#kindness in a world that was unkind. kindness in a Body that was unkind. being soft when you're built for violence

[muntitled]

Blink Twice

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: After pushing your body to the brink, it's finally giving out. You're rewarded for all your dazzling work ethic with a “nice” dinner. As ‘nice’ as ‘nice’ gets with him…

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Coercion, Murder, Abuse, Male Manipulation, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Handcuffs, Exhibitionism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Fingering, Somnophilia, Period Sex, Bodily Fluids.

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

"H-How do you keep breaking into my apartment?" If it weren't for the fact that you were currently being fingered awake, you might have found it in yourself to sound more angry.

But you weren't awake, and he had taken advantage of your unconscious state just enough to bend down over your sleeping frame, and slip his hands between your legs.

You had promised yourself a quick power nap on the couch, anything that might lessen the pain that had been steadily blooming in your left arm. That nap had stolen you throughout most of the day until, here he hovers over you- the man who is undoubtedly the culprit for all this bodily pain you're in- with his fingers inside you.

“There you are, sleepy head,” His face is so close, you can see the smile wrinkling his face. His smile is bright and kind but his fingers aren't. They're stretching your cunt out, wrenching a moan from deep within you as you stare down at your hips moving off the couch.

“Fuck…” Your voice cracks as he scissors his index and middle finger inside you, still on a mission to split you apart. You drown in the scent of his cologne and his perfectly new suit- a black one today.

You throw your head back, feeling the pressure mount as you grind down against his fingers all while he watches with immense satisfaction.

“Can't- just-” you gasp when your wetness seeps out of you and onto the couch. “Can't-Do-This-” For all those moments you forget that you're nursing a sore arm. As you grind down against his ruthless fingers.

You forget that he might have seriously injured you this time.

“I couldn't help myself,” he whispers hoarsely, forcing an orgasm out of you before placing a kiss on your forehead. “You look breathtaking when you're unconscious.”

As the orgasm passes, you try to wake yourself up and become more aware of your surroundings.

Your body is shaking once he's done with you. Your cunt aches and reality sets back in. “Get out of my house.”

He straightens his tie before standing to his full height again, “You say that like I don't own the place,"

He's smiling stiffly as he stands before you, clutching that bloody briefcase, having come to collect you for another round of games...

Something inside your worn-out soul breaks at the sight of him so unfathomably fazed. You were experiencing another round of those 'realization moments'.

You have actually gone and sold yourself to a sadist.

Especially now that he's gone and done it again. After vehemently expressing that he 'please be a little more gentle with you', he insisted on pushing your body to the brink of its abilities. Toying with you and punishing you and releasing all the workings of those sick, sick, sick games on you, and for what?

It hits you more often than not these days.

A paid apartment? Paid university fees?

You try to keep your sleepy eyes unkind as you glare up at him but even you blanch at how much of a necessary force he's made himself in your life.

"And how often are you going to remind me that all my resources are tied to you?" You rise from lying supine, waiting for the world to stop spinning before you start stretching. None of your limbs protest as much as yours left shoulder that practically howls in pain. He watches you with robotic intrigue.

"I thought I should make good on that promise to take you out.”

"Take me out?" He notes the way your good shoulders tenses and smiles.

"I already said I've got no plans to kill you. You're the most fun I've had in years and years." He says "I want you to go to dinner with me."

"You wanna take your abuse victim out to dinner... looking like this?" you try to lift your arm but it protests, sending a sharp pain through your entire left side.

"I think you look rather beautiful."

"You would think this is what beauty looks like."

A tense silence falls.

"You're angry." He tilts his head, "And in pain."

You scoff venomously then, "Whomever might the culprit be?" You ask sarcastically before picking yourself up from the couch. You're cradling your arm, dragging your worn body across the floor to the adjoining kitchen.

"My fucking arm still hurts." You nearly cry as you squeeze the words out. Shooting a teary-eyed glare at your sadist from the kitchen.

"Tonight is your celebration dinner and it's way overdue." He busies himself by folding up the quilt that had been draped along your sleeping frame, "All my virtues rest on giving credit where credit is due, and you my dear..." the gaze he arrests you in is warm, and penetrative, like you were being reminded that he owns your body and soul, "-have done stellar work for me."

It's said in a wave of reverence you didn't really expect.

"Let me take you out,"

Sure he was sociopathic, and deranged, and everything you should most definitely be seeking refuge from, but the sentiment in his voice is genuine. As if, after 40 years on this earth, with the violent tendencies he had undoubtedly been born with, here is someone that's actually helping him. That's what you're doing, you're helping him. But it comes at a steep, steep price.

"You have virtues?" You ask sarcastically, causing the once intense moment to scatter and lighten.

"And your humor would be missed if I killed you. Where else would I find someone with such a stellar sense of humor and almost no sense of self preservation?" He asks aloud, as he walks towards the counter that separates you both. "You should've asked for help the first day you met me-"

"You offered to pay my shit if I played your games, who would walk away from that?”

"You should've." He smiles. "But I'm glad you didn't." His smile reaches those dead, almond eyes, "And tonight we have a celebration dinner."

"I can't go out," you say, turning your back on him to drink water.

His voice is dark when he says, "Can't or won't?"

"Can't." You slam your cup down against the sink, earning a thick wave of silence. You were never angry with him before. Never. "I think you broke something." You say, turning slowly, still cradling your arm like a baby.

There's a jarring amount of care in his voice as he rounds the counter to walk closer towards you. He examines your arm with deceptively soft eyes as he softly says, "I really did a number on you, didn't I?"

You look up at him with blank eyes, "Try not to get off thinking about it," you snip back. Sarcasm was your only weapon.

"I couldn't help myself," He rests his large hand on your arm, "you know that right?

"Y-Yes," your resolve falters and you're back to being his submissive. "I don't blame you."

"In fact." He nods along with you, conditioning you to accept his view of the events as he says, "Our session this past week had been nothing short of magical."

You're not quite sure if that was a reliable portrayal of the events but your weak mind is already fitting the memories to be so.

Somehow, you're thinking of the events with less anger: how he had snapped real, silver handcuffs on your wrists, resting them behind your back while you were being fucked from behind. It had been blissful until he pulled too hard on the left and you screamed and you blacked out.

Now here he stands before you, drenched in the afternoon sunlight, wearing a brand new black suit, smelling of fine cologne, telling you it was magical.

He came when you broke your arm.

"Alright, I'll come with you," he decides with finality, prompting you to snap out of your daze.

"No, I can go myself!" You move around him to gather your things.

"Unless you've magically obtained the ability to communicate in Korean then I suggest I come with you." He watches you race across your tiny apartment, gathering your things.

"There are English speaking doctors I'll be f-uck." As you were searching for your phone between the couch, you angered the arm, causing another wave of pain to blossom.

"I'm taking you." He stands by the doorway, "Let's go."

Your nostrils flare as the real reason for your discomfort rears its head. "B-but what if..."

You let the words die on your lips. Choosing instead to look at him, hoping your eyes relay the severity of the implications that might arise from a simple trip to the hospital. All those questions.

"Don't tell me you're worried about me." He says, still smiling.

"Worry?" You snort as you make your way to the front door where your sneakers sit, "If you go to jail who's gonna make me cum?"

He clutches at the space where a heart ought to be and says, "And here I was thinking you were falling in love with an old man like me."

"You can't love anything," you shoot back coldly.

"I can't," he confirms, "but you can."

You move away from the conversation like It's growing teeth.

"Let's just go," you mumble quietly, heading out the door, not looking back and knowing he'd follow.

𓂃

The hospital is bombarded by the smell of antiseptic and busy bodies in white coats whizzing all around you. It's dizzying actually being here as the severity if it all comes hammering down on you. You didn't like being around so many people at the best of times- even attending university everyday was met with its fair share of anxiety. Almost on instinct, you curl a little closer into his side, letting your right hand slither over his wrist. Surprisingly, he lets you.

"What should I say?" It only strikes you now that you probably should have rehearsed some script since 'I'd like to seek medical attention because I'm meeting with a homicidal sadist weekly who pays my bills and my body is finally giving out,' probably wouldn't be a good way to go.

The confidence in his stride leaves you brimming with nervousness. Your less than orthodox dynamic has already made a few passers by stare but here, inside the hospital, you feel like the only two humans to exist.

"I'll do the talking," he reassures and something inside you sighs. This is what made him such a necessary force for you. He handled way more than you ever could. He moved through the world, headstrong and in charge. He was everything you weren't.

"Good day-" he says to the nurse manning the front desk, "I'd like to get my wife treated for a possible fracture or broken bone-"

Wife.

It rings through your ears.

Meanwhile, kind eyes- genuine, human eyes- look at you from across the desk. You realize then how little contact you've had with anyone normal. Anyone real.

"Poor thing," the nurse murmurs and your heart tugs at the kindness drenched in her voice.

"Alright, Sir, it's just-" the nurse gestures towards the rest of the waiting room, "We're just busier than we usually are for a weekday so you might have to wait a while-"

"You have medical aid?" You enquire softly, letting your side bump against him. "Who the hell are you?"

He stares down the small woman as he reveals a glistening card from his wallet. She quickly looks at you before she tentatively takes the card and types away at her computer.

Somehow, up until this point you had fooled yourself into believing you were on the road to autonomy, that going to university and being a woman in her 20s away from home meant you were finally obtaining sweet sweet independence but in actuality... you were just a little girl, deluding herself into thinking the city might be kind to her. It's swallowing you whole. And you're being left to watch.

It made you aware of how completely vulnerable you had really been. You could barely afford rent, let alone something as luxurious as medical aid. For all your time in this city you tried not to get hurt because medical bills would eat you alive and here he was, whipping a card out.

"Right this way-" The little nurse moves from behind the counter, and almost immediately, you hear a distinct uproar in the waiting room behind you. "I think doctor Park will see you, but we'll first head over for X-Ray and-"

"Hey!" The sound startles you, causing your shoulders to tense as you grip on your Salesman's forearm, making sure he's still there, "We've been here for 4 hours," You meet the haggard glassy eyes of a middle aged man. He's scowling at you as if you've committed a grave murder right before him.

"I'm sorry, Sir." The nurse begins, her voice filled with concern, "This hospital is legally obligated to help out those with medical aid first-"

Shoes click against the cold floors. A shadow descends as your Salesman steps forward as if protecting you from the man's vehemence. Time stands still in the moments he makes his venomous proposition. A proposition so vile it nearly had you vomiting here all over the hospital floors.

"My wife needs a new heart-" he begins, gesturing to a woman- a ghost seated in the chairs behind him. Her skin is practically translucent as she stares off into space. "Who knows how much time we're wasting while we're being forced to wait here-"

"Are you up for a game of rock, paper, scissors by any chance?" Your salesman asks, causing your heart to sink. The man examines him as if he's grown a second head.

"If you win a single round against me, I will pay for your wife's medical treatment. New heart." At the peroration of his incredibly insensitive and evil proposition, your Salesman smiles.

"One round." He says, before his eyes snap to the woman pulling at her husband's arm.

"She doesn't look too well," The Salesman pouts and you walk up towards him, limbs shaking as you whisper-yell in his ear, feeling all your nerves being shot out of you.

"Jesus, you're fucking disgusting."

"Birds of a feather-" he whispers back, before refocusing his attention onto the man.

Meanwhile the nurse tries to pull you away but you're rooted to the floors. This whole ordeal makes you realize that you've never actually seen him interact with normal people. It makes you wonder where he goes when he's not with you. You'd almost believed that he's a fragment of your delusions, something your lonely brain cooked up to make you believe someone in this city cared about you. But he's real. And he has a life outside the two of you.

"Don't you wanna help your wife?" He continues to tempt the man, "Look at mine-" the Salesman said, gesturing to you. "She's a little battered and bruised but she's alive. You're not dying any time soon, right honey?"

You rip your eyes away from him just as your nurse returns. She places a warm arm on your forearm and in the midst of the game, she places a card in your hand. "Let's go for your x-rays,"

While they play their game, you look down at the piece of paper.

Blink twice if the man you're with is the one who assaulted you.

Call it female intuition.

You have no idea what could've led to the fact that he was the one but the nurse is watching you with a heavy gaze and bated breath. You almost drown in the concern she holds for you, a mere stranger.

In another life, you might've had a friend like her. She's relatively young, budding with youthfulness, actually. You imagine she has a boyfriend. An actual one. One who holds her bag while she's shopping. One who kisses her. These kinds of people develop empathy. The ‘fixed people’. You can tell she knows love.

“I-”

“Rock, paper, scissors-”

You blink once before looking away and the nurse sighs in relief.

"Better luck next time." You watch with bated breath as the man draws a rock to the Salesman's paper.

𓂃

An oblique fracture, they called it. The thing that's been plaguing your left arm for a week has finally been given its name. You're walking out of the doctor's office feeling light and remarkably relieved to leave this place and all its people. He walks confidently beside you, having sat through the whole ordeal. He had been there as they fashioned the pink cast over your arm and he walks beside you now, like your own personal well-dressed shadow.

On your way out, you pass by the receptionist's desk, she smiles over at you but glares at the Salesman. Just as you're about to make it out, you hear her voice.

“You said she's your wife,” the woman speaks up, causing you both to stop. “I don't see a ring.”

Cold, white, fear runs down your spine and your hand that was in his, squeezes as silence envelops you both.

“Good Day,” is all he says with an amicable smile before pulling you along.

Silence enveloped you on your taxi ride over to the Japanese restaurant comfortably situated in the Gangnam district. He had been remarkably quiet in the taxi driver over and he is remarkably quiet now as you're being led to a booth in the restaurant. It's adequately filled with its patrons. Families and couples like perhaps you two were. You wonder if he has these thoughts…

“She did make a good point,” you mumble as you take a seat in the booth, watching silently as he slips in beside you. “If you're going to be telling people I'm your wife and they don't see a ring…”

He sets his briefcase in the booth beside you both, sighing softly as he mumbles, “People don't usually marry their toys, do they?”

Before you're able to respond, a waiter walks up to your booth, having his pen and notepad at attention as he asks for your order. You watch your Salesman expertly lay down your order, everything from yakitori, to miso soup to onigiri. It's mesmerizing watching him order for you and you suspect it had the same effect on you. His hands on your thigh squeezes slightly, while you silently let him order. In a moment the waiter vanishes.

“You're so old,” you say suddenly, trying to make up for the silence and the nervousness raging through your heart. This is the first time you're out with him in a public setting and its setting you alight with worry. “I'm sure you remember when Korea was under Japanese occupation,”

“Keep making your little jokes,” he says, sipping on his complimentary water as he allows his back to rest against the seat, “And I might not be so forgiving…”

His hand rests his hand on your thigh, it's the only thing you're able to focus on. How his fingers cover so much space. The sheer size of it. The sheer size of him. You feel so completely small beside him, you almost don't realize that he's begun talking again.

“My father fought in the war when he was ‘round about your age,” that brings you clean out of your thoughts. Your eyes snap up to meet his but he's staring aimlessly ahead, as if reminiscing on something beautiful.

“Jesus I-” you swallow thickly, “That was a bloody war,”

He nods, momentarily removing his hand from your thigh to undo the buttons of his blazer.

“More than 3 million dead.” He says taking another sip.

“Right.” You nod, heart hammering when he places his hand back on your thigh. “2 million soldiers and 1 million civilians,” he places the glass back down on the table and he shakes his head slightly, twirling his index.

“Swap the numbers around.”

“Right…” you clear your throat, keeping your gaze locked on your lap, “That's... heartbreaking. I'm sorry.”

He turns his head, finally regarding you under the dimness of the hanging light fixtures. He tilts his head to the side in that way he does when he's particularly intrigued by you. “You are sorry, aren't you?”

You nod.

“But I have no idea why, you're not a Japanese fascist from the 40s.”

“No, but I have empathy.”

“Curious.” He replies back, before letting silence fall.

“Spread your legs,” he says so suddenly it gave you whiplash. Your head snaps up to him as you begin to plead.

He couldn't do this. There had to be some sort of refractory period in which he let your body recuperate.

“I’m in pain-” you grit out through your teeth, but his large hand is already seeping to the center of your closed legs, trying to pry them apart.

“Your legs work just fine.” He whispers, letting his mouth graze your ears, “Your cunt works just fine,”

You place a hand on his forearm. “The doctor said no strenuous activities.”

“Do you listen to the doctor or do you listen to me?” He asks, staring at you deep into your frightened eyes, forcing you into that liminal space of submission. Your eyes were brimming with not only fear but embarrassment.

“Spread your legs.” He whispers,

“I'm on my period,”

Another troubling moment of contemplation falls between you both and you're left to stare deep into each other's eyes as the restaurant's cultural music makes the ambience swell. It could be romantic, this energy that's festering between you two.

Even though you know it's anything but, you allow yourself to dip into those pools of delusion.

“You were fine this morning,” He says, and you note the grogginess that's begun to veneer his voice as he looks down at you.

Young, impressionable, darling you.

“I got it before we left, that's why I asked to use the bathroom again- point is,” you tug on his arm, “We can't.”

His eyes soften and for a split second, you think you see kindness there. Your gaze falls to his lips, anticipating the words they'd form.

“Spread your legs,” he says once more, before applying the necessary force to pry them apart yourself. “Let me in, Doll.”

A small whimper escapes you as you open your legs. You let him drift his hand under your skirt. His fingers are cold to the touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he inches them towards your cunt.

The second his fingers graze over your mound you gasp slightly before sitting forward with your head bowed. Your cast is behind the table as you hide your head in your hand. He watches you with heavy eyes, “It's rude to have your elbow on the table.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, trying to muffle yourself by the palm of your hand. You feel him swipe your underwear away. You feel his fingers dip into the pool of wetness at your entrance. Wetness you knew was not arousal.

“Don't look at me like that,” you mumble, staring down at the table as his fingers rub against your slick folds.

“Like what?” He asks.

In your periphery you can see him hunched over you slightly, his eyes on you and you alone. It was tiring having his attention. And so incredibly dangerous.

“Like you wanna eat me alive.”

He bends down, letting his fingers graze over your clit as he whispers, “I do. That's all I wanna do.”

The waitress returns with your food and you mumble a quiet ‘thank you,’ While your Salesman keeps his gaze locked on you.

“Grind down on my hand,” he urges and you shake your head,

“Do it.”

“Or what?” That was probably the worst thing to say to a sadist who looks like he's brimming for you to give him a reason to hurt him.

“Fuck my hand or I'll fuck you.”

You were feeling particularly stubborn today. The injury, the nurse, the hospital, the man and his wife… you're disgusted with this man beside. It dawns on you then that you have to get away from him.

“You can't do that-” you begin to whine but his voice is like steel when he reolies, “I thought we've established that there are many things I can do and very few I can't.”

All is quiet.

“Fuck my hand or I'll fuck you, I've been dying to play in your blood.”

You're still wrestling with either of your options, trying to outweigh the good against the bad was impossible when both choices just seemed bad. It puts you at an unfair disadvantage and you are drowning.

“W-Wait-”

“Times up.” He mumbles before removing his hand from your underwear. You're utterly horrified to find it stained in crimson.

He calls over the waiter, at least having the decency to hide his bloody hand behind your back as he politely says, “My wife is quite sick, could I be pointed to the bathroom, please?” He sounds so amicable, so deceptively kind, of course the waitress quietly urges the two of you to the bathrooms nestled at the back of the resturant.

“I'll do it-” you breath heavile as he urges you past tables, “I'll do just-”

“You picked too late," he whispers in your ear as he steers you into the female bathrooms. “Disqualified.” He says before pushing you into a sta. You could only thank your lucky stars that the stalls are empty but that is where you luck runs dry.

It's only you and your monster who's fervently unzipping his pants before locking you both in a cubicle.

“My arm hurts-” you begin but he turns you around, pushing your back against the door.

“Your cunt still works.” He repeats, “I didn't get to drive a knife into it the last time-” he whispers hoarsely as he plays drunken kisses all across your collarbone. You hate to admit how dizzying the effect of his kisses are. How they carry you off into a completely different mental state- where everything becomes morally grey. You felt like you could get off to almost anything in this state and so you don't bat an eye when he says, “I need to see your blood on my cock,”

In fact, you moan, trying to find your bearings as you slip so far into subspace. “You're not allowed to pass out on me-” he says, manically, breathing oh so heavily as he pulls his cock out over his slacks. “I'm not even using any of our favorite toys, you do not get to pass out.” He warns before slotting himself between your legs.

“W-wait- pull your pants all the way down, otherwise-” you hiccup, “I'll make a mess.”

A deep and low groan reverberates through his chest and you watch him lower his pants all the way down, revealing sculpted legs before he brings his cock to your cunt. It's wet enough to allow him to slide in smoothly, and he looks down between you, pressing down on your tummy as he watches your blood soak his cock.

“Here taste your blood,” He's prying your teeth open and you let him. Crimson floods your mouth and you moan around his fingers. There's a manic sort of edge to his laugh as he admits, “I’m not gonna last quick.” before he's kisses you deeply, grinding himself into you

“Fuck- you're filthy.” His eyes are absolutely insane as he drives his cock into you setting an unforgiving ppace. He snaps his hips against you, trying to drive his cock in further and further.

“Cum- I'm gonna cum-” He pulls back to urge, just as you hear someone walk into the bathroom. He's breathing heavily, surprisingly being mindful of your cast as he dips his hand down to your cunt. His fingers drag across the blood like it's the most fascinating thing on earth, and that has you cunt tightening around him.

A toilet flush, just as a whimper seeps through your lips. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you take his brutal fucking, watching him stab your cunt with his cock like he's daring himself to break you.

You place a hand on your mouth, muffling your violent cries as you buck your hips against him. Your own period pains that were flooding your system is beng fucked away. Your thighs and his pelvis are absolutely stained in crimson and his eyes are rolled back. Thankfully, the door opens and closes and you are alone once again.

“I love playing in your blood-” his voice cracks. Meanwhile, he's using you like a ragdoll. Through it all, you manage to ask the question plaguing your mind.

“Did he…” You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as the tip of his cock grazes your cervix, “Did your dad make it back?”

He rears his teeth, smiling in that twisted way that was far different from the smiles he gave everyone else. Only you got to see him like this. “Yes, Doll, he did.”

“W-What happened to him-oh god-” he picks up his pace grabbing your hips and pulling your cunt down on his cock.

“I killed him.” His eyes roll back into his skull and your mouth falls open. His cum floods your system and in that same moment his pelvis grazes along your clit, triggering your orgasm. You cum with tears in your eyes and it fills you with unmistakable dread.

If this man was capable of ending someone in his own bloodline, who were you in his eyes? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Don't look so scared.” He whispers, still grunting as he emptied himself inside you, “He was useless. You- you're not useless.”

He kisses your face. Everywhere he can.

“You look like you're about to have a panic attack. Compose yourself.”

You breathe in thickly.

In and out.

In and out.

[zincbot]

i think it's fun to sprinkle a little personal issue into a dnd character, exaggerate it to make it that much easier to dissect

[writeriguess]

Hii!! If you can, can you write Katsuki x fem reader where reader is scared of being intimate with Katsuki because she's very insecure about her body and Katsuki reassures her? It can be both comfort and smut!! XOXO

To Worship

Katsuki wasn’t stupid. He could tell when something was off, especially when it came to you.

He noticed it in the way your body stiffened whenever his hands wandered beneath your shirt. The way your breath hitched, not from pleasure, but hesitation. The way you pulled back just before things went too far.

It pissed him off—not because you weren’t giving in, but because you were holding yourself back. From him.

Tonight was no different. You were straddling his lap, lips swollen from his kisses, body warm and trembling in his arms, but the moment his fingers slipped beneath your top, you tensed.

"Oi," he muttered, pulling back to look you in the eye. "The fuck’s goin’ on?"

You shook your head quickly. "Nothing."

"That’s bullshit." His crimson eyes burned into yours, sharp but not unkind. "Talk to me."

You swallowed hard, trying to look away, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Y/N."

Your chest ached at how soft he said your name.

"I just…" You exhaled shakily. "I don’t want to disappoint you."

His brows furrowed, irritation flashing across his face. "What the hell does that mean?"

You bit your lip. "I’m not… perfect, Katsuki. My body isn’t—"

"Don’t you dare finish that sentence." His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle as his hands moved to your waist. "You think I give a fuck about that?"

Your vision blurred with unshed tears. "I don’t want you to see me and—"

"Tch." Katsuki scoffed, then leaned in, brushing his lips over yours. "You’re fuckin’ perfect to me."

You gasped softly as he kissed you again, slower this time. His fingers traced over your skin with a reverence that made your heart ache.

"You don’t gotta hide from me, baby," he murmured against your lips. "Lemme show you how much I love every damn part of you."

Your breath stuttered as he guided you onto your back, his body hovering over yours. His hands, usually rough and calloused, worshipped your curves, tracing over every dip, every scar, every so-called imperfection like they were something sacred.

"God, you’re beautiful," he muttered, voice thick with want. "Can’t believe you ever doubted that."

Heat pooled in your stomach as he kissed his way down your body, worshipping every inch of you with lips and tongue. The tenderness in his touch made your insecurities feel so small, so insignificant.

And when he finally pressed into you, stretching you so perfectly, he held you close, his forehead resting against yours.

"You feel that?" he groaned, voice shaking. "That’s how much I fuckin’ love you, baby."

A soft whimper escaped your lips as he moved, slow and deep, his hands gripping yours as he made love to you like he had all the time in the world.

No rush. No shame. Just him showing you, over and over again, just how beautiful you were in his eyes.

And for the first time, you believed it.

Katsuki moved with a kind of intensity that left you breathless—not the usual rough, explosive passion he carried in everything he did, but something deeper. Something unshakably devoted.

His hands never stopped moving, mapping out every part of your body with deliberate care. When your breath hitched as his fingers traced a soft curve or a spot you weren’t fond of, he lingered there, pressing firm, open-mouthed kisses to your skin as if to tell you, I love this. I love you.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pushed deeper, hips rolling slow and deliberate. “So tight… fuck, baby.”

Your legs trembled around his waist, pleasure sparking through every nerve as he kept you close—chest to chest, fingers tangled with yours. His pace never faltered, never rushed, stretching the moment between you like something precious.

A whimper slipped from your lips, and Katsuki was on you immediately, capturing the sound with a kiss, swallowing it down like he needed it to breathe.

“S’okay, baby,” he whispered, thumb brushing over your cheek as he kissed you again, softer this time. “You don’t gotta hide from me. Ever.”

You let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you—like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and Katsuki’s expression softened, his thrusts slowing to a near stop as he cupped your face.

“Shit, baby,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your eyelids, kissing away the tears that slipped free. “Didn’t mean to make you cry.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s… it’s not bad.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping into something rough and tender all at once.

“You believe me now?” he asked, hips shifting just enough to make you shudder.

You gasped, fingers tightening against his as heat coiled deep in your stomach.

“Katsuki—”

“Say it,” he rasped, his other hand slipping down your waist, pressing into the flesh there like he was grounding himself in you. “Say you believe me.”

You swallowed hard, body trembling beneath him, pleasure crackling through your veins like wildfire.

“I—” You gasped as he pushed deeper, hitting the spot that made you see stars. “I believe you.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest, his grip tightening. “Damn right, you do.”

His pace picked up just enough to steal your breath, his lips never leaving yours as he guided you to the edge with slow, deep strokes that left you unraveling beneath him.

“Let go, baby,” he murmured against your mouth. “I got you.”

And with one last roll of his hips, you shattered, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Katsuki followed right after, burying himself deep with a groan, his grip unrelenting as he spilled into you.

For a long moment, all you could hear was your own heartbeat, the slow, steady rise and fall of your breaths mingling with his.

Then, Katsuki shifted, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

“You ain’t ever gotta doubt yourself again,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer.

You curled into him, chest aching in the best way, and whispered,

“I won’t.”

[flux1563]

FIRST OF ALL

tags : squirting, anal, pussy gaping, ass gaping, golden shower, kidnapping, gangbang

Words : 9k

Kim Minju was a picture of poise and elegance as she stepped onto the crimson carpet. Her heart raced in time with the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi cameras. She had spent hours perfecting her makeup and selecting the right dress, a delicate dance of silk that whispered around her legs with every step she took. The air had excitement, the kind that only comes from a night of glitz and glamour.

Minju's eyes searched the sea of faces, looking for her manager, Mr. Park. He was always there, guiding her through the labyrinth of smiles and small talk that made up these events. Tonight was no different; the award show promised to be a pivotal moment in her career. She had been nominated for Best Supporting Actress, and the buzz surrounding her performance was electric.

As the final award was announced, Minju felt a strange sense of calmness wash over her. It was almost as if the world had gone mute, the only sound being the rhythmic beating of her heart. Her name wasn't called. She forced a smile and clapped for the winner, her thoughts racing. Was she disappointed? Yes. But she also knew she had given her all. It was a learning experience, another stepping stone in her journey.

Mr. Park, noticing her expression, gave her a reassuring pat on the back as they exited the venue. The cool evening air was a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the auditorium. She took a deep breath, the scent of her favorite gardenia perfume lingering faintly on the breeze. The car was waiting, a sleek black sedan, its engine humming quietly.

When Minju opened the door, she was shocked to find four men already inside, leaving only one seat for her. They were strangers, their faces unfamiliar and expressions unreadable. Panic began to creep in as she scanned the vehicle. One man, tall and broad-shouldered, took up the entire backseat, his arms crossed over his chest. Another, with piercing eyes and a sharp jawline, sat next to him, his legs stretched out, filling the space. The remaining two were in the front, both dressed in black suits, one driving, the other glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

Mr. Park's voice was firm, but not unkind, as he urged her to sit down. "Just for tonight, Minju," he said, his eyes holding a glint of excitement she hadn't seen before. "I've arranged something special to cheer you up." She hesitated, the situation feeling eerily wrong, but his assurance washed over her like a warm blanket, and she found herself slipping into the car, the door closing with a soft thud that echoed through her mind.

The man with the sharp jawline leaned closer and placed a cool, damp cloth over her eyes. "Don't worry, Miss," he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "This will help you relax." The scent of mint filled her nose, and she felt a gentle pressure on the back of her neck. Her eyes grew heavy, and she didn't fight it. The last thing she heard was the soft rumble of Mr. Park's voice, promising that she'd be safe.

When Minju's eyes fluttered open again, the world was a blur. Her senses slowly returned, and she realized she was no longer in the car. The scent of the mint cloth lingered, but it was replaced by the faint smell of fresh paint and new carpets. She felt the cushioned leather beneath her, and the murmur of distant voices grew clearer. Her head swam with confusion as she tried to sit up, her body feeling weightless and disoriented.

The man with the piercing eyes and sharp jawline was the first to come into focus. He offered her a warm smile, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about the situation. "Welcome to your surprise, Miss Kim," he said, his voice now a gentle purr. The room she was in was dimly lit, with walls lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes she knew she would never read. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the twinkling lights of the city skyline, a stark contrast to the cozy cocoon she found herself in.

"Where am I? What's going on?" she asked, her voice wavering with uncertainty. The men exchanged glances, and Mr. Park stepped forward, his own smile a little too forced. "You're in a safe place, Minju," he assured her. "We're just taking a small detour from the usual post-show festivities." The room spun, and she had to grip the armrest of the chair to steady herself. "But why? Where is everyone else?"

"Tonight, you're ours," the man in the backseat said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him, watching her with a hunger she couldn't place. "We've got a special evening planned for you."

Before Minju could protest, two of the men had moved swiftly and grabbed her hands, their grip firm and unyielding. The other two approached her from either side, and with a quick jerk, they began to rip at the delicate fabric of her gown. She gasped as the dress gave way, revealing her bare skin. The material fell around her in a pool of silk, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. A part of her wanted to scream, to fight, but she was paralyzed, her mind racing with the implications of this nightmare unfolding before her.

Her attempts to struggle were met with laughter from the men, their grips tightening around her wrists and ankles as they easily overpowered her. Despite her training in self-defense, she found herself utterly helpless. The man with the sharp jawline leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You're not going anywhere, Miss Kim," he whispered, his fingers digging into her skin. Panic set in, and she tried to pull away, but her efforts were futile against their collective strength.

The AC in the room hummed softly, blowing cold air across her exposed skin. Goosebumps prickled along her arms and legs, and she shivered. The two men who had been holding her hands moved to her sides, each placing a hand on the clasp of her bra. The anticipation was palpable, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. With a flick of their thumbs, her bra fell away, leaving her bare and vulnerable before them. The cool air from the vent kissed her skin, making her nipples peak, and she felt a warm rush of embarrassment spread through her.

The man with the piercing eyes and sharp jawline leaned in and captured one of her nipples in his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh. She gasped, her eyes flying open. The shock of his touch was like a bolt of lightning, sending a jolting mix of fear and a strange, unwelcome arousal through her body. The tall, broad-shouldered man on the other side of her followed suit, his mouth moving down her stomach to the edge of her panties. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down her spine, and she tried to squirm away, but the other two held her firmly in place.

"Please stop," she managed to whimper, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I'll do anything." The men laughed, their grips tightening even more as they continued to explore her body. The man at her breasts bit down gently, and she felt the sharp sting of pain followed by a warm wetness as he sucked. Her body responded despite her mind's screaming protest, and she couldn't help the soft moan that escaped her lips.

The man between her legs spoke up, his voice gruff with excitement. "It's getting wet here, are you sure you don't want to do this?" The question hung in the air, thick with malice and lust. Minju felt a rush of cold dread as she realized the gravity of her situation. Her body was betraying her, her arousal growing against her will. She knew she had to find a way out of this, to regain control.

With surprising strength, she jerked her legs up, catching the tall man off guard. He stumbled back, cursing under his breath. The man with the sharp jawline released her nipple with a wet pop, his eyes narrowing. "Feisty, aren't we?" He said, smiling wickedly. Before she could react, the two men holding her down had torn away her last shred of dignity, leaving her panties in their hands. They tossed them aside, revealing her shaved pussy to their hungry gazes.

The second man, the one who had been watching her struggle with a twisted smile, leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Wow, you treat your pussy so well, Minju. It's like a sweet, ripe peach." His words were like a slap in the face, a cruel twist to the knot in her stomach. She had never felt so exposed, so violated. Yet, she couldn't ignore the way her body responded to his voice, the way her clit throbbed at his words.

The first man's wild suckling grew more intense, his teeth grazing her sensitive nipple, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the taste of blood mingling with the mint from the cloth. The man between her legs chuckled, his breath warm and humid against her inner thigh. "I can see why they call it a peach," he murmured, his tongue tracing the delicate folds of her sex. She felt his rough hands spread her open, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to be anywhere but here.

Minju moaned "ahh..." as the second man's tongue replaced his fingers, delving into her with a fervor that made her toes curl. His expertise was clear, his touch calculated to elicit the maximum response from her traitorous body. Her hips bucked, trying to escape the sensation, but the men held her in place, their laughter echoing through the room. She could feel herself getting wetter, a betrayal that only served to fuel their excitement. The man at her breasts took his cue, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh before his tongue soothed the sting.

"I can't, please stop," she gasped, the words barely coherent. She felt the man holding her hand tighten his grip, his thumb stroking her palm in a mockery of comfort.

"Are you going to cum, Minju?" he asked, his tone a blend of amusement and demand. Her heart raced as she felt the pressure building inside her, the man's relentless mouth on her sex pushing her closer to the edge she desperately wanted to avoid. Her body was a maelstrom of conflicting sensations, each touch and kiss sending waves of both fear and arousal crashing through her.

"Noo," she whimpered, trying to pull away, but her body was a traitor. Her hips bucked upward, seeking more, and she could feel the wetness of her pussy smearing against the leather chair. The man between her legs took this as an invitation, his tongue swirling around her clit with the precision of a maestro. The sensation was overwhelming, and she knew she was going to come.

"It's so much, I can't take it," she gasped out, her voice trembling. The man's mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking and stroking with a ferocity that had her nails digging into the armrest. The man at her breasts took the opportunity to bite down harder, the sting of pain sending her spiraling into a whirlwind of sensation. She felt the first wave of her orgasm building, her breath hitching in her throat.

The dam broke, and she squirted, her juices spraying out like a fountain, drenching the man's face and soaking the chair beneath her. Her legs shook violently, and she screamed out her climax, unable to hold back any longer. The men laughed, their grips loosening slightly in amazement. The one who had been teasing her clit looked up, her fluids dripping from his chin, a look of triumph in his eyes. "Look at that," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Our little peach is ripe for the picking."

The room spun as Minju's body convulsed through the orgasm she hadn't wanted to give them. She felt their hands on her, touching her everywhere, their breath hot and ragged in her ears. Her mind was a tumult of thoughts, a mix of horror and unwanted pleasure. "You're such a squirter, Minju," the man whispered, his voice a mix of awe and disgust. "And a slut." The word hung in the air, a knife twisting in her gut.

Her legs felt like jelly, but they released her, and she collapsed onto the floor, her ass up and her face down. The cool leather was a stark contrast to the heat of the room, the heat of her body. She trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, the fabric of the chair sticking to her sweat-slicked skin. The men stepped away, giving her a moment of respite, their eyes still hungry as they took in the sight of her exposed body.

Minju's mind raced as she lay on the floor, her body still quaking from the forced climax. She knew she had to find a way out of this nightmare, but her limbs felt like lead. The sound of a zipper echoed through the room, and she felt the panic rising again. Before she could even process the thought, the man with the sharp jawline had scooped her up and placed her on the chair, straddling him. Her legs were shaking, but she felt the unyielding grip of the other man as he stood behind her, his erection pressing into her back.

The tall, broad-shouldered man took position in front of her, his own arousal evident as he unbuckled his belt.

Minju's eyes widened in horror as she saw the massive erection sprouting from his pants, the tip glistening with precum. He mustered a twisted smile as he took his cock in hand and began to stroke it, his eyes never leaving hers. The sight was overwhelming, a monstrous spectacle that made her knees go weak. The thought of that thing inside her was unbearable, but she knew she had no choice. She braced herself, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the first man's hands spreading her thighs wider. The head of his cock nudged against her wetness, the sheer size of it making her quiver with dread.

With a cruel chuckle, he pushed the tip in, stretching her pussy to its limits. She bit her lip to hold back a scream, her eyes watering as the pain shot through her. The man's girth was unbelievable, and she couldn't fathom how much more of him there was to come. The room around her grew fuzzy, the pain consuming her, as he inched his way deeper and deeper. The stretch was agonizing, but she knew that the worst was yet to come. He took his time, relishing her discomfort, his hands gripping her thighs tightly as he watched her face contort in pain.

"Ahh, so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. Minju's nails dug into the man back as she tried to push herself away, but the other men held her in place, their hands roaming her body. The man behind her leaned in, his breath hot against her neck. "You're going to love this, baby," he whispered.

The first thrust was like a punch to the gut, the pain stealing the breath from her lungs. She felt herself stretch around him, the invasion both terrifying and exhilarating. Her body trembled, her pussy clenching around the thick, unyielding intrusion. Yet, amidst the horror, there was a spark of something else, a flicker of the pleasure that had betrayed her earlier. Her mind screamed for her to fight, but her body was already responding to the rhythmic motion, her muscles contracting around him in a desperate attempt to escape and yet, paradoxically, to feel more.

"Already orgasm?" The man with the sharp jawline mocked, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and disdain. "We didn't even start yet, you're such a slut." His words were like a slap in the face, a cold reminder of her helplessness. He began to move, his hips rising and falling with a brutal precision that had her teeth gritted. Each stroke sent a new wave of agony through her, but it was tinged with a dark, unwelcome craving. Her body was a traitor, her pussy greedily devouring every inch of him as he pushed deeper.

Minju's mind was a battleground of fear and arousal. She didn't want this, didn't want any of it, but she couldn't deny the way her body was responding. Her voice, shaky and desperate, broke through the cacophony of her thoughts. "Please move, I want it," she whispered, the words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. The room grew quiet, the only sound the wet slap of flesh against flesh, the ragged gasps of the men holding her down.

The man with the sharp jawline took her invitation and began to pound into her with a ferocity that made her eyes water. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her body, the pain melding with the pleasure until she could no longer tell them apart. She felt the man's mouth move to her nipple again, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak before he sucked it into his mouth. The sensation was intense, a symphony of pleasure that washed over the agony of the intrusion below.

"Ahh, yess," she found herself moaning, the words slipping out despite her best efforts to remain silent. "So big, fuck..." Her voice was a hoarse whisper, a plea that she didn't even realize she was making. The man's hips ground against her, his cock filling her completely, stretching her to the point of pain. But it was a pain that she was beginning to crave, a pain that seemed to hold the key to some twisted form of relief.

"Suck my nipples more," she begged, arching her back as the pleasure began to build again. The man took the cue, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh before he took one peak into his mouth, sucking hard. The sensation was exquisite, a sharp contrast to the brutal pounding she was receiving. She could feel the man's erection pulsing against her back, and she knew he was getting off on her suffering. But she didn't care anymore, she just needed the release.

The second man's breath was hot on her neck, his hand moving from her hip to the small of her back. His fingers began to trace the cleft of her ass, teasing her puckered hole. The sensation was alien and terrifying, but it sent a thrill through her body that she couldn't ignore. He chuckled darkly as she tensed, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "You're so tight here too," he murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against her asshole. "But we'll loosen you up, don't worry."

Minju's voice was a desperate whisper. "No, no, not there," she pleaded, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to ignore the way her body responded to his touch. The first man took a moment to admire the look of fear and need on her face before resuming his relentless assault on her pussy. "Please," she gasped, her voice hoarse with need. "I can't, it's too much."

But the man didn't care; he kept trying to push his dick deeper into Minju's asshole. His thumb circled the tight ring of muscle, applying pressure that made her body spasm. She could feel her own wetness mingling with his spit, the slickness of it making her skin crawl. "You're going to take all of us," he said, his voice a promise of more torment. "And you're going to love it."

"Ahh, it feels weird," she whined, her body tensing up as his thumb breached her ass, the sensation foreign and overwhelming. The pain was intense, a stark contrast to the pleasure still pulsing through her pussy from the first man's relentless pounding. She could feel the head of the second man's cock pressing against her, the blunt pressure a stark reminder of the new violation that awaited her.

But then, something strange happened. The pain began to morph into something else, something that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. The pressure grew, building into a crescendo that matched the rhythm of the man's strokes inside her. Her pussy tightened around him, desperately seeking more, and she felt her orgasm start to crest. "Ahh, no," she moaned, her voice a mix of agony and ecstasy. "I can't take it, I'm cumming again, ahh, ahh, ahh..."

Her body convulsed, her pussy spasming around the thick cock that filled her so completely. The man's grip on her hips tightened, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he felt her climax. She could hear his grunts of pleasure, the sound of his balls slapping against her ass with each plunge. And then, as if on cue, the third man grabbed her head, his grip like a vice as he pushed his own erection into her mouth. "You're talking too much, Minju," he grunted, his voice low and menacing.

Her jaw ached from the stretch, but she took him in willingly, the taste of her own juices mingling with the saltiness of his cock. The sound of her own slurps filled her ears, the obscene sounds of her mouth working his shaft almost as degrading as the pain in her ass. "Glukkk glukk glukk," she moaned around the thick meat, the words muffled but clear in their meaning. She enjoyed it, the feeling of being used, of being their plaything. The humiliation only served to heighten her arousal, a dark thrill that she never knew existed within her.

For what felt like an eternity, the three men took turns using her body, their rhythmic thrusts becoming a symphony of depravity. The man in her pussy pounded with a relentlessness that was almost soothing in its consistency, filling her up completely. The man in her ass took his time, stretching her open with each slow, deliberate push until she was taking his full length, her cries of pain muffled by the cock in her throat. And the third, the one who had claimed her mouth, fucked her face with a vigor that had her eyes watering.

"I think I'm gonna cum, Minju," the man in her ass grunted, his grip on her hips tightening until it felt like he was trying to split her in two. His words were a declaration, a warning of the impending climax that she could feel building within him. And as if on cue, the man in her pussy sped up, his strokes becoming more erratic, his breathing ragged. She knew she was close too, the tension in her own body coiling tighter and tighter like a spring about to snap.

The room was a blur of movement, the men's bodies a tapestry of sweat and power as they used her. The pain was a living thing, pulsing through her, but it had transformed into something else. Something that made her body beg for more. And when the man in her mouth finally came, his hot seed spurting down her throat, she felt a strange sense of accomplishment. It was as if she had been given a role to play, and she was playing it to perfection.

The man in her pussy grunted, his hips bucking wildly as he reached his climax. He pulled out just in time to shoot his load all over her stomach, the hot, sticky fluid spattering her skin. The sight of his release only made the man in her ass more eager, his thrusts becoming more demanding, more primal. He grunted and pushed in deeper, the pressure building until she felt his cock swell and throb inside her. And then, with a roar, he came too, filling her up with his seed, the sensation so intense it brought tears to her eyes.

Gasping for air, Minju felt the men pull out of her in unison, their cocks slick with her juices. The sudden emptiness was almost as intense as the fullness she had just endured, and she couldn't help the whine of protest that escaped her lips. The sharp-jawed man chuckled, stroking her cheek with a gentle touch that seemed almost tender in the aftermath of the brutal assault. "You liked that, didn't you?" he whispered, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down her spine.

She could feel their eyes on her, their gazes raking over her trembling form, assessing her reactions. "But we're not done yet," he said, his voice a promise of more to come. "Each one of us gets a turn in every hole. That's the deal."

Minju's body felt like it had been wrung out like a wet towel, her muscles quivering with exhaustion. Yet, she couldn't deny the need that still thrummed through her veins. She didn't know if she could take it, if she could handle the onslaught of pleasure and pain that awaited her. The men seemed to sense her hesitation, their smiles growing more predatory as they looked at her.

The sharp-jawed man took a step back, his cock still glistening with her juices. "Time to switch places," he said, his voice a low growl. The man who had been fucking her mouth stepped forward, his own erection bobbing eagerly as he took position behind her. He didn't bother with any pretense of gentleness, pushing into her ass without warning.

The pain was immediate and intense, but she found herself pushing back, her body craving the fullness she had just felt moments ago. The man behind her took the hint, his strokes growing faster and deeper until she was crying out around the cock that filled her pussy. The man who had just her pussy come to her mouth, stroking his member as he watched the scene unfold before him. "Look at her," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Such a good little slut."

The second man's grip on her pussy was like iron, his thumb pressing against her clit as he drove into her ass. She squirted again, the force of her orgasm surprising her. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the warmth of his cum fill her, his grunts of pleasure echoing through the room. And then, it was the third man's turn, his cock sliding into her pussy with a wet, gasping sound. She felt so full, so stretched, that she thought she might split apart.

But she didn't. Instead, she took it, her body moving with the rhythm of their abuse, her hips rising and falling as she was used in ways she had never imagined. The man in her ass began to spank her, each smack sending a shockwave of sensation through her. She could feel her orgasm building again, her pussy clenching around his cock, her ass tightening around the other. The sharp sting of the slaps only heightened the pleasure, sending her spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

And then, with a roar, the man in her ass came, his cum flooding her bowels, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. She felt his cock jerk inside her, the pulse of his release sending her own orgasm crashing over her. She screamed around the cock in her mouth, her body shaking with the force of it. The man in her pussy took his cue, his thrusts growing more frantic, his grip on her hips almost painful.

And when he came, it was with a snarl, his cum spurting out in hot, thick ropes that coated her inner thighs and dripped down to the floor. The man who had been watching stepped forward, his own erection now fully restored. He pulled out of her mouth, his cock shiny with her saliva, and moved to take his place in her ass.

The cycle continued, each man taking her in a different combination of holes, their pleasure becoming a symphony of grunts and slaps, moans and whimpers. She was theirs to use, to fill, to claim. And as the night went on, Minju realized she didn't just want them to cum inside her; she needed it. The thought of their seed filling her, marking her as theirs, was intoxicating.

With each new thrust, she felt herself slipping further into a dark, depraved world that she had never known existed. But she didn't care. All she cared about was the feeling of their hands on her body, their cocks inside her, the taste of their desire. And when the last man finally came, his hot cum spurting into her mouth, she swallowed it down greedily, her eyes never leaving his.

"Good girl," he murmured, stroking her cheek. And in that moment, she knew she was theirs. She had been broken, reshaped into a vessel for their pleasure. And she liked it. She liked it more than she could ever admit. The room was a blur of satiated bodies, their breaths heavy with satisfaction. But Minju's mind was already racing, planning how she could get more of this twisted game.

As she lay there, her body trembling from the exertion, she felt a hand on her chin, tilting her head up to look into the sharp-jawed man's eyes.

"How many squirt do you have for us today, Minju?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Her eyes searched his, desperation melding with the haze of pleasure that still clouded her judgment. "I don't know... maybe 10 or 15... I can't think," she replied, her voice a soft whimper. The idea of being able to squirt that many times seemed impossible, yet her body had already proven it could handle more than she had ever thought possible.

The sharp-jawed man chuckled, his hand moving to cup her chin. "Good, because we're not done with you yet," he said, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "We're going to drain you, Minju. Every last drop of cum you're worth."

The fourth man, who had been watching the whole time with a mix of envy and anticipation, stood up from the couch. He was the most muscular of them all, his broad chest heaving with excitement as he unzipped his pants. His erection sprang out, thick and veiny, a testament to his desire. He stepped forward, the smirk on his face growing as he took in the sight of her used body, glistening with their cum.

Minju's eyes widened as he approached, her mind reeling from the sheer size of his cock. It was easily the biggest she had ever seen, dwarfing the others that had already claimed her. A bolt of fear shot through her, but her body, now a willing accomplice in her degradation, responded with a fresh wave of arousal. "No, no," she whispered, her voice a mix of fear and lust. "It won't fit."

The sharp-jawed man leaned in closer, his smile cold and cruel. "Just shut up," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Because you can't run anymore." His words sent a chill down her spine, a stark reminder of her captivity. She was theirs, and she knew it. The fourth man stepped closer, his hand stroking the length of his erection as he looked down at her with a hunger that was almost palpable.

With trembling hands, Minju reached up and took the head of his cock in her mouth, feeling it stretch her lips to the point of pain. He was so thick, so much more than she had ever had before, and she knew it would be a challenge to take all of him. But she was determined to try, her need for their approval overriding any sense of self-preservation she might have once had.

Her tongue swirled around the tip, tasting the salty precum that had begun to leak out. He groaned in pleasure, his hand coming to the back of her head to guide her movements. His grip grew firmer, pushing her down further, and she felt the head of his cock touch the back of her throat. She gagged, her eyes watering, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she took a deep breath through her nose and relaxed her throat, willing herself to accommodate his monstrous size.

The fourth man's eyes lit up as she took more of him, his hips starting to rock gently, pushing deeper with each stroke. "Ur throat is so tight and wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. His words sent a shiver of excitement down her spine, the praise fueling her determination. She took him as deep as she could, her throat convulsing around his shaft as she fought the urge to gag.

The sharp-jawed man watched with a sadistic grin, his hand moving to fondle her breasts as he whispered, "Good girl, take it all." The words were a command, and she obeyed, her mouth moving up and down the thick length of the fourth man's cock. His hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer, his strokes growing more forceful.

The pressure built in her throat, the taste of him becoming more intense with each passing second. She could feel him swelling, his cock growing even bigger, and she knew he was close. "Aghh, fuck," he groaned, his hips jerking as he buried himself deep into her mouth. "I'm gonna cum, don't you dare spill it out." The threat was clear, and she responded with a muffled moan of understanding, her eyes watering as she braced herself for the onslaught.

And then, with a roar, he did. His cum shot into her throat, hot and thick, filling her mouth. She swallowed convulsively, her eyes squeezed shut as she focused on not choking. He pulled out, his cock still twitching as he stepped back, panting. "Look at her," the sharp-jawed man said, his voice filled with amusement. "Such a good little cockslut."

Minju felt a twisted sense of pride at the words, her cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. The men around her chuckled, their eyes gleaming with lust. "Now, let's see if you can handle this," .

This one was different, she realized with a sinking feeling. His cock was longer and thicker than the others, a weapon of pure pleasure and pain. She tried to sit up, her body already feeling the strain of the previous assaults, but the sharp-jawed man pushed her back down. "No more games, Minju," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You're going to take him, and you're going to enjoy it."

The fourth man took position between her legs, his cock bobbing as he stared down at her trembling form. "Please," she whispered, her voice a hoarse plea. "I can't..." But it was too late. With a brutal shove, he plunged into her pussy, the sound of her wetness mingling with her whimpers of pain. Her body was so sensitive, so overwhelmed, that it was all she could do to not scream.

He began to move, his strokes long and deep, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Please, no more," she whimpered, her pussy clenching around his cock. But he paid her no heed, his focus solely on his own pleasure.

"You're too tight," he grunted, his grip on her hips tightening as he pushed in harder.

The sharp-jawed man leaned in, his hand moving to her clit, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You'll get used to it," he whispered, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves.

And then, with a suddenness that took her breath away, the pain disappeared, replaced by a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. Her body arched off the bed, her eyes rolling back in her head as she came again, her pussy contracting around the invading cock. The fourth man took her through the motions, his strokes growing more forceful, more demanding. She felt like she was being split in two, the sensation so overwhelming she didn't know if she could handle it.

But she did. Each thrust sent her spiraling higher and higher, until she was a writhing mess of pleasure and pain, her body a canvas for their depravity. "Fuck me," she moaned, the words slipping from her lips unbidden. "Fuck me harder."

The sharp-jawed man chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he watched her degradation. "Look at you," he said, his voice thick with lust. "You're loving this."

The fourth man took her words to heart, his strokes becoming more punishing, his cock stretching her pussy to its limits. She felt herself climbing again, the pressure building until she was on the edge, her body trembling with the effort to hold back. "Agh, I'm gonna cum," she screamed, her voice raw and desperate.

He pulled out suddenly, leaving her feeling empty and exposed. "Do it," he said, his voice a demand. "Squirt on my cock." He stroked himself, his cock slick with her juices, and she could see the challenge in his eyes.

With a trembling hand, she reached down between her legs, her fingers finding her clit. It was swollen and sensitive, the slightest touch sending a jolt of pleasure through her. She began to rub it, her eyes locked on his, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. The sharp-jawed man leaned in closer, his hand moving to her hip, his grip firm and possessive. "Come on," he urged, his voice low and hungry. "Show us how much of a slut you really are."

The pressure grew, her body coiled like a spring about to snap. With a final, desperate cry, she let go, her pussy clenching around the fourth man's cock as she squirted. The sensation was like nothing she had ever felt before, a deluge of wetness that soaked the bed beneath her. The men cheered, their eyes alight with excitement as they watched her body convulse with pleasure.

The fourth man leaned in, his hand moving from her hip to her chin, tilting her head back so he could kiss her. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting the remnants of the fourth man's cum. "Keep going," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "We want more."

Her hand moved faster on her clit, her hips rising off the bed as she felt the next orgasm building. The sharp-jawed man's cock was back in her mouth, his movements growing more urgent as he felt her body tighten around his shaft. She squirted again.

Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably now, the intensity of her orgasms threatening to overwhelm her. It was as if her body had taken on a mind of its own, the need for more pleasure an insatiable beast that demanded to be fed. "It's too much," she gasped . "I think I'm gonna collapse."

But the fourth man just chuckled, his eyes glinting with malicious excitement. "No, you can't," he said, his voice a dark caress. "We're not done with you yet." He reached down, his hand grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You're going to keep squirting for us, no matter what."

With a grunt, he pulled her to the edge of the bed and flipped her over, so she was ass up and face down. Her cheek pressed into the wet, sticky mattress, she could feel the coolness of the spilled cum against her skin. The sharp-jawed man stepped back, watching with a cruel smile as the fourth man took his place. His cock was still hard, still thick and demanding, and she knew what was coming.

He didn't bother with preamble, simply pushing her legs apart and sinking into her pussy with a ferocity that took her breath away. Her squirt had only made him hungrier, and now he was going to feast. The first few thrusts were so hard she thought she'd pass out, her body unprepared for the intensity. But she didn't. Instead, she felt her pussy stretch to accommodate him, her walls tightening around him as she took him in, inch by brutal inch.

The sharp-jawed man watched, stroking his own cock as he observed the scene with a sadistic smile. "That's it," he encouraged. "Make her squirt like the slut she is." The other men murmured in agreement, their eyes glued to her ass as it bounced with every punishing thrust.

The fourth man's strokes grew more erratic. With a snarl, he grabbed her hips, his cock slamming into her with a force that made the bed shake. "Do it," he grunted, his voice strained. "Give me your squirt."

And she did. With a scream that was equal parts pleasure and pain, Minju's pussy clenched around him, sending a jet of fluid shooting out, soaking the bed even more. He groaned, his movements becoming more frenzied, his grip on her hips bruising. The sharp-jawed man watched with a mix of fascination and hunger, his own hand moving faster on his erection. "So good," he murmured, his voice tight with his own need.

The fourth man's rhythm grew erratic, his hips slamming into her ass with a force that made her teeth chatter. She felt his cock swell, the pressure inside her building until she thought she'd burst. And then, with a final, guttural roar, he came, his cum filling her to the brim. She could feel it leaking out of her, running down her thighs, mixing with the mess that was already there.

"Yes, yes," she moaned, her body shaking with the intensity of her own orgasm. She had never felt so used, so completely owned.

The fourth man's cock twitched inside her, the final pulses of his cum filling her until she felt like she would overflow. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of fullness and satisfaction that she had never experienced before. Her pussy quivered around him, the muscles clenching involuntarily, eager to milk every last drop.

It's so full," Minju murmured, her voice muffled by the pillow she was face-first in, her body still shaking from the last round of brutal ecstasy. The fourth man's cum was still dripping from her pussy, leaving a sticky trail down her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. The sharp-jawed man took a step closer, his cock still standing at attention despite the depraved scene that had just played out. "Look at what a mess you've made," he said, his voice a mix of amusement and disgust.

The fourth man chuckled, his hand moving to her hip as he pulled her back onto her knees. "Don't worry, baby," he said, his voice a sickly sweet promise. "I've got plenty more where that came from." His grip tightened, his cock, which had only just begun to soften, now growing hard again with the renewed interest in her body.

The sharp-jawed man took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. "You think you're special?" he sneered. "You think we won't use you up and spit you out?" His hand came down, slapping her ass with a wet sound that echoed through the room. "You're nothing but a cum dumpster to us."

The words stung, but Minju couldn't deny the truth. She was theirs to use, their toy to discard when they were done. Yet, the thought only made her more eager, her body begging for another round of their brutal attentions. "No," she whispered, the word barely audible. "I'm not... I can't..." But she knew she could. Some twisted part of her wanted to, needed to prove she could take it all.

The fourth man grinned, his eyes glinting with the thrill of the challenge. He bent down, his grip strong as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned his cock at her soaking entrance. The sharp-jawed man moved in, his hand reaching for her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "You're going to take it all," he said, his voice a low growl. "Every drop ."

With a roar, the fourth man thrust into her, lifting her off the bed as he began to pound her from behind. The sharp-jawed man held her hand, their fingers entwined as he watched the scene unfold, his own arousal evident in the tight grip and the way he licked his lips. She could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes raked over her body, and it only made her more wet, her pussy clenching around the thick cock invading her.

"Ahh... yes," she moaned, her voice a desperate cry. "So good, I'm cumming again." The words were torn from her as she felt the familiar tightening in her belly, her muscles contracting as the orgasm built. It was a sweet agony, the kind that made her want to scream and beg for mercy, all while pushing back against the man inside her, urging him to go deeper.

The fourth man's grip on her hips tightened, his own hips slapping against her ass as he drove into her with renewed vigor. "That's it," he grunted, his voice strained with his own approaching climax. "Squirt for me, baby. Squirt like the slut you are."

Minju's body responded to his words, the muscles in her pussy clenching around his cock as she began to squirt uncontrollably. The sensation was overwhelming, her body seemingly having a mind of its own as it sought to please the men who had so completely claimed her. The sharp-jawed man's eyes widened in amazement as he watched the spectacle, his hand moving to stroke his own cock faster. "Fuck, look at her," he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "She's like a fucking fountain."

The fourth man's eyes glazed over with pleasure, his strokes becoming more erratic as he felt his own climax approaching. "Yeah, baby," he grunted. "Come on, let's do it together." His hand moved from her hip to her clit, his thumb rubbing the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. "I'm gonna fill you up so good."

Minju's body responded to his touch, the sensation of his cock inside her combined with the pressure on her clit pushing her closer to the edge. She could feel another orgasm building, the tension in her abdomen tightening with each passing second. "Yes," she moaned, her voice barely recognizable. "I'm gonna cum again."

The sharp-jawed man's grip on her hand tightened, his eyes never leaving hers as he whispered, "Show us, baby. Let us see it all." His words were a command, one that she desperately wanted to obey. She felt her pussy clench around the fourth man's cock, her body begging for more, for the release she knew was just a heartbeat away.

"I think this is my last squirt," Minju gasped as the fourth man's cock swelled inside her, his cum shooting into her with a force that made her entire body shake. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pain and pleasure that left her gasping for breath.

And then, with a grunt of his own release, the fourth man pulled out, leaving her pussy gaping and empty. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor, her body trembling uncontrollably. The sticky wetness of her squirt and their combined cum coated the floor beneath her, a stark reminder of her newfound role.

Minju's eyes had gone blurry, the world spinning around her in a haze of pleasure and pain. She felt like she was going to faint, the intensity of her orgasms leaving her dizzy and weak. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving with the effort to fill her lungs. The sharp-jawed man stepped closer, a look of dark satisfaction on his face. "Look at you," he said, his voice a mix of amazement and contempt. "So fucking pathetic."

The other men chuckled, their eyes glinting with lust as they watched her collapse. The fourth man reached down, his hand wrapping around her arm, and hauled her to her feet. "Come on," he said, his voice gruff. "You're not done yet." He tugged her along behind him, her legs wobbly and unsteady. She could feel the warmth of the cum running down her thighs, a sticky mess that seemed to cling to her skin.

They brought her to the bathroom, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the heat of the room she'd just left. The sharp-jawed man flipped on the lights, and she blinked against the harsh brightness. The room was large, with a claw-footed bathtub in the center and a gleaming chrome shower in the corner.

The fourth man held her up, his grip unyielding as he positioned her in front of the mirror. She looked at her reflection, not recognizing the woman who stared back at her. Her makeup was smeared, her dress torn and stained, her eyes swollen from crying. She was a mess, a shell of the glamorous starlet she had been just hours ago.

"Look at yourself," the sharp-jawed man said, his voice a mix of amusement and disgust. "You're nothing but a used cum rag now." The words hit her like a slap in the face.

Minju's knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold, hard floor. Her legs felt like jelly, her body utterly drained from the onslaught of pleasure and pain she'd endured. She lay there, her eyes unfocused, staring at the reflection in the mirror. She could see the bruises already beginning to form on her hips and thighs, the marks of their possession etched into her skin.

The men formed a circle around her, their cocks still hard and glistening with her juices. The sharp-jawed man stepped forward, his expression a twisted mix of amusement and cruelty. "Time to clean up," he announced, his voice echoing in the bathroom. And with that, they began to piss all over her. The warm streams of urine rained down on her body, washing away the cum and sweat that coated her.

Minju's eyes widened in horror, her body tense with humiliation. She had never felt so degraded, so utterly used. Yet, as the urine hit her skin, she felt a strange sense of relief, as if the sting of it was washing away the last remnants of her dignity. The smell was overpowering, the stench of piss mingling with the musky scent of sex that filled the room. She tried to look away, but the sharp-jawed man grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze in the mirror.

"Look at yourself," he said, his voice cold and mocking. "This is what you are now. A dirty little cum slut." His words sent a shiver down her spine, even as her pussy clenched around the emptiness inside her. It was as if her body had been rewired to crave their degradation, to thrive on their contempt.

As the last of their piss rained down on her, she felt herself slipping away, the world going dark around the edges. Her breathing grew shallow, her vision swimming as she teetered on the brink of consciousness. The sharp-jawed man stepped back, his smile fading as he took in her condition. "Looks like she's had enough for now," he said, his voice deceptively casual.

The fourth man chuckled, zipping up his pants. "Let's leave her here to clean up. Maybe she'll learn to appreciate her new role." The others laughed, their footsteps echoing through the room as they left, the door slamming shut behind them.

Alone, Minju lay on the cold floor, her body a map of bruises and cum stains. She could feel the stickiness between her cheeks, the result of the fourth man's merciless assault. The smell of piss hung heavy in the air, a humiliating reminder of her submission.

Her vision swam, and she felt the room spin as the last of her strength gave way. With a final whimper, she passed out, her body giving in to the relentless waves of pain and pleasure that had overtaken her.

When she awoke, it was to the harsh light of morning filtering through the bathroom window. The floor was cold and sticky beneath her, and she could feel the crust of dried cum and piss on her skin. Her eyes felt gritty, and her throat was parched, the taste of bile and semen still lingering in her mouth. She tried to sit up, but her body protested, the ache in her ass and pussy a stark reminder of the night's events.

With a groan, she managed to push herself onto her hands and knees, her head spinning as she took in the room. The bathtub was stained, the floor around it a mess of cum and urine. Her reflection in the mirror was a horror show, her face puffy from crying, her once-pristine dress torn and stained beyond recognition. The sharp-jawed man's words echoed in her mind, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of disgust and shame.

Mr. Park's voice grew louder as he approached the bathroom door, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. "Minju," he called out, his tone one of forced concern. "Are you okay in there?" The sound of his voice was like a knife in her gut, a stark reminder of the betrayal that had led to her current state. She didn't bother to respond, knowing that her voice would only betray her.

The door swung open, and he stepped inside, his eyes immediately going to the mess on the floor. His expression shifted from concern to one of cold calculation. "You've made quite a mess," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. She could see the disgust in his eyes as he took in the state of her body, cum spurted from her ass and pussy like some grotesque art project.

Minju's eyes fell to the floor, unable to meet his gaze. She felt a tear slip down her cheek, the only sign of the turmoil inside her. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. But she knew that sorry wasn't enough. Not for what she'd done, and not for the way she'd let them treat her.

Mr. Park sighed, his eyes scanning the room before returning to her. "Look at you," he said, his voice a mix of pity and revulsion. "What have you become?" He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to touch her face. She flinched away, the simple contact feeling like a brand of ownership she didn't want.

"Don't," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I can't..."

"You can," he said, his tone firm. "You will." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "This is your new life now. Get used to it."

Minju felt a spark of defiance flare up inside her, but it was quickly snuffed out by the weight of his stare. She knew he was right. She had no choice but to submit to their desires, to embrace the slut that she had become. With a heavy heart, she nodded. "Yes, Mr. Park."

The week passed in a blur of pain and pleasure, the men taking her whenever and however they wanted. Her body was a playground for their desires, a canvas for their depravity. Yet, amidst the pain and humiliation, she found a strange solace in her new role. Each time she squirted for them, each time she took their cum, she felt a sense of belonging, of purpose.

When she finally returned to work, she was a different woman. She walked with a newfound confidence, her eyes downcast in submission. The other employees whispered about her, wondering what had changed. But she knew. She was theirs, their little cum slut, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

One night, after a particularly grueling session with the sharp-jawed man and his friends, she sent a message to Mr. Park. "Thanks for that surprise," she wrote, her thumbs moving over the screen with surprising ease. "Right now, I know the truth about myself. I am a slut for a big cock."

The response was almost instant. "Good girl," he texted back. "Keep that in mind. We have more surprises in store for you."

Her stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and dread. She knew she had no say in the matter, that she would take whatever they gave her and ask for more. And she liked it. The thought of it made her wet, her pussy clenching with anticipation.

The next week at work was a blur of meetings and shoots, each one more grueling than the last. But she never forgot her message to Mr. Park. It played on repeat in her mind, a constant reminder of who and what she was. And she liked it. The idea of being used by those powerful men again, of feeling their cocks fill her up and empty her out, was a thrill she couldn't resist.

On her lunch break, she found herself in the bathroom, her hand slipping into her panties to touch her still-sensitive clit. The thought of their next meeting had her pussy soaked, and she couldn't help but wonder what they had planned for her. Would it be more of the same, or would they find new ways to break her, to make her squirt for them?

The anticipation was almost too much to bear. But she knew she could handle it. She had to. She was their cum slut, after all.

[littlebluebird2000]

Twirling Hearts- part 2

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, smut, mature language, sexual harassment, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime...

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy-especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High has a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates…

author's note: this chapter contains sexual content. if you are not comfortable with that, it’s okay, i’ll see you in the next story.

word count: 8k+(again, sorry)

follow #bluebirdyeonsieun for updates on the story. for some reason, my tags aren’t working :(

part 1, 2, 3. 4., 5.

Your skin was warm. Too warm.

Your alarm buzzed just after 5, sharp and unforgiving in the quiet of your room. You groaned, arm fumbling over the sheets until your fingers finally found your phone. The floor felt cold when you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, but even in the chill of the morning, your body pulsed with leftover heat.

You'd dreamt of him again.

Sieun.

You sat there for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to shake it off. But the dream lingered—soft at the edges, vivid where it counted.

You fanned your face with your hands, skin flushed and your heart embarrassingly loud in the silence. You forced yourself to get moving. The weekend had gone too fast for your liking… You started to get ready for the academy.

You dropped your bag and sat on the floor, beginning your stretches with practiced discipline. Pain helped. Just a little. You moved through the routine without thinking, tying your bun tight enough to pull your focus back. You were supposed to be grounded—pointed toes, perfect turnout, breath timed with grace—but your mind kept drifting.

“Y/N,” your teacher’s voice cut through the room, firm but not unkind. “Focus. Again, from the top.”

You nodded, blinking hard as if it would clear the fog in your head. You moved when the music resumed, but your body didn’t feel like it belonged to you. Your pirouette was too fast. Your landing was too soft. Your chest tightened as you pushed into the next movement.

“Your balance is off.” Mrs. Kim said again. “Center yourself.”

You sighed. This was going to be a long practice…

The door clicked softly behind you as you stepped out of the studio, the air brushing cool against your flushed skin. The bus was quiet this morning, filled with the low hum of the engine. You sat by the window, forehead lightly resting against the cold glass, watching the world blur.

No matter how many times you blinked, his face kept flashing behind your eyes.

When the school came into view, you sighed, adjusting your skirt and brushing down your coat as if that would help settle the nerves crawling beneath your skin. You stepped off the bus, blending into the slow-moving crowd of students, pulling your bag higher on your shoulder.

You slipped into the classroom a few minutes before the bell, doing your best to appear casual—even though your heart skipped a little when your eyes found him.

Sieun was already there—head down, pen moving neatly across his notebook. He looked the same as always: dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, faint shadows clinging beneath them, his shoulders relaxed like he had found a way to exist separately from everything around him. His eyes flicked up.

You gave him a small smile in acknowledgment, the kind you hoped appeared casual and effortless. Just a soft curve of your lips, barely there, before you slid into your seat beside him, heart thudding louder than you wanted it to.

He hadn’t smiled back, of course, but you hadn’t expected him to. Still, his eyes had lingered on you a moment before dropping back to his notebook.

No one notices the way the tips of his ears flushed. Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one having dreams that lingered long after waking…

You pulled out your notebook, uncapped a pen, trying to act normal.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him stealing a glance.

Quick. Barely there. But it happened.

You shifted in your seat. Sieun’s pen keeps moving, neat and controlled. His expression remains unreadable—aloof, almost bored. But there was tension to his stillness now, like he was focusing harder on the page than necessary.

The classroom was starting to fill up—chairs dragging, bags thumping against desks, conversations bubbling with half-suppressed laughter. You didn’t look up. You just kept your eyes on the board, pretending to go over your notes even though you hadn’t really read a word.

You could feel it when Hyoman entered. His presence carried a weight, a cocky energy that crept over your skin like static. You heard his voice—low, arrogant, already joking with someone like the room revolved around him.

It made your stomach twist.

He passed by your row, and you could hear every step of it. The exaggerated scuff of his shoes. The scraping of his chair as he slouched into the seat directly behind you.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a glance. Still, your shoulders tensed.

The teacher entered a moment later, his footsteps brisk as he reached the front of the class. “Settle down,” he said, placing a stack of papers on his desk. “Let’s begin.” Conversations quieted. Papers rustled. Pens clicked. The usual chaos smoothed into a quiet rhythm as the class finally began.

You tried to focus, but then—

Tap Tap Tap.

The steady rhythm of fingers drumming against a desk behind you. Not too loud, but pointed. Deliberate.

You didn’t react. You told yourself not to. That’s what he wanted. Or maybe you were overthinking it. He probably didn’t register he was doing it. A kind of nervous tick? You—

Then came the kick.

Not hard, but enough to jolt your chair. Enough to make your back stiffen and your fingers freeze on your pen.

Still, you stayed still. Your eyes didn’t move from your notebook. You wouldn’t give him attention.

A breath passed. And then, beside you, Sieun moved. Barely. His gaze slid toward Hyoman—calm, cold, unreadable. The effect was immediate.

The tapping and kicking stopped.

Sieun turned back, calm and unbothered, resuming his writing without a word. He didn’t even glance your way.

You stayed still for another breath, letting the quiet return. You relaxed a little bit, but unease lingered in the edges of your thoughts.

Since the very first incident, 5 months ago, Hyoman hadn’t bothered you. Not in class, not in the halls. It was Sieun’s warning that had stopped him then. It had been enough to keep him away for months… until last weekend outside the karaoke room.

You’d tried to convince yourself it was the alcohol…That he hadn’t fully thought about the consequences…That he had temporarily forgotten about Sieun’s threat…That he wouldn’t have tried if he had been sober…

But maybe you were wrong.

And you couldn’t help but notice: even if he was testing the limits again, unlike last time, he wasn’t doing it boldly…Like he was still affected by Sieun’s warning… just no longer fully stopped by it.

You wanted to figure out had happened. Why was he testing the edges again, pressing into the boundary he had seemed to accept before, and why the warning that once worked no longer held the same weight….What had changed?

You pushed the thought aside, let it unravel before it could take root. You were probably reading too much into things. He hadn’t touched you today, not really. Just background noise—his fingers tapping, the occasional thud of his shoe against your chair. Maybe he was just bored and hadn’t noticed he was doing it?

You told yourself it didn’t matter either way. You weren’t going to give him the space in your mind.

Not today.

Because your mind was already full of someone else. Someone quieter. Someone who never asked for your attention, yet had it anyway.

There was only one boy who constantly lingered in your thoughts these days—and it wasn’t Hyoman.

It was Sieun.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The cafeteria was its usual chaotic mess—loud voices, trays scraping, the scent of fried food lingering in the air. You were seated comfortably between Baku and Sieun, one leg crossed over the other, completely engrossed in the ridiculous story Juntae was telling about his failed gym test.

You laughed, shaking your head, leaning slightly forward as you reached for your drink.

You didn’t notice your skirt riding up.

But Sieun did.

He’d been trying to keep his focus on the tray in front of him, eyes locked on a piece of kimchi he hadn’t touched. But out of the corner of his eye, that small shift caught him. A flash of bare skin, just above your knee.

His breath hitched—so quietly that no one heard.

He shifted in his seat. Once. Twice. First adjusting his legs, then his shoulders. He pressed his knuckles into his thigh, jaw tight, expression perfectly neutral, save for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

His knee brushed yours.

He moved it away quickly.

You kept chatting with Baku and Gotak, totally unaware, sipping on your drink. You adjusted again in your seat, accidentally rising your skirt another half-inch.

Sieun’s eyes flicked to the side, then to the ceiling, then back to his tray, scolding himself for looking. But the damage was already done…The dream from last night flooded back without warning.

He didn't ask for the dream. He hadn't gone to bed thinking about you like that, not really. But it had come anyway, slow and consuming.

Your breath in his ear. The softness of your voice. His name leaving your lips in the dark. The way you touched him. That dream had been soft and slow and maddening. And now this—you, here, real and inches away, so unaware. He’d woken up in a rush, skin flushed, breathing uneven. Aching. It was all new to him. He hadn’t known he could feel that way…Hadn’t thought it was possible for him. It was warm, unfamiliar and terrifying.

Shame curled through him like smoke. You deserved better than his messed-up thoughts. You didn’t deserve to be pulled into the confusing mess of whatever he was feeling—especially not like this, not without your consent. He had to stop.

But his body betrayed him. His fingers tapped a quiet rhythm on the table. His shoulders were slightly tense. His breathing had grown shallower, barely noticeable unless you were paying close attention.

Which Baku was.

He didn’t say anything. But across the table, he watched Sieun shift again, the tips of his ears burning faintly red. Baku smirked to himself, leaning forward on his elbows. His eyes flicked from Sieun to you, then back again. A secret.

Sieun let out a barely audible sigh through his nose and finally scooted half an inch away from you, giving himself just enough space to breathe. But even then, his knee bounced slightly under the table—like his nerves wouldn’t quit.

You just glanced over at Sieun, your brows pinching slightly as you noticed he’d only picked at his food. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He blinked, his tone low and composed. “Not that hungry.”

You studied him for a second, eyes flickering over his face, like you were trying to read between the lines of a book no one else had bothered to open. But then, you slowly nodded in understanding before looking away. Sieun didn’t miss the concern look passing over your face. He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. You had no idea what he was thinking—what images were tangled up in his brain.

The first bell rang, a warning that class would start in 10 minutes. Chairs scraped against the floor as students stood, gathering their trays. You stood too, unaware of the soft tension beside you, brushing past Sieun as you adjusted your skirt.

He didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Not yet.

Sieun sat there, rigid, his legs tense beneath the table. His jaw was locked, his breath shallow. He kept his gaze down, refusing to look at anyone—especially not you.

Because if he moved now, someone might see.

His uniform pants weren’t doing a good job of hiding it. The ache between his legs had built slowly throughout lunch, each brush of your arm, each innocent laugh of yours pushing him closer to something unfamiliar, something he didn’t understand.

His hands clenched into fists beneath the table.

He wasn’t like this. He wasn’t. He had spent years feeling numb, emotionless and detached. He had never once looked at someone and felt this.

“Go ahead,” he muttered to the others, barely above a whisper. “I’ll catch up.”

Baku glanced over with a knowing grin—but said nothing. You hesitated for half a second longer, eyeing Sieun with quiet worry.

Baku leaned toward you and nudged your arm. “Give him a minute. He’s okay.”

“But—” You started to protest.

“He’ll be okay. Just trust me.” Baku said, softer this time.

Y/N looked back at Sieun, still motionless and unreadable, then slowly nodded.

The group left, and Sieun finally stood, slow and cautious. He angled his bag in front of himself and turned the corner toward the bathroom, heart thudding in his ears.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

He didn’t stop at the sinks. Just ducked into the nearest stall, locked it, and pressed his back to the door, chest tight with something he couldn’t name.

His fingers trembled as he touched his waistband.

What was happening to him?

It wasn’t just arousal. It was confusion. Shame. Need. Want. He had never done this before—never felt the desire to.

For so long, he had been empty inside, untouched by anything, distant even from himself.

And yet here he was, alone in a bathroom stall, pulse racing, thoughts tangled in the memory of your smile, the warmth of your leg against his, and the ghost of your scent that refused to leave his nose.

He didn’t want to.

But he had to.

He exhaled shakily, teeth gritted.

It was over quickly. His hands curled tight at his sides afterward, and he didn’t move for a long moment. He just stood there, breathing hard, forehead against the cold wall. The shame settled right after.

He cleaned up in silence, eyes avoiding the mirror above the sink. His face looked the same. Cold. Blank.

But something inside him had shifted.

He dried his hands, adjusted his uniform, and left—shoulders tight. As he rejoined the hallway, he caught sight of you up ahead— entering the classroom with the others, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you laughed. He looked away.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The bell rang, signaling the break between classes. Students spilled into the hallway, some stayed in class chatting and laughing. You couldn’t help but feel a strange shift in the atmosphere between you and Sieun.

He was quieter today—more withdrawn than usual if that was possible. His gaze kept flickering to the side, avoiding yours, and the usual cold mask he wore seemed to hide something more. He was studying, but his focus seemed scattered.

Curiosity stirred in you, and without thinking, you slowly reached over to touch his hand. Your fingers brushed against his lightly at first, but then your hand settled on top of his, fully connecting.

Sieun immediately tensed. His eyes snapped to your connected hands and his fingers twitched beneath your touch, as if he was trying to pull away but couldn’t. His hand—that hand. The same one you were touching so softly now—had been doing something else earlier. Something messy.

A quiet breath escaped him, and he clenched his jaw tightly, trying to mask whatever emotion was playing out on his face. You had no idea what that same hand had been doing, moments ago. How your name had been stuck in his head like a prayer…

“Sieun,” you said softly, your voice a little unsure, but you couldn’t ignore the growing concern building in you. “Are you feeling okay?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His face flushed ever so slightly, though he tried to hide with his hair. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he took a slow, shallow breath as if to steady himself.

“I’m fine,” he muttered quietly, his voice neutral.

But the blush on his cheeks didn’t lie.

"Are you sure?" you asked, a little more insistently this time. “You don’t seem like yourself today. You barely ate.”

Sieun finally lifted his eyes to meet yours. “I’m fine,” he said again, this time with a little more finality. He shifted in his seat.

You hesitated for a moment, sensing the tension between you, but you didn’t pull your hand away. There was something about his reaction that made you feel like maybe you should push just a little bit further. Was he sick?

Sieun’s eyes flickered down to your hand again. He let out a quiet sigh and returned to his studies, but this time, his posture was stiffer.

He didn’t want to look at you. He couldn’t look at you. Not when his thoughts still felt twisted. You stayed like that, touching him like he was clean…. His stomach tightened, guilt crawling up his throat.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Baku interrupted, walking past Sieun’s desk with a smirk on his face. You quickly snatched your hand away, your fingers retreating as if caught doing something wrong.

Baku’s eyes narrowed knowingly.

Sieun’s eyes drifted down to his hand, still resting on the desk. He stared at it—at himself—and felt his cheeks burn even more.

If you knew what he had done, would you still look at him with that softness in your eyes?


Would you still reach for him?

Baku caught the shift in Sieun’s body. He knew exactly why Sieun was reacting this way—he had seen that look before. The kind of look a guy gives when he’s fighting with himself over something he didn’t want to admit.

Baku couldn’t help it. He chuckled quietly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re a mess, Yeon Sieun.” He murmured, his voice low enough that only Sieun could hear. "You're so obvious."

You, on the other hand, had no idea what Baku was talking about, but his laugh only added to the strange feeling in the air. Sieun, still avoiding your gaze, seemed even more uncomfortable now. You weren’t sure if it was because of your touch or because of Baku’s teasing, but something had definitely shifted in him.

As Baku walked away, he shot a quick wink in your direction, still chuckling softly under his breath. You caught the glance and felt a little confused, but Sieun seemed almost ready to crawl under his desk to avoid all the attention.

“Just ignore him,” Sieun mumbled, though the words came out as a hushed whisper, like he was trying to calm himself down more than you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

Class resumed, the teacher’s voice cutting through the lingering tension. You kept your eyes on the board, though your mind was still with him. Sieun sat stiff beside you, eyes trained forward, unmoving.

Minutes ticked by.

When the final bell rang, you rapidly stood up, not wanting to miss the buss bringing you to the academy.

Sieun didn’t move. You stopped in your tracks.

Baku caught your glance. Quietly, he stepped behind you and nudged your elbow.

“Hey.” He said low enough that only you could hear. “Let me talk to him.”

You hesitated but nodded, casting one last look at Sieun before walking out with the others.

Once the room emptied, Baku slide in the chair in front of Sieun’s desk. He glanced at him, then at the hand Sieun kept staring at.

“You planning to burn a hole in it or what?” Baku asked, leaning forward. “You’ve been staring like that thing betrayed you.”

Sieun didn’t answer.

Baku exhaled, more gently this time. “You wanna talk about it?”

Still nothing. Just that tense silence.

“Is it about her?” Baku asked, voice softer now.

Sieun hesitated, then nodded. “Earlier … After lunch. I just—” He exhaled sharply. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I kept thinking about her��and then her skirt rode up a little today and—I didn’t mean to look... But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I felt like—like I had no control.”

There was a long pause before Sieun finally spoke again. His voice was low, almost tight. “After lunch, I went to the bathroom... I had to…” He couldn’t finish.

“You touched yourself” Baku said plainly, not judging.

Sieun lowered his gaze. “Yeah.”

“So?”

Sieun looked up, startled. “So? That’s it?”

“What, you thought I’d freak out? Yell at you? Nah.” Baku leaned in closer, voice dropping. “It’s natural. You didn’t do anything wrong by reacting. You’re human, even if you hate it sometimes.” He teased at the end.

Sieun sighed, fidgeting with the sleeve of his uniform. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. And I… I had to relieve it. I didn’t want to. It just—happened. It felt—wrong”

“No, it felt intense. You’re not used to that. She makes you feel things, and you’re scared of what that means.”

Sieun’s jaw clenched. “She sat beside me, worried about me. She was being kind, like always. And I was just... I feel like some kind of creep.”

“You’re not a creep. You didn’t do anything to her.” Baku argued, voice softer now. “You didn’t cross a line. You just… felt something really strong and didn’t know where to put it.”

There was a long pause. Sieun shifted again, head bowed. “I don’t know how to handle, this feeling.”

“And that’s okay,” Baku said simply. “You’re figuring it out. Just like the rest of us.” Sieun exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

”Just don’t get weird about it.” Added Baku. “You’re not some monster for having feelings. You're also not the first guy to get worked up thinking about someone he likes.”

Sieun’s gaze flicked to him.

Baku smirked, nudging him. “I mean it. Stuff like that… wanting someone like that. It’s not something to be ashamed of. You like her. So what?”

Sieun blinked. His ears flushed as Baku went on, voice more serious now.

“I’m pretty sure she likes you back. Anyone can see it. Don’t beat yourself up just because your feelings don’t look clean in your head.” Baku gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re allowed to feel good things, man. You’re allowed to want them too.”

Sieun stayed silent, but his fingers flexed slowly, like he was finally testing whether the shame still lingered in the skin.

“And come on, man. She’s beautiful. Smart. Got that ballerina grace and all. If you weren’t thinking about her like that, then I’d be concerned.” Baku added with a knowing grin.

Sieun shot him a look—half scandalized, half mortified.

Then Baku added, laughing just a bit, “And hey, if you’re losing it over a glimpse of her thigh, you’ve got it bad.”

“Don’t cross the line, now.” Sieun said quietly, but the threat wasn’t serious. The blush on his cheeks was unmistakable.

Baku raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning wide. “Relax, I’m just teasing. But hey, it’s cute seeing you get all worked up.”

They sat in silence for a while. It was a rare moment—just the two of them, neither needing to speak, but still sharing an understanding. A silent thank you for the advice Baku had given him.

Then, out of nowhere, Sieun muttered, almost too low to hear:


“…It didn’t even last a full minute.”

Baku blinked—then let out a sharp laugh, nearly choking. “Dude—”

Sieun winced, clearly regretting saying anything. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, no—this is great,” Baku wheezed, grinning like an idiot. “That’s—man, that’s so pure.”

Sieun groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Baku clapped him on the back. “It just means you're really into her. And also… maybe you need a bit more stamina.”

“Please shut up.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Baku said, laughing. Then, more gently, “Seriously, though. Don’t beat yourself up. You’re allowed to feel this way. It’s not shameful. It’s just human.”

Sieun glanced sideways at him, still wary.

Baku smirked, but his tone softened. “And hey. When it does happen for real—you’re gonna want it to last more than a minute, right? You have to make it last. Let it build.”

Sieun gave him a flat stare. “Stop talking. You're the worst.”

“I know,” Baku said proudly. “But I’m also right.”

For the first time, Sieun’s lips twitched up slightly.

And Baku, satisfied, leaned back in his chair.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The night was still, the world outside silent as Sieun lay in his bed, his mind restless. It had been days since that awkward moment with you at school, the touch of your hand was still lingering in his memory.

His eyes closed slowly, exhaustion pulling him into a deep sleep, but his thoughts followed him, lingering at the edge of his consciousness.

In the dream, it was warm—almost too warm. The air was thick with the scent of something sweet and familiar, and Sieun realized it was you.

You were there, standing across from him in a soft, flowing dress. Your hair cascaded down your shoulders, catching the light in a way that made you seem almost ethereal. You stepped closer, and with each step, Sieun’s heart began to beat faster.

He didn’t speak. He never did in dreams.

His breath hitched as you reached out to touch his arm.

“You’ve been distant.” You said softly, your voice a whisper that echoed in his ears. “Why?”

His throat felt tight, and the air between you felt charged, like the space was too small to hold the tension that had been building between the two of you for weeks.

Your fingers brushed against his skin, and he felt a shiver run through him. Your touch was gentle, almost delicate, and it set something in him alight.

He knew it was a dream, but it felt so real—too real to ignore.

“You know, I always thought that you were cold.” You said, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But now, I’m starting to think you’re just shy.”

Your hands slid to the back of his neck, drawing him down to as your body pressed into his. “Sieun…” Your voice was low, sensual. You leaned in closer, so close that your lips brushed against his ear. “If you ever need someone to talk to… or something more…” You said, your voice teasing and playful, sending a shiver down his spine. “I’ll be here.”

And then, before he could stop it, the dream shifted again. The tension that had been building snapped, and for a moment, he felt an overwhelming rush of heat.

He woke up with a start, his breath ragged and his body tense. His heart was pounding in his chest. His mind raced with confusion, the remnants of the dream still lingering in his thoughts. He exhaled through his nose, hand dragging down his face. He looked down and saw what he already suspected. What he already felt.

He was painfully hard.

No shame, he reminded himself. Just... focus on what feels good. It's natural.

Slowly, his hand slipped beneath the covers, fingers brushing against his stomach, his chest, before slipping lower, seeking the release his body was craving. Sieun’s breath hitched slightly when he gripped himself. He started the motion slowly. Up and down. Up and down. There was the faint sound of skin against skin—low, rhythmic, wet. A quiet curse left him. His fingers flexed, and the wet sound grew sharper, slicker.

His mind flashed to the dream again—your face, your touch, the warmth of your body. His breath caught, and his hand moved a bit faster now, the memory of you pushing him past any hesitation. He moved through the motions, not out of guilt or shame, but out of necessity, out of understanding that his body and mind were connected… and he needed you.

Baku's voice—a little teasing, but with a hint of advice, echoed in his mind: "Make it last. Let it build. Focus."

He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lips, trying to push everything else out. His hand adjusted, a soft slick sound following, and a quiet exhale slipped from his lips. His muscles tightened, and his pulse raced as he focused on the sensation, feeling the pressure build slowly, forcing himself to hold back, to make it last longer.

He tried to savor it, to stretch it out, even as his body was demanding more. It was like a tug-of-war—his mind telling him to slow down, to take his time, while his body pushed him closer to the edge. The heat in his stomach spread outward, burning through him, but he kept his hand steady, slowing the pace.

Your touch, the way you’d smiled at him, the heat that had curled in his chest. He could feel you so clearly now, even if you weren’t there. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he focused harder, trying to make it last.

It was so hard, but he kept going.

He could feel the tension winding tighter inside of him, building, and he focused on every little sensation—every brush of his skin, the way the sheets felt beneath him, the rush of heat spreading through him. He pushed aside every other thought, except for you.

His breath quickened, and his hand moved with more urgency now. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. A soft, involuntary sound slipped from his lips. The bed creaked faintly beneath him. His muscles tensed hard, breath ragged as he chased the rising heat—every stroke making the pressure more unbearable, his body tight with need, straining as the release crept closer, impossible to hold back.

And then, with a groan, it happened. The release was overwhelming, crashing over him, almost too much. His mouth stayed open as low whines left him. His chest rose and fell quickly as the warmth flooded him. The images of the dream were still there, still in his head, and his heart pounded.

His hand fell limply by his side, and he lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his body trembling. There was a part of him that almost regretted not making it last longer. He stayed still for a moment, the silence of the room wrapping around him like a thick fog. His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths, but his mind remained restless.

His body moved on autopilot as he cleaned himself up, wiping away the evidence of what had just passed. It was a strange routine, but at least now there was no confusion or hesitation. The act of it felt natural, even though his mind felt fogged. His body felt light, like the tension had completely left him. There was no more pressure, no more urgency—just a heavy satisfaction that lingered, like he could finally relax.

With that last thought of you in his head, Sieun let himself sink deeper into the mattress. The coolness of the sheets wrapped around him, and his body naturally fell into a state of rest. He didn’t fight it.

Sleep claimed him then, gentle and soothing, pulling him under with ease.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You couldn’t stop smiling as you pulled the envelope from your bag, heart fluttering with anticipation. These tickets meant more than just a performance. They were a piece of you—your world—and you were about to share it with them. With him.

You walked over to the group, pulse picking up as you handed Baku his ticket first. He flashed you a teasing grin before you could even speak.

“Of course I’ll be there,” he said, winking. “Wouldn’t miss my favorite ballerina for anything.” You laughed softly, rolling your eyes, but the warmth in your chest stayed. Then, you turned toward Sieun.

He was seated, calm as always, looking vaguely distant—but when you stopped in front of him and held out the ticket, his eyes flicked to yours. You felt it again—that odd flutter in your chest that only he seemed to cause.

“Sieun,” You said, quieter than before. “You’ll come, right? I really want you to be there.”

For a moment, he just stared at the ticket in your hand. His lips parted, like he was going to say something, but hesitated. Your heartbeat slowed, waiting—uncertain.

Then he finally looked at you, and the world narrowed. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and shy. “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” You breathed, holding his gaze a little longer than you meant to. He didn’t look away right away. But then, as if remembering himself, he dropped his eyes to the ticket, and you could have sworn his ears turned pink.

You handed out the rest of the tickets, but your mind stayed on him. That strange stillness between you hadn’t gone away. If anything, it lingered deeper now, like a thread pulling tighter. You couldn’t explain it—not fully—but you liked it.

You couldn’t wait to dance that night. To see them in the audience.

To see him.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

It was late when you finally stepped out of the ballet academy, the air crisp with the bite of late evening chill. Your hair was still damp from your quick post-class shower, clinging to your neck and soaking into your coat collar. You’d meant to dry it, but the clock had run faster than expected, and you didn’t want to be late for the hangout your friends had planned.

You spotted them right away—Baku, Gotak, Juntae, and—

Your heart gave a small, traitorous jump.

Sieun.

They were all leaning against the railing just outside the entrance, half lit by the warm glow spilling from the building, laughing at something Baku said. But Sieun wasn’t laughing. He was watching you.

He didn’t say anything at first when you approached. He just stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his usual cold expression in place. But the moment his eyes caught on your hair—his brows furrowed. A flash of something unreadable crossed his face. Concern? Confusion?

“You didn’t dry it?” he asked softly, once you were close enough.

You blinked, surprised by the quiet urgency in his tone. “There wasn’t time. I didn’t want to be late.”

He stared at you a second longer. Then, in a small, awkward movement, he reached up—hesitated—and gently tugged the edge of your hood up over your head.

“It’s cold,” he said, voice low. “You’ll get sick.”

Your breath caught a little, more from the gesture than the air. His fingers brushed your hair as he adjusted the hood, and something inside you pulled tight. His touch was soft—tentative—but filled with a kind of quiet care that made your chest ache.

“I’ll be fine.” You whispered, but your voice had softened. He didn’t answer, just looked at you for a beat longer before stepping back.

Baku clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Let’s go, before we all freeze to death!”

The group started walking, laughter echoing into the night, but as you fell into step beside Sieun, you could feel the warmth of his gesture lingering—like the heat of a small flame, tucked quietly between you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The small restaurant was tucked into a side street, glowing with warm yellow lights and the hum of quiet chatter. It wasn’t anything fancy—plastic menus, mismatched chairs, steam rising from bowls of noodles—but it was cozy, and it felt like your little corner of the world.

You slid into the booth beside Sieun. Baku and Juntae sat across from you, still bickering about something, while Gotak was at the counter ordering for the group.

“Okay, but,” Juntae said, readjusting his glasses, “You can’t seriously tell me that the main guy isn’t overpowered. He literally destroyed an entire demon clan in the first episode.”

“That’s the point!” Baku argued. “He’s cool. You’re just mad because you don’t understand peak character writing.”

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. The way Baku got so animated when talking about his favourite anime reminded you of a kid—unfiltered, excited, alive. You leaned your chin on your hand, watching him with amusement.

“You really like this one, huh?” you asked.

Baku beamed. “I love it. I even ordered the limited edition figurine. It’s coming next week.”

You giggled softly, and as your eyes flicked sideways, you caught Sieun’s profile beside you. He was facing forward, expression neutral, arms crossed over his chest—but there was a slight tension to his jaw. His eyes flicked to Baku, then to you. Then back to Baku again.

You didn’t notice. But Baku did. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

Sieun shifted slightly, uncrossing and recrossing his arms, then sat rigidly, trying to look indifferent. But the faint crease between his brows gave him away.

The food arrived, and the table filled with warmth and scent—spicy broth, sizzling meat, bowls of rice. You reached for the side dishes, brushing your knee against Sieun’s by accident. He tensed but didn’t move away.

Baku leaned back, grinning to himself behind his chopsticks.

Sieun glanced at him warily—and Baku just shrugged, sipping his soup like he didn’t know exactly what was going on.

You were halfway through your bowl of noodles when Baku leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm as he looked at you with a grin too wide to be innocent.

“So,” he began, dragging out the word, “Y/N, when exactly are you planning on falling for me?”

You blinked, almost choking on your bite. “What?”

Gotak let out a loud laugh, nearly spitting out his drink. “Bro, give it a rest. She’s way out of your league.”

Baku raised his brows at him. “You wound me, Gotak. I thought we were on the same team.”

You rolled your eyes and smirked, swatting at Baku with your chopsticks. “You’re not my type.”

Baku clutched his chest dramatically. “Well, aren’t you harsh!? I’m hurt. You’re lying though—How could I not be everybody’s type?”

The table erupted again—Gotak practically howling, even Juntae was cracking a smile.

But Sieun stayed quiet.

The spoon in his hand paused midair, his jaw slightly clenched. He looked at Baku a little too long—expression serious, but the faintest twitch in his fingers betrayed him.

“Alright, alright,” Baku said, holding up his hands. “I’ll stop flirting. For now.”

“You’re assuming you ever started.” You replied with a grin, making Gotak wheeze into his drink.

“Burned!” Gotak laughed It made you smile, proud of yourself for the comeback.

You noticed Sieun staring down at his bowl, not eating anymore. Something about the way he was hunched slightly forward, made your smile dim.

But before you could say anything, Gotak launched into a chaotic retelling of a fight that broke out between first-years, instantly dragging the group’s attention back to the noise and laughter.

Everyone except Sieun.

He was still quiet. Still thinking.

And still stealing the occasional glance at you when he thought no one was watching.

But Baku saw everything.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The warmth of the restaurant still clung to your skin as the group spilled out onto the sidewalk, the night air crisp and buzzing with weekend energy. Gotak was the first to suggest it. “Bowling?” he asked, swinging his arms in excitement. “Come on, it’s Friday night.”

“Why do I feel like this could end badly?” Juntae mumbled, but he didn’t protest when Gotak threw an arm around his shoulder and started leading the way.

You walked beside Sieun, the neon glow of storefront signs lighting up the pavement ahead. His hands were in his pockets, as always, and his gaze was on the ground. But he walked just a little closer than usual.

The bowling alley was noisy and crowded, filled with flashing lights and the echoing crash of pins. Gotak was already trying to pick the heaviest ball he could lift, boasting that it would give him “maximum power,” while Baku filmed him for evidence in case he dropped it on his own foot.

You were laughing when you turned around—and stopped.

Sieun was gone.

You frowned and scanned the room, only to see him returning from the far end of the lanes. In his arms was a pale blue bowling ball. He walked over and wordlessly placed it on the return rack right in front of your lane.

“For you,” he said, not meeting your eyes.

You blinked. “You… got this ball for me?”

He gave a small nod. “Your hands are smaller. The others were too heavy.”

Something fluttered in your chest. You opened your mouth to thank him, but he was already turning away, pretending to adjust the score machine with Juntae.

Baku passed by behind you with a slight smirk, murmuring just loud enough for only you to hear, “He’s getting brave. I’m so proud.”

You bit your lip, heart racing just a little faster, as you stepped up to bowl your first turn. As you lined up your shot, you could feel it again—that soft, quiet gaze. Sieun watching you, just like always.

But this time, he wasn’t pretending he wasn’t.

No one expected much when Sieun stepped up for his turn. He looked as bored as ever, standing at the edge of the lane with a bowling ball in his hand. “Bet he drops it behind him,” Gotak snorted, elbowing Baku.

Baku grinned. “One thousand won says it’s a gutter.”

You shook your head. “Don’t count him out.”

Sieun didn’t respond to any of it. He just adjusted his grip on the ball, calculated the lane with a quick glance, then stepped forward with smooth, almost lazy movements—and released.

The ball rolled down the center of the lane with unnerving precision.

Crack.

A perfect strike.

The pins scattered like dominoes. The machine blinked its approval, the strike animation flashing across the screen.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then—


“What the—”


“No way.”


“Did you see that?!”

Gotak’s jaw dropped, mouth wide open. Juntae looked like he forgot how to blink. Even Baku—who always had a comeback—was speechless, eyes darting between the pins and Sieun like he’d just witnessed sorcery.

Sieun turned around slowly, expression unreadable. “It’s just physics,” he said flatly, walking back toward the group as if he hadn’t just blown their minds.

You burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me? That was amazing!”

“Physics, my ass,” Gotak said, still frozen, almost scared.

Baku was the first to recover, squinting suspiciously. “You secretly compete on weekends, don’t you? Be honest.”

Sieun sat back down beside you, his shoulders relaxed. “I’ve never played before.”

You leaned closer, grinning. “Well, I’m officially naming you our secret weapon.”

He didn’t answer, but you saw it—a twitch at the corner of his mouth. The faintest smirk.

“I’m scared to go next,” Juntae mumbled.

You giggled and nudged Sieun lightly. “Thanks for showing us all up.”

He didn’t look at you, just kept his eyes on the scoreboard. But his fingers were fidgeting slightly in his lap, and the soft glow in his eyes hadn’t faded. For once, he didn’t seem to mind the attention—especially not when it came from you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

After the first match ended—with Sieun’s name glowing confidently at the top of the scoreboard—you slipped away while the others headed toward the bathrooms, still laughing over their defeat. You told them you’d be right back, then wandered to the vending machine tucked into the quietest corner of the alley, past the claw machines and blinking arcade games.

You stood in front of the machine but didn’t press anything. You weren’t really craving snacks—you just needed a breather.

You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt it.

The air shifted.

“How many days until the performance?”

Sieun’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether it would reach you.

You turned slightly, and there he was—hands in his pockets. “Next Friday,” you answered. “Seven days.”

He nodded once, slow. “Is it a solo?”

“One of them,” you said. “It’s just a showcase for the academy, but there’ll be scouts.”

Silence settled in again. Not awkward—just…

“I think you’ll do great,” he said quietly, almost under his breath. “Even though I’ve never seen you dance.”

Your chest tightened. You weren’t used to compliments like that from him. Especially not so simply given.

“Thanks.” You murmured. “It means a lot.”

His eyes flicked to you, just briefly. But that one glance held something warmer.

You shifted your weight slightly, your shoulder brushing his arm. He didn’t move. “You’re acting weird again today.” You said, a teasing edge to your voice, trying to ground yourself.

“I’m not,” He replied, just a touch too quick. Then, quieter: “Maybe I am.”

The air between you grew heavier.

You turned slightly to face him. “Are you okay?”

His gaze dropped. “I’m fine,” he said. Then after a pause, “Just...thinking too much.”

You waited, but he didn’t elaborate. You didn’t push right away. Instead, your hand instinctively reached toward his, covering it gently.

The contact was innocent, simple. But his reaction wasn’t. His fingers stiffened beneath yours, and you felt the slightest tremor in his breath.

“Sieun? Please, talk to me.”

“I’m okay,” he said again, more softly this time. “Y/N, I have been meaning to—”

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Hello.” A rough voice called, and you turned to see a group of three unfamiliar guys sauntering around the corner. They weren’t students from your school—definitely older, and their cocky grins made your stomach twist in discomfort.

One of them stepped forward. “You two... you’re friends with Baku, right?”

Before you could answer, Sieun moved in front of you, his body positioning itself between you and the group. His shoulders tensed, a dangerous kind of energy radiating from him. He wasn’t saying a word, but his body language was clear.

The group’s leader smirked, clearly amused by Sieun’s protective stance. “You don’t have to act tough, kid. We just want to know if you’re on his side.”

Sieun’s voice was calm, but it held a warning. “You should leave. Now.”

One of them stepped around a little bit, his eyes scanning you for a moment before speaking. “You’re pretty,” he said, his voice a mix of admiration and something else—something less than kind. “What’s your name?”

Sieun, calm as ever, kept his eyes locked on the guy. You couldn’t help but feel a little safer behind him. You noticed the slight tension in his jaw, the way his body was just a little bit more rigid than usual. He didn’t look away as he spoke, his voice flat but firm.

“Don’t talk to her.”

The tallest guy gave a slight chuckle, clearly unfazed.

After a split second, one of the other boy in the group spoke up. “Omg! Look at his eyes.” He laughed. The leader of the group chuckled as well. “C’mon, we’re just talkin’. No need for the psycho stare.”

Then the first guy tilted his head toward you again, ignoring Sieun’s warning. “Why don’t you answer instead, sweetheart? Pretty girls shouldn’t act so rude. Are you guys with Baku?”

You took another step back, hiding completely behind Sieun’s back now.

“Yo, what’s your problem? Can you move?” One of them directed at Sieun, starting to get irritated. “You’re her guard dog or somethin’?”

Then—Sieun pulled something from the pocket of his jacket.

A pen.

He clicked it once.

Twice.

The smirks started to falter.

One of the guys shifted on his feet. “Wait… I’ve heard about this—ain’t he the dude that stabbed people with a pen?”

Another face drained of color. “No way. That’s him?”

Sieun didn’t say a word. Just clicked the pen again. Slowly. Deliberately. His cold eyes locked with theirs, unflinching, unmoving.

The first guy tried to save face. “You really are messed up, bro. You got—like—crazy eyes for real.”

They were backing away now. One even bumped into the wall without realizing it.

“Just answer.” The leader asked, visibly unsettled. “You’re one of his guys? Baku?”

Sieun tilted his head slightly to the side. Not a nod. Not a denial.

Just enough to make them unsure.

Click.

The three of them turned and left without another word, muttering to themselves as they hurried off.

Your heart was still racing. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until your chest started to ache. And then—slowly—you let it out. A quiet, shaky exhale.

Sieun stood there, unmoving, his back still to you. His presence was solid. Steady. Like a wall no one could pass through.

Without thinking, you stepped closer and gently leaned your forehead against his back. His jacket was warm, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breath beneath it.

You stayed there for a second, eyes closed.

“I didn’t like how they were looking at you,” he said, voice low, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t respond at first. You just let yourself stay there, your body pressed lightly to his. The warmth of him. The quiet protection. “Thank you,” you murmured. “Really.”

Sieun didn’t move, but you felt the slightest shift—his hand flexing at his side like he wanted to reach back

“I don’t know how I can repay you.” You whispered, your voice trembling with something deeper than just nerves. “You’ve saved me three times already.”

The words hung between you, fragile and warm like breath on cold glass.

Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his jacket as you leaned more into him, your cheek now resting against his back. You could hear his heartbeat through the layers of cloth—steady, but just a little too fast.

Then, softly—almost too soft to catch—he said. “You don’t have to repay me.”

“But I want to.” I answered back quietly, like a secret.

A few feet away, partially hidden behind a vending machine, someone watched with quiet interest. Their phone raised slowly. One photo. Crisp, clear. You and Sieun caught in the middle of something almost tender. The glow of the device lit up the stranger’s hand, thumb quickly tapping the screen, sending off the image with practiced ease.

[22:41] “Looks like Baku’s got new friends.”

A pause. Then another message:

[22:41] “Think we could use them?”

The response was curt.

[22:42] “Let’s keep a tab on them. They could be useful.”

[oopsiedaisydeer]

a nice hug

fluff, comfort, kissing, physical affection, soft and sweet, cuddling, light angst, boyfriend!chris, hugging

word count - 900ish

When you walk through the door, the first thing you do is look for your boyfriend. You felt so tired and sad and the one thing you knew would make you feel better was a nice hug from him.

He was always so sweet and silly, providing you with much comfort. Your eyes were already wet from the car ride home, and you felt empty, like a shell of a person. The day had eaten away at you, messages from friends that attacked you in small passive aggressive ways, emails that were blunt and unkind, car horns and red lights and traffic.

When you find him, sitting on the couch, your heart breaks a bit, the day souring even further. His shoulders are slumped, eyes distant. It was clear that he had had one of those days, too. The kind that leaves you feeling empty, like the world’s been just a little too much to handle. 

So you don’t even think about it, just walk towards him as he lifts his head. He was quieter than usual, muttering a soft “hi” to you, his usual playful energy dimmed by something you couldn’t quite place. Without hesitation, you slid into his lap, wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

“Hi,” you murmur, the sound muffled.

His body tensed for just a moment, like he wasn’t sure how to respond. But then, as if he finally allowed himself to relax, his arms wrapped around your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the warmth of his chest against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and for the first time all day, everything felt still.

His arms were strong, but gentle, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. You could feel his fingers splay out against your back, the warmth of his hands pressing softly into your skin as if trying to memorise the feel of you in his arms. As you settled closer to him, you felt the weight of his body beneath you, solid and steady, a reassuring presence. Every slight shift he made pulled you closer, as if he wanted to melt into you completely.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. You could feel the tension in his body begin to ease as he held you tighter, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His hands gently caressed your back, a quiet reassurance that spoke volumes without a single word.

“Missed you too.”

He pulled back then just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and vulnerable in a way that made your heart flutter. Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. His lips were warm, just slightly chapped, pressing against yours in a way that makes your heart ache.The kiss was gentle at first, just a sweet, fleeting moment, but it deepened as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you even closer.

You could feel the slight quiver of his breath against your lips, a soft sigh escaping him as he kissed you again, this time a little longer, a little deeper, like he was trying to hold onto this perfect moment forever. It was slow, deliberate, the kind that made time slow. His hand moved to the side of your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he pulled you closer, making everything better.

It felt perfect. Like the world had faded away, and it was just the two of you, wrapped in this quiet, shared space. You could feel the warmth of his hands on your back, the gentle pressure of his lips against yours, and the soft hum of his breath that matched the beat of your own heart.

You didn’t speak. The comfort of his warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest was all you needed. And as he turned his face into your hair, his grip on you tightened, like he was trying to anchor himself to something solid. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers. There was something so comforting about it... about being this close, where everything else didn’t matter but the warmth of his body and the softness of his touch.

You could feel the exhaustion in his touch, the way he just wanted to be held, and the same feeling bubbled up inside of you. All you wanted in that moment was to be there for him, to give him some peace, even if it was just for a few minutes. You pressed yourself even closer, the smell of fresh linen and his aftershave enveloping you in a soft, loving haze of comfort.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning, and you smiled against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you let the weight of his words settle into you.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, the simple truth of it feeling like the only thing that made sense in the chaos of the day.

Eventually, he laid back, pulling you on top of him, and you didn’t even hesitate. You settled into him, feeling the weight of his arms around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. His fingers gently traced circles on your skin, and you nestled into his chest, letting the moment stretch on. It was simple, but perfect.

“You make me so happy” he whispered into your hair, his voice full of adoration.

You smiled, your heart racing, and pressed a soft kiss to his chest. “You’re my favourite person.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice soft and sincere.

“Always,” you replied, your heart full.

And for that moment, everything felt exactly right. Just holding each other, knowing that you were safe, and that nothing else mattered in the world but the two of you.

creds to @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers 🩷

a/n: i had quite a sad and tiring day,, not feeling the best, and a hug from chris would make me feel a million times better <3

main taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturns-mermaid @shortnsweetsturnz  @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova @riasturns @sturnsblogs @darksturnz @httpssturns @mi-co-uk @ribbonlovergirl @lovesturni0l0s @grace-sturnz @auttysturnz @kier-with-a-k @malsmind @edu4rd0ss @pink1man @h3arts4nat @chriss-slutt @whore4chris

[sv3t1ana]

SYNOPSIS ᯓ Choso had every intention of taking it slow, letting you guide him. That was, until he saw you wrecked, breathless, begging. Your knees are then pressed beside your ears, letting him fuck into you panting filth he didn't know he was capable of. You realize this isn't the shy, quiet Choso you knew, instead a man claiming what's his.

PAIRING ᯓ Virgin! Choso x Reckless! Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ SMUT MDNI, rough sex, size kink, overstimulation, dumbification, pussy drunk, FLUFF, he's possessive, unholy amounts of dirty talk. PORN WITH PLOT, praise and degradation, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), PROTECTED piv sex, SOBER sex, alcohol use, mentions of addiction (if you squint), tender aftercare, filthy & desperate first-time sex.

WORD COUNT ᯓ 5.1k

SERIES ᯓ GOJO ⋮ GETO ⋮ CHOSO ⋮ SUKUNA

The night is loud, music pulsing and laughter spilling over the rim of cheap cocktails, cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling in ghostly ribbons. The air smells of spilled liquor, a heady mix clinging to your skin as you make your way through the crowd. You don’t remember coming to places like this, only that it was easier to drown in the noise than to sit in the quiet and listen to the thoughts clawing at the edges of your mind.

You were always running, reaching for the next drink, the next thrill, the next temporary high that might make your pulse spike high enough to remind you that you were alive. People liked you for it, being a fun good time, the kind of girl that others called when they wanted a night to remember (or forget). Fun didn’t ask questions, it didn’t care about the nights you woke up in places you don’t recognize, accompanied with bruises you didn’t remember getting. Fun didn’t notice the way your hands shook when you were alone for too long.

“Babe,” Yuki’s voice breaks through the blue, her warm fingers curling around your wrist. “I gotta go. But I’m leaving you in safe hands.”

You blink at her, a little disoriented, only now realizing how unsteady your legs feel. The drinks have settled in your veins, making sharp edges turn soft. “Safe hands?” you echo, laughing briefly. “Yukiii, that’s so boring.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grins, half-amused and half-irked. “Try not to die without me.”

She’s already steering your shoulders toward the bar before you can protest, and suddenly, you’re in front of him.

Choso is sitting in the corner, nursing a drink with slow and deliberate sips. His presence is steady, a stark contrast to the chaos around him. He’s always been like that, watching and waiting, eyes following the ebb and flow of the crowd like he’s looking for something.

Yuki leans in close, murmuring something in his ear before clapping a hand on his shoulder and shooting you a wink. With a lazy wave she disappears into the sea of bodies, leaving you alone with him.

Choso doesn’t speak right away, just looks at you with those deep, dark eyes of his. He’s always been a little distance, standoffish, but never unkind. You’ve talked in passing before, but never like this, not one-on-one.

And that’s when you realize, you don’t actually know what he thinks of you at all.

The thought of that lingers as you slide into the seat beside him, your movements too slow and heavy. The world tilts, not unpleasantly, but noticeable. Choso notices too, eyes flicking over you with something close to concern.

“You okay?”

You hum, propping your chin on your hand and watching him through half-lidded eyes. He looks… good. Sharp jaw, dark hair, broad shoulders, just so unfairly handsome that you wonder why you never really looked at him before. It could be alcohol, or it could just be the way he holds himself, like he’s always exactly where he’s supposed to be. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of how close he is.

“You’re cute,” you murmur, a little too dreamy and reckless.

He stiffens. “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” you say, tilting your head to get a good look at him. “Still true.”

His eyes flicker, and you don’t miss the way his throat bobs when he swallows and the way his fingers twitch.

Of course you prod, because you always push too far, you ask, “Choso. Have you ever been with anyone?”

He goes still, and you watch the shift in him, how his shoulders tense, hesitating just a fraction of a second too long.

Your lips part as you realize it all in real time. “Oh my god. You’re a virgin?”

His jaw clenches, and for the first time he looks genuinely uncomfortable. “Does it matter?”

You should stop, just let it go. But, something about the way he looks at you so wary and defensive makes you lean in close to him, voice dropping to a whisper. “I think it’s kinda hot.”

He doesn’t respond, just staring at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re serious. You are. The idea of being his first, of being the one to unravel him, has an aggressive kind of appeal.

Before he can wrack his brain to say anything, you stretch out. “I’d love to be your first.”

His grips the glass tighter, knuckles white. He can’t tell if you mean it, or if it’s just the alcohol talking. His mind spins trying to process it. Her, you. Sitting in front of him, looking so disheveled, so inviting, lips parted like you might say something far worse.

But you’re too drunk. He knows that. Even if his stomach twists at the thought of your words being genuine, he can’t ignore the way you sway slightly, how your eyelids keep fluttering like it’s a battle to keep them open.

He exhales slowly. “Where do you live? I’ll take you home.”

You blink at him. “Hm?”

“Your address,” he repeats. “Where do you live?”

You just giggle, face feeling too warm. “I wanna go home with you.”

He sighs, but doesn’t argue. Helping you out of the bar, keeping a steady hand modestly at your back. You’re sluggish, pressing into his side more than necessary, and he pretends not to notice the way your fingers toy with the hem of his sleeve.

When you get to his apartment, you’re already kicking off your shows and humming to yourself like you belong there. Choso hesitates, “you can take my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

You frown, jutting out your bottom lip and pinching your brows. “No fun.”

“No drunk decisions,” he counters, guiding you to sit. He kneels in front of you, reaching for a damp cloth to help you wipe off your makeup. His touch is careful, so gentle. When he offers you one of his shirts to sleep in, he has to force himself to look away as you pull it over your head, swallowing thickly when he catches a glimpse of bare skin.

He doesn’t sleep much that night, just staring at the ceiling while listening to the sound of your soft breathing just a few feet away.

You wake up wrapped in the scent of crisp vanilla. Your eyes flutter open, then squeeze shut again as the bright afternoon light seeps through the blinds to your left, casting streaks across the unfamiliar room. It’s foreign, neatly kept and minimalistic. The sheets under you are a dark blue, matching the comforter cocooning your body. A computer sits in the corner, its monitor dark, with no posters or personal touches in the room. It feels like a placeholder of a room, functional but impersonal.

You sigh, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead as the realization and guilt start flooding in. Waking up in a stranger’s room, again.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you brace your hands against the mattress to push yourself up, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Your movements are slow, careful as you pad toward the door and peek into the hallway. The scent of something warm wafts. Following it, you step out only to find Choso standing in the small kitchen, spatula in hand and flipping eggs onto a plate.

He turns at the sound of your footsteps. “Morning.”

And just like that, your heart is racing. Last night’s events flash through your mind, unforgiving and strangely vivid. The bar, the teasing, how you leaned in and murmured against his ear, I’d love to be your first, your own words making your stomach twist.

God, you really said that?

He was plating the food, clearing his throat. “I, uh, made eggs. If you’re hungry.”

You swallow down your mortification, thanking him while sliding into one of the stools at the counter. The plate he sets in front of you is simple, scrambled eggs with toast, nothing fancy, but the sight of it makes you smile. It’s been a while since anyone cared enough to make you breakfast.

As you lift the fork, scooping a bite of eggs in your mouth, you can feel his eyes on you.

Choso watches you in silence, studying the way you eat. Your hair is a mess, all tangled from sleep, mascara faintly smeared under your eyes. The shirt he gave you drapes over your frame, hanging low enough to cover your shorts. The way you sit, spine curved and bare legs crossed at the ankles, feet dangling just above the floor, stirs butterflies in his stomach. He likes how comfortable you look, how naturally beautiful you are, even if you think you’re at your lowest.

The thought of last night sours his mood.

He wished it happened differently. He wished you two had that conversation under better circumstances, not while you’re drunk, teasing without realizing the weight of your words. Truthfully, he’s always wanted to approach you personally, but he never knew how. Your world was unbounded, fast-paced, a whirlwind of impulsive choices. His was more stable, controlled, and safe.

Too safe for you.

He grips the edge of the counter a little tighter. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom if you need it. And you can take a shower if you want.”

You blink up at him, caught off guard by his consideration. “Oh. Thanks.”

Getting off the stool, you stretch your arms above your head before heading down the hall. The bathroom mirror confirms all of your suspicions. You look rough. Lips swollen from sleep, imprints of a pillow crease along your cheek. You find the toothbrush and run it under water before brushing, the repetitive motion of it grounding you.

Instead of stepping into the shower, you sink onto the edge of the tub, staring at the tiled floor as last night’s events replay.

You’d love to be his first.

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. You were way too blunt. But still, it wasn’t a lie. You would love to be his first, just didn’t wish you threw it at him in the middle of a bar while drunk off cheap vodka.

You push yourself up, making your way back to the kitchen. Choso looks up as you step in.

You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

His brows furrow. “For what?”

Your eyes flicker around the room looking for the right words. “For being a drunken mess. I keep telling myself I’ll stop but-”

His expression shifts. “It’s okay,” his voice softer than before. “I just-” he brings a hand up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

Your lips twitch. Because you know what he means, but you tilt your head, feigning innocence because, well, you are you, after all. “Why? You’re not a danger to me, are you?”

He freezes, color rising in his cheeks.

Oh.

Yeah, you both remember everything from last night.

You frown a bit, steadying yourself as you brush past him moving to the door. You slide your shoes on, fingers tugging at the laces. You look up at him, and he looks reluctant. Maybe a little sad.

“I’ll bring your shirt back tomorrow,” you say, hand curling around the doorknob. “After I wash it.”

You hesitate, biting your lip in frustration. And before you can overthink it, you glance over your shoulder. “By the way,” you say quietly. “I really did mean what I said last night.”

And before you can step through the door he interrupts you.

“Wait.”

You pause, one foot outside before you turn around. His voice wasn’t commanding, it was quiet, uncertain, like he wasn’t even sure he said it himself. You look back, and he’s still standing there, hands twitching at his sides.

You step back inside, letting the door click shut behind you.

“Choso?” taking slow steps toward him, but he still doesn’t move. When you reach him, your hand lifts instinctively, fingers grazing his shoulder. He’s warm, solid.

“I do think you’re cute, Cho,” you admit softly. You weren’t used to this kind of thing, of being careful and deliberate, but you find yourself wanting to be.

His breath hitches, blinking down at you as his lips part, eyes searching your face like he still can’t believe you’re being serious. He looks so nervous, so unsure, but underneath it, there’s something you don’t think he even realizes is there.

And suddenly, you want to take care of him, cradle his face and tell him how important he is.

Choso just breathes shakily. The thought of telling you he wants you to stay beating against the inside of his skull, but his mouth refuses to work. He clenches his jaw in attempt to force something out, something that won’t make himself sound like an idiot.

“I want you to stay.”

It escapes before him before he can stop it, a little too direct and raw.

You hum, watching him closely. He’s nervous. But you can feel the heat beneath his eyes, how his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you.

So you do it first.

You kick off your shoes again, taking his hand in yours and slipping your fingers between his. He stiffens before holding on tight as you lead him back to the bedroom.

Choso is barely breathing as you pull him toward his bed. His grip on your hand is tight, like he doesn’t realize where he is or how hard he’s holding on to you until you give a gentle squeeze.

“You’re still sure about this?” you sit at the edge of the mattress, peering up at him. “We don’t have to rush, we can wait.”

His heart is a pounding, restless muscle in his chest. He considered it useless, because his face was in front of yours, offering such a sensitive side of himself no one’s seen before. But he’s so soft, fingers laced with yours so patient.

“I want this,” he murmurs, eyes wide as he looks at you. “I want you.”

Lips curling into something tender, appreciating this gift he’s giving you, and the sight of it alone nearly takes him apart.

“Let me kiss you?” Your fingers brush over his jaw.

He nods quickly, but you only hum. “Use your words, Cho.”

The way you say his name, so warm and sweet like it’s meant just for him, makes something bloom in his chest. “Y-yeah. Please.”

You guide him down, lips brushing over his first, featherlight, hesitant, careful, so much softer than he expected. His body is tense, unsure of what to do or where to put his hands, how to react, even.

He barely gets a moment to ground himself before you kiss again, deeper. You’re slow, patient, waiting for him to catch up. Your tongue just barely teases the seam of his lips, and before he realizes it, his own lips part and let you in.

It’s intoxicating the way you taste, clean because you just brushed your teeth but a flavor that’s so uniquely you. It was like he could taste all of you, your past experiences, what made you into who you are, and honestly, he barely knew anything about you. It was exhilarating the way your tongue brushed against his, how your fingers slip into his loose hair like you want him closer. He sighs against your mouth, pressing forward without thinking. His hands hover, unsure before settling at your waist.

You hum in approval. “That’s good,” you murmur against his lips. “Touch me more, Cho.”

His fingers wiggle to your hips, tightening before hesitating again. “L-like this?”

“Mhm,” you nod, shifting to guide his hands into moving along your body, squeezing your waist, caressing your back, holding your hips. “You’re learning fast.”

His grip grows more confident, lips pressing against yours with a little more intent, beginning to case your mouth, letting himself whimper when you lick into him. The kisses grow wetter, deeper, trails of spit connecting each time you part, and he lets himself move more on instinct rather than nervous indecision.

You shift, straddling his lap, and his breath really stops for a second. Your weight settles over his thighs, barely giving his erection any pressure, but he barely holds back a groan. He can feel you, warm and soft against him, your hands threading through his hair. He grips your hips by instinct, squeezing tightly.

“Fuck- sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Shh,” you soothe him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay. I like it.”

His eyes are blown wide, hands still caressing you hesitantly. “Y-you do?”

You hum, smiling at him and rolling your hips juuust slightly, seeing the full body shiver wracking through him.

“You feel so good,” you whisper. “Kissing you feels good, touching you feels good,” another slow grind of your hips. “Do you like it, Cho?”

His head tilts back, a breathy sound slipping past his lips. “Yes,” he chokes out. “Fuck, yes.”

Your hands glide against his solid, clothed chest, smiling into his neck. “Good.”

He is so tense, muscles drawn tight beneath your touch. His heartbeat is frantic, hammering against your palm, his body already betraying how much he wants this, wants you.

So he stays still as you peel your shirt off, baring smooth skin and lace, his breath shallow, uneven, in awe. His gaze flickers from your face to your chest, unsure where he’s allowed to look.

You shift again in his lap, your barely-there shorts dragging against the taut fabric of his sweats as you rock forward.

“You can touch me,” you murmur, taking his large hand and placing it against your bare thigh. His fingers are warm, unpracticed.

You guide him higher, letting the pads of his fingers graze the edge of your panties. A sharp, choked noise leaves him, caught between a gasp and a groan.

“I…” His voice is wrecked, strained, low and raspy. “You’re so-”

He doesn’t finish, can’t because you’re moving again, already pressing his fingers past the waistband, guiding him exactly where you need him.

Wet.

Soaked.

Drenched.

He stills completely, realization slamming into him harder than anything else. And yeah, he’s seen porn before, heard what arousal sounds like, knows that girls get wet when they’re turned on. But this?

Nothing prepared him.

His fingers slip against you too easily, noticing the way you gasp when he grazes a certain spot, quickly finding your entrance and feeling you pulse around him. He’s throbbing, probably about to cum himself as he switches between fingering you with a single digit and circling your clit, your slickness coating his skin entirely, it’s like he can’t even think. Labored breathing, he was such a good learner, and you were such a good teacher, hastily learning how to make a woman cum, how to make you cum. Listening as your breaths become shallow, quickened as he inserts two fingers, massaging you from the inside as you reach closer to climax.

Then you whimper, a sound so sweet and desperate.

When he dares to look up, you’re watching him. Half-lidded eyes, lips parted, and hair slipping from your shoulders as you lean into his touch. Your face contorted into something so beautiful, so vulnerable that makes his stomach coil so tight it’s painful.

Then you beg.

“Please, Cho. Please faster.”

Oh he absolutely breaks. Fingers moving before his mind can catch up, before realizing what he’s doing, working you open and fucking his fingers into you with no hesitation.

“So wet,” he mumbles, voice hushed. Words falling without him registering how filthy they sound.

“You feel- fuck- you feel so good.”

He’s lost, completely focused on the way you react, obsessed with every shudder, every audible breath. And he’s still talking, voice low, breathless, almost pleading as his fingers thrust harder, faster, deeper.

“Like that?”

A sharp not. “Y-yeah, just like that, Choso-”

He groans deep and rough. His free hand finding your bare waist and gripping possessively. Restraint completely gone.

His mind is fuzzy, utterly overwhelmed by how hot and perfect you feel, by the fact that this is real, happening right now, and he’s the one making you fall apart.

Your hips roll into his touch, digging your nails into his shoulders as the drive of his fingers increase, letting your body jerk and walls clench around his digits when he uses his other hand to circle your clit.

“Fuck- Cho- fuck m’cumming,”

You’re above him still, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open as your thighs tremble, pure ecstasy as you realize yourself how long you’ve been waiting for this kind of relief, most men using you like some toy until they’re satisfied, no one truly listening to the signs of your body like Choso does. It was like he was worshiping you and every part of your body you offered to him.

“Does it feel good? Yeah? Fuck-” his fingers more desperate as he talked you through it, curling unintentionally into your g-spot, nearly cumming in his pants as you gasp for air, hand moving to grip his wrist on the brink of overstimulation.

He doesn’t even think before he does it, fingers still wet with you, glistening in the natural light when he absentmindedly brings them to his lips, a primal part of him needing to know how you taste.

“You taste-” he pauses, trying to think of the right words before giving up.

He opens his hand, licking up his palm, sucking his digits as he looks up at you, still coming down from your high.

“I wanna taste you again,” and it’s not a question. Not when he’s hastily picking you up from his lap, laying you before him and hastily dragging your shorts and panties down your legs, settling between your thighs and licking his lips.

You really don’t even know what happened, but it was like something in him physically snapped, you went from guiding his hands to touch you, to him gripping your thighs, widening you for him as his nails dig into your flesh, diving head first into your folds.

He was desperate, messy, uncoordinated, licking in a down-to-up fashion, feeling the way your knees attempt to close around his head, fingers threading his locks trying to push him away from your sensitive center, when instead, he ravishes you.

He learns quickly, using only his tongue and lips to plant messy kisses, slurping your arousal and letting the suction of his lips linger on your clit, earning sinful whines from you.

“Keep makin’ those sounds.”

To say he’s addicted is an understatement, completely devoted to pleasuring you, dependent on the honeyed cries leaving your lips as he works you with his mouth, freely grunting into your pussy and unable to help the slow rock of his hips against the mattress.

Oh this was his new favorite thing.

He even loved that you didn’t shower, able to savor your carnal aroma and flavor.

Inserting his tongue, then returning to plant open-mouth kisses, all while his fingers dug passionately into your thighs.

“Want you to cum like this-”

And you did, almost instantly as the muffled, strangled words left his mouth. It was intuitive as he worked you, continuing his ministrations as you arched your back, bringing fistfuls of his sheets in your hands, crying out ruthlessly because you didn’t care who heard.

He pulls back, lips glistening, eyes desperate, hands still gripping your thighs like he doesn’t want to let go.

But then, his brows furrow slightly, nose scrunching like something clicks in his dazed, lust-addled brain. You watch has his jaw clenches.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost like he’s mad at himself for stopping, forcing himself to pull away. “Condom.”

Your head is spinning too much to process his words at first, body still burning from his mouth, but then you see him fumbling for his wallet, tearing his shirt off as he settles between your legs again with the foil packet between his clumsy fingers.

It’s a little awkward to say the least, a little endearing. He’s rushing, frantic, struggling to rip it open properly because his hands are still trembling from how much he wants you.

You reach forward, simultaneously unclasping your bra behind you. “Here, let me.”

And you take it in your hands, ripping it open and staring at the huge bulge at eye level.

Thick. Heavy. Your fingers barely wrap around the base, warmth radiating through your palm as you stroke him, feeling the weight of him in your grasp. His swollen head twitches against your touch, precum beading at the tip, so needy and impatient.

He’s so hard, flushing a deep red and standing proud. You trace a finger along a thick vein pulsing against the ridged underside. Your mouth goes dry, “You’re-” blinking at him, dizzy. “Choso, you’re fucking huge.”

Thighs pressing together, anticipation thrumming hot and tight in your abdomen.

“Is that… bad?”

His teeth grit when your hand tightens around him. “You’re staring,” he mutters, voice deep and shy.

He watches as you put the condom on, rolling it down his length and pinching the tip.

He can’t wait, not anymore. His hands grab your thighs, spreading you open. His body so warm and solid as he settles between your legs.

Pressing in slow, watching how your warmth envelopes him, sucking in a sharp breath at the feeling of you, so wet, so tight, gripping him like you were made for him.

He’s shaking, face warped as he moves slow. Sinking in you completely, throwing his head back and groaning, using the underside of your thighs to press your knees to your chest.

“Take it- take all of it, yeah- just like that, just like- fuck-” His voice hoarse, unhinged as he loses himself in you, lips parted as he watches the way you take him, bruising grip and hips moving in slow, deep thrusts like he’s starved for you.

And he’s so desperate, so broken like he’s trying to talk but all that comes out is filthy, wrecked rambling. Every thrust gets rougher, deeper, wanting to see how far he can take you.

One whiny plea from your lips. “Harder- please, Cho-”

His grip tightens, thrusts brutal and messy, mouth dropping open as he watches you fall apart beneath his hold.

“Fuck- oh fuck, yeah- beg for me again-”

He looks so messy, loose hair clinging to his damp forehead and framing his face perfectly. You watch as his sharp cheekbones flex, clenching his jaw, teeth baring slightly. His fingers curling tighter, holding you in place for him as he watches the way you squirm, whimpering his name and the way your stomach tenses every time he grinds deeper.

Your body jolts with every brutal thrust, thighs trembling as he folds you in half, grip punishing around the backs of your knees. His pace is devastating, like he has no restraint left, something inside him snapping.

He’s deep, too deep, throwing a shaky hand to his stomach in desperate attempt to slow him down, only for a second, just to catch your breath, but he doesn’t stop. Growling at the touch, abs flexing beneath your palm.

“Nah,” his voice is rough, words slipping past clenched teeth. “Nah, you can take it- fuck- you’re already takin’ it. Look at you, look how messy you are for me.”

And you are, soaking his middle with your arousal, so slippery around him he glides in and out so easily. But you’re struggling, his thick length stretching you deep, circumference making you feel like you’re being ripped apart.

He’s snapping his hips forward, spearing into you so deep your back arches off the bed, a gasping sob ripping from your throat as he slams into you unforgiving.

His free hand presses against your lower belly, right where he’s stretching you past your limit, right where he can feel himself inside you. His fingers push down, the lightest pressure, but the sound you make in response is just pathetic.

“Feel that?” His pace reckless, using you like he’s deprived. “Fuckin’ feel me right here, baby. That’s how deep I am.”

He grabs your hand, pushing your palm against your lower stomach so you can feel too, eyes so glossed over in pleasure you’re left breathless, just the sounds of you getting wetter for him and his bed breaking filling the air.

And he can’t get enough, pushing your knees to your ears, lifting your hips as he pounds you through the mattress.

When he sees you, your face all fucked-out, eyes glazed, mouth open like you can’t even process words anymore, he barely pulls out, rutting into you deep and deep.

“Fuckin’ dumb on my cock, huh? Yeah? Can’t even talk, can you?”

Virgin Choso is far gone, because this is primal, filthy, obsessed Choso. He’s no longer your shy, quiet friend, rather the man who’s about to ruin you for anyone else.

“You’re mine, yeah? Mine. Fuck- I need you to say it. Say it, baby, c’mon.”

You don’t even know when the orgasm started and stopped, body numb, boneless, some state of euphoria as he only seems to get rougher.

“Say it.”

You barely even heard what he said thirty minutes ago, but he’s flipping you on your stomach like you weigh nothing, tanking your hips up and groaning when you feel even tighter.

“I said say it. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

One hand grips your hair, tugging your head back.

You gasp, struggling to breath as he forces you to feel every solid inch, barely able to choke out, “It’s yours.”

But it’s not good enough.

“Say it right, sweetheart.”

You’re panting, shaking, on the verge of breaking completely he can feel the weak pulses around his length.

“It’s yours, Cho, this- this pussy’s yours.”

And his drives turn sloppy, more erratic, dragging out the last of your broken moans pushing you through what could’ve been the tenth or twentieth orgasm of the night.

“F-fuck, baby, I’m-”

His hands locking on your hips, deep and rugged as he breathes against your sweaty skin.

“Ohh, fuck- fuck, take it- take all of it, I’m gonna-”

Groaning, tilting his head back and body shuddering as he spills hot and thick into the condom, tightening his grip grounding himself through the mind-numbing pleasure, nearly bursting it by the sheer amount, more than he’s ever gotten out of himself.

He pulls out slow, reluctantly, the absence of him leaving you twitching, a soft whimper escaping before you can stop it. He lets out a low, shaky breath, hands running over the bare, sweat-slicked expanse of your back.

Then, softly, he murmurs, “...Did I hurt you?”

He was so quiet, so careful, so unlike the filthy possessive man that just fucked you like he never wanted to stop.

Barely having the energy to shake your head, smiling, lazy and hazed. “No,” you whisper.

He exhales, relief tangible before his lips are on you again. Except not hungry nor desperate, just gentle. Pressing against your shoulder, spine, temple.

“Still want you to stay the night.”

[bunni-v1]

Aventurine NSFW Headcannons

🍓This took me so long to get done, and I'm not 100% satisfied, but I wanted to get these out. There's so much I left unsaid, and I feel like if I kept going it would never stop. So enjoy the very basics of what I feel Aventurine is like in bed. Smaller posts are coming in the future so I can take time to work on the genshin stuff I have coming, alongside requests I plan on doing a full fic for <3

Tagging: @the-original-skipps (mwah mwah, just for you pookie)

Tw: Mentions of past sexual assault; Aventurine has unhealthy views of sex; Aventurine's past; NSFW; Pretty vanilla ngl; grammar errors

Info: Aventurine x Reader; Angst; Fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

MDNI

-Aventurine and sex do not mix well – at least, not at the start. 

-Much like love, he has a very jaded view of sexual intimacy. He was (heavily implied to have been) sexually assaulted by many different unsavory types when he was younger. His body wasn’t his own then, and the sex was brutal and unkind – something he hated.

-As he grew, both in stature and into his title of Aventurine of Strategems, his hatred of sex turned into something different. It was still hatred, he hated the act more than anything in the world most times, but he realized his body was good for something.

-Aventurine was an attractive man, despite his eyes being a less than savory feature to most people. His body was lean and lithe, his clothes and hair perfectly styled and trendy, not to mention the air of mystery he had drew people in like moths to flame. 

-All of it was crafted by his own two hands, of course. He was attractive because he wanted – no, needed to be. So, he made sure he was, of course, no one would do business with him otherwise.

-Pretty as a peacock, you could hardly tell he was once a slave or a dirty Avgin boy.

-He’s pleasantly surprised to find that the body he so hated being born into was a good business tool when he needed it to be.

-People really will do anything to get off, and as much as it disgusted him to do such depraved things, he would do whatever he had to to get what he wanted.

-He’d scrub his skin raw in the shower afterward, trying desperately to get the smell of sex off him. Hoping that if he scratches hard enough the ugly purple bruises will wash away with soap and water. They never do, and they leave him feeling vile until they fade.

-Regardless men, women, monsters – he really didn’t care what he was fucking so long as it got him what he was looking for.

-That’s what sex is to Aventurine, a transaction. He scoffs at the idea of it being anything more than that. Sex was rough and sweaty and all kinds of disgusting, how could anyone derive pleasure from that? You fuck, you cum, you say goodbye. Simple. As. That.

-Ah, but, then again you come along and you just love challenging his worldview don’t you? With your pretty little eyes and your sweet, comforting words. You always make him question himself. It would be annoying if he didn’t love you so damn much.

-Your first time with him is… incredibly unpleasant. It’s not as though he doesn’t account for you or your wants, but there’s a disconnect. He’s too… pliant and yet all too controlling. First times are rarely good, but this felt alien. Like the person you were with was not your beloved Kakavasha, but some strange man taking his place for the night.

-He’s doing things he thinks you want, he’s saying sweet words he’d whispered to hundreds of other partners, it’s all that he thinks you need, what he’s decided in his head that you’d like, rather than something that comes from knowing you.

-He doesn’t ask, he just gives and takes and then it’s over. It’s unfulfilling and empty, leaving you with a dull ache in your chest.

-He doesn’t even offer you or himself aftercare, and you find him scrubbing his skin red in the shower afterward like he was trying to rid himself of any trace of you.

-It makes you feel terrible. Like you’re some whore he’s picked up off the streets and not his long-term partner with whom he’s shared some of the darkest parts of himself.

-You cry into those expensive satin sheets, ruining them with your sniffling. It’s quite the sight for Aventurine to walk back into.

-He expected you to be asleep, or at least resting in some capacity, but crying? His heart sinks as he rushes to your side, then somehow falls further when you tug yourself away from him.

-He’s perceptive enough to realize that he had been the one to put you in such a state, but he didn’t really understand why.

-When he’s able to calm you enough to get you to talk to him, you’re able to explain that you felt so disregarded. There was no connection or love or care from him, did he not feel you were worthy of sharing that in moments of intimacy?

-That makes him sick. Never in a million years would he want to make you feel as though he does not love you, despite previous behaviors. You were his whole world, part of the reason he continued to exist. How could he ever make you feel unworthy of him?

-He nearly spirals there, but your tears are enough to remind him that he is not the one who needs love and reassurance. So, always eager to learn and grow with you, he asks you what you believe sex should be like… and it’s quite different from what he understands.

-You describe it like an extension of yourself. A means of intimacy and trust a level deeper than words and affection can get you. You are vulnerable during sex, you are at your weakest and you are sharing that with the person you love. It’s the most intimate thing you could do with a person, and while it can be fun and it can simply be because it feels good, it can also be because you love the other person so deeply you have no other way to express it.

-Aventurine finds the definition to be rather naive, but you had always been a bleeding heart. (Which he, regardless of if Kakavasha or Aventurine was leading charge, would give anything to protect). Yet… Kakavasha likes it. Kakavasha wants to do that with you, he wants to show you how much he loves you, he wants to hold you even closer and share such sweet nothings with you.

-He tries to toss it out initially because if he thought about it like that he would have to confront himself. Look that trauma in the eyes and acknowledge that, once again, you’d proven him wrong in a way he was annoyingly not expecting.

-But as the days go by and you slowly begin to become physical with him again, he wonders fondly how it would feel. Taking his time with you, he means.

-He couldn’t help but wonder how nice it would be to really feel your skin under his fingers. To kiss every inch of you, to hear you sigh his name like he crafted the heavens with his own two hands. Ah, Kakavasha won again, it seems.

-So he goes to you, like an apologetic puppy, and he apologizes for how terrible he was. How he reflected and regrets it, and he wants to try again and let you take the lead this time. 

-Despite everything, you say yes, and you allow him this second chance to redefine his worldview yet again.

-Aeons it’s life-changing sex. 

-Slow, careful, and all kinds of intimate. He’s still on top because he could not trust even you to be on top. He needed that control. But he listens to what you need, and he finds he’s very good at servicing you. Just as good as he is at spoiling you with his riches.

-You guide him to kiss you deeply, tongues tangling in a tango to a tempo only the two of you could enjoy. You show him how to leave love bites that make his spine tingle. How different parts of your body make you feel different kinds of pleasure. He gets to feel your skin beneath his fingertips, taste your very being on his tongue, and swallow the angelic cries of his name.

-It’s a kind of intimacy and affection he’d never been afforded in his life. A vulnerability he hadn’t expected himself to enjoy, and yet as he sobs into your shoulder at his release, he finds himself wanting more.

-It becomes a problem, really. One taste of it and you have both your sweet Kakavasha and the hardened businessman Aventurine absolutely addicted. In the privacy of his condo, he can lust after you all he wants. You would never deny him the pleasure of freedom, though you would tell him no after the third night in a row for your aching hips. (He will draw you a bath and book you an appointment at the finest spa he can get you into for the next day.)

-In his office, or during a meeting, or talking to the Doctor, however… that’s a problem. He wasn’t supposed to like it that much, but that intimacy had him aching through his expensive slacks. 

-He thinks about it all the time, and he’s taken to locking his office doors and keeping the blinds shut airtight for more than half the day. He hopes no one notices how many bathroom breaks he takes during meetings. He tries his best to forget the boner he popped in front of the esteemed doctor talking about finances.

-You literally have him addicted to being in love with you, it’s quite the conundrum you’ve found yourselves in… but, would you really ever want to change that? He’s very good in bed after all, so it can’t be that bad.

-Aventurine is a switch-leaning top (so sorry Aventio shippers), and I say this only because he does not like relinquishing control. Especially when he’s in such a vulnerable state, especially with his past traumas, he would rather be in charge than trust you and have you hurt him.

-He softens up significantly as time goes on, and he is more willing to allow you to service him how you please, but he never really gives up his control. There’s always a reminder that he has the say-so in what does or does not go.

-That being said he is very giving, without having to be asked he will happily do whatever you need of him. It’s just in his nature to service, those pretty little moans are all the payment he needs.

-I won’t lie and say he isn’t a tease, though. He’s incorrigible, actually. He loves to tease you, be it with his words or his actions, he loves getting you squirming beneath him.

-He’ll mumble against your throat how needy you are for him, how you’re already so worked up and he hasn’t even gotten past your clothes, how cute you are when you’re so needy for him. His fingers will graze you with such feather-light touch you’ll whine at him, and he always coos at you like a needy little thing – as if he isn’t the one tormenting you.

-He’s a fan of edging, which just comes with the territory too. He spends hours of his time building you up to your orgasm, crooking his fingers and swirling his tongue so you’re right there, and then he’ll pull away leaving you crying for more.

-It’s all worth it when he does let you cum, though. The orgasm shaking the very foundation of you, sticky fluids staining yet another pair of satin sheets. 

-That’s not even mentioning his dick, which he is just as talented with. It’s slim, the same shade as the rest of him, with an upward curve that rubs against your g-spot so very well without him having to try.

-It fits so snugly inside, and if you watch closely you can see the effect you have on him as his perfect poker face cracks just a little. He loves to feel you from the inside, it may be one of his favorite things in the world.

-You are warm and squishy and so very accepting of him, conforming to the size and shape of his member like you were made to do so. Like you were made for him and him alone, it’s a deeply romantic thought that he would scoff at if he were in a less hazy mindset.

-He’s rarely rough with you, preferring to show you how much he loves you more softly, though he can be rough upon request.

-Sometimes if you get him jealous enough he’ll be rough on his own accord, but never uncaring or unloving. Even when he has you face down, ass up he makes you feel like the most precious gemstone in the entire world.

-He likes sex slow and long, preferring if it is dragged out across multiple sessions with sweet nothings and gentle care between the breaks. 

-However, he rarely has the free time for such things, and as such he gets very good at making the most of the time that he does have.

-Because of his high sex drive, quickies are common, but they are no less fulfilling than the long sessions he enjoys having. 

-He’s adept at getting you to cum in under five minutes with his fingers, he can do it in two with his tongue thrown in, and that’s usually fast enough for him to quickly get off and get back to what he needs to do.

-Unfortunately, he isn’t the kinkiest guy. He doesn’t like tying up or being tied up, he’s not a fan of power play, roleplaying seems to turn him off (again, not a fan of power play, which a lot of scenarios include this), no hitting or degrading, and pretty much anything that could remotely involve hurting either of you is a no from him.

-He thinks for a while he’s fine with it, and he is willing to try anything once, but it only takes him one time to realize he does not like physical or mental pain. It’s not sexy, it’s traumatizing and he won’t be convinced to try it.

-He does, however, really enjoy you wearing lingerie. Lacy ones dotted with expensive stones are his favorites. Frequently you’ll find a set sent to you in pretty packaging with a little note telling you to ‘enjoy your present.’ Meaning, he wants a picture of you in it ASAP.

-Also a fan of seeing you in his clothes. If he spots you lounging about in his shirt after a long day of work, he’ll be all over you like a helpless puppy.

-Cockwarming you when he works from home is a favorite of his, liking the way you wiggle and squirm as he combs over documents. His poker face really is something impressive, you have no clue how he’s re-read the same sentence ten times as you clench around him again.

-Office sex is unlikely, purely because he doesn’t like you being anywhere near IPC headquarters if he can help it. But if you do stop by for some reason, the likelihood of him bending you over the desk and fucking you raw is about 99%. He does miss you a lot during the day, after all, you can’t shame him for indulging in his favorite treat after so long without it.

-He just truly, deeply loves you. Once he begins to have a healthy relationship with sex and associate it with you rather than the horrors of his past, it’s nothing but loving and delightful. He takes the whole idea that it is an extension of his admiration for you very literally, and showers you in his affections through sex.

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 07

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: Things start getting...heated

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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This was a mistake!

Your body betrays you, as it usually does—shoulders tense, stomach coiled tight, fingers twitching at your sides like they might still find a way to escape.

You know Ochako means well, has only ever been kind to you in these last 24 hours, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from hammering against your ribs like a frantic warning bell.

Run. Hide. Fake a headache. There’s still time!!

But Ochako’s grip is ironclad.

“C’mon! We need to get down there before everyone starts wondering where we are!” She laces her fingers through yours, warm and insistent, dragging you out the door of your shared room before you can so much as think of an excuse.

The scent of her coconut sunscreen lingers in the air as you stumble after her. Your heart is a mess, part nerves, part anticipation. You can’t remember the last time you felt so nervous!

Scratch that, landing on top of Bakugou over the weekend was pretty traumatizing...

Still, this feels like a close second, judging by the nauseating urge to turn back and pretend you never agreed to this.

The hallway is alive with movement, a blur of swimsuits, cover-ups, and damp footprints smudged against the floorboards.

You're really trying to focus on not throwing up right now.

Ochako pulls you along though, her chatter light and cheerful, and you do your best to focus on her words instead of the way the floor feels like it’s tilting beneath your feet.

You’re not used to this, like at all. God, you don't think you've ever made this much contact with another human being in your life!

When you finally reach the outdoors, the sight sort of lifts a heavy weight from your chest. You look around, wide eyes taking in the scene.

The blue water sparkles under the afternoon sun, ringed by lush greenery, its surface kissed by golden light. Your classmates are already splashing around, tossing a beach ball back and forth, setting up the bonfire pit for later.

You've been all over the world, traveled to every unbelievable destination money could buy, and yet—you find yourself in awe at the sight of this little lake. There’s something inviting about it.

Well, you're actually quite terrified...But you imagine the scene is inviting to somebody like Ochako!

As if to prove your point, a few of the girls immediately spot Ochako and wave her over from the water. She perks up, bouncing on the tips of her toes to wave back, her excitement so genuine it makes your chest ache.

Instinctively, you shift a step behind her rather than beside her, eyes darting to the sides to ignore any stray gazes on yourself.

But then she nudges you forward, and your stomach lurches as you stumble into view.

Mina spots you first. She’s radiant in a lilac bikini that pops against her skin, her pink curls damp but still bouncing as she bounds over. “Y/N! No way—you came!” Her golden eyes widen in surprise, and just like that, others take notice, heads turning in your direction.

A chorus of greetings follows—some cheerful, others more reserved, but none of them unkind.

It’s… new.

It’s the stuff of nightmares, honestly. You suck at this. Socializing. Group settings.

You can feel the awkward tension in your own smile, stiff and unsure, as you mutter half-hearted hellos in return. Do you look as uncomfortable as you feel? God, probably.

Why did you come? It’s a toxic cycle—wanting to be invited, then immediately regretting it the second you are.

Mina doesn’t seem to notice your spiraling. She wraps Ochako in a quick hug before turning her full attention on you, manicured fingers resting lightly on your shoulder. “You guys look so good! Y/N, you look insane.”

You freeze. Panic surges.

“Insane… in a good way?” Your voice comes out so worried that you immediately want to fling yourself into the lake.

If you looked crazy, Ochako would’ve told you, right? Right?!

Mina snorts, giving your shoulder a playful shake. “Girl, insane great. Your body is killer.”

You blink, thrown off by the unexpected compliment. This is your chance to return the favor! Compliment her back! Say something, anything—

A sudden, thunderous splash pulls your attention to the lake.

Your brows shoot up just in time to see Sero shoving Denki straight into the water.

The blond resurfaces a second later, sputtering, his drenched hair plastered to his forehead as he glares. Sero doubles over, laughing, his drink still held aloft like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You blink, processing. You know they’re close, but… is it normal to shove your friends into the water like that?

You’ve seen it in movies, but you can’t decide if you’d find it fun or if you’d immediately die of secondhand embarrassment.

Mina, clearly unfazed, rolls her eyes and calls out to them. “Hey! Watch it over here, the water’s cold!” She gestures at the splash that nearly reaches your feet.

Ochako giggles, nudging you again. “Let’s go in!”

Your stomach flips, but you nod, trailing behind her as she slips off her cover-up dress. She drapes it over a wooden bench already lined with bags and sandals, a chaotic splash of colors against the sun-bleached wood.

You focus on the little knot at your sheer skirt, fingers fumbling as you untie it. The sun is warm against your skin, the breeze light and teasing. The chatter around you hums like background noise, but what you don’t notice is the ripple of attention you’ve unintentionally drawn.

By the water’s edge, Denki and Sero are frozen, their expressions comically slack-jawed.

“Dude,” Denki whispers, as if he’s just spotted a mythical creature. “Y/N is actually here.”

Sero nods slowly, drink momentarily forgotten in his hand. “She… is so hot.”

Before their awe can spiral into more whispered nonsense, a swift, synchronized bonk lands on both their heads.

Jirou and Tsuyu stand behind them, arms crossed, expressions sharp with unimpressed judgment.

“Don’t be creeps,” Jirou mutters, pushing her sunglasses up with a sigh. Strands of damp hair cling to the sunscreen glistening on her cheeks. Her deep plum swimsuit is effortlessly cool, a stark contrast to Tsuyu’s soft green one-piece, patterned with delicate lily pads.

“The girl barely ever hangs out with us as it is,” Jirou continues. “The last thing we need is her feeling weirded out because of you two.”

Denki scoffs, looking personally offended. “Excuse me!? The only creep here is Mineta, and you guys know he’s banned from coming to these things.”

Sero nods solemnly, raising his drink in mock salute. “The little perv is under strict surveillance by Aizawa and Present Mic tonight. Thank god.”

Mina, now wading into the water, joins the group. She takes a slow sip of her beverage before sending Denki and Sero a pointed look.

“Anybody else a little confused by Y/N showing up?” she muses, tilting her head. “Not complaining, just... surprised. You two better not make it weird.”

Denki’s jaw drops in offense. “Hey!”

Their bickering dissolves into splashes and laughter, but you remain blissfully unaware of it all.

You're too busy steadying your breath, caught between the cool breeze and the lingering warmth of the sun. It feels surreal—being here, surrounded by your classmates, the lazy hum of summer wrapping around you like a soft, sun-warmed blanket.

“Should we grab drinks first?” Ochako’s voice is casual, but there’s something airy, almost calculated, about her tone.

You follow her gaze toward the makeshift drink station, a folding table cluttered with pitchers of neon-colored juice and a cooler packed with ice.

Midoriya, Shouto, and Tenya stand nearby, their silhouettes framed by the lake’s shimmering expanse.

Your brows knit together as you glance at Ochako’s oddly focused stare. Surely, she’s not that thirsty… right?

Then, the puzzle pieces snap into place.

Oh. She’s staring at Midoriya!

It’s almost cute how obvious it is. Since your first year, it’s been clear to everyone, probably even the birds in the trees—that Ochako and Midoriya had a thing for each other.

Even you, someone who couldn't be worse at picking up on social cues, had noticed!

Before you can say a word, Ochako's fingers curl around your wrist, tugging you forward with surprising strength.

You barely have time to process before you’re standing at the drink table, flashing a tight, polite smile at the boys while Ochako dives headfirst into conversation with Midoriya.

The green-haired boy looks like he’s barely holding onto his composure.

His freckles stand out starkly against his flushed skin, his cheeks nearly as red as the watermelon slices bobbing lazily in one of the juice pitchers. His gaze flickers everywhere, desperate to focus on anything that isn’t Ochako’s swimwear-clad form.

You suppress a smile. This feels like watching a rom-com unfold in real-time!

“Y/N, I’m surprised to see you here.”

Your attention shifts to a familiar face, Shouto Todoroki. He sits on a wooden bench, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his posture relaxed.

Next to him, Tenya sips from a cup, his rigid posture a sharp contrast to Shouto’s.

You push your sunglasses up, using them to sweep your hair away from your face. “Y-yeah. Ochako asked if I wanted to come. I thought it’d be refreshing after Aizawa pushing us this morning,” you say, your voice light—too light—the lie slipping out before you can stop it.

Because to be honest, the last thing on your mind was how refreshing a swim would be.

You came for the sole purpose of not feeling like a total loser for once....

But you’d never admit that. Especially not to him, the boy you’d known since childhood.

Your families had woven your lives together from the start. Same private schools, same gated communities, same stiff playdates arranged more out of obligation than friendship.

You remember the afternoons spent under perfectly manicured trees, the two of you side by side, sharing crayons and silence.

Shouto studies you for a moment, his heterochromatic gaze unreadable—not piercing, not heavy, just... observant.

“Yeah, your quirk has been flaring up lately. I’m sure Aizawa pushed you harder today.”

Your breath catches.

He—he noticed!?

Aizawa hadn’t actually paid you any extra attention today. Training had been perfectly normal.

But the fact that Shouto had even thought otherwise—the fact that he’d noticed the way your quirk had been acting up lately—sends a jolt of something sharp and embarrassed through you.

Because he doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t know that every time your mind even drifts to Bakugou Katsuki, a million delicate petals betray you, spiraling into existence without your permission.

That your quirk has become your worst enemy, weaving your feelings into reality whether you want it to or not!

Your fingers tighten slightly around your cup. He doesn’t know, and he can’t know.

You force a small shrug. “Yeah”

Thankfully, Tenya, bless his overly formal soul—cuts through the moment. “Would you like something to drink, Y/N? We have quite the selection of fruit juices—grape, pineapple, mango, and I believe that one has a mix of berries.”

He gestures toward the pitchers like a waiter at some high-end restaurant, each glass container beading with condensation, jewel-toned liquids shimmering in the sun.

You could almost hug him for the distraction!

You offer a small, grateful smile. “Oh, sure. I think I’ll go for the mango.”

“Excellent choice.” He moves with crisp efficiency, pouring the drink with such ceremonial care it’s almost comical.

You take a sip, the cool sweetness bursting across your tongue, grounding you just a little. “Thanks"

He nods, the gesture polite, precise—like everything else about him. “You’re very welcome. It’s great to see you here, Y/N. We don’t often get to socialize outside of training or class, and it’s important for team morale to build connections in less formal settings.

Your fingers swirl the straw through your drink, watching the ice clink against the sides. “Yeah, it's nice” you say softly, your gaze drifting back out to the lake.

The sun-soaked scene feels almost surreal, like a postcard from a life you never thought you’d step into. And beneath all the noise, something settles in your chest—warm, quiet, nice.

Ochako suddenly appears at your side.

She nudges you, her smile wide, her cheeks flushed a charming pink—whether from the heat or whatever Midoriya had just told her, you aren’t sure.

“Ready to get in the water?” she asks, leaning over to pour herself a berry-hued drink. She taps her cup against yours with a soft clink, liquid sloshing playfully.

You blink at the red plastic cups—wow, it really is like the movies!—and glance toward the lake.

Sunlight dances on the surface, rippling with the chaos of your classmates. Mina and Tsuyu are deep in a water war now, their laughter carrying across the breeze.

But your gaze drifts past them, searching for something, someone else.

And then, you find him.

Bakugou sits at the water’s edge, his feet submerged, gentle waves lapping against his sculpted calves.

His elbows rest on his knees, hands loosely clasped as he talks with Kirishima. Even from here, you catch the sharpness of his profile—the strong set of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow.

You’re not sure beautiful is a word people often use to describe Bakugou, but right now, you swear he’s every bit of it.

Oh. He’s also shirtless.

And dear god, you really hope no flowers are blooming around you right now. That would be mortifying.

And way too obvious...Shoto would definitely pick up on it.

Your pulse picks up, your heart doing a ridiculous little flip in your chest. It’s humiliating, really, how just looking at him can make you react like this.

And then, as if feeling your gaze on him, he looks up. Crimson eyes find yours, steady and unblinking.

You freeze, manicured fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic giving slightly under the pressure.

The world slows, the noise around you dissolving into a distant hum, like you’ve suddenly been dropped underwater. It’s funny, you think bitterly, how now when he looks at you, there’s recognition there. Like he actually sees you.

Before this weekend, Bakugou’s gaze would’ve skimmed past you without a second thought—just another classmate who barely spoke, never worth lingering on.

But now? His eyes catch on you. Like something’s shifted. Like you’ve somehow forced your way into his line of sight.

Was it when you tripped and fell against him, practically tackling him to the ground?

Or when he helped you move all your boxes into the dorms, grumbling the entire time but never once walking away?

Maybe it was when he spent over an hour teaching you how to navigate the public transportation system without getting hopelessly lost....

All of it, jumbled together into one little weekend, had somehow tackled your heart and refused to let go.

You know it probably meant nothing to him. Just Bakugou being a surprisingly good person. But to you? God. It was everything.

And now you can’t stop thinking about the nickname he gave you earlier—sad eyes. A clear demotion from princess.

It’s devastating....

Do your eyes really look sad right now? God, you hope not! You don’t want to be known as the girl who looks miserable all the time....

You stand up straighter, forcing a small smile, as if that’ll help. Maybe it’ll make you look normal!

But then Bakugou shifts, turning back toward Kirishima without another glance in your direction, and the moment shatters like glass. Something tight in your chest loosens—but disappointment seeps in almost instantly, and you hate yourself for it.

He didn't even look at my swimsuit...does he not like the pink?

Wait- why are you even thinking about him liking your swimsuit? Get it together!

Ochako leans in, her shoulder brushing against yours. “What was that all about?”

Her question jolts you back to reality, and you nearly spill your drink. “Huh? N-no, it’s nothing.”

“it was so something!” she gasps, watching you from the corners of her eyes with sudden intrigue.

You clutch your cup tighter, heat pricking your cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ochako just grins, entirely unconvinced. “I’ve never seen Bakugou look someone up and down like that—unless he was about to fight them. But something tells me that wasn’t the look he was giving you.”

Your throat dries instantly. "What?! No, He definitely wasn’t—”

“Uh-huh,” she hums, her grin only widening as you flounder for a believable response. “Right.”

Mortified, you take a hasty sip of your drink, the coolness doing little to ease the sudden, frantic buzz in your chest. But despite yourself, a small, reckless thought unfurls in your mind, curling up all hopeful and dangerous.

What is she thinking!?

You’re still overthinking when Ochako grabs your wrist and drags you toward the lake. The water is cold, a welcome shock against your skin as it rises to your waist. It helps—sort of.

The group has already settled into easy conversation, splashing each other and laughing as though this wasn’t absolutely the most socially overstimulating day of your life. You hover at the edge, fingers curled around your cup, letting Ochako do most of the talking.

Your mind keeps drifting. It shouldn’t, but it does. And when you can’t help yourself, you sneak a glance back toward the shore—

His spot is empty.

Your stomach dips. Where did he go?

“Bakugou, man! Finally decided to join us,” Sero calls, his voice bright as he pushes his wet hair back from his face.

You frown. Wait—

But Sero isn’t looking at the shore. He’s looking at you.

The cold prickle is instant, creeping down your spine like a warning. Slowly, you turn— And you almost scream when you find Bakugou standing right there. 

Towering. Close.

You stumble back a step, your throat locking up. “What—?! How do you keep doing that?!”

He doesn’t answer, just flicks his gaze down at you. Quick, sharp—before scoffing. “Sad Eyes, should’ve called you ‘Jumpy’ instead. That’s three for three, huh?”

Your skin burns. “What?!”

“This is the Third time you freaked out ‘cause I showed up. I’m keepin’ track now.”

Your jaw drops. He’s been keeping track?!

Mortification settles deep in your bones. This is getting ridiculous. How does he keep sneaking up on you like this?!

And now he’s calling you jumpy? That’s somehow worse than Sad Eyes!!

You sputter, grasping at the shredded remains of your dignity. “It’s not my fault! Who just sneaks up on people like that? You’re way too quiet for someone who’s, like, six feet tall!”

The group falls silent. A ripple of surprise spreads, heads turning, eyes widening.

You, who barely even makes eye contact with most of them—talking to Bakugou like this?

And more than that… you two had hung out before? Three times now?!

Kirishima is the first to recover, throwing his head back with a laugh before slapping a heavy hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. “He actually grew, you know! Six-two now! Our manly Katsuki’s all grown up!”

Bakugou immediately shoves him off with a sharp snarl. “Shut it, dumbass.”

You’re still trying to steady your breath, heart hammering from both the shock of his sudden appearance and worse—the new nickname.

Why couldn’t he just go back to Princess?

Mina scoffs, nudging Kirishima with a pointed look. “Quit it, don't give Y/N the wrong first impression of us,” she mutters—like she meant to keep it quiet, but you definitely hear her.

Your eyebrows lift, heat creeping up your neck. First impressions? Three years in?!

If only she knew your actual first impression of Kirishima—him holding the door open for you on the first day of freshman year, flashing an easy grin like it was second nature.

Not that he’d remember. But you do. A small, insignificant moment that somehow stuck, tucked away in the back of your mind, untouched and warm.

The conversation shifts, the group slipping back into their usual rhythm—Mina teasing, Kirishima laughing, Denki making some ridiculous joke. Their voices rise and fall like background noise, familiar and distant.

You stand quietly, retreating into yourself, drink in hand, eyes fixed on the surface of your cup like it holds the secrets of the universe.

You don’t notice the way Ochako watches.

She’s spent enough time around you to pick up on the obvious—you’re shy. Painfully so. It’s not what people assume at first, not with the way you dress, the quiet confidence in your posture, and the sharpness of your gaze. But once they get to know you, it’s impossible to miss.

What surprises her more is how, despite that hesitance, you instinctively shift closer to Bakugou.

And he isn’t so innocent either. His gaze flicks toward you, sharp but unreadable, lingering just long enough to be noticeable before he looks away. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t react.

But he doesn’t move either.

Something clicks for her.

She nudges you, soft but deliberate.

You blink up at her, confused. What?

She only raises her brows, like she knows something you don’t.

Your frown deepens. What?

But she doesn’t explain, just grins to herself before turning back to the conversation.

The weight of it lingers, settling in your chest like you’re missing something important, but you try to ignore it. It's Just another thing you don't quite get yet.

It’s easier to focus on your drink. The cool glass against your fingertips, the slow trickle of condensation, the soft lap of water around your legs. The conversation hums around you, voices rising and falling like waves.

You don’t need to force yourself into it.

For now, this is enough.

For now, you’re comfortable.

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You sit at the lake’s edge, toes skimming the surface as gentle waves lap at your ankles.

Your white gold diamond tennis anklet catches the fading sunlight, glinting with every ripple. The sun has dipped lower now, streaking the sky in hues of gold and orange, its reflection shimmering across the water in shimmering fragments.

Ochako left a few minutes ago to grab marshmallows for the bonfire, and honestly, you don’t mind the solitude!

Your social battery is drained, and the distant sounds of your classmates—laughing, splashing, calling out to each other—feel muffled, like you’re hearing them from behind glass.

It’s nice, though. Being here. Being part of this.

You let yourself sink into the quiet, watching the way your feet sway in the water, the way the coolness soothes the lingering buzz beneath your skin.

Then—

A shadow falls over you.

You blink up, and nearly choke on air at the visual.

Bakugou stands over you, hands shoved into the pockets of his black swim trunks, droplets of water trailing down his chest. Against the warm hues of the setting sun, his silhouette is sharp, cutting through the golden light like a blade.

“Sad eyes,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You’re really livin’ up to the name right now.”

You blink, caught off guard. Huh?

“But I’m not sad!” you insist, frowning.

His brow lifts, skeptical. His gaze lingers, tracing the natural pout of your glossy lips, the way your eyes seem distant even when you’re not trying. Something pricks at the back of his neck, heat creeping up his spine before he looks away.

You shift slightly, fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic slick with condensation.

“You’ve been payin’ more attention to that damn drink than the actual lake.” Bakugou snorts, nodding toward the vast stretch of water behind him.

You try not to stare, but it’s difficult. His ashy blonde hair, the sharp contrast of his red eyes against the cyan blue of the lake—if you let yourself, you could sit here and admire the view all day.

Unfortunately, you realize too late that you have been staring. For way too long!

Panic sparks in your brain, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth moves faster than your common sense.

“Well, the water looks great, but I’m focusing on my drink! It’s really tasty. Do you wanna try?” The second the words leave your lips, regret slams into you like a wave.

You briefly consider slipping into the lake and letting the water swallow you whole. Would they let you drown if you tried?

…No, probably not. Too many future pro heroes around.

But to your utter disbelief, Bakugou doesn’t call you an idiot. Instead, He just flicks his gaze down to your cup, then—before you can process what’s happening—crouches down to your sitting height.

The water shifts beneath him, sending ripples through the lake. He’s closer now than you expected, all sharp angles and damp skin, the scent of caramel and lake water clinging to him.

Is the caramel like a cologne? Seriously! He smells like a roasted sweet treat at all times!

Your breath catches as his fingers brush against yours, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cool plastic. Then, without hesitation, he lifts the cup to his lips.

And drinks.

For you, the world tilts. The sun, the water, the distant chatter of your classmates—it all fades into static.

It’s just him now. The slow sip, the soft slosh of liquid in the cup, the way his lips curve around the straw—the same one you’ve been using all day. Time stretches impossibly thin, and you swear the air between you hums with something heavy.

A single drop clings to his bottom lip as he pulls back. He swipes it away with the lazy flick of his tongue before his gaze catches yours—steady, unreadable, something warm simmering just beneath the surface.

“Not bad,” Bakugou mutters, his voice low, careless. “But I think the glittery shit you got on messed with the taste.”

Your brain stutters. Glittery…?

Oh.

Your lip gloss. The pink, strawberry-flavored one you had just recently reapplied.

Heat floods your face so fast it makes you dizzy, your heart hammering like you just ran laps with Iida.

Bakugou stays where he is, the water sloshing gently around his waist, completely unfazed. Meanwhile, you’re left staring at your cup, at the place his lips just were—desperately trying to remember how to function.

You gulp down your nerves, eyes flickering toward the water, focusing on the gentle ripples. Anything but him! Slowly, you lift the cup to your lips again.

Only to freeze.

Oh my god.

Right where his lips just were.

Your mind spins, and you can practically feel the steam rising from your skin. You could actually combust right here, more a ball of flames than human! The cool lake water around your ankles does nothing to soothe the heat crawling up your neck, pooling in your cheeks.

Bakugou doesn’t seem to notice your internal turmoil. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles flexing, and his expression is somewhere between bored and contemplative. The silence stretches, thick and pressing, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

You force yourself to take a sip, pretending like your heart isn’t trying to break out of your ribs. The drink is still sweet, still refreshing, but now all you can think about is the fact that his mouth was just here.

It’s like an indirect kiss!

He can’t be thinking about it that way, right?! If he did, he probably wouldn’t be so quiet about it!

Bakugou shifts, the water rippling around him. His red eyes flick to your face, and you brace yourself for some snarky remark—but it doesn’t come. Instead, he just watches you, like he’s trying to figure something out. It’s unnerving.

Then—

“Why does your quirk do that?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

Your breath catches.

You blink at him, thrown completely off guard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You glance around your sides first, eyes darting to the water, the shore, anywhere he could possibly be referring to. But nothing looks different. There’s no telltale glow, no signs of your quirk activating. Confused, you glance back at him.

“I don’t see anything,” you say hesitantly.

His smirk widens just a fraction. “Yeah? Look behind you.”

A nervous lump forms in your throat. You slowly twist your torso around—

and your heart plummets.

The tree behind you, once lush with soft green leaves, is now covered in delicate, glowing pink blossoms. Every inch of it, every branch, every tiny leaf that was once green has been replaced with flowers, radiating a gentle light in the darkness.

Your breath catches in your throat.

A whole tree.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

A beat of silence passes, stretching unbearably long as you stare at it, horror dawning.

This is mortifying!

You snap back around, scrambling for a way to downplay this, to brush it off, but your mind is blank. Completely empty.Your fingers tighten around the cup in your hands, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your ears.

Bakugou watches you, unimpressed.

The bonfire crackles in the distance, flames licking at the air, casting long, flickering shadows against the trees. Laughter drifts over from the shore, light and carefree, but it barely registers. The world has narrowed to this moment, to the weight of his gaze, to the pounding of your heart in your ears.

You open your mouth, scrambling for something—anything—to say in your defense. But no words come out.

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Tch. So?”

You blink at him, stomach sinking. “So what?”

He jerks his chin toward the tree. “That happen every time you get nervous?”

Your breath hitches.

Your voice jumps an octave, frazzled beyond belief. “I am not nervous!”

Bakugou lifts a brow, eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Yeah?” He exhales sharply, almost amused. “Might have to start calling you Squeaky.”

Horrified, you let out an embarrassed groan, heat rushing to your face. You don’t even think—your hand moves on instinct, reaching out to shove him.

Your perfectly manicured nails, white French tips, delicate and polished, press against solid muscle, barely making him budge.

“Don’t tease me so much,” you whine, already waving the white flag. “I might pass out.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, head tilting. “Who said I’m teasing you?”

Your glare sharpens, suspicious. “You are.”

Bakugou huffs, but he doesn’t argue. He should be more focused on the ridiculous fact that your quirk just bloomed an entire cherry blossom tree in his presence.

But right now, he’s distracted. Very distracted by the look on your face.

Your cheeks are puffed out slightly, your glittery pink lips pursed in a pout that’s way too damn distracting. And those eyes—big, wide, pleading, blink up at him like you’re silently begging for mercy.

Damn it.

He almost wants to keep pushing you just to see how much further he can take it. The way you react—it’s too easy, too entertaining. But there’s something about this whole situation, about you, that makes him feel… off. Like his balance is shifting beneath his feet, and he hates it.

You two have barely talked before this—what, a handful of conversations? A week of knowing each other at most? And yet somehow, you’ve already got him feeling weird.

This has gotta end.

Without warning, Bakugou steps forward, cutting through the water until he’s right in front of you, just within reach. His presence looms, heat radiating off his skin despite the cool night air.

Your breath stutters.

His hand lifts slightly, and for one wild second, your brain short-circuits. Is he going to—?

But instead, his knuckles brush the bottom of your cup, nudging it lightly.

“You gonna sit here all night or what?” His voice is rough, casual, but there’s something else beneath it—something unreadable. “Bonfire’s startin’ soon.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out at first. You swallow, clearing your throat, scrambling to get a grip. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer, like he’s making sure you actually heard him, before he turns away.

The water ripples in his wake as he wades back toward the shore, hands stuffed in his pockets like nothing even happened.

You finally exhale, shoulders sagging, the tension unraveling from your body.

The night air feels warmer now. Softer.

With one last glance at the lake, you set your drink aside and push yourself up.

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After that borderline confusing and mortifying interaction, you’re left with a choice the moment you step out of the water.

Option one: Stay. Sit on a rough block of wood, eat a damn roasted marshmallow, and painfully maneuver your way through awkward small talk with your classmates.

Option two: Leave. Retreat back to your bedroom, put on some mind-numbing reality TV, and rot in bed after a long, refreshing shower.

The second option sounds incredibly tempting. You can already imagine the warm spray of water against your skin, the fresh scent of your favorite body wash, the way your comforter would swallow you whole as you melted into your mattress.

Plus, you've packed your favorite Dior pj's!

And you’re going to do it! You swear you are—but then you catch Bakugou’s sharp gaze flicking back at you over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but the subtle glance alone is enough to pin you in place, a silent, unspoken question hanging in the air.

Still here?

Damn it.

With an internal sigh, you resign yourself to option one. The night is almost over anyway.

That’s how you end up here, seated on a weathered log, chin resting against your manicured hand, staring blankly into the fire while Denki animatedly recounts some story about a trip to the mall a few months ago.

The others laugh, voices rising and falling around you, but you only catch pieces of it—bits of inside jokes, exaggerated retellings, the occasional snort from Sero that sets off another round of chuckles.

Your focus drifts.

Above, the sky is a vast stretch of inky darkness, dotted with a scatter of stars. You tilt your chin up slightly, eyes tracing their soft glimmer, losing yourself in the quiet vastness of it. The fire crackles, the warm glow licking up into the night, sending embers drifting into the air like fireflies.

It’s warm right here, close to the flames—but the heat only reaches so far, and beyond it, the night is settling in deep.

You shift on the log, arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver runs down your spine.

The flimsy cover-up you’d thrown on after the lake does little against the creeping chill, and you curse yourself for not grabbing a sweater like the other girls had. You remember seeing them duck back inside, giggling and chattering as they pulled on oversized hoodies and sweatshirts over their damp swimsuits, but you had been… distracted.

Or more accurately—Bakugou had been a distraction.

Your gaze flickers toward him briefly, though he’s focused on something else, watching the fire maybe, or just lost in thought.

Either way, he’s not paying attention to you. Good! You're not sure you could handle much else of him today.

Because truthfully, you feel a little ridiculous. The day had started off simple enough, but now you’re stuck in this strange in-between space—part of the group, yet somehow still lingering on the edges.

Ochako is talking with the others, easily swept into the rhythm of their conversation, and you wonder if you should try to do the same.

The idea of forcing yourself to be social makes your stomach twist, but sitting here, curled in on yourself, cold and silent, doesn’t feel much better.

You exhale softly, watching the way your breath barely fogs in the cool air. The warmth of the day has long since faded, leaving behind nothing but goosebumps on your skin and the distant hum of voices around you.

And for what feels like the millionth time today, you’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself.

Then, out of nowhere, a weight drops into your lap.

You blink down at it—a hoodie, deep burgundy, clean, thick and slightly worn, the sleeves spilling over your thighs. The fabric is still warm, carrying the lingering heat of the person who had been wearing it just moments ago.

You glance up, and lo and behold—Bakugou.

He’s standing in front of you, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, shoulders set in that familiar rigid way, like he’s already bracing for whatever dumb thing you might say in response.

But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t demand a thank you, doesn’t even really look at you—just waits, expectantly, for you to do something.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you actually understand what he means without him having to say a word. And yet, you hesitate.

“Bakugou…” You frown, holding the hoodie up against your torso. It’s massive. “But won’t you be cold?”

He scoffs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Sad eyes, you’re givin’ me that look again. Just put on the damn jacket—I’m fine.”

Your brows lift, but your fingers are already slipping into the sleeves. The warmth of the fabric engulfs you immediately, the scent of caramel and something distinctly him wrapping around you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Well… thanks then,” you murmur shyly, hugging the hoodie closer. The oversized fit swallows you whole, the hem brushing against the middle of your thighs, covering the last remnants of your damp bikini. A sigh of relief escapes your lips.

“There you go saving me again,” you admit sheepishly, eyes glued to the ground. If you look at him now—if you meet those sharp, unreadable crimson eyes—you might just combust on the spot.

Bakugou side-eyes you, his lips twitching like he’s holding something back. The firelight flickers across his face, casting golden shadows along the sharp cut of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long.

Behind you, your classmates' laughter rises over the crackling flames—marshmallows catching fire, old stories being passed around, Sero's obnoxious cackling piercing through the night.

They’re absorbed in their own little world, too wrapped up in the warmth of the moment to notice the quiet exchange happening just outside the fire’s glow.

Thank god.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, looking away, like he’s already over this. “Well, somebody’s gotta do it,” he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. Then, with a snort, “What’s U.A. gonna do when they lose their precious Y/N to the Tokyo subway system?”

You groan, ducking your head as heat rushes to your cheeks. Of course he had to bring that up.

“It was my first time! Give me a break” you grumble under your breath, arms curling around yourself, pulling his hoodie tighter.

Bakugou huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, even though he just stands there beside you with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slouched, weight shifted like he might stay for a little while longer—

For the first time tonight, the cold doesn’t feel quite as bad.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

[cheolieji]

Air exchange pt 1 - lee jihoon

wc: 1,020

pairing: stranger!jihoon x gn!reader

fluff

summary: You sat next to a stranger on a long flight and thought nothing of it. Then you fell asleep on his shoulder, and something subtle shifted between you.

Scarlet's Masterlist

guide for requesting on my page [17] pls check before sending an ask

(inspired by my random thought )

A/N: pls tell me yall want a part 2 cause im alrd planning on it

you’re already exhausted by the time you board the plane. Your hoodie’s half on, your bag’s a mess, and the idea of sitting for twenty hours makes you want to scream. You find your seat near the back, window side, and settle in with a sigh.

Please let whoever’s next to me be quiet, you think.

Your wish is granted. Maybe a little too well.

He shows up late. Hoodie up, earphones in, zero eye contact. He slides into the seat next to you like he’s done this a thousand times and has absolutely no interest in making small talk. You glance over once. He doesn’t glance back.

He doesn’t say hi. Doesn’t ask for your name. Just plugs in and disappears into whatever world is playing on his screen. You let him. You’re not really in the mood either.

The flight takes off. Hours crawl by. A movie, a sad excuse for a meal, a bathroom line that takes forever. You steal a few side glances when you think he’s not looking. He’s got that kind of face — sharp, closed off, like he was born with walls up. His earbuds stay in. His arms are crossed. He doesn’t shift much, doesn’t fidget. Just sits there, silent and still, like time doesn’t matter to him.

You drop your pen during customs form hell. It rolls between the seats.

“Sorry,” you mutter, reaching down.

He notices before you do and picks it up. His fingers brush yours as he hands it over.

“Here,” he says. Voice low, a little rough, not unkind.

You look at him. He’s still not making full eye contact. Like he’s being careful not to open too many doors.

“Thanks.”

He nods and puts his earbuds back in. And that’s that.

Around hour ten, your body finally gives out. You doze off a little, wake up again when someone walks by, then fall asleep for real. You shift sideways in your sleep.

And you don’t realize until later that you’ve leaned onto his shoulder.

You wake up groggy and confused. The lights are dim, everything’s quiet, and you’re…warm. Too warm. You blink and slowly realize your cheek is pressed against something solid and soft.

You lift your head a little.

Shoulder.

His shoulder.

Your whole body goes stiff.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, already pulling away.

He moves for the first time in hours, just slightly. One of his hands comes up like he’s going to stop you, but he doesn’t touch you. His fingers twitch, then drop.

“It’s fine,” he says, quiet.

You stare at him. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re fine,” he says again, a little firmer. “You looked tired.”

You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or if he genuinely doesn’t care. His face is hard to read. Calm, maybe. Tired, definitely.

You hesitate. “I usually don’t do that. I swear.”

“Didn’t think you did.” There’s a ghost of something like a smile, but it disappears too fast to be sure.

You think that’s the end of it. But a few minutes later, he tilts his head. Not much. Just a little, toward you.

“If you want to go back to sleep,” he says without looking, “I don’t mind.”

You’re not sure what to do with that.

But you end up leaning again.

This time, it doesn’t feel like a mistake.

You wake up later when the cabin lights come on. Breakfast is being passed out. Your head’s still near his shoulder. He doesn’t move until you do.

You sit up slowly. Stretch. Avoid eye contact.

“I drooled on you, didn’t I.”

He finally looks over. “No. But even if you did, I was asleep too.”

You raise a brow. “You don’t strike me as someone who sleeps on planes.”

“I don’t,” he says. “Usually.”

You blink at him. “So… I’m the exception?”

He shrugs, and there’s something almost playful there now. Almost. “Guess so.”

You both eat in silence for a bit. The air between you feels different. Lighter.

He offers you his orange juice without asking.

You take it.

“Jihoon,” he says out of nowhere, still watching the seat in front of him.

You glance at him. “What?”

“My name,” he says. “Figured you should know.”

You smile a little, finally.

“Thanks for letting me drool on you, Jihoon.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.

“Don’t make it weird.”

Too late.

[paucubarsisimp]

Can you write for Phil Foden or Lando Norris (or Oscar Piastri), in fact the one you prefer. An imagine in which the reader is insecure about her small chest? If you're not comfortable with that, there's no problem (I'm specifying just in case, I'm not asking for anything smut)

Thank you if you do it and Good Luck for your exam 💕

more than enough

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: in which you’re insecure about your small chest

warnings: none

tagged: @madwolia, @barcapix, @universefcb, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

a/n: js a reminder that you’re all gorgeous 💋

the hotel room in monaco was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant noise of the city winding down for the night. oscar had barely put down his phone, but you were lost in your thoughts, the exhaustion from the race weekend settling into your bones. it was supposed to be a time to unwind, yet you couldn’t shake the discomfort crawling under your skin.

you sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped up in a blanket, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. your mind kept drifting back to the same nagging thought that had been consuming you for days—the one that always seemed to appear when you were around oscar’s world. your chest.

you had picked out a cute outfit earlier that day, one that usually made you feel confident, but now, in the dimly lit hotel room, you just felt small. flat. compared to the women you’d seen today—confident, busty, with curves that seemed to demand attention. you couldn’t help but feel invisible, like you were fading into the background.

oscar looked up from his phone, his gaze flickering to you with a soft frown. he had that look on his face—the one that meant he’d noticed you’d gone quiet, withdrawn, something bothering you. he set his phone down with a sigh, his eyes never leaving yours.

“hey,” he said, his voice low and soothing, “what’s going on? you’ve been zoning out all evening.”

you didn’t want to talk about it. not now, not here. you wanted to bury it deep and forget. but oscar’s quiet concern always had a way of drawing things out of you, no matter how hard you tried to hold them in. you shrugged, not meeting his eyes, your fingers nervously tugging at the fabric of your shirt again.

“it’s nothing,” you muttered, but your voice gave you away. “just… i don’t know. i feel stupid. insecure. i guess i’m being ridiculous.”

oscar was immediately at your side, his body close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. he gently placed his hand on your knee, leaning in slightly so you couldn’t avoid him.

“you’re not stupid,” he said softly, his voice rich with understanding. “but you’re not fooling me. something’s on your mind, love.”

you hesitated for a moment before you finally whispered, “it’s my chest. it’s… too small. i don’t know. i just feel… less.”

there was a beat of silence, and you could feel oscar’s gaze on you, the way he processed your words. his hand slid from your knee to your own, fingers brushing over your skin, offering comfort, but also a kind of heat that made your heart race for a different reason.

“what do you mean, ‘less’?” oscar asked, his voice low, but not unkind. “you’re anything but that. your body… it’s perfect.”

you shook your head, biting your lip in frustration, still not meeting his eyes. “but i’m not like the other women you’re around. they have… curves, you know? the kind of bodies that turn heads. i don’t even fill out a top properly.”

oscar’s hand moved up to your chin, gently tilting your face to meet his gaze. his thumb brushed over your lip softly, the touch sending a spark through you that only made the nerves grow worse.

“i can’t believe you think that,” he said, his voice quiet, yet full of something deeper—something raw. “it’s not about curves, sweetheart. it’s about you. i’ve never looked at anyone else the way i look at you.”

you felt a flush creep up your neck, but oscar didn’t let you look away. he took a breath, leaning in just a little closer, his face inches from yours. “you think i don’t notice how you make my heart race when you walk into a room?” he murmured, his lips just brushing against yours as he spoke. “or how i can’t stop thinking about the way you laugh… or the way your skin feels when i touch you?”

you swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. you hadn’t expected this, the heat building between you so suddenly, and it made the insecurities feel… different. not gone, but quieter. less significant.

“but i’m nothing like—”

oscar cut you off with a kiss, soft and gentle at first, his lips brushing over yours with a tenderness that made you forget everything else. when he pulled back, his eyes were dark, filled with something unspoken, something that made you feel desired in a way you hadn’t expected.

“sweetheart,” he breathed, his hand slipping to your waist, pulling you closer. “i’m not talking about anyone else. you are what makes me crazy. the way you feel in my arms, the way you look when you’re thinking too hard about something. i don’t care about anything else. it’s you who’s always on my mind.”

you were close now, close enough to feel the warmth of his body against yours, his hand sliding up your back to the nape of your neck. your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in again, his lips grazing your ear, his voice a whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

“your chest is perfect, just like the rest of you,” oscar murmured, his voice thick with desire. “i don’t need anything more. i just need you. you’ve always been more than enough.”

you shivered as his words sank in, the way his lips brushed your skin, sending a heat through you that made you forget all about the insecurities you’d been carrying around. oscar pulled back slightly, looking at you with a smirk that was both reassuring and a little daring.

“you’re so damn beautiful, it drives me insane,” he said, his hand resting on your side, his fingers grazing lightly against your skin. “and i’m gonna make sure you know it, every single day.”

the intensity of his gaze, the heat between you, made you feel a little dizzy, but in a way that felt right. it was like the self-doubt had melted away under his touch, his words, the way he made you feel like the most important person in the world.

“oscar…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “are you sure? i mean… i’m really not—”

he silenced you with another kiss, this one deeper, more urgent, as if he couldn’t wait another second to prove how much he meant it. his hands roamed down your back, pulling you closer, making you feel seen. wanted.

“i’m sure,” he said, his lips still against yours, his voice rough with sincerity. “you’re more than enough. always have been.”

the moment hung between you, both of you breathless, and you couldn’t help but believe him. maybe you didn’t need to be like everyone else. maybe, just maybe, this—you—was enough.

[onlybeeewrites]

A Soothing Touch

Request: If youre taking requests can you write something where the reader is having very bad period cramps all day especially when the reader and Finnick are trying to sleep at night so Finnick rubs her stomach and it feels really good and helps until she falls asleep

Pairing: Finnick Oskar x Fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: period cramps! That’s it, soft!Finnick <3

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You woke before the first call bell.

It was the familiar pain that greeted you—dull, insistent, and already pulsing through your lower abdomen like a warning siren. You lay still, hoping the cramps might pass if you didn’t move, but they only seemed to grow stronger the longer you waited.

With a soft groan, you pushed yourself upright. Every movement felt like dragging your body through quicksand. Your limbs were heavy, sore, and your stomach… gods, your stomach felt like it was being wrung out by invisible fists.

You winced as you bent over to pull on your grey jumpsuit, the fabric stiff and unkind against your already sensitive skin. Even the smallest things—like tugging the zipper up—made you want to cry out. But you didn’t. You never did.

The scent of the kitchens already lingered in the hallway as you stepped outside your compartment—boiled starch, onions, and vaguely metallic meat rations.

It wasn’t exactly comforting, but it was familiar. You pressed a hand to your abdomen, steadying yourself. There was no stopping now. Not in District 13. Not with your shift starting soon.

And besides… they were just cramps. You could push through them. You always had.

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The kitchen was already alive when you arrived. The clatter of knives, the hiss of steam, orders being tossed across the room like hot potatoes. It was intense, claustrophobic even, but it was yours. A place where you could keep your hands moving and your mind quiet.

You’d always found some small comfort in kitchens—even back in District 4, when your hands were smaller and your burdens different. 

Cooking, baking, prepping meals for your family or neighbors had always been your way of giving love when you had nothing else. Something about feeding people made the world feel a little softer, a little safer.

But today? Today your body was screaming.

You were assigned to prep for the evening meal: root vegetables, stews thickened with lentils, and trays of hard, rationed bread. 

You peeled potatoes until your fingers felt raw. Chopped carrots until your vision blurred. Stirred massive vats of soup as steam coated your face.

Every few minutes, the pain in your stomach would seize you again—sharp and relentless. You’d pause, pressing a palm to your belly, trying to breathe through it.

“You alright?” Tessa, a tall, sharp-eyed girl from District 10, glanced over from the other end of the table.

“Fine,” you managed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just a bad day. I’ll live.”

She eyed you for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push. Just nodded once and returned to slicing onions.

You soldiered on. You always did.

By the time your shift ended, you were practically dragging your feet through the hallway. Every step sent a pulse of pain through your abdomen.

Your back ached from lifting trays and stirring pots, your legs wobbled beneath you, and your stomach was still twisting in knots.

Your hands trembled as you pressed the door panel to your quarters. The metal hissed open, and you stumbled inside.

Finnick was already there, lounging on the bed with his back against the wall, shirt discarded and pants hanging low on his hips. His sea-green eyes immediately lifted to you, softening as they landed on your face.

“You’re late,” he said gently, sitting up straighter. “Everything okay?”

“Long shift,” you replied, barely able to stand. “Just… feeling awful today.”

He was on his feet in seconds, meeting you halfway. “What kind of awful?” he asked, his tone dipping into that soft, protective place he only used with you.

You shook your head, wincing as another cramp rolled through you. “Period. Bad one. Started this morning and just kept getting worse.”

“Sweetheart…” His voice was nothing but tenderness now. He reached for your arm, guiding you toward the bed. “You should’ve come back earlier.”

“I couldn’t,” you murmured. “They needed help. Besides, they’re just cramps. I can handle it.”

Finnick frowned as you slowly changed into your loose cotton pajamas, trying to hide the way you had to bite your lip to stay quiet when you bent over.

“You don’t have to handle everything alone, you know,” he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. “If you weren’t feeling well, you could’ve left. They would have understand.”

“I’m not trying to be a hero,” you whispered. “It’s just… that’s how life works here. You push through.” You insist.

He took your hands, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “That might be how they do it. But when you come home to me, I’m not letting you push through alone.”

You finally met his gaze, your throat tightening with the weight of the day. The pain. The pressure. The exhaustion. “It’s just… really bad,” you whispered, curling your knees to your chest.

Finnick gently moved closer. “Can I touch you?” he asked, his hand hovering near your waist. “Might help. I’ll be gentle, promise.”

You nodded wordlessly.

He slid his hand across your stomach, fingers warm and patient, rubbing slow circles through the fabric. You let out a soft breath, your body slowly starting to unclench under his touch.

“Better?” he asked after a moment.

“A little,” you whispered. “You’re warm. That helps.”

“You should’ve stayed in bed this morning,” he murmured. “I would’ve brought you breakfast. Stolen something sweet from the ration cart. Whatever you needed.”

You laughed quietly, but it ended in a wince. “I didn’t think they’d get this bad. Usually I can handle them. Today was… different.”

Finnick scooted behind you, guiding you to lie down with him, his chest pressed against your back, his arm wrapped around your middle. His hand continued its gentle motion, never stopping.

“You’re not caving for being in pain,” he whispered against your shoulder, “besides it’s not your fault. I know they can get bad..”

You turned your head slightly. “I feel pathetic,”

“You’re anything but,” he said firmly, but amusement lacing his tone. “You’re on your period, my love. You worked all day while your body was waging war on you. That’s not pathetic. Give yourself some credit,”

You were silent for a beat, letting those words settle in your chest. His touch, his warmth, his voice—it all worked together like some kind of magic.

“You always know how to make me feel better,” you said softly.

“I’m glad,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “That’s kind of my job, isn’t it?”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Your job?”

“Mmm. Official Finnick Odair role: Protector of You. Keeper of Comfy Pajamas. Slayer of Cramps.”

“Slayer of cramps, huh?” you echoed, smiling into the pillow.

“Well,” he teased, nuzzling the back of your neck, “I like to think I’m pretty heroic.”

“You kind of are,” you admitted sleepily. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

His fingers slowed, his touch becoming softer, almost like a lullaby. Your body, still sore and aching, finally began to let go of the tension it had clung to all day. His presence wrapped around you like a blanket, and for the first time in hours, you could breathe.

Finnick’s voice was the last thing you heard before sleep crept in.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Sleep. I’m right here.”

And you did. Wrapped in warmth and saltwater softness, the pain faded into the background. Not gone, but not winning either.

Because with him, everything was better.

Finnick was gentle and steady and completely yours.

[sugarpasteltmnt]

"Acolyte" Michelangelo has joined the group chat

THANK U AGAIN TO @anixolt for accepting this commission request!!! Looks like 'Dino'-tello has unexpected company 👀

Hailing from his own alternate reality, "Acolyte" Mikey & his brothers had a very different childhood than the mad Dogs we all know and love. Set in a feudal Japan-esque world, Mikey and his brothers were raised under the Ninja Tribunal in a remote temple as future protectors of humanity...

However, fate was unkind to the lackadaisical Michelangelo who doubted the legend of the foretold 'Krang Invasion'-- let alone it happening much sooner than anticipated.

[link to twitter thread]

More lore below! (but heed the content warnings!!)

CW: implied family death, implied child abuse

Inspired by the 2003 "Acolyte" Arc, Mikey and his brothers were given to the Ninja Tribunal as children to raise as warriors on account of being gifted with mystic abilities; something very rare and unheard of in their universe.

Mikey was the most mystically inclined of his brothers. Because of this, he doesn't take training very seriously. He's also the oldest brother in his universe, but takes that role very, very seriously.

Splinter was their "father"... however, he was the one who gave them to the Ninja Tribunal. And they weren't exactly 'lenient' with children. Not when their purpose was to become warriors to defend the world. Because of this, Mikey hates Splinter. With every fiber in his body.

But despite their upbringing, Mikey was fun and kind.

But homie cannot cook to save his life

However, due to events during the invasion... Mikey is the last man standing. On the whole planet.

And he Snaps

With elevated powers and grief, Mikey traverses the heavens to hunt Krang and their settlements.

He uses dried Krang blood as his mask, having lost his in battle (and Krang blood dries orange when oxidized)

He dots his yellow spots with a drop of Krang blood to mirror Krang eyes. Using mystic abilities, the faux eyes can move and "look" around too. Terrifying.

However, due to classic Hamato shenanigans— 'Acolyte' Mikey may find himself drawn to a very, very different place than a Krang settlement 👀👀👀

[gor3-hound]

ETERNITY — SUGURU GETO

a/n: hiii !! first geto fic on this account maybe?? shocker bcs i love him so bad... commission for @nexysworld !! love her so bad, pls check her out <3

cw: 18+ content, father-daughter incest, possessive behaviour, sheltered reader, mildly dubious consent, yandere-ish themes, very teeny tiny amount of religious themes, too. p in v, creampie, brief choking

Suguru Geto is not a man you would consider to be unkind, but there was very little affection within his actions. Your father was often patient with you - strict, but forgiving. When he touched you, it was always cold and clinical; always born out of necessity. 

Your mother had always been irrelevant to him, nothing more than a means to an end. That just so happened to be you, his daughter, and one and only heir. He had sensed the cursed energy within you the moment you were born, and he took you in to raise you on his own. He had no need for that woman anymore - she had served her purpose and bestowed him with a gift greater than any other.

Your life was free of troubles. Perhaps you did not get to play with the village children, but that was alright. You were allowed to play with the others within the compound. His followers were always kind to you, if not somewhat on edge in your presence. You did not understand it then, but now you realised the apprehension they held did not stem from your actions, but from fear of upsetting your father. You had been sheltered, yes, but you found you did not crave much else. You were well-fed, well looked after… It was hard to feel caged when the compound was all you had known.

Your youthful naivety could not last forever, and Suguru knew this. He dreaded your growth with each passing year, waiting for the questions that would come. He could keep you from the outside world, but he could not keep the outside world from you. He had many visitors, people looking to be cured of their ailments. He could keep you from watching these interactions, but he could see the way your curious eyes shone as you watched them come and go.

You asked him about the outside world only once, shortly after he had ‘cured’ a young child. You had been excited to see someone closer to your age, but his words quickly shut you down.

“The child has been plagued with demons,” He had told you simply, eyes cold as he glanced down at you. “I can keep them at bay, yes. But it would not do you well to socialise with others such as him. They will corrupt you.”

It had not convinced you entirely, and he could see that in your eyes. With a small frown, he kneeled before you, tilting his head to the side. “I extracted one from him. Would you like to see it?”

You nodded, as expected. Hopeful curiosity glimmering in your eyes, the idea of being shown something new and dangerous exciting to you. He sighs, allowing the cursed spirit he had absorbed free. He had no worry - he knew it was safely under his control. But he could see the fear in your eyes as it stalked towards you, the way you instinctively backed up, glancing at your father for protection.

“Daddy-” 

He lets its maw open inches from your body, the acrid stench of its breath filling the room as it goes to attack. He watches, unblinking, as you tremble and beg for his help, tears streaming down your face. Even still, he waits a few more seconds before driving his cursed tool through the spirit, exorcising it with ease.

“Do you see now why I cannot let you outside? It is far too dangerous for you.” You nod, clinging to him as you sob into the fabric of his robes. He lets you, holding you close to him. “I do not wish to see you hurt. Promise me you won’t ask to leave the compound again.”

“I promise.”

The years pass, and you do not dare mention leaving the compound again. Even as you reach adulthood, the memory of the demon you faced as a child keeps you biting back any requests of more freedom.

Something in your father has changed - you’re not sure what it is, but it leaves you with a lingering sense of unease whenever you cross his path. His gaze has become sharper, watching your every movement like he’s waiting for something. What it is, you’re unsure of. Your pulse is constantly racing when you’re forced to be in his proximity for more than a few seconds, but your brain can’t register what it is about him that’s making you so tense.

Your realisation comes to you slowly. You’ve seen that look before in some of them men that have wandered around the compound. Not directed at you, but you’re able to identify it all the same. 

Hunger.

Your realisation doesn’t come with any changes in his actions, but you can see in the subtle curve of his lips that he knows. He can sense that you act differently around him. Geto is an intelligent man, and it’s clear he planned for you to find out from the start. Months pass by without any changes in routine. You rarely see your father unless he deems it necessary to address you, his followers often being the ones responsible for ensuring you attend meals and stay within the compound.

Then, suddenly, he comes to you.

It’s the middle of the night when he wakes you with a gentle caress on your cheek. It’s one of the most affectionate touches he’s given you since you were a little girl, fingertips gently brushing over your cheekbones. When you meet his eyes, your heart stops beating for a moment.

His gaze is anything but kind. His jaw is set tight, and in that moment you realised how naive you were to think ignoring his glances would be enough to keep him at bay. Seeing your eyes widen with fear is enough for a sharp grin to spread across his face, his hand shifting to grasp at your hair, tilting your head back harshly.

“You're looking so beautiful these days, sweetheart.” Suguru murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, free hand grasping at your hip. “I thought about resisting my impulses, but it’s as if you were made to tempt me. Pure, kind, beautiful. Forbidden fruit is always said to be the sweetest, but I had never thought temptation would come to me in the form of my very own daughter.”

You stiffen under him, hands pushing at his chest. He tuts disapprovingly, his fingers slackening as he pulls his hand from your hair. Suguru slides his fingers down the side of your neck, delicately wrapping around your throat before he squeezes.

“Shh, calm down. It’s only me, bunny.” He purrs the nickname, one he has not used in years in an attempt to soften you, It works, momentarily, but your muscles still feel fraught with tension. He leans down, fingers tightening around your neck in a warning as he presses his lips to yours.

His mouth is hot against yours as he kisses you. He keeps the pace leisurely, almost teasing as he presses his chapped lips against yours, tongue coaxing your lips open. The hand on your hip slides under your shirt in a way that makes you jolt, immediately breaking the kiss.

“Daddy, wait-”

Suguru scoffs, raising a brow at you. “That makes you sound so childish. You're a big girl now, aren't you?”

“D-Dad?” You correct, feeling yourself squirm under his harsh gaze.

“Better.” He breathes out, lowering his head once more to lathe his tongue along the flesh of your throat, licking hotly at your quickening pulse beneath the skin. The hand on your bare slides higher, dragging the fabric of your shirt up until he’s cupping your breast, thumb brushing gently over your nipple. You gasp softly at the pleasure it brings, something that brings an unfamiliar heat searing through your veins as wetness pools in the gusset of your panties.

He grins at the gasp he draws from your lips, teeth gently nipping at your skin as he releases your throat. His thumb flicks over your nipple once more as he drags his other hand down, moving to feel the wetness seeping through your underwear.

“I promised I’d protect you, bunny, and I meant it.” He murmurs, tracing a finger down the middle of the dampened fabric. He feels you tremble as he brushes over your clit, so he presses down gently to hear you whimper.

“I meant it,” he repeats, “I won’t hurt you, I just want you to feel good. You trust me, don’t you?

It’s a question, but it sounds more like a threat. You felt that familiar sense of unease in the back of your mind. You hadn’t experienced these things before, but you weren’t clueless.  You knew this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be touching you like this, but as his thumb replaces his finger so he could gently rub circles into your clit, your apprehension melts.

“Good girl.” He praises, words smooth and sweet. His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and he slowly slides them down your legs. His eyes hone in on your cunt, slick with arousal that he caused. “Look at you.”

Shame burns your face as you close your thighs, attempting to hide yourself from his view. Suguru grabs your knees, prying your thighs away before sliding his body between them to keep them from closing again.

“What’s wrong? You said you trusted me, bunny. Why are you trying to hide from me?”

“I wasn’t, I… I’m sorry.” You reply, gaze dropping nervously. Your heart pounds almost painfully in your chest, feeling more ashamed for disappointing your father.

“I don’t want to punish you, darling. Don’t you want to be good for me?” He says quietly, his tone almost condescending. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he sinks a finger into your tight cunt, a groan rumbling his chest as he feels you squeezing the digit. “Such an innocent little thing. So tight and wet.”

Suguru pulls back briefly only to remove his clothing, settling between your legs once more. His thumb presses down the base of his cock, allowing himself to align the tip with your dripping hole. “This may hurt at first, but you need to relax for me. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, voice soft and nervous. Suguru presses forward, sliding himself inch by inch inside of your tight heat until his cock is pressed to your cervix. Tears prick at your eyes from the sudden burn, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as he pauses to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Shh, shh. You’ll be alright, bunny. Your body was made for me, after all. It will feel good soon.” He promises, gently rocking his hips. “My sweet girl. I’d never have another have you like this. No, it has to be me. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”

He tries to be gentle with you - he has no intention to hurt his sweet little girl - but the way you squeeze around him feels divine. He’s sure he’s never felt anything so perfect before, feeling as though he’s being driven mad as your slick walls cling to his cock, sucking him greedily every time he starts to pull out. Suguru is not one to lose control, but he can’t find it within himself to hold back as he starts to fuck into you with earnest, pounding you into the mattress until you’re crying out with every thrust.

His hand falls to rest on your pelvis, thumb brushing your clit in a way that makes you mewl, arching into his touch. He grunts as you squeeze tighter around his cock, his hips stuttering as he rubs circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips buck, and he slams into you harder, bruising your cervix each time his hips snap forward. You’re so tight and warm and perfect around him, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to last inside of you.

He watches through hooded, lust-glazed eyes as your body coils up tight, the prettiest moans and whimpers spilling from your hips as you come undone around his length. His teeth clench at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, the grip on your hip turning bruising as he fucks into you erratically, chasing his own release. His hips stutter before he stills, spilling deep inside of you with a low groan. His eyes squeeze shut, hand falling away from your clit to grip the sheets as he floods you with his cum.

“There we go, bunny.” He murmurs softly as he returns to himself, slowly pulling out of you. He sighs shakily, brushing some hair from your face. “You’re mine forever, darling. I’m never letting you stray from my side.” 

His tone alone assures you his words are a promise.

[da-janela-lateral]

Was discussing about Undertale soul traits with my friend and had the idea of classifying MP100 characters based on them. So.

Mob = Determination. Although I have classified him as Kindness before, Determination fits his entire self a lot since he has a) an intense desire to become a better person and b) a lifelong dream of getting to be himself freely one day. Determination is also a rather "neutral" trait, which reinforces how Mob is capable of doing both good and bad and only tends to do good due to the positive influence of his companions. Besides, he insists on following his morals no matter the situation, no matter how hard it may be.

Reigen = Kindness. LISTEN. This man has the complete ability to trick his clients into getting him more and more money, but he chooses to actually solve their problems. He claims his job is to dispell people's fears. Despite being stingy, he spent loads of money multiple times just to make the kids happy. He gave Mob a positive lesson even though he believed Mob was just an overimaginative kid. He made himself look bad for the sake of keeping Tome safe. This is a rude and selfish man but oh boy he is KIND.

Dimple = Patience. Most interpretations of the Patience trait agree on "waiting for the right oportunity to strike", which fits Dimple's strategy! He was a pretty tough spirit before, but instead of getting humans' attention by pure force, he researched about the most efficient ways to gain it with the least bloodshed and went through with the religion idea even though it would be painfully slow. He also waited a long time to gain Mob's confidence so he could eventually use his powers/body to achieve this goal.

Ritsu = Perseverance. Ritsu has long accepted that developing psychic powers is an extremely hard endeavor, even more trying to get to his brother's level. Despite that, Ritsu continues his attempts in nearly ridiculous levels of dedication (and lack of self-preservation, by following Mitsuura into a so-called lab he had never seen) even when following his goals would be weird, difficult or even unkind. Perseverance is a also a very similar trait to Determination, with the difference that its in-game description implies a more cautious, circunstance-based "trial and error" approach. Mob tried to be better because he wanted to be. Ritsu tried to get powers because he needed them.

Teruki = Bravery. This trait is commonly accepted as "rushing fists-first through all obstacles", which fits the method that he had to employ in order to survive Claw. Teruki is a rather aggressive person. He wasn't afraid of stabilishing his dominance over those he claimed to be commoners, and even after abandoning his "protagonist of the world" view, he doesn't care a bit about using violence to get what he needs. Teruki also pushed down his fears multiple times while facing much more powerful enemies. He is often in terrifying situations! Even so, he tries to be brave and smart enough to solve his problem as quick as possible.

Shou = Justice. Even though Shou was raised under Toichiro's influence to become a valuable member of Claw, he did everything on his power to stop his dad because he felt responsible for it. Sure, the organization was strong, and he would have plenty advantages by supporting them, but Shou didn't find it fair! He recognizes the evil Claw was doing to the world! He was alone and weak and unsure yet he faced his own powerhungry father because he didn't agree with such a horrible plan!

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request headcanons for Remy, Logan, and Wade would think about his female s/o walking in on him instead please?

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Remy is used to being smooth and in control, but when you accidentally walk in on him changing, you catch him off guard—though only for a moment. He’s shirtless, mid-way through pulling on a fresh pair of pants, and when he sees you, his signature smirk immediately appears. He’s not shy about his body, so he quickly recovers and turns on the charm.

“Cher, if you wanted a private show, all you had to do was ask,” he teases, his voice dripping with that Cajun accent that never fails to make your heart flutter. He’d probably even strike a pose or flex just a bit to make you blush. He loves how flustered you get, and he’d be all too happy to take full advantage of the situation, maybe even pulling you closer for a playful kiss. To Remy, this is just another opportunity to flirt and remind you of the undeniable chemistry between you two.

Logan (Wolverine)

Logan is all about privacy, and he’s not the kind of guy who’s comfortable with vulnerability. When you accidentally walk in on him changing, he’s immediately tense, freezing mid-motion with his shirt half-off or his jeans unbuttoned. He’s got scars all over his body, reminders of his long and brutal past, and he’s not exactly eager to show them off. He’d grunt something like, “Darlin’, a little privacy would be nice,” his voice gruff but not unkind.

You’d see the flicker of embarrassment in his eyes, which is rare for someone as tough as Logan, but it’s there. If you stay in the room, he might turn his back to you, finishing getting dressed quickly. He wouldn’t make a big deal out of it, but you might catch a glimpse of his softer side when he looks at you afterward, a little sheepish. Deep down, he wouldn’t mind the fact that you saw him—especially if he knows you accept every part of him, scars and all.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Wade would be the most unpredictable and chaotic in this situation. The moment you walk in on him changing, all bets are off. He’s likely to make a huge, dramatic scene out of it, gasping loudly and covering himself up with whatever’s closest—be it a shirt, pants, or even a stuffed unicorn he just happens to have lying around.

“Whoa, babe, you can’t handle this level of sexy without proper warning!” he’d exclaim, completely hamming it up. He’d probably start posing like he’s in some sort of superhero pin-up calendar, making you laugh whether you want to or not. Wade has no shame, and he loves making you smile, so he’d turn the situation into a joke faster than you can blink.

But underneath all the humor, there might be a flash of insecurity, especially if you see some of his scars or his appearance without the mask. He’d cover it up with jokes, of course, but if you look at him with nothing but love in your eyes, it would mean the world to him. Wade might even drop the act for a second, giving you a soft, genuine smile before going right back to his antics.