighs before his large fist swaddled his cock with the fuzzy white cardigan. He nearly sobbed at the contact, the smell of his car filling with her beautifully floral perfume. He brought the free edge up to his nose, taking another whiff as his hand worked furiously against his shaft. He had never finished so quickly in his life, staggered whimpers and choked moans fell from his parted lips as fat ropes shot up onto his abs and chest. His cheeks were flustered a violent red as he wiped his sticky shame away with her top. After he came, then did his clarity, and Satoru’s body ached with the thought of how good it would feel to finally be sheathed within her sticky walls, rather than her soft clothing. I’ll be with you soon. Soon, my love.

These feelings were getting unbearable. His overactive brain had him teetering on the edge of insanity. He needed more. His imagination was no longer enough to satiate the hunger that gnawed so deeply in his core, the distanced watching and hopeless longing for the love of his life created jagged rifts in his already damaged psyche. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. A few deep breaths and the promise he made to himself to take action soon quelled his burning desire. But for how much longer could Satoru repress the demon that clawed through his body?

Satoru surveyed her while she ran to the bank, walked her dog, or took her car to the wash. But his most favorite place to watch her was from the bench just outside her bedroom window, engulfed in darkness. Pretty girl lived on the second floor, her silly little brain assumed she didn’t need curtains. She never saw him, but he always saw her. All of her. Drinking in the way her clothes were delicately removed from her pretty little frame, the way she turned and posed in the mirror–so good to him. How her skin glistened after she got out of the shower, the water droplets running along her body in the same way Satoru wanted to.

He fell into a state of bliss, feeling spoiled by the show he was getting tonight. The lotion that she worked into her body, the beautiful set of lingerie that she dawned. His eyes buzzed around his sockets, elation flooding through him. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl. But his body went rigid and his jaw locked tight at the appearance of another man behind the love of his life. He sat upright, shoulders stiff and heart pounding in his ears at the thought of his sweet being in danger, he cursed himself for not being more aware of her surroundings on her behalf. But when his darling girl turned to the unknown man with a smile, greeting him with a gentle kiss with the lips that were supposed to be just for Satoru, his heart shattered into a million pieces.

Oh, no. This just won’t do, my love. You are mine.

Jealousy coursed through his veins while he looked into her room, rage balled in his fists as he watched a random man have her in the one way Satoru couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He must’ve been new in her life, judging by the way his nervous hands explored every part of her skin. Satoru laughed at this–he knew he could please his woman so much better. But betrayal nipped at the back of his neck; how could she do this to him? Had his loyalty fallen on unappreciative shoulders? No, that couldn’t be. Satoru knew she was better than that, he picked her for a reason, after all. She was just playing hard to get.

You rejected my advances and desperate pleas, and now you throw your relationship in my face. It’s punishment enough that I can’t have you, but I won't let you let me down so easily.

Feeling at a loss, swallowed whole by his hungered desperation, he did what any rational person would. He moved in next door.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru Gojo was your next-door neighbor. He moved in only a few months after you did. You were elated, chalking it up to a lucky roll of the dice that you had met by chance at your job; he had started working for the company that shared the office park with yours. It really seemed like things were on the come-up for you. He was kind, confidently intuitive, funny, and supportive. Mildly egotistical, but it worked for him. He always invited you over for dinner and movie nights and was a strong, dependable shoulder for you to cry on. You had just moved to the city, feeling utterly lost and absolutely gutted about being so far from your support systems now, and he was your first friend. You felt safe knowing he was just a wall away.

On a random Sunday, you opened your front door to see all the food you loved sitting at your doorstep–weird, you were just about to leave for the store. You turned your head, seeing Satoru peeking out from his cracked door, grinning at you.

“Was this you, Satoru? You didn’t have to…this is incredibly thoughtful,” you beamed, stepping over the grocery bags to give him a tight hug. “You’re the best, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” But Satoru did, he knew exactly what you could do for him.

When you needed a ride to work, he jumped in to save you. The two of you worked in the same building after all. It was a crazy coincidence that your new neighbor turned best friend worked just a few floors above you. It’s such a small world, isn’t it? But it worked out perfectly for the two of you.

There was a month where you were short on rent, and there was Satoru, paying the rest on your behalf.

You weren’t catching on. Sweet, naive girl. Oh, how he loved you. I need to work harder to get her attention.

Satoru was not a patient man, but for you, he would do anything and everything to get you right where he wanted you, expertly playing the long game. It began with the fated sighting of you sitting in a cafe, and snowballed into something bigger. At first, he only ever observed you, maybe the minor occasion of overstepping, but as time went on, he couldn’t sit idly by. It was time to make his move.

His disruptions in your life started inconspicuously. Leaving for a date? You found your car tires slashed and windows shattered in the parking deck. Now there’s a police investigation. Bummer…gotta cancel the date. Had a guy over? Satoru’s apartment flooded. Weird… that was the second time this month.

“You gotta talk to the landlord about this, ‘Toru,” you sighed. He had to stay at yours that evening.

You cried on his shoulder, telling him that some guy stood you up on a date you had been anticipating for weeks. There was an electrical fire in that man’s apartment that night. Must’ve been faulty wiring...or something.

His apartment flooded again. He was back at your door. You welcomed him with open arms, of course. He’s so good to you, the least you could do is help him out, as well.

Satoru, you’re slipping. That’s too many times in one month. Ease up or she’ll catch on.

Friday night, in a wild happenstance, he bumped into you while you were out with another man, enjoying a nice dinner together. He smiled warmly at the two of you, before politely dismissing himself. His cheery smile dropped into a demented grin once he stepped out of the restaurant as he anonymously called in a bomb threat to the establishment. You were so shaken up at the entire ordeal you practically begged Satoru to stay with you that night. He’d be a fool to turn you down.

Satoru got everything he wanted. You were just a tough nut to crack, is all. No big deal. He loved a challenge. After all, how could you not love him by now?

But nothing was working. You couldn’t catch the hint, even with everything he threw at you. He was always the one there for you, even when you weren’t aware of it. What more could he do to prove that he was the only person you needed? I’m reliable, witty, and loving… how can she not see this? He finally snapped. The last straw? Hearing your pleasure-filled cries while getting fucked by another man, your “boyfriend”. The lewd sounds ricocheted around your room, shooting through the thin walls of your apartment and straight into his listening ears.

Tsk, tsk. Now you’ve done it. Always been such a tease.

For as cocky as he was, it’s oddly fitting. In his mind, everything belonged to him, including you. And with that, his demented plan was in full effect. He had hoped to spare you, prayed that you would fall in love with him before he lost his composure completely. But your sweet, naive nature had proved to be a difficult wall to break down.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The sound of your front door’s lock disengaging echoed through the empty hallway. Satoru stepped in, inhaling deeply as he shoved your house key into his back pocket. It was far easier to gain access into your home than he had originally anticipated; he was fully prepared to break in, but all he had to do was tell your landlord you went out of town and you forgot to leave a key with him before you left. The manager of your apartment complex knew how close you and Satoru were, so it was an easy lie to tell. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth. You weren’t out of town, he wasn’t house sitting, and you had no intentions of having company this evening.

Seated at your desk, he opened your laptop and navigated his way to your iMessage settings, ensuring you could only send and receive texts from your laptop. Clicking on the messaging app, he stifled the gag that threatened to escape his throat as he clicked on the thread between you and your boyfriend, his contact name “my love” in your phone. He rolled his eyes, before drafting a quick text:

-Hey, baby. I have a half-day at work today…dinner and wine at my place tonight? ;)

He grinned at the quickness of your boyfriend’s response.

-I would love that. What time, my love?

Satoru scoffed at the pet name. He doesn’t deserve to call you that. Poor bastard needed to learn his place. Heat rose in his chest, jealousy emanating through his skin as he crafted his response.

-3pm…Can’t wait to see you.

Everything was going according to plan. Satoru glanced at the clock beside him: 11:17 AM. It was time to get set up, he had a big day planned for you, and his first guest would be arriving in a few short hours.

A knock rang through the apartment as Satoru finished lighting his final candle. He smiled wide, sauntering over to the door. He swung it open, grinning politely at your boyfriend. “...Hey, man…didn’t expect to see you here…” he said warily as Satoru stood to the side and gestured him in, a quizzical look painted on your partner’s face as he stepped through the doorway. The door shut and the lock was reengaged. “Where’s…” but before he could get his question out, his chin was met with Satoru’s right fist.

Satoru made quick work of dragging his body upstairs. He dug through the unconscious man’s pants, pulling out his cellphone. Satoru was disgusted to see that you were his lockscreen. This pitiful man wasn’t worthy enough to be with you. He rolled his eyes, unlocking the man’s phone and sending you a text:

-Hey, beautiful. Come straight home tonight. I’m making dinner for us. See you when you get off work.

You smiled at the familiar ding of your phone, the notification effectively distracting you from your tedious paperwork. Your heart soared at the message, sighing deeply and shifting your weight around in your office chair. Your hand rubbed at your face in an attempt to hide your blushing cheeks.

“What is it?” your coworker asked.

“Oh, nothing. I thought my boyfriend forgot our anniversary cause I hadn’t heard from him all day…but he just texted me saying he’s at my place and is making dinner for us tonight.” A giddy smile couldn’t help but drag across your face.

Satoru looked at the clock: 3:28 PM. You would be home in an hour or so. Just a few more things had to be done, everything had to be perfect.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Your heart rate spiked as you got closer to your apartment door, keys jingling against your palm as you fumbled with the lock, excitement making your movements a bit clumsier than usual. You entered and kicked off your heels, and as you turned to toss your keys onto the small table in your foyer, you noticed a small card that said “Read Me” placed perfectly in the center of the tray. You were perplexed as your eyes scanned over the note. “Go to the living room” was all it said.

You blushed, a nervous smile pulling at the edge of your lips as you crept to the other room. Your eyes went wide at the sight; deep red roses were placed in the center of the coffee table and every accessible surface around the couch was adorned with beautifully flickering candles. Another note was on the table, your fingers fumbled with the edge of the card as you opened it: “Have a seat, take a sip, and press play.” You settled on the couch, noticing a glass of alluring red wine to the right of the roses. You took a few deep, fulfilling swigs of your drink before grabbing the TV remote. Your face twisted a bit, examining the glass in your hand, the flavor of wine different than the one you were used to. It was a special night after all, your thoughtful boyfriend must have wanted you to branch out this evening. Where is he, anyway? As you pressed play, you called out for him, only to be cut off by your own confusion as Satoru’s face appeared on your TV screen. You watched with perplexity as Satoru recentered his chair, smiled, relaxed his face, and then smiled again.

No…no, no, no. What is this? You were locked in place, the melodious sounds of Satoru’s voice cascaded out of your surround sound system. He looked different though, his eyes were dull and low, his voice monotonous–his alarming difference in demeanor sent a chill down your spine. Your groggy mind inferred that this must’ve been an accident. Maybe it was casted to the wrong TV. I shouldn’t be seeing this…these are Satoru’s video diaries.

You so badly wanted to tear your eyes away from the screen, this seemed like such an invasion of privacy. But you were entranced, staring intently toward the TV, though you didn’t really have a choice, your body was completely numb now.

“January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point…” you fought to keep your eyes open, to piece together what the hell was happening, until your body eventually succumbed to sleep.

When you finally came to, you were laid out on your bed, fully nude. Soft grunts lingered in the air as you worked your hardest to refocus your eyes, your head pounding. You shifted your weight onto your forearms, your neck straining as it felt like your brain was filled with lead, eyes searching your bedroom for the culprit of the moans. One glance to the left, a quick look to the right, before you stared straight ahead at the wall directly across from the bed. Your body lurched in fear as your heart sank, the source of the sounds now looking you dead in the eyes: The man you had been seeing for the past couple of months, gagged and tied to a chair, his bloodied face twisted up in agony.

You tried to call out for him. Your feeble attempts to drag your heavy body closer in order to console him were interrupted as the room was suddenly illuminated with the streaming lights of a projector. Your movements halted as you shielded your eyes immediately, the bright interruption feeling like a flashbang to your sensitive head.

“We didn’t get to finish my show and tell,” a voice spoke up from the dark corner.

“Satoru?? Wha…what is going on?” you cried out, tears spilling from your eyes while your hands attempted to cover your modesty. You tried your hardest to sit upright, your head spinning, unsure if Satoru was the culprit or your savior. Your body felt like it was anchored to the floor, your head throbbing with every word that tore through your chest.

“There’s no need for all that yelling, sweetheart,” Satoru grinned, crouching down next to you. You winced as his hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that trickled down your cheeks.

Click

Metal cuffs clamped down on your wrists before you could even register what was happening. A million unanswered questions spun through the room as you frantically searched through his blue eyes, hoping to find any sort of insight into the torment he was inflicting upon the two of you.

“This is what’s gonna happen, okay? I need you to listen to me.” His voice was sickeningly sweet, each syllable that left his lips more damning than the last as he dragged your limp body up the bed, securing your wrists to the headboard and angling your body toward the projected video on your wall. A crazed grin lit up his dull face as he raised his hand, pointing the remote toward the projector. “You’re gonna sit here and look all pretty f’me while you watch these tapes, and if you move, if you stop paying attention for even a second…” Your stomach churned at how gently he was able to give such vile instructions. He turned his attention towards your partner, the blade of a knife twirling through the slender fingers of his free hand, “...He’s dead. Understand, angel?”

You nodded reluctantly, unable to do anything else but comply with his demands. Your head was spinning, trying to digest the fact that this was the same person who had paid your rent and entertained your rants after a hard day of work. You listened as his voice continued to drabble over the static of the projector, recalling how bland that day had been until he saw your face. How he must’ve dreamt of you because there was no way your beauty could exist outside of his imagination. To you, it had been a normal Tuesday afternoon. To him, it had been the start of the rest of his life.

The longer you watched, the more the realization set in that the sweet gestures he presented to you were not out of the goodness of his heart, but from the darkness of his spirit, driven by his wanton lust. Your face was slack, eyes wide in horror. Disappointment crawled through your chest at your own naivety. How could I be so oblivious? So trusting?

Satoru’s eyes bored into the side of your face as he sat beside you, his hands rubbing deep circles into your bare thighs, pure elation shooting through his veins at his sweet girl finally having a look into his mind. The look of terror that painted your beautiful face made his heart leap with joy. Satoru’s giddy demeanor dropped as pained grunts emerged from the tethered man against the wall. He stood, closing the distance between the two of them, his fist encircling your boyfriend’s throat. You began to protest, to plead with Satoru to leave him be, but the rage that filled his eyes made you shut your mouth. “Uh uh…eye’s on the screen, my love.” Your head snapped back toward the videos, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as the muffled wailing of your boyfriend filled the room.

As the final video played, Satoru returned to your side, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he stroked the back of your head and rubbed at your cheeks. “Can’t you see all that I’ve done for you?” He grabbed your face, digging his fingers deep into the space under your cheekbones, forcing your lips into a pucker. “You belong to me, my love.” A deep growl rumbled through his chest, “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, his hot tongue bullying its way through your tight lips. Small whines echoed through your mouth and into his, and Satoru greedily swallowed up your sounds with ease. Whimpers of protest came from the wall across from your bed, but they were quickly drowned out by the wet sounds of smacking lips and battling tongues.

He broke away, a thick trail of spit still connecting the two of you. Satoru released your cheeks with a gentle shove, throwing his leg over yours to straddle you. He dropped his head to your neck, his white hair brushing against your skin. You winced as he licked a thick line from your collarbone to your ear. “I finally get to have you,” he whispered, nipping at your flesh, “You ready to give yourself to me, princess?” Your eyes widened in horror, your gaze affixed towards your boyfriend, blood trickling from the fresh cuts on his cheeks. Your head shook side to side, tears brimming in your eyes once more as your thoughts raced through your mind, causing a traffic jam in your throat. “I…no, I can’t…he’s…” Satoru’s palm covered your mouth, a groan erupting from the back of his throat as his eyes rolled deep into his skull. He sat back, staring down at you, his free hand running its fingertips between your breasts. “This has nothing to do with him…It’s just me and you now, my love.” Your head snapped up to stare at your captor as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your nipples. A stifled moan teased the back of your throat, an exasperated look of fear in your eyes as you stared up at Satoru.

Your cheeks flushed as you held his gaze. He grinned back down at you before rolling the hardened bud between his fingertips. Your chest arched toward him, a shameful hum dancing from your lips as he played with you. A deep laugh erupted from the blue-eyed man at your unintentional reaction, his head thrown back with pure joy as he continued to pull at your nipples. He leaned into your neck once more, his teeth grazing the outer shell of your ear. “I knew it,” he purred, “Knew you wanted me, too. You were just playing hard to get, isn’t that right?” You shook your head once more, your words constricted in your chest. “N-no…I never wanted you,” you retorted, head thrown to the side, attempting to distance yourself from him, but to no avail. The weight of him anchored your lower half to the mattress while your tethered wrists held you in place.

A deep chuckle rumbled through Satoru, “So if I feel your pussy, it won’t be absolutely soaked right now?” A pathetic whimper escaped your throat as you shook your head furiously. The rolling motion against your nipples halted and his hand trailed lower down your abdomen. “Hmm…let’s see then, shall we?” he taunted, tracing your skin before rubbing your folds and dipping into your core. “I knew it…you’re fucking drenched f’me, sweetheart.” He shoved two fingers in, shallowly teasing your hole before withdrawing, bringing his sopping digits between your faces, turning his wrist as the dim light of the room illuminated the wetness, making it glisten ever so slightly. He examined them before meeting your fearful gaze. “Why did you lie?” He sucked his middle digit into his mouth, his tongue lapping hungrily at your sweet juices as his eyes fluttered shut. A hum emanated from Satoru as his other soaked finger pushed past your lips, “Here, have a taste, pretty girl,” his long digit dancing around your tongue. “So fucking sweet. You have no idea how badly I’ve been craving this.”

“I’ll ask you again, princess…Why’d you lie to me? I thought you were better than that,” he teased, an insincere pout twitching at his lips as he cradled your chin. Your body thrashed as his hands pawed down your body, plunging two fingers deep inside you again. Your back arched toward him, his knee between your legs was the only thing keeping you open for him. “I…It wasn’t..ahh!– I wasn’t lying…I–”. Your words fell on deaf ears as a wicked smile crept across Satoru’s face.

“Shhh…shhh my sweet girl, just lay back and enjoy,” he smirked as he crawled down your body, laying himself flat on the bed with his head nestled between your legs. Satoru’s body no longer shielded you from your boyfriend, your teary eyes darted across his face, a silent apology being sent his way. Small gasps escaped your lips as Satoru continued to pump into you, the tips of his curled fingers toying with your sweet spot. When you stared down at him, the look of pure desire peered back at you, the dampness between your legs skyrocketing at the sight. A scarlet dusting of shame brushed across your cheeks at your clear enjoyment of all this, even though it betrayed every natural instinct you had. His tongue darted out from between his lips, the tip circling your swollen clit as his fingers dipped in and out of you, his movements spurred on by his own desperation.

He was delirious, suckling against your clit while his fingers worked into you with fervor, moans and growls echoing through the room as he drank you in. You so badly wanted to break away, to console your boyfriend who had an unintentional front row seat to you falling apart on someone else’s tongue, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him, his digits hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Pleasure ripped through your body as a tightening sensation crept its way into your stomach. The rattling of your cuffs echoed through your bedroom as you fought against your restraints, desperately wanting to tangle your fingers in Satoru’s hair.

Your hips bucked toward his mouth, your body aching for release as your pelvis thrusted against his flattened tongue. You didn’t dare look away from Satoru, for you knew there was another set of eyes affixed upon the damning scene that was unfolding. He continued to hum and suck and pump into your core as you tightened around him, his slender fingers quickly coaxing your orgasm from your writhing body. Your eyes screwed shut as your gushy walls spasmed around his fingers, your release painting Satoru’s overly-eager face. He lapped at you some more, working you through your orgasm as he cleaned you up with his wickedly talented tongue.

A deep growl broke through Satoru’s chest as he removed his head from between your legs, the back of his hand dragging across his chin, catching the last of your release before he licked you off of him. He sat upright, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, “Hope you were taking notes,” a smug grin on his face as he addressed your watching boyfriend. He redirected his attention to you. “Did so good f’me, angel. Dreamt of that for so long…” he grinned, his tongue darting out to trace along his lips, hoping there was still some of you coating his face “...I could do that all fuckin’ day.”

Your shaking chest heaved as clarity settled into your mind. Satoru untethered your wrists from the headboard, shifting your body so that you were on your hands and knees, head positioned toward the wall your partner was leaning against. Strangled sounds rang from your boyfriend’s chest as you finally met his gaze. Humiliation prickling under your skin at the realization of what you had just done. But you had no time to dwell on it as Satoru repositioned himself on the bed.

“He’s gonna watch me destroy you, my sweet girl,” Satoru was kneeled behind you, lining himself up with your embarrassingly soaked entrance. He grasped your hips roughly, sinking into you in one fluid motion. You choked out a sob as you dropped your head in shame.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. He can’t help you…can’t save you. Go ‘head, keep cryin’ for him,” he cooed, his thrusts deep and slow inside of you. Jagged moans escaped your throat as the thick head of his cock brushed into your sweet spot. “He can’t make you feel as good as I do.”

He leaned down, reaching around to cradle your throat in his hand, squeezing tightly as he turned your head to the side, his sharp eyes running up and down your contorted face. “Can’t you see that you belong to me, how my poor heart aches for you? How badly I’ve needed you?” His thrusts were agonizingly slow but incredibly deep, the pressure in your tummy betraying your desire for this to stop. “That’s it, my love. Feel you clenching down on me…you’re getting off on this, aren’t ya?” His hips rocked deeper into you, the new depth had your hands clawing at the sheets of your bed as pleasure worked its way through your trembling body.

“He doesn’t treat you the way I do. He never will. No one is better for you than me, princess,” he seethes, his hand cupping your chin, holding your head up, “Now look in his eyes while I use you.” His pace picked up, pulling you back on to him with his anchored hand around your neck. A broken sob cut through your constricted throat as he fucked into you, the visceral sound of flesh smacking against flesh and whines and cries spun through the otherwise stiff air of your room. He palmed at the fat of your ass, pulling your body to meet his rough thrusts. A choked cry left your lips as you maintained eye contact with your boyfriend, crimson droplets running down his face, mimicking the pattern of your tears. You mouthed a silent “I’m sorry” to him before your eyes shut tightly, waves of sinful bliss pulsed through your body with every mean thrust of Satoru’s hips.

“Gettin’ so tight around me–f-fuuuck–you’re close, huh?” Your face contorted in shameful pleasure as you nodded, your back arching even more to take him deeper. “That’s it…c’mon, my love. Need you to cum on my cock,” Satoru begged, his voice airy as he got lost in your tight, sopping walls. “Show me how good I make you feel.” His words ricocheted around your head as the building pressure in your stomach finally snapped, your legs shaking violently as your orgasm ripped through your body, splattering onto Satoru’s thighs and the mattress below you.

A few more strokes met your dripping center before Satoru bottomed out inside of you, thick ropes of his pearlescent seed painting your spasming walls. He finally released his tight grip around your throat, your head dropping immediately as indignity plagued your trembling frame. He pulled out, spreading your cheeks as he leaned down, an animalistic growl pulling from his chest as he watched his cum dribble out of your pussy.

Satoru rubbed soothing circles into your lower back as you worked to regain your breath. “You’re mine,” he whispered. He unlatched the restraints from around your wrists, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the purple bruises that marked your skin. He locked eyes with your boyfriend, a deranged smile dancing across his face as he reached for the discarded projector remote.

Another familiar voice flooded through the speaker, but this time it wasn’t Satoru’s. “...We broke up a few weeks ago. No, no. Really, it’s okay. She was kind of a bitch anyway.” Your pupils widened as you stared back at the man you had just been feeling sorry for minutes ago, rage mixing into the vast sea of emotions you were already feeling while you watched a grainy video of him snaking his arm around another woman’s waist. The two of them were laughing outside of his house before she leaned in to kiss him.

“My poor sweet girl.” Satoru’s hand brushed lightly against your cheeks, catching tears that you didn’t even realize had begun spilling out. “I didn’t want you to have to find out this way, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

There were a million other ways he could have broken the news to you, but that somehow wasn’t the most pressing issue at hand.

“An eye for an eye, right?” The same haunting grin that you’d grown to know all too well spread across his face again, his blue eyes slicing into your ex-boyfriend’s. “I can’t believe that my entire world was in the hands of someone so undeserving…” he redirected his attention back to you and recaptured your cheeks in his hands. He leaned down to meet your gaze, unexpected softness replacing his usual sinister demeanor. “What do we do now, baby? It’s your call.”

Your pulse was ringing through your ears. “My call?” your voice was reduced to a whisper as you repeated it back to him.

“I’m going to kill him either way, but I want you to tell me how.”

You pondered for a moment, still coming to terms with the chain of events that lead you to this one vengeful moment.

Satoru stood, sauntering over to your boyfriend, stooping down to his level while his hands hovered over his gag. “When I take this off, I don’t want to hear anything other than remorse come from that pathetic fuckin’ mouth of yours.” Your boyfriend’s eyes shifted towards you, then back to Satoru, as he nodded pitifully. The tie was pulled from his mouth. His words were broken, barely audible. “I’m -” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I -”

Your stomach lurched as a sharp smack met his cheek, the painful sound resonating through the room. “You can do better than that. You got one more try,” Satoru spat, his eyes burning into your ex-lover’s bloodied face as he wrapped his fist around his throat, jostling his head around in a fit of rage.

“Satoru,” you hardly recognized your tone let alone the thoughts that were racing through your head. The last few hours of your life had been a blur. The words you heard earlier made perfect sense now, “Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point.” You were officially at that point. “Satoru, don’t. Let’s just end this.”

It was the first time you’d ever seen the silver-haired man look surprised. His eyebrow raised, a mix of curiosity and amusement glinting in his eye. “Tell me how,” he repeated. “I need to hear you say it.”

You were in a dream. Nothing more than a figment of Satoru’s imagination, just like he had said. It was the only thing that made sense to you because there was no way any of this was actually happening.

“Rip his heart out,” your voice emotionless as you gazed toward the blue-eyed man. Satoru groaned deeply, his dick twitching at the sound of your pretty voice speaking his dark language. The same depraved grin pulled at the edge of his lips as he looked back at your ex.

“Well,” he smirked, “looks like it’s decided then…” Adoration swam through his ocean eyes as he looked back at you, “I knew I picked the right one.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The lock of your front door unbolted as your bodies pushed through the door frame, giggling as four glasses of wine danced through your systems. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he mumbled against your lips. His hands grasped yours as he led you toward the couch.

You nestled into the warmth of his chest, his arm secured around you while you gazed around the room. Your head spun from the wine-induced nostalgia that this day had inevitably brought on. You were still in the same apartment, only it belonged to both of you now. A blend of sentimental gifts decorated your bookshelf that the two of you had collected over the last year. A camcorder, pressed red roses, framed vacation photos, and the first set of diamond earrings he’d bought you stowed away in a heart-shaped jewelry box. But out of all of the memories that tied you together, there was one that stood out the most.

“Should we open it?” you whispered, drawing lazy circles into his shoulder.

You didn’t have to see his face to feel his smirk. He knew his girl and he knew her well. He stood wordlessly, retrieving a jar from the highest shelf. He presented it to you, a smug grin gracing his ethereal features, the same look that was permanently etched into your brain the night he got it for you.

“Be my guest, princess.” You unscrewed the lid, peering into the jar as the strong scent of formaldehyde tickled your nose. You smiled longingly into the container, the overwhelming feeling of love reverberating through your chest. There was something so beautifully poetic about Satoru’s limerence, the lengths at which he went to steal the heart of another in order to fully possess yours.

author note: im so sorry for not posting my sweets,, i had the worst case of writer's block and i was actively trying to work on six different WIPs...i was losing my mind.

this was quite the heavy fic to write...i hope i didn't scare anyone away with it lol

alsoooo!! sending out the biggest thank you to @remlionheart for forcing me to finish this...my editor, my co-writer, the love of my life ♡ ⋆｡˚

4K notes · View notes

yieldtotemptation · 2 months ago

Text

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ‘who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ’idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,” you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting. It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?”

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. She’s so wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets. You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye, she’s still watching you. She’s enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.”

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat and snaps open the buttons of her shirt, nonchalantly revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

“Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You’re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants. “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you manage to get out, your chest heaving, your hand finally loosening its grip on the steering wheel.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you in place. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, her nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s what she wants from you, that’s what she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

You wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, and whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There’s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

��Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

#kpop smut #wonyoung smut #ive smut #male reader

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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 month ago

Text

gone wrong

words: 500

warnings: established relationship, pranks, brief yelling, death threat but in an unserious way

you skip happily towards the truck waiting at the end of your driveway.

you hurry to open the door, letting out a small squeal when you see rafe sat in the drivers seat.

“missed you baby.” you say, climbing in and immediately leaning across to give him a kiss, which he's more than happy to accept.

you sit down in your spot, the passenger side that you've claimed for yourself. you reach the door handle and pull it shut when rafes head snaps towards you.

“don't slam my door!” he yells. your eyes widen as you take in his harsh tone of voice.

you melt into your seat, physically shrinking as tears cloud your vision. you let out a small mumbled apology.

“shit, baby.” rafe grabs his phone from where it was set up, thrusting it into your hands. “it was just a prank, baby.”

“oh.” you giggle softly, but rafe can tell you're still upset as he tosses his phone down, not caring about the dumb tiktok as he wraps his arms around you, ignoring the center console poking into him.

“i would never yell at you like that baby, you're my whole world.” he presses kisses to your cheek until a genuine smile stretches across your face.

“that was not a funny prank, rafey.” you wipe underneath your eyes, making sure no tears will escape and ruin your makeup.

“how about i take you shopping after we eat, yeah? would that make up for it?” he asks, gently rubbing his hand up and down your arm, still feeling guilty.

“do you think we could also get ice cream?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

“anything for you.” rafe says, giving you another kiss. “and i really am sorry.”

“don't worry.” you shake your head. “ill get you back.”

-- two weeks later --

“thanks for driving me, rafey.” you say, looking down at your hands sheepishly. “and paying.”

“of course.” rafe chuckles. “you're my girl, i got you.”

“my legs are so soft now.” you say, knowing you have the chance now to back out of the prank, but no, you need to get him back. “and he did a great job, i swear i have no hair from the neck down.”

“he?” rafes eyebrow raises. “you didn't go to your normal girl?”

“nope.” you shake your head and shrug, like its casual. “she had another client so i went to a new guy.”

“you let a guy wax your fucking pussy?” rafes tone is slow and even, but you can tell there's a fire just beneath the surface.

“i mean, that's like his job.” you roll your eyes dramatically.

“was this guy gay?”

“no.” you look to rafe, trying to hold back your laughter. “in fact, his girlfriend just broke up with him. we talked about it a bit while he was doing my thighs.”

rafe unbuckles without another word, glad he hasn't started driving away yet.

“rafe, wait!” you reach across to grab his arm as he reaches for the door handle.

“no, im gonna kill-”

“it's a prank!” you grab your phone, showing him that you're recording. “and i got you good!”

“jesus, baby.” rafe places a hand over his chest. “you're trying to kill me.”

“sweet, sweet revenge.” you laugh maniacally.

sfw tags:

@winterrrnight @cameronswiftie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

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sashaisready · 2 months ago

Text

Starting Over: Chapter 2 - Broken

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

I'm sorry, part 2 got a little out of hand in length so I've decided to split it up into different chapters! There should only be one more part after this (maybe??!) Hope you enjoy! This is more of Bucky's POV and gives some more insight into what happened. Thanks for all your engagement with this series, as always comments and reblogs are appreciated! Unfortunately I no longer use taglists.

💔

Your phone sat on Bucky’s desk as he stared at it blankly. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, maybe that you’d call it, or it would magically reveal some sort of answers to the many questions he had. But it didn’t. It just laid there, about as useful as a rock. A ‘babe, how are you?! we need to hang out soon!’ notification from Natasha had lit up the screen an hour or so before, but otherwise it just continued to sit silently – an insulting prompt that mocked him with your absence, the clock on the screen taunting him with how late it had become.

He'd had a glance at the checking and credit card accounts he’d set up for you, but they hadn’t been touched. In fact, nothing had been touched. None of your clothes had moved, your toiletries remained in the bathroom. You hadn’t even appeared to have taken any shoes with you. Natasha’s casual check-in text suggested your friends were unaware of what had happened. You’d just…vanished. A ghost in the night.

He felt nauseous, his gut churning. He’d tried to find the CCTV footage of you leaving, but the image was grainy – he could hardly make you out. The cameras had been acting up lately, he needed Steve to get them fixed. He kept thinking about you wandering out into the night by yourself, no money, no plan, how he’d forced you out into the cold. The one person he swore to protect, to keep safe.

His guilt was eating him alive.

But then he thought of the recording. Your voice so clear, laughing with the fed – mocking Bucky, calling him names and sneering at his gullibility. He could hardly believe it all at first. Not you? Not his doll, who had opened him up to love in ways he could have never imagined. Surely it couldn’t have been you, who had uprooted his life for the better, who had hit him like a whirlwind, changing his very being forever in all the best ways?

But he’d checked in with Banner who ran the tech and had confirmed you had been there. Your phone had pinged the cell tower in that exact spot they’d tracked the meeting point to. They’d even found a CCTV clip of you getting in a strange car that day, despite telling Bucky you were having Wanda over for a girl’s night. The audio was delivered by his own men, verified by their informant. The evidence was overwhelming.

‘It was so easy’ you had giggled cruelly on the clip, the words burned into his memory, ‘I just fluttered my eyelashes a few times and he was asking me to move in after a few weeks. I barely lifted a finger yet he swallowed everything I gave him and asked for more. Now I know how his whole operation works…but I need more time on the Stark deal. Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything after a few more ‘I love yous’ and dirty fucks. I promise...’

Of course he’d seen red. How could he not? He’d always been hot-tempered (passionate, his mother used to say), and the recording had destroyed his entire world in a matter of seconds. Aside from the betrayal, the pain, he felt humiliated. He’d finally been vulnerable with someone, shared intimacy in ways he’d never experienced with another person – only to find out it was all a lie. A trick. A joke. It affirmed his biggest fear – that he had been correct to build those walls, to protect himself from anyone who would use his feelings against him. Love could be exploited as a weakness, and he’d turned up to the fight unarmed.

In his mind, he’d not thrown you out – not sweet, beautiful you. Not you who held him close in your sleep and nuzzled into his chest, not you who traced his scars with her fingers and encouraged him to take off his prosthetic when you were intimate if he wished to. Not you, who stayed up late on his birthday just to present him with a homemade cake when he came home after an exhausting meeting – insisting he blew out the candles. Did she ever even exist? He’d always joked you were too good to be true. Now he’d accidentally manifested that into reality.

No. He’d thrown out her. The woman who had been gathering intel on him since the moment the two of you had met. The woman who exchanged kisses for information. The woman who had laughed about all of this as she gleefully ratted on him, delighting in her prowess over the foolish, lovesick mob boss she’d so easily toppled. The woman who’d callously worn the mask of someone who loved him. She was thrown out of his house, out of his embrace.

Unfortunately, the two versions of you were one and the same.

But at least he knew better, now. He’d go back to casual sex and pretty girls hanging off his arm. Easy. Fun. Uncomplicated. The walls would go back up and they wouldn’t come down again. Deep down he’d always known that men like him weren’t meant to be loved, that they weren’t worthy of genuine affection. Not all voids could be filled. People like you, or at least who he thought you were, were not for him. They deserved better. You’d always deserved better. He’d had a brief taste of happiness, but that was all he deserved. The universe would continue to punish him for his many bad deeds.

The only thing left to do was finally go to bed, but a solemn knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. He could tell it was Steve.

“Steve?” he called, checking his watch. It was late, he’d assumed his second in command had already gone home.

Steve entered looking sullen. He was tensely holding his phone, and someone appeared to be on FaceTime with him. He cautiously extended it to his long-time friend.

“I’m sorry, Buck”, he said gravely.

“Steve..what?” Bucky asked as he gingerly took the phone from him. Sam looked back at him from the small screen, his solemn expression mirroring Steve’s.

“Bucky…I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly in that same tone, filling Bucky with a sinking dread.

Something was very wrong here.

“What is it?” He fired angrily at Sam, “just spit it out…”

Sam flipped the camera around to face what looked like a heap of old rags on the ground. He appeared to be in a parking garage, surrounded by nothing but concrete and darkness. It was hard to make anything out.

“What am I looking at here?” Bucky squinted at the camera as he tried to focus the image. Steve silently observed over his shoulder.

“Tell him what you just told us,” came the sound of Sam’s furious voice off-camera.

Bucky watched with confusion at the screen as Sam's boot suddenly kicked out at the heap, and the heap moved.

And then he clicked.

The ‘heap’ was a man.

The man groaned and cried out as Bucky realised the ‘rags’ were ripped, bloody clothes. He rolled over in obvious pain as Sam manoeuvred the camera to get a better look. As the man turned over, Bucky recognised his face.

It was one of his own.

“Rumlow?” Bucky asked with confusion.

Behind him, Steve moved closer and leaned forward to watch the screen. “Just watch, Buck” he said sombrely.

Rumlow looked up at the phone, blearily staring into the lens as he squinted at the phone light. His face was bruised and bloodied. Someone had given him a good going over.

“It was me. Alright? I did it,” Rumlow groaned.

“Did what?” Bucky sneered, still not entirely clear on where this was going – but already feeling his anger mounting.

Rumlow sighed heavily and Sam gave him another swift kick to the ribs to encourage him to continue.

He moaned out in pain and closed his eyes. “Aaargh. Alright…I did it! I did it okay! I made the recording!” he spat.

Bucky’s eyes darkened as comprehension of the situation unfolding began to take hold. His fist tightened around the phone screen. “Which recording…Rumlow?” He asked, his voice sinisterly calm.

Rumlow paused and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. Bucky recognised the look of fear building in the man’s eyes, he’d seen it many times before. Rumlow was stalling to delay the inevitable.

“Tell me!!” Bucky roared at the phone, holding it so tightly in his fist that the screen might crack.

He watched Rumlow wince as he turned away from the screen, dropping his head in defeat.

“Of your girl…talking to the police…it wasn’t her-uh-it wasn’t even real. I used AI. From…from recordings of her voice from old security footage…I’m sorry…I just-”

But Bucky was eerily composed. Rumlow took his silence as the cue to continue.

“I hacked into the security system and planted the clip of her getting in the car. And I stole her phone for a few hours when she was at the house with a friend, planting it at the meeting point then driving back with it. She didn’t even notice it was gone…I’m sorry I…”

Bucky cleared his throat. He tapped a single contemplative finger over his lips as his eyes glazed over.

“Sam?” he asked, his voice void of emotion.

Sam flipped the camera back to face himself. He looked grimly into the lens. “I’m sorry Buck…we had no idea…I caught him on the phone with the feds about the shipment – he thought I’d already left and-”

“Keep him warm,” Bucky interrupted, his voice cold like ice, “I have more urgent matters to attend to first, but I will deal with him”.

Sam merely nodded. Just as he cut the call, Bucky heard Rumlow wail and beg in the background. He’d be doing a lot more of that soon.

In a sudden fog of anger, Bucky pelted his phone hard against the wall. He roared with rage, lobbing his scotch glass at the window – shattering both. He flipped his desk, the chair, the bookcase – leaving a tsunami of destruction in his wake. Steve merely watched on, patiently. He knew Bucky needed to vent whichever way he could.

Eventually Bucky slowed, panting with exertion as he took a second to try and slick back his hair, now unkempt and messy from his outburst. He pulled back his shoulders as he attempted to regain his composure.

“We’ll find her, Buck”, Steve told him unwaveringly. “She can’t have gone far on foot. Then you can explain everything and apologise”.

Bucky shook his head as he ran his hands through his hair. Toeing the pile of debris that now cluttered his office floor he sighed heavily. “She told me she didn’t do it, Steve. And I didn’t believe her…”

“The recording was very convincing,” Steve clamped a sympathetic hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, “it sounded just like her – and had all of us fooled. Not to mention the phone location evidence…the CCTV of her leaving…before I came up here, Sam told me that this AI is brand new tech, far more advanced and convincing than what the masses have access to…”

Bucky bleakly shook his head, “Doesn’t matter. She’s my girlfriend and I’m supposed to trust her. Believe her. When I heard her voice on that recording I just…”, he trailed off sadly, “…it tapped into my worst fears…”

Steve nodded sagely. “Let’s just find her first, and you can talk to her. And then we can deal with Rumlow”.

Bucky grimaced, “I knew he was a risk to take on…with our shared history in HYDRA’s organisation…but I never thought…”

“Let’s just find her for now,” Steve repeated, always calm in a crisis. He pulled out his phone, making calls to various members of their group, sending out texts and kicking off various communication chains. In mere minutes, they’d have entire squads of their men scouring the area with a fine-tooth comb.

Bucky stood amongst the wreckage – the room’s physical ruins a glaring reminder that this wasn’t the only mess he’d made tonight. He pulled his own phone from his jacket pocket, opening his photo album as the pings and buzzes from Steve’s device filled the room. He flicked through the pictures of you: your face cheesily grinning at the camera, your lips sweetly planted on his cheek, a candid shot of you cooking in the kitchen – caught off-guard, your mouth a small ‘o’ of surprise. You’d asked him to delete it as you thought you looked dumb, but he insisted he keep as he like the way your eyes sparkled in it. It was one of his favourites. Looking at the pictures helped him calm down, his breath evening as he remembered what was important here. He ran a finger over the image of your face, “I’m sorry, doll” he whispered, “I promise I’ll do anything I can to fix this…”

A couple of miles away, you slept deeply in the tear-stained hotel sheets – completely unaware of the organised efforts to track you down. You didn’t dream, you didn’t stir, you just slept - grateful to give yourself over to oblivion.

💔

There had only been a few places you could have gone on foot.

Bucky’s men had worked quickly despite the late hour. The local police force, already firmly in Bucky’s pocket, loaned him a few law enforcement bodies to assist with the search, no questions asked – as was standard. Sheriff Bodecker always played ball. They collected the CCTV from local businesses, doorbell cam footage from local residents (who weren’t particularly happy to be woken to do so, but didn’t have much choice), swept the area on foot and in vehicles. It was faintly possible you had hitchhiked and thumbed a ride into the city, but Bucky knew this wasn’t likely, so they put that option on the backburner – although it hadn’t been entirely ruled out.

The gas station staff hadn’t seen you, but their CCTV did catch a blurred figure passing in the road opposite the camera. A faint outline of your route started to emerge as the puzzle pieces came together. Eventually, Bucky was sent the security footage of you checking into the Holiday Inn. His heart pulled as he watched you looking lost at the reception desk – your eyes round like saucers as you produced crumpled dollar bills, head turning left to right as you surveyed your drab surroundings. He could only imagine how lost you must’ve felt, how hurt and betrayed. Exiled by the man you loved, you trusted, and having to hunker down in a shitty roadside hotel. Part of him was impressed by your ability to pick yourself up and keep going even in the toughest circumstances – it was one of the many reasons he loved you. But mainly, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he’d pushed you to this, that he’d failed you in so many ways.

Bucky inhaled deeply as he closed the hotel clip on his phone, nodding to his driver and stepping into the dark SUV.

I’m on my way, doll.

#mob!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #starting over fic

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amomentsescape · 11 months ago

Note

Hey, earlier I was suprised to find theres no Christmas themed slashers x reader so could I request just that with the reader and the slashers separately decorating, baking, movies, opening gifts etc? Thx

Slashers Doing Christmas Activities with Reader

A/N: You're so right about not having any Christmas themed Slasher fics! I was thinking about coming up with a Christmas prompt list for the Gotham and Slasher fanatics. If any of you reading this would like a prompt list, let me know!

Freddy Krueger

He's been ready for Christmas all year

I mean, have you seen his sweater?

He knows you've been excited too

So what better way to celebrate than to decorate?

And decorating with Freddy is unlike any other

He can create literal worlds for you

You want 50 Christmas trees in the living room? Sure thing

You want actual elves helping you out around the house? Coming right up!

Plus, Freddy isn't much for decor, so he gives you free reign on doing whatever you want

He most definitely will joke around with you though

He'll change the gold lights to red or have "Santa Clause" tied up in the corner of the room next time you visit

It's all in good fun, of course

You punish him by forcing a Santa hat on his head

Michael Myers

The only "good" holiday to Michael is Halloween

What's the point of Christmas anyways?

Show joy to others and share kindness?

Gross

But he's with you now, so he has to make you happy in some way or another

When you suggest decorating the house, he just sort of gives you that dead stare

But he doesn't disagree

He watches you hang lights up and set up little trinkets everywhere

He will help you with the heavy lifting or anything that involves being really tall

Silently complains about carrying an actual tree into the house though

He doesn't really get the Christmas joy at all, but if it makes you happy, then so be it

Jason Voorhees

Jason's love for Christmas has never truly gone away

In fact, he really appreciates this time of year since there are less run in's with rowdy teens during the winter

So when you suggest a Christmas movie night cuddling together, he's all in

Of course, you watch the films you both remember from childhood

But you also decide to introduce him to the world of Hallmark movies

Unsurprisingly, Jason has a thing for cheesy romance films

But something about the snow falling outside in the woods while a warm fire burns in the fireplace makes Jason feel all giddy

Even a slasher can't escape the joy of Christmas

Thomas Hewitt

One of Thomas's favorite things to do during the holiday season is to decorate the tree!

It's one of the small childhood memories he holds onto, and he's very excited to make new memories with you

He happily carries in the tree, refusing to let you do any of the lifting

And once it's set up, you both are digging through old bins to find ornaments and lights to hang up

You both even make your own special ornament to put on the tree!

And once it's all set up, he lifts you up so you can put the star on top

You both end up turning off all the lights in order to just admire the tree better, just casually chit chatting and sharing festive chocolates

Bubba Sawyer

It's surprisingly his idea to bake a bunch of Christmas treats!

He got so many ingredients

Cookies, cupcakes, pies, if you can think of it, Bubba wants to make it

Of course, there's traditional Christmas music playing in the background

Bubba goes a little crazy with the sprinkles

By the end of everything, the kitchen looks like a war zone

But with everything baking, the house smells amazing

Instead of dinner, you both eat your treats

Bubba has a sugar rush and ends up excitedly bouncing off the walls

You both end up crashing on the couch on top of one another

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms loves Christmas

He has several classical records of Christmas music that he likes to play throughout the month

He has you help him dig out the old decorations he hasn't touched in years

You almost feel weird touching them since each ornament is worth $100 or more

But you and Brahms do have fun setting up the tree and putting the pretty lights everywhere

He also finds some old books he used to read as a child

You both read the Christmas stories together, sharing nostalgic memories of what the holidays were like when you were both younger

It's just a very sweet and wholesome night

Norman Bates

One day, the living is as cozy and cute as normal

The next day, it's suddenly decked out in lights, candles, and a huge Christmas tree with several pristine gifts under it

You mouth was agape

Norman just stood back with an innocent smile on his face

You had no idea he would do all of this while you were out

But thankfully, you had a few gifts wrapped up for him too

With a lighthearted Christmas show playing in the background, you and Norman swap gifts and open them together

The home is filled with surprised laughter and "thank you's" as you both look at what was given

You two know each other so well

He must have been Santa since he literally got you everything on your list

Billy Loomis

Yep, you guessed it

Christmas slasher films

But of course, Billy knows that watching horror films 24/7 every holiday isn't exactly the ideal celebration

So he tries to balance it out

Buys (steals) several expensive gifts for you and wraps them up

He even buys a few candles in your favorite scent to help make the mood more festive

Orders take out for you both as well

This makes the movie marathon feel more special

He MIGHT even let you talk him into matching pajamas

He complains but secretly loves it

Stu Macher

Buys you two matching onesies

He also finds a homemade hot cocoa recipe he wants to try out

He does accidentally burn himself, but it doesn't change his mood any

He might not love this holiday as much as Halloween, but it is a VERY close second

He also manages to find the largest Christmas tree you have ever seen

It barely fits in the house

But when it comes to Stu, everything needs to be extra

You both spend the night flipping back and forth between lighthearted Christmas films and cheesy horror ones

Eric Draven

Christmas has always been a favorite for Eric

It's the one day a year where things are a bit calmer, and he gets to spend it lounging around with you

He definitely made Christmas into a week long event by giving you a different gift each day

Cooks you breakfast in bed

Is somehow even more affectionate during this time

Refusing to decorate the tree unless you are doing it with him

Finds a little Santa hat for Gabriel

He literally just spends the majority of the holiday being lazy and cuddly with you

Not that you're complaining

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stararch4ngelqueen · 1 year ago

Note

Self indulgent but … thanksgiving w a gf who loves the holidays but doesn’t have family or friends to spend them with ?

This is really small and super quick, I hope you enjoy it! I do hope you have a wonderful day! (Also went ahead and incorporated two things I made today just because my mind is too lazy to think of anything else. If you don’t like them, womp womp/jk Pretend Gotham War dosent exist)

—

Time written - 8:09 p.m

—

“You sure I’m not invading in on their celebration?” You vocalize your concern for about the fiftieth time after smoothing out your final layer of fluffy, whipped concoction for your dessert dish.

“If anything, Alfred will appreciate one less dessert to make.” Jason responds, casually leaning across the countertop across from you, watching you work your magic on making one of your miracle dishes. While you didn’t necessarily have to bring a dessert, you insisted as a show of good faith.

“It’ll give the old man a reason to sit down for once,” Jason adds, referring to Alfred’s insistence upon waiting by everyone until they got full plates and thoroughly enjoyed a majority of their meals.

You kept asking the same question, just with different rephrasing of words. You were nervous, Jason could see that by the way you smoothed the silicone spatula over the top of your dessert for the tenth time, insisting perfection on something that already tasted heavenly.

Jason would know. He’s always your designated taste tester.

You went above and beyond with everything you did; Making your own whipped cream, using Madagascar vanilla beans, making your own pudding base from scratch.

“Babe.”

“Hm?” You respond with a concentrated stare on your dish.

“Look at me real quick.”

You spare a short glance up at him, putting up a sweet front of a smile. “What? I’m almost done, Jay.”

“I know,” Jason curts. “I’m sure they’ll love it.”

You nod, swallowing before focusing again on the top of your dish. You picked up the recipe from an online blog article about three years ago; an upgrade on a traditional banana pudding using heavy cream and expensive flavoring, the dessert reeking of pure holiday that had to be shared with the rest of the world.

“Are you sure this looks okay?” You ask, feeling like the top of the dessert needed a lot more than wafer cookies and bananas. Nuts? Caramel drizzle?

“It looks great,” Jason insists, approaching your side of the counter, settling his hand along your hip. “Scratch that. It looks delicious, incredible, mouthwatering. All the good words, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but smile, your cheeks warming with his compliments. Raising your whipped cream spoon to his mouth, you tap his bottom lip before giving him a kiss, hearing his muffled chuckle shortly after.

“Decadent,” He adds, licking his bottom lip of any remaining, perfectly sweet cream. “Perfect. Believe me, Dick and Alfred will never see any banana pudding the same way again.”

You could only hope so, giving him another smile. You liked making this dish, bringing it to your work during little dinner parties. The loudest compliment was a dish scraped empty, yet no one ever asked for the recipe. No one wondered who made it, no one really asked.

“You sure it looks perfect?” Again, your doubts can’t help but have you repeat your broken vinyl record. “I want it to be perfect.”

“It is perfect,” Jason gently reassures with firm sentiment, giving your cheek a soft squeeze. You set your mind to something, you keep at it until you’re perfectly satisfied. As stubborn as it makes you, you always try above your best.

This was your first official gathering with the entirety of Jason’s family. It wasn’t your first, as you’ve been over a few times before for pizza and burgers for movie nights, but never with every single Bat related member at a large, ornately decorated table in an extravagant dining room.

Especially, never with Bruce. Not until tonight, where they’d have a little private event to themselves at the manor. A rare occasion where masks and secret identities weren’t needed. Sometimes, criminal behaviors didn’t allow them a break, so this was truly a treat.

Dick could be himself, fussing over preferences of pumpkin and sweet potato to an annoyed Tim. Babs would scoff her amusement while recording them to show off during Christmas, and the rest would gawk or scoff, chatting amongst themselves or listening in on such a boisterous conversation.

This time, the special guest would be you; the girl Red Hood was sweet on long before you knew his name, becoming the sole guardian of every important identity of the Wayne family.

“Trust me. They invited you, it’ll just be us. It was a big vote with no one opposing.”

Those words brought a more comforting, genuine smile to your face, one Jason could tell was more truthful. Holidays were joyfully dreadful to spend alone in an empty home, the promise of a manor full of friendly faces happy to see you, happy to spend time with you and incorporate you into a tradition you desperately craved was a godsend. It felt too good to be true.

The best part of it all was how much Jason understood. He didn’t celebrate these kinds of holidays when he was a child. No foster family, or even his own mother, could spare enough money to provide grand meals and hours of spending time with people you care for.

It took him a long time to get used to it, he wanted that for you as well. You deserved it after all, they all liked you in their own unique way.

“I’m sure a solid nine out of ten attendants will enjoy those sugar cookie martinis,” Jason murmurs while adjusting a few strands of your hair, reminding you of the one underage family member that ‘tolerated’ your presence.

“Do they got a full stock of vanilla vodka?”

“Course they do. Personally know Bruce has a ton of amaretto.”

“‘Personally?’”

“All those bottles for our dates, babe. Grabbed them all from somewhere.”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd dc

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dreamescapeswriting · 1 year ago

Text

Stray Kids Reaction || You’re Sana’s Best Friend And Have A Crush On a Member

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - June 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

CHAN:

As soon as Sana found out about the crush that you had on Chan she was doing everything within her power to make sure the two of you would see each other. It didn't matter if she had no real reason to go and see him, she would find something. Today was no different it seemed, Sana told you that you'd come here because she owed him some money but Chan had no idea what she was talking about when you both got here.

"We can bring him to lunch with us, right Chan? You'd love to come and grab food." Chan glanced up from his laptop and as soon as his eyes met yours a slight blush began to creep onto his cheeks.

"I'd love to," He stood up from behind his desk, grabbing his bag while your heart was doing summersaults at the thought of getting to spend some time with him.

"Great because I can't and Yn is hungry," Your mouth dropped open as soon as Sana left the room leaving you and chan alone as you stared at one another.

"I guess it's a date." Chan nudged you ever so slightly and you could have sworn your whole body was on fire.

"Y-Yeah, a date," Chan smirked noticing the slight stutter that you were now giving off and the two of you headed out to go and find something to eat together.

MINHO:

You should have known Sana was up to no good when she'd texted you to meet her inside the JYPE building. Normally the two of you would meet up at your favourite cafe but this morning she'd told you to come and meet her inside - which was no issue since you were under her list of friends allowed inside.

"Sana, if this is some weird way to scare me I'll never forgive you." You called out to her as you walked into the practice room, the lights were all on and as soon as you walked inside the door was slammed shut behind you.

"I see you were given instructions to meet her here too." Minho suddenly asked from the seats in the back corner of the room, you jumped a little holding your hand over your chest.

"Ever since I told her about my crush, she's been relentless." Minho finally admitted as if it was the most casual thing in the world, meanwhile, your heart was refusing to stop racing.

"You have a crush, on?" You waited for him to say it explicitly, not wanting to just assume.

"You," He smirked, confidence oozing out of him as he made his way over to you and winked a little, your whole world was spinning so fast you could barely see.

"I'm- I'm going to need a minute," You giggled making Minho blush, honestly it was music to his ears whenever you giggled all laughed around him.

CHANGBIN:

When you'd told Sana about your crush on Changbin, you'd never really expected her to think much of it. You'd only mentioned it in passing and had assumed that she'd barely acknowledged what you were saying since you were both a little tipsy.

"Tell me again why we had to meet in Changbin's studio..." You said as you sat down on the swivel chair, looking at everything that was set up on his desk. There was a photo of you and Changbin together and beside that were a couple of keepsakes you'd gotten for him since the two of you were friends.

"We're just waiting for him to show up." She lied, Changbin was just in the next room set up for some of the NMIXX girls to come and record.

"Do you still have a crush on him?" You span around to face her, stunned by the sudden question.

"Can you be quiet about it? He's one of our best friends, I don't exactly want to tell him I've had a crush on him this whole time." You laughed awkwardly but a smirk began to take over Sana'a lips and you froze in place.

"He's behind me, isn't he?" All Sana did was nod before you span in your chair to see a very blushing Changbin looking at you.

"A crush? On me?" He sounded so surprised by it but he was already making his way over to you,

"Me too, I mean...a crush on you, not on me, I can't have a crush on me because that would be weird, and I don't-" He stopped talking when you let out a small giggle, looking up at him.

"I'll come and see you after I'm done here...Please, don't go anywhere." He begged and you nodded quickly kissing his cheek before leaving the studio.

HYUNJIN:

If it wasn't obvious enough to everyone around you that you had a crush on Hyunjin, it was now. Not only did you suddenly turn into a clumsy mess around him but it appeared you now stuttered and stammered whenever he was close to you.

"Hyunjin just put the girl out of her misery and take her on a date," Sana said as she noticed you drop a glass on the floor and it shattered as it hit the floor. Sana knew that Hyunjin knew of your crush on him and every time he flirted with you or got too close on purpose it was because he liked to see you flustered for him but she'd had enough.

"But it's fun to see Yn squirm," Your heart was in your throat as you turned your head to look up at him.

"You knew? This whole time?!" Your voice cracked ever so slightly toward the end of your questioning and he nodded his head.

"Don't worry, I thought it was cute." Hyunjin complimented as he bent down to pick up the broken shards of glass leaving you to whine and groan at the thought of him knowing this whole time about the crush you had on him.

JISUNG:

"Did you get the same text?" A voice suddenly asked making you look up from the menu and instantly you knew that you were going to kill your best friend.

"Yeah, she told me she'd meet me for food." You told Jisung as he took a place in front of you, sliding his phone into your view so you could see the exact message word for word on his screen,

[SANA 4:55pm] Let's meet at FuzzCafe at 5:30! xx

You should have known she was going to do something like this for you, ever since you'd told her last week about your crush on Jisung she'd relentlessly been telling you about it.

"I'll kill her." You grumbled under your breath, noticing Jisung looking slightly saddened by it,

"It's nothing against you, it's just, she knows what she's doing by forcing us together and she thinks it's going to end well but I told her that you would never feel the same way and that she shouldn't get involved and yet here we are." You rambled our before realising a little too late that you'd in, some way or another, told Jisung you liked him.

"Who said I wouldn't feel the same?" A blush was growing deeper on his cheeks as he stared back at you, both of you smiling a relaxing.

"Let's order food and we can continue talking about it?" He suggested making you shyly nod at him.

FELIX:

Felix was oblivious to it all, it didn't matter how obvious Sana made it for him he just didn't take the hint and it was starting to get to her. All she wanted was for her best friend and someone she saw as a little brother to finally be happy together but it seemed he was blind to all the signs.

"Oh my god, no!" You screamed out when you walked into the small canteen to see Sana writing a literal sign with the words "Felix YN has a crush on you" written on it.

"Are you insane?!" You quickly placed your tray on top of the sign and scanned the room to make sure none of the stray kids boys was even around to see it.

"It's the only way he's going to take the hint," She pouted at you, your heart fluttering when you saw her giving you her signature pleading eyes look.

"Maybe he knows and is choosing to ignore you. Did you ever think about that?" She shook her head at you, there was no way Felix didn't like you back.

"He likes you. I know it, besides when he sees this sign, he'll tell you the truth," You shook your head at her, slowly taking your tray away from her when you thought it was safe to do so.

"Oh." The voice came so deep you almost dropped your tray turning around to see Felix right behind Sana, your eyes scanned him before he looked at you and blushed.

"My work here is done," Sana said proudly, leaving her sign on the table as you and Felix sat down together to talk some more.

SEUNGMIN:

It was a stupid dare, one that you were regretting as every single second passed by. You were sneaking into one of the dance studios where Seungmin and Jeongin were practising together, the plan was to grab his phone and delete the voicemail before he ever had a chance to listen to it.

"Will you relax, he's probably not listened to it yet." Sana giggled as you stopped just outside of the room, everything was completely silent which didn't feel you with much hope.

"If he's listened to it, you have to kill me." You told her as you headed into the room, your eyes squinting a little as you tried not to let the bright lights hurt you since you were hung over/

"Seungmin!" Sana squealed rushing to hug him while you made a quick b-line for his jacket, you knew his passcode since you, Sana and himself were quite close with one another.

"Did you girls have a nice night last night?"

"We did, did you? I heard you and Jeongin had an early night." Sana did her best to distract him while you hunted for his voicemails.

"We did. Yn, did you have a reallllyyy good time last night?" As soon as you heard his line of questioning you froze and turned to face him.

"I heard that you reeeeallllyyyy liked last night and that you, reallllyyyy like me." You groaned inwardly and slowly sunk down into the seats.

"It's cute. I'm glad though," He told you as he made his way over to you, standing above you with his face so close to yours.

"Because I reeeallllyyyy like you too," He whispered making your whole body burn for him.

"I'll leave you guys to it," Sana smirked before heading out.

JEONGIN:

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Do I look okay?" The uncertainty in your voice oozed out easily and Sana smiled turning around to hold you in place. All morning she'd been prepping you for your "date" with Jeongin and you were suddenly ready to back out of it and run for the hills. You'd told Sana about your crush on Jeongin months ago and now suddenly he was asking to hang out with you alone.

"I told you, you look great and this was a fantastic idea. He wanted to spend time with you." That was the part you were having a hard time believing, if jeongin wanted to hang out why didn't he just ask you.

"Why didn't he just ask me? I feel like you're setting me up," You stuttered a little but before Sana even had a chance to answer you the door to a studio opened and Jeongin blushed seeing you.

"H-Hi," He stuttered out, stepping inside the room and letting you come inside. The room was darkened except for a few candles sitting on the desk where a whole picnic was set up for the two of you.

"I told you, it wasn't a set-up." Sana winked, slowly shutting the door and leaving you both alone.

tagline: @chiisaiblog @hanasonmi @sw33tnight @taestannie @illicee @army24--7 @acciocriativity @scarletemeterio @halesandy @aerastus @lost-leopard-beanie @laylasbunbunny @critssq @lenfilms @btsiguess-kpop @meowmeowisdaname @imafivestarkpopstan

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melkyt · 3 months ago

Text

Law becomes pirate king because he marries Luffy.

it's all the news. There are a lot of theories and rumors going around about who is going to be the life partner of Monkey D. Luffy. There are few journalists who have the guts to talk to Luffy, but one does on the few times the Sunny is docked on one of the strwhats fleet territories.

Luffy just confused, like "huh, im with Traffy"

The world goes crazy. King Of The Pirates, Married?

Law who was not quite sure what their relationship was, is, he's in denial, tracks dow Luffy to ask wtf, they arent married, they may spend time together and have casual relationship but thats not marriage!

"Eh?" Luffy shrugs and striaght up proposes. "Then let's do it, Traffy, get married!"

Law sighs, part of him is a hopeless romantic, and he was hoping for something more special. Luffy sensing the hesitation says nevermind and runs off. Leaving Law standing their confused and exasperated.

Luffy goes straight to Usopp, asking him to plan like the best proposal ever so Traffy is happy! Usopp gets an excited smirk and pulls out a whole binder of ideas, cant tell me that man doesnt have plans for all situations. No doubt, interviewed the heart pirates about what Law likes, but also is ready to go with Luffy's whims because Luffy has a good feel for Law's brand of grand gestures.

Together they set up something awesome!

All thats left for Luffy to drag Law out there, it doesn't take much. Law may grumble about it but he goes along with whatever Luffy got into his preatty little head at all times xd, they match each others energy!

So its a full moon night, under the stars on one of frankys specialy designed submarines that borrows from the design of the heart pirates ship, and also transforms to be a floating platform perfect for a picnic, food freshly cooked by Sanji, flowers picked by Robin, Nami helping out with the ring and Luffy's outfit. They all help out their captain in this one way or another, music recorded from Brook, Jimbei pointing to a quite beautiful part of the ocean that when the moon hits it just right it shimmers with a rainbow of colors. With fish that swim around coral.

Its the perfect night, and more then Law was ready for, he was dejected after the sudden proposal seeming to be a thing of necessity due to the rumours, but this is different. Luffy actually thought about it and put the effort in. Law is more then glad to say yes, letting Luffy slip the ring on his finger, its a small band with a swirling heart in the middle.

Law having also thought about making it official takes out something he picked out, knowing that rings would just get Luffy's way. He chose a necklace with a sun motif. They kiss under the moonlight and have their 'official' wedding on a platform between the two ships, private and away from the eyes of the world that had no business in their relationship in the first place.

#lawlu #lulaw #lulawlu

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bad268 · 5 days ago

Note

hi can u do a paul aron x reader fic where she is like max fewtrell sister and like for a video on yt there react to the readers tiktoks where she has been slowly soft lauching her relationship with paul i hoped that makes sense can lando also be there reacting to the tts too she then later confrims she dating paul

smau/irl

TikTok Secrets (Paul Aron X Fewtrell! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I love this so much, side note, I'm open to writing for Max Fewtrell now)

Warnings: sexual inuendos ig

POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)

W.C. 1427

Summary: A quadrant video unearths a secret crush (at least, to Max it was a secret)

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Max thought this was an interesting idea. He knew you were always on TikTok, and as a member of Gen-Z, you were bound to have some questionable videos in your likes. He had mentioned the idea briefly to Lando, but then Lando agreed it would be funny to go through your liked TikTok videos for a Quadrant video.

You showed up in the studio clueless since he didn’t tell you what the video was before this. You just handed your phone to Lando because that’s what you always did. Lando or someone behind the camera would take everyone’s phones out of the room, so there would be no interruptions. It was something that didn’t make you bat an eye.

“Hello everyone, and welcome back to another Quadrant video,” Max started off. “We have my sibling here, and today, we will be going through their TikTok liked videos.”

“Wait, Max, no,” You tried to protest as Lando handed the phone to Max. It was times like this when you regretted not having a stronger password on your phone. “I never agreed to this!”

“It’s not like you have anything to hide, eh?” Max teased as he opened your TikTok immediately and went to your liked videos. Thankfully, nothing super questionable played out when the app first loaded up. “See? This is normal Gen-Z humor stuff.”

You had been on a brain rot cycle that morning, so most of your recent liked videos were super random. The recording went on with casual and chaotic banter between you and Max, with Lando chiming in from time to time again from behind the camera. All was well until Max reached the section of videos you didn’t want him to see. The edits.

“Woah, does my sibling have a crush on a certain F2 driver?” Max teased as he watched the seemingly never-ending Paul Aron edits in your liked videos. “I thought this was a joke, but this is a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“Max, cut it out, please,” You pleaded as you tried to grab your phone. “I’m begging, cut this out.”

“Tell me, and I’ll cut it out of the video,” Max replied as he set your phone down but kept it out of your reach.

“Cut the cameras now, and I’ll spill,” You countered, and Max nodded, gesturing to Lando to stop the recording. “Maybe I have a crush.”

“My little sibling has their first crush!” Max gushed as he squished your face between his hands. “You’re all grown up now! Stop it.”

“I can’t really just stop,” You chuckled, pushing his hands away from you. “I’m almost 20 now, Max. I’m more than grown up.”

“You’ll always be my little sibling, and that’s final,” Max joked. “So, do you need me to set you up with Paul?”

“You don’t even know Paul,” You chuckled in disbelief. This was not how you thought he was going to react, but you’re not complaining yet.

“I’m more in the motorsport world than you are,” Max pointed out, “And by association, I’m closer to him than you. Let me set you two up.”

“Fine, if you want,” You relented, rolling your eyes. “Can we wrap this video up now? I’d like to go back onto my brain rot streak.”

“You Gen-Zers,” Max muttered, shaking his head.

“You are Gen-Z too, technically,” You teased, using this time to snatch your phone. “Now, let’s end this video.”

“Fine,” Max groaned before gesturing to Lando to resume filming, “Well, that does it for this video. We’ll see you next time!”

“Y/n, explain now,” Max pressed as soon as you answered his call. You were lying in bed with Paul at the hotel since it was the start of the race weekend, and his call woke you both up. If he was going to start your day like this, you weren’t going to be nice about it.

“What ever happened to “hello”, “good morning”, “how are you”, “what are you doing”, or y’know, any conversation starter?” You dragged out as you put the phone on speaker and laid your head back against Paul’s chest.

“Hello, good morning, how are you? What are you doing? When were you gonna tell me you were already dating Paul?” Max rushed, getting progressively louder as his sentence went on.

“Hello to you too. I’m doing well other than you woke us up at the ass-crack of dawn-”

“What do you mean “us”? Is he with you right now?” Max cut you off.

“Yes, now, if I can continue,” You cut back in with a sharp tone, “We were asleep, and you woke us up at the ass-crack of dawn. Do time zones mean nothing to you?”

“How was I supposed to know you were with him?” Max defended, almost completely forgetting his original point of the call.

“I told you I was going out of England for work,” You explained. “I said I was going to Qatar for work. I literally texted this to you yesterday.”

“You work with Paul? Since when?” Max questioned.

“Since I realized I can work remotely. Graphic design can be done from anywhere. I just decided this week it’s being done in Qatar,” You justified, looking up at Paul, who was trying his hardest not to laugh. “Was there a point to this, or can we go back to sleep? We had a long night.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what you did last night!” Max screamed into the phone, and both of you started laughing out loud. “Don’t laugh at this! I don’t wanna know what my youngest sibling does with the boyfriend I didn’t know they had! You’re just a baby!”

“One, I’m not a baby. Two, our flight got delayed, and we didn’t get to our hotel until about 2 this morning. We’re too tired to do anything but sleep, Max,” You deadpanned once you calmed your laughs.

“I at least would’ve expected you to tell me before you posted it,” Max complained.

“Would you like to know how long before we announce that?” Paul chipped in.

“I don’t wanna hear anything from you,” Max snapped before completely changing his tone, “Y/n, how long have you been with Paul?”

“About 9 months,” You chuckled at his quick switch. “We wanted to make sure we were strong before letting everyone in, and you were included in that. Sorry, bro.”

“Do not “sorry, bro” me like that’s gonna fix this,” Max complained, knowing you always pulled this whenever you wanted to sweep something under the rug. “It’s not gonna work on me.”

“Sorry, bro,” You said again with a smirk, “I’ll call Mum and tell her how much you hate me. I’m sorry, bro. I didn’t mean to make you feel left out.”

“No, I was just a little hurt. It’s fine,” Max comforted, feeling bad that he made you feel upset. Despite his original anger towards the situation, he hated making you feel bad. Call it a big brother thing, but he feels bad whenever he’s the reason behind your pain.

“So you’re not mad at me?” You pouted even though he couldn’t see you, but Paul could. He knew you were using your younger sibling power to get your way.

“No, I can’t be mad at you,” Max comforted, “I can understand where you two are coming from, so I’m not upset about it.”

“Good, we’re going back to sleep now then,” Your tone switched back to its usual peppy style, “I’ll call you later this weekend or something. And don’t worry, we’ll be safe, promise.”

You didn’t give him the chance to say anything as you ended the call and put your phone on Do Not Disturb. You moved it back to the bedside table as you got comfortable in Paul’s arms again.

“You know you gave him a heart attack, right?” Paul chuckled lightly as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you to be practically on top of him.

“That’s my job as the younger sibling,” You replied sleepily as you got your head comfortable against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “You do the same thing to Ralf, so don’t even start.”

Almost on cue, Paul’s phone started ringing. Who was calling? Ralf.

~~~~~

#paul aron x reader #paul aron imagine #paul x reader #paul aron #formula 2 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #formula 2 x reader #max fewtrell x reader #formula 2 #max fewtrell #hitech #ralf aron #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

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wizardprime · 2 months ago

Text

the batfamily play minecraft

alfred: i don’t believe he can physically interact with computers

barbara: there’s always one person in the group who can do redstone and here it’s her. builds all the farms everyone loves having at the beginning of the game like the ender ender and a villager trading hall. as usual everyone would fucking die without her. servers she doesn’t join never really get off the ground for the most part because everyone is so used to having her farms on hand and gets lazy to play without them. would probably really enjoy elaborate progression mods like feed the beast

bruce: doesn’t get it. “what are you supposed to do?” “just whatever i want? that sounds silly.” if he gave it a chance i think it could be great for his mental health. i mean mining is basically meditation let’s be real. but let’s also be real he would try it for 5 minutes 30 if his kids really did the puppy eyes and then he would wander away and get killed by a zombie

cass: hard to say, honestly. depends on from what angle the game would be presented to her. she would probably enjoy the hanging out and the cozy atmosphere but she doesn’t strike me as the type to enjoy very grindy games beyond mindless resource gathering. she’d like hopping on the batfam server while everyone else is online and dicking around but alone i think she would just wander the landscapes aimlessly without progressing the game much.

damian: he’s collecting all the animals. 2.000 dogs and no sign of stopping. at least just as many cats. has wrangled half the passive mobs into his house, which is a wooden cube with a roof. it should be ugly but mostly it’s just really charming. i think he would enjoy the foxes

dick: also doesn’t get it. i think he’d prefer story based games or just straight up board games. he would enjoy the communal aspect and if someone introduced him to hypixel or something he would like that but i can’t see him enjoying casual minecraft unless it was a story based adventure map of some kind. he might like blightfall

duke: stacked. plays the game and plays it well. he has netherite armour while everyone else is just getting iron. he just strikes me as a minecraft kid. only other person who’s halfway decent at redstone, but only uses it to make cursed contraptions that give everyone else a headache.

jason: not the most impressive builds or the best with pvp but he likes to explore and creates really elaborate beautiful storylines into all his builds and the environments he cultivates that end up dragging half of the others into the plot. the kid who built fences around villages to protect the citizens from monsters. would enjoy mods that expand the minecraft world like better end.

stephanie: would play with incredibly silly mods that are all only working together with glue and hope. finding incredibly niche categories of speedrunning to complete just for fun; she actually gets briefly famous for setting a decent world record in something and would probably have many twitch followers if she didn’t already have med school and vigilante work to manage. maybe in another life

tim: doesn’t understand the term sandbox game and refuses to learn. he logs on and starts playing achievement hunter. not necessarily in a speedrunning way, but he does play the game like it has a tasklist. perpetual dirt hut tenant. either that or his unsupervised internet access as a child has lead to minecraft youtuber trauma

#batfamily #batfam #dc #dc comics #nightwing #robin #batman #bruce wayne #jason tod #dick grayson #tim drake #stephanie brown #duke thomas #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #text post #wizardprime #mc

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keepthedelta · 3 months ago

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what would you consider Rosberg's best race? (wanna hear people wax poetic about their special interest)

it's going to be a list because i am weird about nico

singapore 2016. an absolutely dominate weekend for him, fastest in every single session, outqualified lewis by 7 tenths (and danny ric by 6) setting what was (at the time) a track record. spent the entire race managing brake and engine issues, got screwed over by merc strategy when they were trying to get lewis back onto the podium after he got overtaken by kimi, had to make his tyres last an extra 20 laps with danny ric chasing him down 2-4 seconds a lap faster than him. won the race and then posted a slutty shirtless photo of him being cooled down by a fan in what could be considered the ancestor of the ice bath videos that teams post now.

canada 2014. a real contender for my favourite ever nico race even though he didn't win. both merc cars had mgu-h failure about 20-30 laps in thereby losing half of their power. nico switched brake bias to the front brakes so that less strain would be put on the rear brakes because on the lack of power and potential overheating. about five laps later lewis dnfs with rear brake failure. nico should have been overtaken by just about everybody, but instead he spends the next 30 laps using all of his power and speed in one specific sector (the one with the drs detection point) so that checo (now in second) is too far behind to get drs, and then, even though nico's car is barely alive for the rest of the lap, he can never overtake him. it literally took checo's car breaking down and allowing danny ric (now driving the best car in the field) for nico to lose the win. the mechanical masterclass of modern f1 (and yes it might not have worked at another track or i f someone other than checo had been in second, but i firmly believe that the lowest nico could have ever come given the circumstances was third) and it is not appreciated enough.

china 2012. i rewatched this recently and literally no one believed that nico was going to win until about five laps before the end. he was driving one of the world's shittiest mercs (i promise every single merc pre-2013 was worse than any car since then), got pole by half a second, got a perfect start, flawless tyre management, cruised to victory while everyone else was fighting for their lives behind him (the battle for second was absolutely insane, and nico was just minding his own business about 15 seconds ahead of them all).

singapore 2008. crashgate has entered the building. back then cars refuelled during the race and so another factor in the strategies was fuel load. nico and a number of others were running low initial fuel loads, so they would have to stop relatively early. except, just before they were going to stop, nelson piquet jr binned it into the wall (on purpose) and the stewards closed the pitlane for safety reasons. however, nico and the others on similar strategies needed to refuel so they had to enter the pitlane anyway which earned them a stop and go penalty which had to be served within three laps. nico did those laps as fast as he possibly could, meaning that after he served his penalty he only lost a handful of places (i think 3). robert kubica who also took a stop and go penalty on the exact same lap for the exact same reason (and was in a better car) lost far more places and i don't think he even finished in the points. nico spent the rest of the race rising up the field and finished second only to fernando (who got there by cheating) with lewis in a distant third (tbf i don't think he needed to try that hard by the end as he got a massive points gain over felipe massa his championship competition due to the ferrari pitlane incident).

malaysia 2016. casuals will tell you that this is the race where lewis lost the championship because of his dnf (and if you're a lh hater i recommend watching it because the level of conspiracy that emerges from lewis and sky sports is genuinely quite funny) but i think that's very misleading. in the very first turn seb crashed into nico, spinning him around and leaving him in dead last by the end of the first lap. nico fought through the field, pulled off a rallycross overtake on kimi, got a penalty for it, and was already sitting in fourth when lewis's engine blew up. he then pulled a ten second gap over kimi so that he kept his podium place, got danny ric to make max do a shoey, nearly threw up when he did one himself, told a room full of reporters that he didn't want danny ric to win another race (that year) and filmed one of the funniest ever post-race vlogs where he fidgeted with the neckline of his t-shirt while describing how seb had apologised to him for the crash and that was nice but it didn't get him any points back. truly iconic.

there is definitely a running theme in these choices i think. mostly that i think nico was at his best when he was fighting against the potential capabilities of the car/circuit/circumstances rather than other drivers 🤷🏿‍♀️

#this got quite long sorry anon #you said you liked people rambling about their special interests and i have very strong opinions on nico #asks #anon

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 years ago

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It's Valentine day, and some fan service when Crewel daughter lost a bet and wearing a bunny outfit that hugs her curvs bit too well ( think of Jessica Rabbit level of sexy ) and all confident of her body as she sings on stage for them

All the boys reaction seeing both display and the show

I'm not doing all of them

🖤🖤🖤🖤

Valentines Performance | Yandere TWST x Crewel Daughter Reader

First and foremost Crewel’s daughter never loses a bet

But charity does look good on her record so she’d do it

Heck you might even suggest it

“What? I know from my head to my toes that I’m practically irresistible. Of course you’d want me to be the main performance.”

You wouldn’t do it for just some boys wishing to ogle you for their own desires

That would be of no benefit to you

In fact, you’d force Crowley to pay

Who in turn forces your admirers to cough up a significant amount

But if you’re going to go through the trouble of dressing up and performing it will be for a good cause and for a good paycheck

So many lonely, sad people on such a day is something a princess shouldn’t ignore

If you have curves than great but even without you’re just as alluring

But like everything you do it has the boys drooling:

Azul Ashengrotto

He was proud to be apart of the latest cashgrab charity that the school was fundraising

And he was even happier to call upon you under that pretense

Its been years since he’s heard you sing

He can only imagine what its like now

And with the excuse of being practice he’ll hear the chords you so casually ring out as the charity dinner is mapped out

But only when you’re fully made up and singing does he feel like his investment was truly worth it

“A-a-ah (Y/n) that was–”

“Amazing, I know. I can tell you’re excited but don’t go inking all over the floor before the finale.”

“Y-yeah.”

He really does have to stop himself

He’s just so enamored

One day he’ll have to ask trick you into singing a serenade to him

“A mate’s song needs to be, at the very least, decent enough to attract. Naturally, (Y/n) would exceed that, she truly is a prime mate and the only one I’d ever bother chasing after.”

Kalim Al Asim

He loves that you’re scheduled to perform

Money isn’t an object anyway so he’s happy to pad your paycheck and donation

He just loves loves loves anything you do

You could go outside in a chicken wunzie and sing horribly he’d still fling his money in your direction

But as he watches you appear on stage make up done, dress hugging tight something burns

His cheeks get warm and suddenly his clothes feel too hot to wear

A yearning that Kalim barely acknowledges to dangerous takes over and he’s in a daze for the entirety of the night

Don’t interrupt the performance

Don’t bother him while he’s watching you sing in that sultry tone

Or you can see what its like when Jamil’s happy to follow Kalim’s orders+

“(Y/n) you should sing more often! Your voice is so beautiful!”

“Thank you, Kalim.”

“Will you be doing another set? I’d love to play along side you!”

He’ll be replaying your performance in his head for years to come

Always letting a smile come to his face

“Wow I can’t get her voice out of my head! Maybe I should ask her to sing to me everynight!”

Vil Schoenheit

If he isn’t hired himself to join you he’ll donate his talent with a small fee

But to be seen by millions as the most beautiful dream couple

Neige could never

But ego aside he loves nothing more than performing with you side by side

Brought back to the days you two would make little plays and shows for your fathers to watch

Now this was just fate in work, wasn’t it

That you two would be preparing a duet that’d have the world talking for weeks

“Are you ready to delivery our harmony of ecstasy?”

“You know I am. I like your trim by the way.”

“And I yours. Though we both know anything you wear is better than couture.”

For this moment and this moment only will he encourage the hunter to share his recordings

He won’t be able to hear your voice out in the crowd

But it couldn’t compare to the sound of being beside you

As it was always meant to be

“Becoming a duo? Who’s to say? We both have big plans for the future but naturally we’ll be together asitsalwaysbeen.”

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

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AITA for making my sister break up with her boyfriend?

My (20M) sister, “S” (28F) has been dating this man, “D” (40M) for about two years now. I didn’t like D at first, before I met him — I liked my sister’s ex-girlfriend a lot and hated her new partner on instinct. I especially didn’t like D when I found out he was 12 years older than my sister, who isn’t even 30 yet. (And yes, I know, there is nothing really wrong or creepy about a 28 and 40 year old dating, she is more than old enough to make her own choices. However, consider this fact: I am allowed to have biased opinions on my sister’s dating life. That’s basically my job as a little brother.)

I thought I would warm up to D eventually, but I never really did. He’s not awful, really… just didn’t have any personality I cared for. He’s very boring. Very obviously a 40 year old man, if you catch my drift. I don’t see what my sister sees in him, but, whatever, right? She’s happy, that’s all that matters. Except the longer I knew him, the less and less I liked him.

While at first he came off as a casual, polite guy, the more I saw of him, I realized how rude he is. He always comes to family gatherings late (and last Thanksgiving he literally fell asleep and wasn’t seen for the entire last half of the night. He didn’t even get to eat.), he never greets me when he sees me, and I realized he belittles my sister a lot, too. When she excitedly shared her birthday plans with him, he immediately laughed and tore her down, saying “who would even go to that?” in response, for one example of that.

Now, I definitely wouldn’t have gone to the lengths that I did if this was a casual boyfriend. However, my sister is dead set on this guy. She’s even talked about marrying him and starting a family, and she’s a total hippie. She’s NEVER talked about that kind of thing, not with any partner she’s EVER had. Never even crossed her mind before. I refuse to let this man be my brother-in-law, and I refuse to let my sister spend the rest of her life with this scumbag that nobody in the family likes. (And obviously, for the record, I and the rest of my family have tried to speak with S about her boyfriend before. But as you can probably guess, most people don’t really listen when their family says “we don’t like your boyfriendddd!!” or else nobody in the entire world would have a relationship.)

So, one day when D left his phone in a room alone with me on accident, I had a plan. When I returned it to him, I gave S a subtle concerned look, and whispered that I had to talk to her when he left. When he did leave, I told her I saw conspicuous messages from another woman on there. I knew, obviously, that there was no proof, but I knew she would believe me over him, with the simple excuse of “he probably deleted the messages from his phone” excusing the lack of evidence. She believed me just like I thought, and dumped him.

Maybe I overreacted here. It’s not like D was (to my knowledge) abusive, just an asshole. And I know that if S ever finds out what I did, it will destroy her trust in me forever. At best, I’m honestly expecting JAH. But I still don’t regret what I did. I just won’t let my sister spend the rest of her life with a man like him. She’s a kind, attractive, fun woman, and she plays for both teams, so I know she can do better. I felt like I had no other choice and they didn’t seem to be breaking up by their own choice anytime soon.

So, am I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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blues824 · 2 years ago

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Imagine the remarried empress reacting to Duke kaufman bringing a female Kalim

🌞i see Duke kaufman bringing a brotherly figure towards her or him taking the role of jamil because her didn't get iskaid with the Kalim reader .

🌞Like she got iskaid to his kingdom still with all her rithest to her name and her being the happy go locky sunshine next to the Duke whoud be funny.

Those clothing are fabulous he looks so beautiful along with jamil.

🌞Like she got invited to navier and sovieshit empre because of kaufman and when she arrives her being herself making people think she is eather faking it or the Duke literally invided the sun.

🌞Her being a sweetheart and giving navier a present and her ladies in waiting imagine her inviting navier on her flying carpet.

(sovieshit and rattrash don't dezelfde presents from Kalim )

🌞Imagine her inviting navier and some of the ladies from her empire to a party like she did in twisted wonderland and how would they react to seeing her food get always tested for poison (because being a Asim brings a lot of enemies )

Kalim taking a nap during dinner it's adorable poor jamil thought.

*Casually has a bloody nose because of the clothes on Kalim and Jamil.* I decided to put an interesting twist: your merchant family has found a way to travel across dimensions to further expand their wealth. You graduated NRC at this point.

Preface: You get transported to the Kingdom of Luipt because of a distant relative that was a part of your merchant family. You had asked to travel with them, and they agreed to let you on the condition that you would shadow Grand Duke Kaufman to learn about settling affairs both foreign and local.

Sovieshu

The moment you had set foot into the palace, he was there to greet you. As you went to bow before the Emperor, he took in your appearance. You had a silk head scarf, along with silk clothing that paired nicely with Grand Duke Kaufman’s uniform. You had a few gold bands around your arms. You just looked absolutely beautiful.

During your time, you mostly stuck with the Duke. He would try to have a conversation with you, but you would just smile apologetically and say that you shouldn’t converse about anything political without Kaufman. From what he’s seen, you seem very happy to be there, he just wishes he could show you around the garden (with your arm in his).

You even became friends with both Navier and Rashta… until you found out that the latter was his mistress and the former was his wife. It made you upset to see Navier upset about it, so you decided to distance yourself from Rashta.

Kaufman was there when Sovieshu asked if you would be interested in becoming his next mistress, kind of like an act of goodwill between Luipt and the Eastern Empire. You had to tell him that you weren’t actually a resident of the Kingdom of Luipt, and therefore your mistress-hood would be invalid. He was absolutely distraught.

Rashta

She thought you were beautiful as well and wanted to become friends with you. You had a beautiful scarf that covered your head, and you wore gold all over: in your earrings, the bands around your arms, and headpiece that held the scarf in place.

It was a bit frustrating to her because you stuck by Grand Duke Kaufman’s side for the majority of your visit. He had told you not to go anywhere without him, and you followed his orders because it was a privilege to even be here instead of Twisted Wonderland.

It made her angry to see you getting along with Navier more than her. To Rashta, having a friend from another kingdom was another step into becoming more like the current Empress. Did you think she genuinely wanted to be your friend?

She was there when Sovieshu had asked if you wanted to become one of his mistresses, and she let out a gasp. She relaxed when you refused, but your reasoning concerned her. You explained that you weren’t even from this world and therefore couldn’t be his mistress. According to birth records in any kingdom of this dimension, you didn’t exist. You never said that you didn’t want to.

Navier

She was also at the entrance to greet you both. She knew you were from a different world because she kept close ties with members of your family as well as Duke Kaufman. She was surprised at how you carried yourself and the pristine manners you displayed. It was better than Rashta, and she’s been there longer than you have.

She understood why you always stayed near the Grand Duke. You were in a strange world, and he was the only familiar person to you. However, when he gave you the ‘okay’ to hang out with her, she realized just how bubbly you were. You knew the limits, unlike a certain somebody.

You’ve thrown a few parties in your time there, and each time you presented her with the best silk that your family had obtained. They typically had golden trim to them, and they were vibrant colors that she can’t recall ever wearing before. You totally took her on a magic carpet ride.

When the Emperor asked you to become his mistress, Kaufman refused for you. That got the men going in a vocal altercation, and you going to Navier’s chambers. You ran into her arms and clung onto her as you were speaking a mile a minute trying to tell her what happened. She wrapped her arms around you in return, trying to comfort you.

Heinrey

He met you when you were visiting, and you were in the Empress’s chambers as he flew in (I made him sound like Hawks from MHA). You let out a gasp of shock, before going over and introducing yourself. You knew how to talk to animals because of your education back home, and that freaked him out.

He had told you his secret and begged you to keep it. Unfortunately, you weren’t the best liar, but you came up with the lie that his dialect was a bit different than what you were used to so you were having a harder time. Navier seemed oblivious enough.

You have given him a bunch of accessories that he absolutely loved. You would even give them to him so that he could give them to Navier in an attempt to ‘charm’ her. It never worked, but it was the thought that counted.

At his and Navier’s wedding, they were sad to see you wouldn’t be able to attend because you were heading back home to Twisted Wonderland. You did send them a long winded letter wishing them health and prosperity, as well as a bunch of fancy silk and gold.

Bonus: Kosair

You had met back in Luipt, actually. He was traveling around and went there on a whim. He had to admit that you were the most gorgeous lady he had ever laid his eyes on. When he told you so, you just smiled and called him handsome back.

Kaufman deemed that he wasn’t any danger (besides if you made him angry), so he said it was alright for you to go on a few walks with him. Kosair got to experience your genuinely happy personality. He found it absolutely adorable how you cared for everyone.

You both went with Kaufman to the Eastern Empire to negotiate between the two. Kosair was happy to see you getting along with Navier. In fact, she treated you like a dear friend, even though you had only met that day.

He eventually asked for your hand in marriage, but you said that you couldn’t because you weren’t from this world. However, you tried to make it better by telling him you loved him. It didn’t do anything besides drive the knife deeper into his heart.

#remarried empress x reader #remarried empress #the remarried empress x reader #the remarried empress #emperor sovieshu #sovieshu x reader #sovieshu #rashta x reader #rashta #empress navier #navier trovi #navier x reader #navier #heinrey x reader #heinrey #kosair x reader #kosair trovi #kosair

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esggs · 3 months ago

Text

The Homo Economicus in Love - Noritoshi Kamo

[wc: 4k+ | noritoshi kamo x reader | college au | fluff-angst-smut | tw: alcohol, weed, smoking, economics, kissing Nobara, swear words, Boys over Flowers, cunnilingus, handjob, blowjob, unprotected piv | three-part series, part 2 and 3 to be released next week]

Synopsis: You’re the sweet shy nerd who swears Marxist revenge on the heir of the Kamo Conglomerate, Noritoshi Kamo: You’re going to give him the worst heartbreak of his life.

lh7-rt.googleusercontent.com

Part 1: Operation Kamo

Where do you hide away your most rotten petals, sweet lotus? Do you arrange them on your outermost ring, so that they may fall out and away before disdaining eyes? Or do you lock them closest to your heart? Where do you hide your rot, my love?

1 year and 2 week ago

Over the cheap cigarettes and vodka-cranberry juice spilled out of plastic cups, Nobara’s voice carries weakly. “Prof Geto called yn a ‘sweet girl’ today”, she drawled. Nobara is the sort who refuses to admit they’re far drunker than they claim to be. “Everyone calls you ‘sweet girl’, imagine if they saw you like this.”

Nobara’s barely sitting upright, both from the pegs she’s consumed and your hips straddling her lap. Hey Nobara, wanna make-out, but like friends? Nobara Kugisaki, the woman that she is, doesn't back down, so here you two are, lips wet with each other’s liquor. Your other friends, all sitting on the floor in a circle like you two, had just shrugged at your antics. Fushiguro keeps an eye out on the two of you. Maki’s in a chugging contest with Itadori (she’s clearly winning even though Itadori refuses to back down), Inumaki and Panda are switching between watching them and you. Yuuta’s out for more cigarettes.

“She is a ‘sweet girl’, though. People have layers, Nobara.” Itadori, having lost another round to a still very sober Maki, defends you. Your friends, of all people, know that. You have a ritual that once every three months all of you come together to have a casual get-together where you get blackout drunk. And you, the shy, nerdy, underconfident, mild-mannered goody-two-shoes sweet girl, drink the hardest of them all. It could get you kicked off campus and even arrested, but isn’t that the fun of it?

“Yeah, Nobara”, Panda joins the conversation. “yn can top Microeconomic Theory at 2 pm and top you at 2 am. In fact, she can do both at the same time, I bet.”

“I didn’t top Micro, man.” You choke down a moan as Nobara nips your neck, but you have to set the record straight, as much as it hurts you to admit it. “That assface did.”

“Kamo?” Maki asks.

“Yeah, that fucker.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you two still had that little rivalry going.” Maki teases. “What is this, a little fanfic where you turn academic rivals-to-lovers?”

You turn away from Nobara to pout at Maki. “It’s not like that, I genuinely dislike that guy because of the principle of it. There’s layers to my hatred.” You’re slurring a bit, both words and thoughts getting mixed up in your head. “If he wasn’t such a looker I'd have punched his face by now. Like, even the thought of him–” You’re starting to get mad at someone who isn’t even here (is it the cross-fading? It was only a few cigarettes, menthol ones too) “– he’s so smug, so fucking pretentious! Always looking down on me! He’s a part of the bourgeoisie, he’s conservative, he talks over me in class, he literally counters every single point I make in class, what a teacher-ass-kisser, and his hair is so ugly! But he’s so not ugly, he’s almost pretty! I wish I could hurt him, I wish– I wish I could show him the greatest love and then break his heart in the most painful way possible!”

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Itadori laughs. But he understands where you’re coming from. For someone like you, who was born poor and struggled so much to get a good education and finally get into your fancy old-money college, Noritoshi Kamo, the chaebol heir, represented everything unequal with the world. When you’ve been up all-night working at the convenience store just to pay for tuition while he just dashes up swanky-suited to classes in his Rolce Royce with organic coffee, and then has the fucking audacity to top Microeconomics Theory … you want to kill him.

“He deserves it, to be honest. He’s got such an attitude problem.” Maki says. “But he’s a hard shell to crack. If you can actually do what you’ve said, yn, I’ll pay for a barbeque dinner.”

“It’s a bet then.” You’re gonna do it. Drunk and sober, you’re actually gonna do it.

Inumaki bets against you. Panda bets for you. Itadori doesn’t like the whole thing (he bets against you). Fushiguro doesn’t care (he bets for you). The topic’s passed by the time Yuuta returns.

1 year ago

Noritoshi Kamo isn’t having a good day. He lost his notes for Micro Theory, and then his favourite coffee (almond-milk cappuccino with organic Yemeni beans, dusted with dark chocolate!) was made too bitter, and then this traffic jam made him late to class, and now his favourite classmate is absent again. What a shame. You two have such fun discussions in class.

Little does he know that you’re sitting in the corner of the last bench in a dark hoodie looking like you’re a secret agent on a mission. You are. This is all going according to your plan.

A week ago you watched Kamo lend his notes to Todo. Two days later, you asked Todo for “your” notes back (you never lent him any but it’s not like he remembers who he takes his notes from). You then missed two days of classes (when they covered Consumer Behaviour) to set the final act: now.

The bell rings. People are getting up to leave. Kamo is packing his things up. Here goes Operation Kamo: Make-him-fall-in-love-with-you-and-break-his-heart.

“Professor!” You walk to the front of the hall.

“Ah, yes, yn!” Prof Utahime, as always, is happy to see you. “Did you have any doubts about the class?”

“Yes, Prof, I’m struggling with Consumer Behaviour. But I have so many questions, I don’t think even Office Hours could help me.”

Utahime is genuinely perplexed. Consumer Behaviour is one of the most basic concepts, how could a top student like you be confused about that? “Oh, then would you want some extra tutoring? I could connect you with some peer tutors.”

Score. You casually hold your hands behind your back, and in your hands you visibly carry Kamo’s apparently lost notes (the bait).

“That would be perfect, prof.”

“But I don’t mind taking extra Office Hours for you–”

“– No!” You clear your throat. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“In that case, for a peer tutor I’d recommend– Oh! Kamo!” Your fish, who had taken the bait and was coming to retrieve his notes from you, looks alarmed. “So lucky you’re right here! yn was just looking for a peer tutor. You help her in Consumer Behaviour, alright?”

“Me, Professor?” “Thanks, Prof!”

But Utahime’s already waved you two off. Kamo is left looking at you (he didn’t even know you were in class) and you need help with Consumer Behaviour of all topics?

“Oh, Mr. Kamo” You fake some shyness. From what you’ve observed of him, you guess that he likes his girls demure and soft, so that’s who you shall be from now. “When should I attend your tutoring sessions?”

“Please don’t call me that.” He says, “And it’s from 8.30 to 10 pm every Thursday.”

“Thank you so much!”

See, people only know u as the shy little bookish nerd. They don’t realise that you’re doing everyone a favour by putting your brains into academics instead of mischief like this, because you’re damned if you’re not winning this bet.

11 months ago

Every Thursday night from the past month, you’ve been diligently studying with Kamo. Even though it started as a peer tutor session, it was too painful for both of you to keep pretending like you do not understand Pareto Efficiency. “It just means that the resource you’re distributing amongst people has been completely distributed, with nothing left over. So you can’t give more to one person without giving less to another.” Kamo would say with a straight face. “You don’t even know that?”

Right now, you’re working on your assignments together in a classroom i.e. you two do your own assignments side-by-side without a word or question. You refuse to discuss your answers with Kamo citing academic plagiarism. Kamo will answer any doubt you face but not without condescension. While he’s not falling in love with you, your homework sure is getting done faster. And you two have now adapted to a mutually silent tolerance instead of barely-hidden hostility.

“I’m tired.” You yawn at the clock: it’s 3.16am . “Let’s finish this tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow we’ll have to get started on the Macroeconomics paper, we need to finish this today, yn.” Kamo’s stern. “Don’t tell me you’re falling behind again.”

“Hardly, asshole. But unlike you, I can’t afford to constantly drink fancy British coffee to keep awake, so please, forgive my poverty.” You’re too fucking tired too keep up this soft baby girl shit. Besides, I can seduce Kamo with just my looks, I don’t need to put in that much effort. He’s a man, after all.

That’s a new side of her. Kamo’s a bit taken aback. Not bad.

“I didn’t mean any offence.” He says carefully.

“As if you could offend me.” You’re not mad, just snappy and really need a break. “I’m gonna take a walk.”

“By yourself?”

“Shocked I don’t have a chauffeur?”

“Stop that.” He says. “You know I can’t let you walk around this late all by yourself.”

He’s really pissing you off now. “So you’re my father now? Don’t think you can order me around like your servants, okay?”

“I wasn’t doing that!” He gets up from his seat. “Fine, you do as you like, but I’ll accompany you.”

In Kamo’s mind, he’s acting like any gentleman should, especially to a delicate girl like you. In yours, he’s being far too overprotective over a stranger. But you swallow down your irritation when you realise the situation: you two, walking under the moonlight.

The mission is back on and you’re locking in.

—

“It’s not British, it’s Yememi.” The path you walk on is cold and quiet. Surprisingly, college students do sleep sometimes. You note that Kamo, hands in the pockets of his stiff slacks, has quite a deep voice. “My coffee. The British do tea.” A bit rough, a little haughty. His voice reminds you of oak trees in harsh winter.

The night air has significantly cooled your temper. “I just said whatever came to my mind. I’m sorry if I was too brash back there.”

Kamo hums. A pause. “It’s better when you are straightforward like that. I spent a semester trying to figure out if you like me or not.” Huh? Isn’t it obvious I dislike him? “I enjoy listening to your points in class.”

“Please,” you retort. “You counter all my points, and only my points.”

“Yes, because it’s a discussion?” Kamo seems genuinely confused. “After all, you make the best points in class.”

The flash of understanding strikes both your heads at the same time.

Kamo – Ah. She’s insecure of her status in the college and saw it as me talking down her opinions.

You – Ah. No one’s ever told this rich prick to shut the fuck up.

And that, folks, was the first olive branch they spread to each other. A common understanding of each other’s rotten sides, even though this was just, at best, overripe. The first shared acknowledgement of each other’s flawed humanity.

You two finish your assignments on time. Kamo has started to nod at you everytime you cross paths on campus. Sometimes he even stops for a little chat.

10 months and 18 days ago

“You’re ethically challenged.” Fushiguro says. You both share the same Statistics class, despite the fact that he’s majoring in Computer Science.

“Shouldn’t we eat the rich? I’m doing a version of that.”

“If you want to manipulate Kamo into sleeping with you just say that.” He disregards your outraged expression. “What is this weird Boys Over Flowers thing you have going on?”

That the resident rich-boy on campus, Noritoshi Kamo, has started to hang out everywhere with poor little nerdy you is the gossip of the college. Only your friends knew your real intentions behind this, that is, all except Yuuta, who would innocently joke about you two falling in love. The kind of jokes that make the whole friend group fall silent.

As you take your seats in the classroom, Fushiguro leans towards you. Kamo’s also in the class, sitting far in front of you two. “What will you do when you start liking him back?”

“Do you think that I’m 12 years old?” You reply back. “It’s not like either of us thinks we’re in a Disney fairytale. It’ll be a weird situationship at best.”

“You’re just saying that because you feel guilty about everything. Why even bother going to these lengths to play nonsense games?”

Damn. That was… upsettingly correct. What can you even reply to that?

Fushiguro just sighs. “Just keep out of trouble. I don’t want to clean your puke from sad-bingeing too much ice-cream again.”

He’s talking about the time when you had a thing with Yuuta. It ended pretty badly, and even though you still remain friends, Fushiguro remembers that heart wrenching pain that you went through post the break-up. He was there for you, even though he brushes it off as not a big deal, and you are forever grateful for that. Fushiguro has always been there for you.

—--

“Yn, Fushiguro.” Kamo shook his hand. “Let’s go with Mai for the fourth team member. I can introduce you to her over lunch.”

“The group presentation is after two whole months, though.” You protest.

“We’ll start early then.” No one made him the captain of this ship, but apparently Kamo just assumes that role.

Was Mai Zenin Megumi Fushiguro’s cousin? Yes. Technically. Had Fushiguro’s deadbeat dad done his utmost to keep him from his side of the family and hence Mai lived in a totally different world to Fushiguro? Also yes.

Because even with his full-ride scholarship and bursary grant, Fushiguro would still never be able to relate to the talk that’s been going on at Kamo’s friends lunch table. “Vacationing at the Pyramids?” “Travelling the world with his mentor Tsukumo?” “Interning at his dad’s multispeciality hospital?” He’s never even heard of Loro Pianna. Neither have you. Even when Kamo's friends aren’t actually trying to be mean, you still feel like outcasts.

You suppose this is the world of the rich. Where you don’t belong. Where they let the majority of the world population starve to death because they fucked up the food supply chains to get more profits. Where they take the private jet from Tokyo to Kyoto and let Bangladesh suffer from global warming. Where all their luxury alligator skin handbags are made by slave children in sweatshops. And they don’t care. They don’t care at all.

I despise them. You grit your teeth. I despise Kamo to the core.

He deserves this. He deserves what I’m doing.

10 months ago

There has been a grave development. Over trying Yemeni coffee (“I can pay for myself.” “Not this, you really can’t.”), giving you a lift to Political Philosophy class on the other side of the campus in his Rolls Royce (“There’s a TV???” “Do you want to watch something?” “Oh my god– There’s a TV in your car??”), to tipping you heavily at the diner you waitress at, you’ve realised you’ve been partaking in Kamo’s wealth.

Especially now that you catch yourself taking notes on Marxism with a Caran D’Ache pen (¥ 65,000) stamped with the crimson lotus of the Kamo Conglomerate. This is just plain wrong on so many levels.

It’s okay to take his money, you reason. He’s got his asshole filled with it. But the money signifies a certain amount of closeness that you two have created. You don’t even accept expensive gifts from Yuuta, the most well-off out of all of you poors, and you two were close. Very close. As for Kamo, he now texts about his archery practice (he has a tournament coming up), he sends you photos of his notes if you miss a class without even being asked, he recommends you Coursera courses that complement your degree. Noritoshi Kamo didn’t even know your first name two months ago.

This is going too far. The mission was to make him trust me, depend on me, not vice versa. I have to speed this up. Now.

“Hey, Kamo.” Your whispered tone is so casual, Kamo almost missed the tacit question behind your words. “Want to revise Macroeconomics in my dorm after class? Fushiguro’s staying over with Itadori, so it’ll be quieter than the library.”

But he doesn’t miss it. He’s also a college student after all, he knows what you’re asking. Or at least what he presumes that you’re asking. This could be an innocent request... No, the way your eyes flicker down to his lips for a second as a little blush heats your ears red, he knows it’s not.

He’s gonna refuse. He doesn’t even look like he’s interested. You don’t know that his heart is thumping in his temples and his palms are sweaty.

He turns to look at you full in the face. In his steady eyes, you see that he trusts you. He trusts that whatever happens, however this ends, it’ll be okay, because he trusts you. Cold leaden terror fills your veins.

“Okay.” Kamo’s smile is soft. You’ve never seen him smile before. “I’ll be there.”

—---

If Kamo is uncomfortable with the state of your untidy dorms, he doesn’t say anything. He takes the glass of cranberry juice you offer him in your best cup, and chats freely about this and that, sitting cross-legged on your bed (you don’t have a couch). Much more freely than he ever did. It’s as if he’s lifted an invisible barrier, letting you step into an inner part of him that he keeps shielded from everyone. Except for you, now.

You’re scared. Whatever fringe of delusion you keep up to convince yourself that you’re still a good person is rapidly vanishing. The full weight of your guilt is settling in heavy. Your hand, wrapped around your juice, starts to shake.

Kamo notices. Of course he does. Ever since you asked him to come to your dorms, and even before that, he’s noticed everything about you. He was very happy to be your friend (he was very happy to have a friend at all, and if it’s someone as smart, beautiful, funny, sweet and amazing as you, that’s all the better), but to hear you say that you wanted something deeper with him, how could he refuse? He’s still pretty new to you, especially in this context, he doesn’t know everything that you like or dislike. So when he notices your hand shaking, he takes the drink off of you and covers your hand with his and presses it softly against his lips. He hopes that this is something you like. You do.

“Are you so nervous?” He asks. “We can do Macroeconomics if you’d rather. I want you to be comfortable.”

This is your chance. Break it off, don’t cross this line, let things go back to how they were. This is just going to hurt the two of you. The two of you.

You set out to hurt him in the most painful way possible. If you let this go any further, you will. Do the right thing, yn. Do the right thing.

“I’m good. Noritoshi–,” you reply. “– I want you.”

You close your eyes. It’s enough. I don’t want to think about anything anymore.

His calloused hand cradling your cheek, his hair falling over your neck. you feel a warm kiss on your forehead. “You don’t have to say anything. I love you. Have for a while. I don’t do this usually, you have to know.” His lips scrape the shell of your ear. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You keep your eyes stubbornly closed to everything. “I don’t, Toshi–” He smiles at the pet name you’ve picked. “–love you too. Have for a while, too.”

His chapped lips melt hungrily into yours. He doesn’t hesitate to throw himself fully onto you, pushing your back onto the bed as he climbs over you, his hand behind your head. Hot, heavy, wet– he smells of oak and cedar. With hints of dark chocolate. You can taste the desperation on his tongue.

He moans out loud as you run a tongue down his neck, prepping to leave him littered with your bites. Does he notice when you unbutton his pressed shirt? When his heavy leather belt snaps unbuckled? Or is he only focused on you pulling your shirt off, eyes glued to your beautiful breasts and the softness of your belly?

He pulls the cups of your bra down with a finger to lick over your cleavage, nipping at your tits, boldly grabbing the fat of your ass. He’s far too gone to use his head, and you’re making a conscious decision not to.

“Like this?” Kamo draws a trail of kisses down to your sex.

“Yeah.”

“Show me how you like it done. I want to please you.” You nearly choke at his words.

Nodding, you pull his hands into your panties when you’re suddenly struck with …shyness? He just laughs and lands a kiss straight onto the wet patch through your underwear. Damn. Where did this Casanova come from?

“I do it like this.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he studies you, despite a painfully hard cock, as you dip a finger into your slick hole and rub circles on your clit with it. You softly pinch a nipple with the other hand. Your cries are sinful as you add another finger into your cunt.

“My turn.” Kamo looks straight at you as he licks your juices off your finger (you almost faint). “Tap if it's too much.”

It is too fucking much. You don’t know where he learnt to push the clitoral hood back as he breathes cold onto it, to lubricate it with spit as he licked circles onto it, to push two curled fingers into your cunt at once, to use his whole wrist to thrust around as he felt for your g-spot, to bite your thighs that hot. But you’re not left in a state to complain as he tells you to “Cum.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you giggle. “I’ve never done it like this.”

“It’s my mission then.”

You throw your head back and close your eyes.

You do, surprisingly, cum on his tongue. “You’re so gorgeous.” From his angle, all he can see are your boobs bouncing as you grind up onto his tongue, trying to chase the aftershocks of the orgasm. Your face is flushed, with a tear building on your lashes that Kamo wipes off. His tongue is warm when he pushes it into your mouth.

“Are you a virgin?” He asks. “Do you want me to..?”

“I’m not, Toshi, it’s okay. Are you?”

He grins. “No, I had a girlfriend.” You laugh at that– “Me too.”

“I’m really hard, love.” He pulls your hand to touch him through his boxers. Oh my god. He really has everything in life, doesn’t he? He’s packed like he’s going to war. “Do you want to? If you want to wait, I’ll understand.”

“No, no, I don’t want to wait a second more. Toshi, I want you so bad.” He almost came in his boxers hearing you beg like that.

Kamo knew that he was on the larger end, as far as dicks go. Girls, especially sweet ones like you, baulked at it, and he fully expected you to do that too.

He didn’t know that you would spit into your hands and wrap them around him in what felt criminal. The way you twist your wrists. The kitten-licks to the tip. The warmth of your tongue on his balls. “Stop, yn, love.” Red-faced, bite-marked, messy-haired: he looks delicious. “I can’t– I really can’t!”

Kamo’s made a decision in his head: he manhandles you onto your back and pins you down with the weight of his whole body. Face-to-face. Finally.

He kisses you through the initial burn of penetration, letting you bite your pain onto his lips. So full. So stretched. So fucking heavenly. A little thought floats into your head that he’s not using any protection and neither are you, but when he looks like that, brows curled in bliss as he bottoms out inside you, nothing matters anymore. Only he does. Only Noritoshi Kamo.

You thrust against him, as if to wake him up. “Move, baby.”

He’s gentle, at first, at least. With you in his arms, he’s losing any sense he has rapidly. He ruts against you through his strained breaths and choked groans, leaving hickies on your neck, the curve of his thick cock grinding against that particular spot of yours. Oak, cedar and dark chocolate.

Neither of you last very long. Your second orgasm tips him into his: your face writhing in throes of pleasure (that he gave you) and the way your cunt clenched hard onto him… he can't resist spilling his hot cum inside you.

Exhausted, he just collapses onto you. His cum leaks around his cock, which is still inside you, and is dripping down the curve of your ass. It takes a moment for him to steady his voice: “I love you, yn. Other people, I can’t trust them because I’m a Kamo, and I don’t know how to make friends easily either. But it feels so easy with you, yn. You feel so true.”

bonus: Kamo helps you tidy up your room. Both Itadori and Fushiguro are shocked to see your floor without any clothes lying around.

college majors of jjk characters are here

a/n: reposted cuz i deleted my og post by accident (╥﹏╥)

tagging: @maskedpacific

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