#like I was making everything harder than it needed to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shokocide · 1 day ago

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POWER PLAY - GOJO SATORU

summary. Gojo Satoru’s used to getting everything he wants—until his company hires you, the shy assistant who’s all glitter, gloss and charm. But the more he tries to stay professional, the harder it gets�� in more ways than one.

word count. 9.3k (not 10k wow)

content. mdni fem!bimbo! reader, ceo! gojo, gojo crashing out for multiple reasons, down bad simp gojo, heavy tension, teasing, jealousy, pet names, smut, multiple scenes, fingering, oral (m and f rec.), p in v, office sex, desk sex, praise, creampie, slight overstim, aftercare

author's note. inspired by this by my leslover @deathofacupid i'm sorry this took so long imy hardcore my angel

The wine’s expensive, but not because he’s trying to impress her.

He just likes the taste.

The restaurant is sleek, candlelit, with soft jazz humming in the background. It’s the kind of place that whispers luxury, not screams it — understated elegance, a lot like his watch. Or his suit. Or the car he pulled up in.

The girl across from him is… nice. Pretty in that polished, social-media kind of way. Knows which fork to use, laughs at the right moments, has a thousand-watt smile and legs he noticed the second she slid into the booth.

For the first time in a long time, Gojo thinks: maybe.

Maybe this could go somewhere.

She sips her wine, sets the glass down, and leans in just enough for the scent of vanilla to drift his way. Her voice is smooth, easy. “So, what’s it like, running an empire?”

He smiles, a little self-deprecating. “Exhausting.”

She laughs. “Bet it pays well, though.”

A harmless joke, maybe. But something cold flickers at the edge of his ribs.

He hums, brushing it off.

But then she tilts her head, lashes fluttering just so. “I mean… you must be, like, what? Eight figures? Nine?”

There it is.

His smile doesn’t falter, but something in his chest withers.

He takes a slow sip of his wine. Lets the silence stretch for a beat too long.

Eight figures. Nine.

She’s still looking at him, expectant. Playful.

He should be used to this by now. Hell, he is. But it still stings. Every damn time.

“I stopped counting,” he says lightly, setting his glass down.

She laughs again, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “That’s such a rich guy answer.”

And just like that, the candlelight feels too warm, the wine too bitter. The space between them grows miles wide.

Gojo leans back in his seat, fingers drumming lightly on the tablecloth. He already knows there won’t be a second date. No nightcap. No exchanged texts or cheeky goodnights.

And when he finally slips into the backseat of his car an hour later, staring blankly out the tinted window at the blur of city lights, a single thought loops in his head like a broken record:

Maybe this just isn’t in the cards for me.

Not the connection. Not the late-night calls. Not the stupid domestic shit he secretly wants — tangled legs on a couch, coffee in chipped mugs, someone who sees him.

He huffs a soft laugh, more bitter than amused.

Gojo Satoru has everything.

And somehow, he feels like he has nothing.

“What did you just say?”

Gojo doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The sheer weight behind the words is enough to make the room still.

Nanami adjusts his glasses, like he hasn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb in the middle of Gojo’s morning.

“The quarterly reports,” he repeats flatly, “were emailed to Zenin Holdings.”

A pause.

“And the Osaka merger documents,” he adds. “Along with internal notes referring to their CEO as—” he consults his tablet, “—‘an off-brand Ken doll.’”

Gojo presses a hand to his temple, like he’s physically holding in the migraine.

“Who?” he grits out.

Nanami doesn’t blink. “The new recruit.”

Another silence stretches.

Then Gojo lowers his hand. “Bring them to my office.”

Nanami nods once, and without another word, leaves the room.

You’re not sure why you were summoned.

You clutch your little pastel folder to your chest like it might protect you, knees squeezed together as you sit—perch, really—on the plush chair outside the glass doors of the executive office.

The receptionist gave you a look. You’re not sure what kind of look. It felt kind of judge-y. Or maybe pitying?

Then, the doors open.

“You can go in,” Nanami says, voice flat as ever.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Oh! Okay. Um. Am I—” You pause, then smile nervously. “Am I in trouble?”

He doesn’t answer.

That’s fine. Totally fine.

You step into the office with careful little steps, the kind of walk that says please don’t fire me before I finish paying off my student loans.

Inside, the man behind the desk looks up.

White hair. Stupidly pretty face. Cerulean eyes that flick over you like you’re a puzzle that somehow assembled itself upside-down.

He’s not smiling.

You don’t meet his eyes—not for more than a second—just dip your head as you approach his desk.

“I—um. I was told to… to report here?”

Your voice is so quiet he almost misses it.

He leans back in his chair, elbow on the armrest, thumb brushing his jaw. “You’re the new recruit?”

You nod once, too fast. “Y-Yes. I mean, I think so. That’s what Mr. Nanami said, at least. He said—um, he said this is my new position now.”

You step fully into the office, holding a pink folder like it might bite you. You’re wearing a cream sweater that looks two sizes too soft and a plaid skirt that’s about four inches too short for HR standards. Your ID badge is flipped backward. Your heels click awkwardly against the tile.

And he suddenly understands how people end up doing very, very stupid things for women.

You stand there, shifting your weight from one heel to the other, clutching your folder like it’s a lifeline.

“And you are…?”

You whisper your name so faintly he has to repeat it aloud just to be sure.

“Right.” He pauses. “Well, take a seat.”

You hesitate for a second too long before perching on the very edge of the chair across from him—back stiff, eyes focused on the edge of his desk.

Gojo leans back in his chair. He’s quiet for a beat too long.

Then “So,” he says, tone deceptively mild. “Tell me. Why did Zenin Holdings get our quarterly reports?”

You freeze.

“I—I didn’t know they weren’t supposed to?” you offer, blinking up at him.

He blinks back. Slowly.

You chew your lip in thought. “They were in the CC list… and I thought that meant they were part of the, um… quarterly club?”

“The what.”

“The quarterly club?” you repeat, voice smaller now. “Y’know. People who… get quarter stuff.”

You trail off, wilting under the weight of his silence.

Gojo stares at you. Hard. Trying—trying—to remember that you are a human being. With feelings. With softness. With a little clip shaped like a bunny holding back your hair. His eye twitches.

“And the Osaka merger notes?” he asks slowly, enunciating each word like it might hurt.

Your expression brightens slightly, like you've just remembered something important. “Oh! Yeah, I added a couple of personal notes to that file! Like, color commentary. For context.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Color commentary.”

He almost sighs. This is who HR sent? The one who forwarded classified financial statements to a competitor because their logo “looked kind of familiar”?

But then you shift slightly, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, and he catches a glimpse of that anxious expression. The way you bite the inside of your cheek. Like you're waiting to be yelled at. Like you already know you’ve messed up and can’t even figure out how to explain yourself.

And, god help him, something about that makes his chest ache.

Gojo closes his eyes briefly. He’s going to need to do breathing exercises. Maybe call Shoko and have her prescribe something illegal.

You smile again. It’s like watching sunlight struggle through a stormcloud. “Was that bad?”

He exhales.

He should fire you. Realistically, that’s the correct response. A sane man would do it.

But when he opens his eyes, you're still standing there—wide-eyed, a little nervous, but so terribly, painfully earnest.

And his heart does that stupid little lurch again.

“No,” he mutters finally. “Not bad.”

You brighten instantly. “Oh, yay! I was worried—”

“But,” he cuts in, holding up a hand, “you’re going to be working directly under me from now on.”

Your brows lift. “Really? Oh my gosh, that sounds so fancy!”

“It’s not,” he lies smoothly.

He’s already planning which desk you’ll sit at in his office. Already making a mental note to have HR triple-check your email access. Already dreading what happens when you accidentally reply-all to a company-wide memo.

You give a delighted little bounce, clearly thrilled by the promotion.

Gojo’s not even mad anymore.

He’s confused. He’s concerned. He’s possibly having a stroke.

And he’s completely, utterly fucked.

It starts with the printer.

You stand in front of it for ten minutes straight, staring like it personally wronged you. Gojo passes by, slows, then stops entirely when he sees you poking the touchscreen with a single perfectly-manicured finger.

“…Need help?”

You turn, lip caught between your teeth. “I think it’s jammed.”

He crouches down, opens the tray, and immediately pulls out a crumpled sheet that’s very clearly been inserted upside down.

“Oh,” you murmur, eyes wide with awe. “You’re so smart.”

He straightens slowly. “Right.”

Then there’s the time he catches you on your way to send a very important file.

You wave at him, cheerful. “Hi, Mr. Gojo! I’m going to fax that thing you said.”

“Email,” he corrects gently, already bracing himself.

“Oh—right! Email. I meant that.”

(You did not.)

Still, when you do manage to send the right file—to the correct company this time—he gives you an exaggerated look of impressed approval.

“Nice job,” he says. “Look at you.”

You beam. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, completely serious. “You’re crushing it.”

He swears your cheeks actually flush. Like you’re the one who just got complimented for launching a satellite into orbit instead of… attaching a PDF.

Another time, he asks you to bring him a hard copy of the quarterly budget report.

You come back ten minutes later with a full-color printout of a Pinterest banana bread recipe.

You fidget when he just blinks down at the paper, eyes wide. “I, um… I might’ve labeled it wrong on my desktop.”

He hands it back. “Looks delicious.”

Despite everything—everything—he just can’t seem to get frustrated with you. Your voice is always soft when you speak to him, full of tentative politeness like you’re worried he might bite (he won’t—unless asked). You apologize earnestly for every tiny mistake, so genuinely mortified each time that he ends up reassuring you.

And when you do get something right—God help him—he reacts like you’ve cured polio.

“That’s perfect,” he tells you one afternoon, glancing at a neatly stapled stack of documents you’ve triple-checked for typos. “You nailed it.”

You blink up at him, mouth parted just a little. “…Really?”

“Mmhm. Proud of you.”

You go quiet. Blush furiously. Practically flee the room.

Gojo grins at the door after it clicks shut behind you.

He’s doomed.

Absolutely doomed.

“Do you need to stand there like that?” the exec snaps, arms crossed. “That machine isn’t rocket science.”

You blink, startled. “O-oh… I’m just— I’m trying to find the—um, the collate button?”

“It’s literally right there,” he scoffs, jabbing a finger at the screen. “God, how did you even get hired?”

You flinch like you’ve been struck. Eyes down, voice small. “I—I’m sorry…”

And that’s exactly when Gojo shows up.

You don’t even see him coming. One second the air is stiff with tension, the next it’s cut clean by the sound of his voice—smooth, pleasant, deceptively light:

“Everything okay over here?”

The exec stiffens. “Sir. I was just—”

“I saw,” Gojo says simply, stepping in beside you. He doesn’t even look at the guy—his gaze is already on you, sharp and assessing.

“You alright?”

You nod quickly. “Mhm. Sorry. I was just confused—”

“No need to apologize,” he says, almost too softly. “That’s what training is for.”

Then he finally looks up—at the exec—and there’s something in his eyes that wipes the smug off the latter’s face immediately.

“Unless,” he adds with a tilted smile, “you’re suggesting I made a mistake hiring her?”

Silence.

The exec stammers. “Of course not, sir. I—”

“Good,” Gojo says. “Then don’t talk to her like that again.”

The exec makes a quick, flustered exit. Gojo turns back to you, and his whole demeanor changes—softening.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

You nod again, a little stunned. “…I didn’t mean to make trouble.”

“You didn’t,” he assures you. “Some people just forget how to be decent.”

And then—because you’re fidgeting and biting your lip and looking far too much like you’re going to cry—he gently takes the stack of papers from your arms.

“C’mere,” he says. “I’ll help you.”

You trail after him, still pink in the cheeks, still utterly confused by the way his hand just barely grazes the small of your back as he guides you to his office.

(You don’t know it yet, but Gojo has already scheduled a little "chat" with HR.)

He checks his watch for the third time that morning.

9:47 AM.

You were supposed to be here by 9:00.

Gojo exhales, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair, irritation simmering just beneath his skin. Meetings have been pushed, calls delayed. He’s not even sure why he’s this impatient—he has other assistants, more capable ones at that. But none of them stumble into his office with sleepy eyes and whispered apologies like you do.

And like clockwork, the door swings open with a quiet creak.

You enter in a flurry—breathless, hair slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed with panic. The top two buttons of your blouse are undone, likely forgotten in the rush, and your skirt is just slightly askew. Your chest rises and falls in frantic rhythm, lips parted as you gasp, “I’m so, so sorry I’m late—”

Satoru turns in his chair, ready to scold. Ready to lecture you into next week.

But the words die in his throat.

His gaze drops.

The loose fabric of your blouse shifts with each heavy breath, revealing just enough skin to make his jaw tighten. The delicate slope of your collarbone, the curve of your breasts pressing faintly against the silk. One deep breath away from completely derailing his morning.

You don’t notice the way his posture stiffens. Or the way his grip on the armrest turns white-knuckled.

He stands slowly.

Silent.

You freeze when he starts walking toward you, every step measured. His voice, when it comes, is quieter than you expect. Lower.

“Why are you late?”

You blink up at him, confused by the shift in tone. The air around him feels… heavier somehow. You fidget, your voice soft, guilty. “I—I overslept. My alarm didn’t go off and then the train was late and I didn’t mean to—”

He stops in front of you, towering over you. Close enough that you can smell his cologne—warm, expensive, intoxicating.

You glance up nervously, throat bobbing.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper again, lips trembling in the tiniest pout. You’re not even aware of how you sound, how you look. Not aware of the storm building behind his gaze.

And that is the worst part.

Because you don’t know what you’re doing to him.

You never do.

Gojo inhales sharply, jaw clenched. He watches the way your fingers twist in the hem of your cardigan like you’re expecting to be punished.

But instead of snapping, instead of chastising you like he knows he should, he closes his eyes for a second, forcing down the heat licking at his spine.

“...Don’t let it happen again,” he says at last, voice hoarse.

You nod quickly—eager to please, still breathless, completely unaware that he’s already running through several very unprofessional thoughts involving those undone buttons and his desk.

He turns away before he can say something stupid. Or worse—do something worse.

“Go grab your coffee,” he mutters. “You’ll need it.”

Because he sure as hell does.

Gojo thinks he’s composed. Polished. Unshakeable. He built an empire from the ground up, commands boardrooms with a single glance, and has executives stuttering when they see his name on a meeting invite. And yet—you.

You waltz into his office in pink heels, with a notepad that’s more doodles than notes and a voice so breathy it makes his vision blur. You don’t even mean to drive him insane, he knows that. That’s the worst part. You’re just sweet. Oblivious. Soft in ways that make his dick ache.

Like today. You’re sitting on the edge of his desk, babbling on the phone about a nail appointment while absentmindedly reapplying your lip gloss—shiny, sticky, strawberry-scented. He watches the wand glide over your bottom lip like it's a slow-motion scene from a movie no one else gets to see. He’s staring. Unblinking. Dying.

And when you leave, heels clicking, skirt swaying, you forget the gloss. He doesn’t even hesitate. Just picks it up and rolls it between his fingers, stares at it. It smells like strawberries. You smell like strawberries. His head hits the back of his chair. He’s so fucked.

It happens again and again. You lean over his desk to show him your “cute calendar” for the month—full of glittery stickers and hearts—and your cleavage is right there. Right. There. He knocks his coffee into his lap and doesn’t even flinch. Just stares at you while it soaks through his slacks, wondering if this is how men go insane.

And then in the elevator. Five minutes. Just the two of you. You don’t even notice the silence thick with tension. You’re talking about your new lip liner. He’s clutching the railing behind him like it’s keeping him tethered to Earth. If you’d looked at him, you’d have seen the vein in his neck pulsing like a warning sign.

But nothing—nothing—compares to the time you shyly step into his office and whisper, “I finished typing the reports, sir.”

He doesn’t breathe for a full ten seconds. Just stares at you like you just moaned it instead of murmured it. Sir. Sir.

He shifts in his seat. Crosses his legs. Forces a smile. “Good,” he manages to say, voice tight.

You beam, oblivious. “Thank you, sir!”

He books a week off.

For “stress.”

His voice is calm. Measured. Smooth as silk over the phone speaker as he discusses quarterly projections with someone powerful on the other end. It should be just another meeting—another conversation where he dazzles and dominates, where the board eats out of the palm of his hand.

But you're sitting beside him. So it’s not just another meeting.

You’re perched on the edge of his long leather couch, notepad in hand, eyes wide and glossy with focus—or something like it. You’re wearing that tight little pastel skirt again, the one that always hikes up when you sit, riding dangerously high on your thighs. He’s not looking. He’s not. He can’t.

You chew on the tip of your pen. Take little notes in bubbly handwriting that looks more like diary scribbles than minutes. Your perfume curls around him like sugar—sweet and sticky and heavy.

He swallows thickly and forces his voice to stay even.

“Yes, I saw the numbers from Q1. I’m more concerned about the international—”

Your pen clatters to the ground.

You let out a tiny “Oops!” and bend down to retrieve it.

And he sees it.

The hem of your skirt lifts, slow and innocent. And beneath? A delicate peek of pink lace. Just a flash. Barely anything. But enough. Far too much.

His throat goes dry mid-sentence.

“—international… ah—i-interest projections,” he chokes, dragging a hand down his face like that’ll fix the heat flooding it. On the other end of the call, someone asks a question. He doesn’t hear it.

You sit back up like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just flash your lace panties in front of a man on the verge of damnation.

You turn to him with a soft, clueless smile. “Did you want me to jot that last part down, sir?”

He makes a sound. It's somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

“…Y-Yeah,” he rasps, gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles go white. “Write it down, sweetheart.”

He ends the call early. Tells them he has a migraine.

And when you leave, swaying your hips and humming under your breath, he sits there in silence. Staring at the door.

He needs a second. Maybe a sedative. Maybe a priest.

The next few days are… strange.

You don’t do anything differently. Not really. You still show up on time, still take notes in pink ink and heart your i’s. Still trail after him in those little skirts and heels that click sweetly on the marble floors. But now?

Now you catch him looking.

At first, you thought it was your imagination—just a trick of the lights in his big glass-walled office. But then there was that meeting where you leaned over to grab a file from across the table, and his pen slipped right out of his hand.

The way he stared at it on the floor for a solid five seconds before muttering, “I’ll grab it later,” like it had personally wronged him.

Or how his jaw flexes every time you call him “sir.”

And maybe, maybe you're not as airheaded as everyone thinks. Maybe you notice the way his breath stutters when you get a little too close. The way his fingers twitch when yours brush his as you hand him his coffee. The way he clears his throat, sharp and low, whenever you pout a little at the copier machine and ask, “Sir, can you help me? I think I broke it again…”

He’s unraveling. Quietly, pathetically. And now you know it.

So one afternoon, when it’s just you two in the office, you decide to test a theory. You're by his desk, sorting through a stack of documents, when your pen slips from your fingers. Again.

This time, you don't rush to pick it up. This time, you bend at the waist slowly, keeping your knees straight, skirt riding up with every inch.

You hear it—barely—a sharp inhale through his teeth. The creak of leather as he shifts in his chair.

And when you straighten up, all innocent, pen in hand and a small “Got it!” on your lips, you glance back at him.

His eyes are locked on his screen. His jaw is tense. His ears are red.

“Something wrong, sir?” you ask softly.

His hand flexes on the mouse. “No,” he says, too quickly. “Just… keep working.”

You turn back around, letting a little smile play on your lips as you resume sorting. And behind you, you swear you hear him exhale like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

The office is quiet. Still.

It’s late—past nine—and everyone’s gone home. The usual buzz of ringing phones and fast-clicking heels has faded into silence, replaced by the distant hum of the city through the tinted glass.

You zip your purse, your reflection faint in the darkened windows, and start toward the elevators when you pass by his office.

There's a light. A thin sliver glowing beneath the heavy door.

You pause. He usually leaves before you—always gone in a blur of cologne and tailored coats, muttering about dinner meetings or conference calls. But tonight?

You don’t even think to knock. You just twist the handle gently and step inside.

He’s on the couch. Jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie loosened. His head’s tipped back, long legs spread lazily, one arm resting across the back of the couch. But it’s his face that stops you—brows knit, lips parted slightly, tension carved into every sharp line of his expression.

“Sir?” you ask, voice soft.

His eyes snap open instantly.

He blinks once. Twice. Like he’s still anchoring himself to the present. Then he straightens slightly, clearing his throat. “You’re still here?” His voice is rough—raspy, like he hasn’t spoken in a while. Like maybe he’s been sitting there, alone in the dark, trying to exhale something that refuses to leave his chest.

“I was just leaving,” you say, stepping in hesitantly. “I saw the light. Thought something was wrong…”

His gaze drags over you, slow and unreadable. You’re still in your little work outfit—tight pencil skirt, soft pink cardigan buttoned just enough, gloss fading but still catching the light.

Something shifts behind his eyes. Not predatory, not quite. Just tired. Tightly wound. Like he's been holding his breath for days and didn't realize it until now.

You take another step in, voice gentler. “Are you okay?”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, low and humorless. “That’s a loaded question.”

You offer a tiny smile, unsure. “Can I… get you anything? Water?”

He leans back again, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “I’m alright. Just… stressed.”

You take a small step closer. Your heels click against the floor, the sound delicate and deliberate in the thick silence of his office. “Stressed?” you echo, like it’s a foreign concept. “Is it work stuff?”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s always work stuff.”

You hesitate. Then, softly—“I could help you.”

His head tilts just slightly. “Help me?”

“Mhm,” you nod, all sweet sincerity. “Like, if there’s something that’d make you feel better…” You give him a soft little shrug, voice light. “I’m good at taking direction. And I always try my best. Especially for you, sir.”

It cuts to silence.

Except it isn’t really silent—just muffled. Wet sounds echo low between your bodies, broken only by the soft catch of your breath and the rougher gasps he keeps trying—and failing—to hold in.

You’re on your knees in front of him.

The carpet’s rough under your skin, but you barely notice. All your attention is on him—on the way he looks half-wrecked, head tipped up like he’s praying for strength he doesn’t have.

His shirt’s half-open, wrinkled and clinging to his chest. His tie’s slung loose around his neck. His belt is unbuckled, slacks shoved just low enough to free his cock, flushed and heavy against your tongue. You’ve got one hand wrapped gently around the base, just to keep him steady, and the rest of him is disappearing into your mouth—slow and warm and dripping with spit.

He’s so hard it hurts. His thighs are tensed under your palms, twitching every time you suck just a little deeper, every time you swirl your tongue just right. His knuckles have gone white where he’s gripping the edge of the desk behind him, and the only reason he hasn’t fucked into your throat yet is because he’s too stunned to move.

One hand’s in your hair. Not tight—barely there, fingers trembling where they tangle in your strands. Like he’s scared to hold you too hard. Like he doesn’t trust himself not to snap.

Because you look up at him with those pretty, shiny eyes—sweet and obedient, mouth stretched around his cock like it’s nothing, like you were made to take it. Every time your lips slide down, you hum like it makes you happy. Like you’re just trying to make him feel good. Like you really think this is helping.

But it’s not just good. It’s fucking devastating.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out, voice thick and raw, eyes squeezing shut like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His hips twitch and he immediately pulls back, like he’s punishing himself for even thinking about pushing deeper. “You—god, you have no idea what you’re doing to me…”

You pull back with a soft, wet pop. Your lips are swollen and slick, gloss long gone, spit clinging to your chin. And still—you look up at him like you don’t understand why he’s shaking. Why his voice is breaking. Why his jaw’s so tight.

You blink slowly, lashes fluttering. Your voice comes out light. “But… I thought I was helping, sir.”

And that’s it. That’s the moment Gojo knows he’s fucked.

Because you’re too sweet, too soft, too good—kneeling on the floor with your mouth still open like you're waiting for permission to keep going. And he doesn’t want to just ruin you.

He wants to worship you while he does it.

His whole body goes still.

Like that last sentence knocked the breath out of him. Like the sight of you—so sweet, so sincere, kneeling between his spread legs with spit on your lips—is too much.

Gojo’s chest heaves, one hand still barely resting in your hair. The other drapes uselessly over the back of the couch, knuckles twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He looks down at you. Really looks—at your flushed cheeks, your glassy eyes, the gloss long gone from your lips. You’re still stroking him, slow and gentle, mouth parted just enough like you’re ready to take him again the second he says so.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, voice rough.

You tilt your head, blinking up at him. “I was just trying to make you feel better…”

And that’s what shatters him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand tightening slightly in your hair. Not rough. Just… grounded. Like he needs you now—needs the feel of you to keep from falling apart.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he admits, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “This exact thing. You. On your knees. Pretty little mouth full of me. Acting like you don’t even realize what it’s doing to me.”

When he opens his eyes again, they’re glassy. Wild.

“I think about it all the time, you know? In meetings. At dinner. Late at night in my apartment—fucking my fist wishing it was you.”

Your breath hitches at that. He notices.

And when he strokes your cheek—soft, reverent, thumb brushing over your spit-slick lower lip—you don’t flinch. You just lean into it, eyes wide, mouth still open a little.

“God, baby…” he whispers. “Look at you. You don’t even realize how fucking perfect you are, do you?”

Then, low and commanding, “C’mon. Open up again for me.”

You do. Instantly. No hesitation.

He groans, head falling back against the couch cushion, hips lifting just slightly as you take him back into your mouth—slow, deliberate, deeper this time.

He’s panting now. One hand in your hair, the other gripping the couch so hard the leather creaks under his fingers.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice broken. “Just like that. Let me use your mouth, sweetheart. Let me fuckin’—” He cuts himself off with a ragged gasp when your tongue flicks along the underside of his cock just right.

He tries not to buck his hips.

Tries not to grab your head.

Tries not to lose it completely.

But it’s no use. Not when you look so soft. So obedient. So eager to take everything he gives you.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows this isn’t just a one-time thing. Not after this. He’s never letting you go.

You can feel it in the way his thighs tense under your palms. In how his hand tightens just a little too much in your hair, like he’s trying not to pull you down—trying to be good.

But his self-control’s shot to hell.

You hollow your cheeks and ease forward just an inch more. His head snaps back. A long, broken moan spills out of him, and his other hand—still clinging to the edge of the couch—moves to cradle your cheek, palm shaking.

“Wait—baby, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You look up at him. Eyes wide. Unfazed. Lips stretched around him, spit running down your chin. You hum softly—sweet and encouraging, like you want it.

That’s what does it.

Gojo groans deep in his chest, hips twitching once before he locks them still, his hand trembling where it cups your face. He comes hard, spilling onto your tongue, body shuddering like he’s been pulled out of orbit. And you don’t move—don’t flinch—just swallow quietly, blinking up at him like you’ve never done anything so natural in your life.

He’s panting when it’s over. Gasping like he ran a mile, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. His hand slips from your hair and drags gently down the side of your neck, tender and dazed.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You’re unreal.”

You pull back slowly, mouth slick, lips swollen and pink. There's still a bit of him clinging to your bottom lip—and when you wipe it away with your thumb and suck it off absentmindedly, he makes a soft, wrecked sound in the back of his throat.

“Did I help?” you ask softly, like you’re not already his religion.

And suddenly he’s moving.

In one smooth, needy motion, Gojo leans forward, grabs you under your arms, and pulls you right into his lap. The whole shift is effortless—like you weigh nothing, like you belong there. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs, your hands instinctively resting on his chest.

He’s still breathing hard. Hair messy, tie hanging askew. But his hands are steady now, warm as they cup your hips and hold you close. His head rests against your shoulder for a second, like he just needs to feel you.

“Too well,” he murmurs. “You helped too fucking well.”

One hand lifts to cup the side of your face again. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, gaze softening like he’s trying to memorize everything—your flushed skin, your shiny lips, the way you’re still straddling him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re so good for me,” he says. Quiet. Honest.

You smile, just barely. “I like being good for you.”

And it clicks for him then. That he’s completely gone. That he’d do anything to keep you like this—sweet, soft, his.

“Let me take care of you now,” he murmurs, leaning in. “You were perfect.”

His mouth brushes your jaw, your cheek, your lips—soft, reverent kisses. Nothing rushed. Just quiet, lingering gratitude, like he’s trying to say everything he doesn’t have words for yet.

He holds you there, warm in his lap, and for once in his life, Gojo Satoru feels like he has nothing else to run to.

It starts small.

A glance that lingers too long. The way his eyes flick down to your mouth whenever you talk. The way his voice goes soft—low and fond—when he calls you into his office now.

“Got a minute, sweetheart?”

He always says it like it’s nothing. Like his heart isn’t skipping a beat every time you look up at him with wide eyes.

But then there’s the night he catches you frowning at the copier.

Your arms are crossed, bottom lip caught between your teeth, standing in front of the machine like it just insulted your entire bloodline.

He rounds the corner, sees the blinking error light, and immediately slows his steps.

“Need help?” he asks, lips twitching.

You huff. “It keeps saying ‘paper jam,’ but there’s no paper. I looked!”

Gojo steps in without hesitation, one hand brushing your back as he leans close—so close—to peer into the machine with you.

“Let me help you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice warm.

You freeze a little when he says it like that. Soft. Patient. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to come untangle your messes.

He opens the side panel, reaches in, and—sure enough—pulls out a crumpled little piece of paper stuck way in the back. You blink.

“Oh.”

He grins, glancing down at you. “You’re cute when you try to problem-solve.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can say a word, he leans down and kisses you. Soft, slow, sure. Right there in the hallway, lights buzzing faintly overhead.

It doesn’t last long—just a breathless few seconds—but when he pulls back, he’s smiling like you hung the stars.

“See? You do your best,” he says. “And I take care of the rest.”

Another day, another meeting.

You're seated beside him, nervously flipping through a stack of documents. The printouts don’t make much sense—some budget chart you barely understand—but you try to follow along, nodding like you get it.

Gojo notices. Of course he does.

He leans over, voice low near your ear. “That page’s upside down, baby.”

You blink down. Oh. It is.

Your face goes hot instantly. But he just grins, tugs it gently from your hands, and flips it around before setting it neatly back on the table.

Then he grabs your pen and starts jotting little notes in the margins to help. Bullet points. Simplified terms. Asterisks with arrows pointing to key numbers.

You stare at the page.

He nudges your knee under the table, gentle. “I got you.”

Sometimes he kisses you without warning. When you bring him coffee. When you trip over your words in a meeting and look at him like you’re going to cry. When you smile too hard at something stupid and he just can’t help himself.

There’s a moment in the break room—mid-laugh, holding a napkin in your hand—when he walks in, sees you like that, and kisses you so suddenly the coffee cup almost falls from your fingers.

He just pulls you in. Mouth hot and insistent. One hand curling around your waist like he needs you closer.

You gasp against him, wide-eyed, but don’t pull away. You never do.

When he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against yours, breathing hard. Eyes glassy.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Couldn’t help it.”

But he’s not sorry. Not even a little.

And when he walks you out at the end of the night—past the quiet desks, the dark windows—he always makes sure your purse is zipped, your coat is buttoned, your phone’s in your hand.

“You good?” he asks, gentle. “Need me to call you a car?”

“I’m okay,” you say every time, small and sweet.

But he still walks you to the elevator, still touches your back as the doors close, still watches them until the numbers tick down and you're out of sight.

Because Gojo Satoru is in love. So in love.

And it’s getting harder every day to pretend he’s not.

You hand him the report in silence, nervous fingers lingering just a second too long on the paper. He takes it, brows lifted—expecting to have to fix something, as usual.

But he doesn’t say a word. Just scans the first page, then the second.

Then stillness.

He looks up, something unreadable in his eyes. “You did this?”

You nod slowly. “I… think I got it right.”

He flips back to the beginning. Reads again. His lips part, and he exhales a quiet laugh—disbelieving.

“Yeah. You did.” A pause. “You got everything right.”

Your breath catches.

He pushes back from his desk, legs spreading slightly in his chair, eyes still locked on you. “C’mere.”

You walk around the desk slowly. His chair rolls back a little, his hands landing on your hips to guide you between his legs. His voice is low, almost amused.

“You’ve been trying to get this right for weeks.”

“I know,” you say quietly, blinking up at him.

“You’ve been trying so hard,” he murmurs, thumb brushing under your chin. “And I’ve been so fucking patient.”

Before you can ask what that means, he pulls you in, kissing you soft and deep, tongue sliding into your mouth with slow intent. It’s not rushed. It’s not demanding. It’s like he’s savoring you.

Then, a whisper against your lips, “Up on the desk, sweetheart.”

You hesitate. His hands lift you easily, setting you on the polished edge, your skirt already sliding up as he nudges your knees apart.

You breathe his name, quiet. He smiles, eyes flicking to your thighs, then back to your face.

“You always try so hard for me,” he murmurs, fingers brushing up your bare leg. “I should’ve done this sooner.”

He leans in and kisses your inner thigh. Just once. Then again, higher this time, warm breath brushing close. You’re already squirming when his fingers hook into your underwear, dragging it down slow.

His hands hold your thighs open, firm but not rough. And when he leans in and finally licks—flat and slow, from bottom to top—you gasp.

He hums against you, like you taste better than he imagined.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your clit as he speaks. “Wearing that little skirt. Acting all innocent.”

His tongue moves again—firmer now, more focused, mouth wet and hot, tongue dragging circles around your clit until your back’s arching off the desk.

One of his hands drifts to your stomach, holding you down gently while he keeps going.

He doesn’t stop. Just sucks your clit slow and deep, then flicks it with the tip of his tongue until your thighs clamp around his shoulders.

“Oh my god—sir—”

He groans at the sound of your voice, fingers digging just slightly into your skin. He licks deeper, messier now, tongue dipping into you before dragging back up, mouth slick with you.

You grip his hair, eyes fluttering. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he groans when you do it—low and hungry, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“You taste like heaven,” he murmurs, voice muffled against you.

Every time your hips jerk, he steadies you with a quiet, “Shh, I got you.”

And when you finally come—quiet but shaking, breath punched out of your lungs—he holds you still and keeps licking until your thighs are trembling from the aftershocks.

Only then does he pull back, mouth shiny, pupils blown.

When you finally go still, he stays there a beat longer. Just breathing against your skin. Then he leans up, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at you.

No smirk. No smug comment.

Just “You did good.”

Then a pause, before he adds, softer—

“So good I might keep you here for a while.”

The conference room is all glass and polish, afternoon sunlight spilling over the sleek table, casting reflections on every chrome edge. You’re seated near the far end, soft blouse tucked neatly into your skirt, lips glossed, notebook open—trying to look like you understand the graphs being passed around.

You’re perched between two other departments. People you don’t usually work with.

That’s when one of them—a guy from Finance, tall, tan, and way too smug—leans toward you with a charming little grin.

“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” he says low, like this meeting is a cocktail hour. “You new?”

You glance up, a little startled. “Oh—kinda. I’ve been here a couple months…”

He looks you up and down, eyes lingering a second too long. “They must’ve been keeping you hidden.”

You laugh nervously. Just a tiny sound. Then glance across the table.

Gojo’s already watching you.

Expression unreadable. Elbow propped on the armrest, long fingers brushing his lips, like he’s bored but you know better. His other hand is clenched in his lap, the silver of his ring glinting as it curls tighter.

He says nothing.

Just tracks the way that guy keeps leaning closer. The way his shoulder nearly brushes yours. The way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You work directly under Gojo?” the guy asks, lips quirking.

“Mhm,” you nod, keeping your tone light. “Just admin stuff.”

“Admin,” he echoes with a smirk. “You sure don’t look like admin.”

Gojo’s head tilts, slowly. “Something you’d like to say about my assistant?” His voice is calm. Light.

But something sharp lives underneath it.

The guy laughs, brushing it off. “Just saying, sir. You’ve got an eye for talent.”

A few people chuckle under their breath.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking back to your notes, burning with embarrassment.

Gojo doesn’t laugh.

He just smiles. That small, dangerous kind of smile. “Mm. That I do.”

The meeting moves on—but he doesn’t.

You can feel the weight of his stare for the rest of it. Every time you fidget, every time you speak up with that soft, hesitant voice of yours, his eyes flick to you like he’s trying to memorize the sound.

It’s late afternoon when your desk phone rings.

You jump a little. The office is quiet now—most people wrapping up their day, the halls thinning out.

You pick it up. “H-Hello?”

“Come to my office.”

That’s all he says. No tone. No explanation. Just that low, clipped command—and then the line clicks dead.

Your heart stutters.

You smooth your skirt nervously, touch up your gloss with shaking fingers, then knock on his office door.

No answer.

So you step inside.

The room’s dim, lit only by the golden wash of the setting sun through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Gojo’s at his desk, sprawled back in his leather chair.

Jacket tossed aside, sleeves rolled. His tie’s hanging loose around his neck, top buttons undone. Hair a little messy like he’s run his hands through it too many times.

He looks you over slowly. Not speaking. Just dragging his gaze down your body and back up again, the tension crawling up your spine with every second of silence.

You shift, swallowing. “You… asked for me, sir?”

A slow smirk touches his lips.

“Mm. I did.”

He doesn’t invite you to sit.

He just watches you stand there—nervous and fidgety, wringing your hands in front of his desk.

“I wanted to ask,” he says lazily, “how that meeting went for you.”

You blink. “It was… okay?”

“‘Okay’,” he echoes, still smirking. “That guy from Finance seemed real interested in you.”

Your stomach flips.

“Oh, um—he was just being friendly—”

Gojo hums. Stands up.

You freeze as he rounds the desk, walking toward you slowly. Unhurried. Like he already knows you won’t run.

“He called you pretty,” he says, voice softer now. “Right in front of me.”

You look down. “I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t flirt back or anything—”

“I know you didn’t, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching you at last.

His fingers find your chin, tilting it up gently.

“I saw you. Saw how good you were. All polite and quiet. Just letting him talk like that.”

You nod, lips parted, breath catching.

His thumb strokes along your jaw.

You barely have time to ask what this is about before he crowds in, gently guiding you backward until your hips bump the edge of his desk. He doesn’t push—he never has to. Just waits, hands resting on your waist, thumbs stroking small circles until you sit for him.

The silence stretches as he steps between your legs. He’s still for a moment, eyes drifting down your body—slow and thoughtful, like he’s mentally tracing every place he’s already touched.

“Didn’t like that,” he says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

His hands slide up your thighs. “The way he looked at you.”

You swallow. “I didn’t flirt with him or anything, I swear—”

“I know,” he says simply.

His thumbs reach the edge of your skirt, bunching the fabric higher. The room’s quiet except for the rustle of clothes and the faint hum of the city outside the glass.

“You were good,” he murmurs. “You always are.”

You don’t know what to say. Your heart’s racing. You’re too aware of the warmth of his palms against your skin.

Then he sinks to his knees.

Your breath catches.

“Sir—”

He looks up at you. Calm. Steady. “Just let me, angel.”

You nod.

He leans in, pressing a kiss just above your knee. Then another, higher. His hands slide further up, coaxing your legs open—thumbs stroking the soft skin of your inner thighs like he’s in no rush. Like he’s savoring it.

You try not to squirm.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmurs.

He hooks his fingers under your panties and drags them down slow. No fanfare. No teasing smirk. Just quiet focus. When he presses his mouth to you, it’s unhurried. He licks into you like he’s tasting you for the first time—soft, deliberate strokes of his tongue that have your breath stuttering.

You grip the edge of the desk. He hums softly when you twitch under him.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs. “How long have you been like this?”

You shake your head, too breathless to answer.

His thumb strokes your thigh while he eats you out like it’s something to be taken seriously—like he’s tuning the rest of the world out just for this. Just for you.

Every now and then, he pauses. Kisses the inside of your thigh. Lets you breathe.

“Say it.”

You blink, dazed. “Say…?”

“You know what I want.”

Your mouth parts. “I’m yours.”

He groans softly, going right back in—tongue slow, fingers digging into your thighs to hold you open.

“Again.”

You moan, hips jerking. “I’m yours, Gojo—fuck—only yours—”

“Yeah,” he mutters against you, voice low and wrecked. “That’s right.”

He doesn’t stop. Not even when you start trembling, thighs shaking around his head. He keeps working you through it—tongue steady, hands warm, mouth dragging out every pulse of it until you're gasping his name, half-crying into the sleeve of your blouse.

When he finally pulls back, his chin is slick and his breath is shallow.

You're already wet—he drags his fingers through it once, slow and deliberate, before circling your clit with maddening patience. You try to keep quiet, but the sounds come anyway—tiny, breathy, embarrassing things.

He slips one finger inside, then another. It’s not rushed—it’s focused. Careful. Testing what you can take.

His free hand wraps around the back of your thigh, pulling you a little closer to the edge. His fingers work you open slowly, curling just right, his thumb brushing up top in quiet, steady strokes.

“You can take it,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You grip the edge of the desk, gasping when he shifts just slightly and hits something deeper.

“There,” he says, like he’s memorizing it. “Right there, huh?”

You nod quickly, eyes fluttering, hips starting to roll with him.

“Yeah… that’s it. Just like that.” He watches you the whole time—so attentive, so fucking into it—like he’s trying to catch every twitch of your mouth, every time your lashes flutter.

“Go ahead,” he whispers. “I want to feel you.”

You come quiet, but it shakes through you all the same—hips jerking, thighs trembling, mouth falling open around a sound you didn’t mean to make. His fingers don’t stop. He fucks you through it—just enough pressure, just enough praise, dragging it out until you're oversensitive and shaking.

When he finally pulls his hand away, he brings it to his mouth, licking his fingers like it’s nothing.

You blink at him, dazed. “Gojo—”

He stands, reaches out, and drags you up to your feet with zero effort.

“We’re not done yet,” he murmurs, already turning you gently around.

And then he presses you forward over the desk—his hand on your back, firm but not rough, guiding you down. You feel the heat of him behind you, his belt already unfastening.

His belt slides open with a quiet snick, slow and deliberate, like he’s giving you time to brace.

But you don’t. Can’t. You’re still bent over his desk, legs trembling from the second orgasm he pulled out of you like it was nothing.

Behind you, you hear the soft zzzp of his zipper, the rustle of fabric as he lowers just enough to free himself. You start to shift—maybe to stand, maybe to turn—but his palm finds the small of your back again, holding you down gently.

“Stay,” he murmurs.

You freeze.

“‘M not done with you yet.”

You gasp when you feel the blunt heat of him, hard and already dripping, sliding between your folds. He’s not pushing in—yet—but he’s there, heavy against you, teasing, dragging slow and wet between your folds while he stares down like he’s watching something sacred.

“Still so fucking warm,” he says under his breath. “You gonna let me fuck you now, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly, the word yes catching in your throat.

“Need you to say it,” he breathes, leaning forward, his chest brushing your back. “C’mon. Tell me.”

“I want you to,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Please—”

He groans, low and ragged, and then—finally—he pushes in.

You gasp—he’s big, thick and slow as he sinks in inch by inch. Your hands scramble for purchase on the desk, gripping the edge as he fills you.

“F-fuck,” he grits out, jaw clenched tight. “You feel—Jesus, precious, you’re perfect.”

He bottoms out with a slow roll of his hips, then stays there. Doesn’t move. Just breathes heavy against your back, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he says softly. “So long. Can’t even count how many fucking times I looked at you and wanted this.”

You whimper as he pulls out a little, then thrusts back in—just once, sharp and deep. You jolt against the desk, your cheek pressing to the cool wood.

He sets a pace then—not fast, not rough. Just deep. Controlled. Like every thrust is meant to remind you who you belong to. He fills you so fully, going deeper with every thrust as if trying to rid any thought from your brain that isn’t him.

The rhythm of it—his hips rolling into you, his hand tight on your waist, the obscene sound of skin meeting skin and your own slick soaking every movement—drives you closer and closer until you’re nearly crying with it.

“Satoru—please—” you pant, arching back against him, trying to take more.

“I know, precious. I know,” he murmurs, dragging his hand back to your hip so he can fuck you harder now, a little deeper. “You’re takin’ it so good.”

His thick head kisses your cervix with every relentless snap of his hips and one of his hands reaches down to dip between your thighs, rubbing tight, precise circles onto your clit.

“Mmm—sir,” you whine into the polished mahogany table, fingers digging into the edges of the fine wood. “I’m so—fuck—close!”

“Yeah? You’re gonna come for me, precious?”

Your orgasm builds sharp and fast and you nod, your toes curling, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut.

“Let go,” he whispers, voice low and frayed. “Wanna feel you come on my cock. Be good for me, yeah?”

You do—god, you do—legs shaking, breath catching, body going tight around him as the orgasm hits, rolling through you in waves.

Gojo swears under his breath, fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release. And then he groans deep and spills into you with a shudder.

He stays there for a moment, slumped over you, both of you catching your breath in the heavy silence of the office. Then, slowly, he pulls out, gentle as ever, hands skimming over your hips to smooth your skirt back down.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice still rough, a rasp of heat and concern wrapped in silk.

You nod, lips parted, lungs trying to catch up. His gaze doesn’t move from your face.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your shoulder then another just beneath your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he coaxes, hands tracing soothing lines down your sides. “You were perfect.”

He shifts, not pulling away from you, but adjusting and cradling you with too much care for a man who had you begging a few minutes ago. He gently flips you over onto your back, strong hands finding your hips and then your thighs, his thumbs kneading slow, soft circles into the sore muscle like he’s memorizing your skin.

A content sigh escapes you, and he smiles, eyes half-lidded and reverent.

“Good girl,” he says lowly, his forehead pressing to yours. “You did so good for me, angel. So fucking good.”

His mouth finds yours, and the kiss he gives you is nothing like the ones before. It’s not rushed, not wild. It’s deep, slow, and indulgent. Like he’s trying to pour all the unspoken things into it.

Your arms loop around his neck, and your fingers find his hair, tugging gently. He groans quietly against your lips, like the sound is meant just for you.

You sigh into his mouth, full, and wrecked in the best way.

He pulls back only slightly, nose brushing yours.

“Remind me to give you another bonus.”

author's note. yeah i got real lazy at the smut. i'm so done with writing smut i quit icl ts pmo gng

please do not steal, modify or translate my work.

taglist. @raendarkfaerie

1K notes · View notes

mama-qwerty · 1 day ago

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Okay, based solely on this teeny clip--because I have not and will not watch the live action movie--I'm gonna go devil's advocate here.

Live action Nani sounds like she's feeling bitter and grieving the loss of her parents. "We were left behind!" is something that speaks of sorrow and grief and a bitterness that the idea of Ohana, of family never leaving, was just a fairy tale. Now she's an orphan, she's got a little sister to take care of, and there are so many new things weighing her down that she didn't have before. She's the grown up, she's the only family Lilo has left, and things are so, so much harder than they were before. She looks stressed and upset and in a moment of "Why are you making things harder than they need to be??" when it comes to Lilo.

That said, I know this is just one tiny moment out of an entire movie that dismisses Ohana completely, alters who the main antagonist is, and changes Nani's focus from desperate to keep Lilo with her to completely okay with relinquishing her guardian rights and chucking her with someone else while she fucks off to college.

If this were any other movie, where a literal teenager (I believe Nani's something like 19?) becomes the guardian and parental figure to her also grieving and possibly neurodivergent little sister, I would give it a pass because, yes, there would very likely come a moment when she feels like she's fighting everything and her little sister is still holding onto some element of family that maybe isn't as realistic with how it's changed for them. Things sometimes get to be too much, and even the best of us can lose our shit and want others to stop being so damn difficult for just five damn minutes.

But this isn't any other movie.

This is Lilo and Stitch.

The movie that put "Ohana" on the map. That showed us a teenager who put her entire life on hold to make sure her little sister was taken care of. Who fought tooth and nail to make sure Lilo stayed with her. Who understood Lilo and never once, not a single time, told her to just 'be normal'. To 'live in the real world'.

She indulged Lilo's wants and needs and desires (getting her many, many photos developed), she met Lilo where the girl was ("Do we have a lobster door? No, we have a dog door."), she never let Lilo think that she was a burden to her (when Lilo asked if she and Stitch got Nani fired from the fake luau).

Nani loved Lilo. Nani would do anything to keep Lilo with her, where she was safe and happy and understood. Nani did everything and anything she could to take care of her sister, and never held it against her when Lilo was just being Lilo.

And when it looked like she was losing Lilo, she snapped and fought, and showed how much she cared for her.

The original Lilo and Stitch was perfection. I have no idea why the live action one was changed as it was, because it totally gutted what the movie was really about, and turned it into such a mess, it's offensive to the source material.

Source

Everything I learn about this remake just gets worse and worse. Who the fuck even green lit this

#lilo and stitch

3K notes · View notes

heartyluv · 1 day ago

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Note: Please —Click Here— to read part one if you’d like! I’m finally getting around to giving them a second part, omg. I hope I did it justice. Enjoy, my beautiful baes!

Warning: A woman picks a fight with you over Caleb (she’s not a real threat, dw), you get really possessive over him, car sex, use of ‘angel’ for a nickname

Word Count: 4K

Summary: A night out quickly takes a different turn.

Cowboy!Caleb/PossessiveReader

“C’mon, angel. You got it. Push your thighs in tighter,” Caleb instructs you. “Harder. Good, like that, like I taught you.”

You bite your lip, uncertainty coiling through you as you feel the back and forth motion in your hips. You’ve been at this for what is definitely far too long, but with Caleb, you didn’t mind the time it took. Choosing not to be patient wouldn’t get you anywhere, not when you wanted to succeed so badly.

“I—I’m gonna fall again!” you squeak, your nerves calming just barely when he holds you by your hip, silently reassuring you as Applebottom begins to strut along the even terrain of the rich green grass.

“She can sense your nervousness. That’s why she’s so ready to throw you off,” he chuckles, remaining beside you before patting on the large horse’s side with three quick loving taps. “Confidence is key, alright? Show her who’s the boss.”

“You’re her boss!” you yelp right before she trots in place, her hooves pounding into the ground unforgivingly with whine-like neighing to follow. The typically sweet animal did this every time she wanted to set her boundaries and make it known that she did not want whoever was on her back.

It was understandable. You’d only wanted Caleb on top of you, too.

It’s been a few days since you’ve been staying with him on his parents’ ranch, simply because you wanted to, you could, and he offered—no, he begged you to come over. With your dad being able to take on farm work again without needing help, you told lied to him about how you’d be staying over at a friend’s house for a much deserved break.

He still doesn’t know that the man he strictly told you to keep out, was in your room the morning they returned. You had to explain to Caleb later why you frantically pulled him from your bed and threw his sweatpants at him like you were a teenager sneaking a boy out.

You were able to get away with it because not only is the guest room thankfully on the second floor, but momma called your phone and said they needed you both to come down and help haul their stuff and the hand-me-down farm clothes Grams surprisingly let them take, upstairs.

That was about a month ago and a complete win in your book, despite the near heart attack at first. And now, after the time it took for you to have this privacy, you’ve been delightfully basking in the presence of your beloved cowboy.

Since Caleb’s workaholic mother and father tended to be so busy with other business ventures, they were often out of town a lot and this week was one of those instances you both were more than willing to take advantage of.

It was safe to say that you two have been going at it like you were making up for lost time. From sex in his room, to the shower, and even with you bent over the kitchen counter that you ended up scrubbing with bleach because you felt awful about it post orgasm, Caleb has had you folded up in too many ways to count.

He even asked you to be his girlfriend, to which you declined.

Yes, he had your heart, he’s had and will continue to have your body, but you needed to make sure this wasn’t some glorified honeymoon phase. Everything was and felt perfect right now because of how excited you two were to have each other entirely without fear, limitations, and uncertainty—well, nearly.

Your dad will come around when you tell him, you’re almost positive.

But, waiting a bit would prove to you if this feeling was something that would stick without the memories and nostalgia you share being the anchor to it all.

Besides, you two still have a lot to learn about one another all over again before you outwardly labeled this beauty of a man as your boyfriend. You weren’t lying when you said you loved him, but love didn’t mean you had to rush. It meant that you had all the time in the world together to figure it out.

Right?

He understood your concerns, even if he wished you would’ve told him yes and let him fuck you in celebration. Granted, he still did, but it was with determination—to show you that there was no such thing as a fluke when it came to how he felt about you.

Besides all the mushy feelings though, it’s been immensely freeing with him. Like he promised the morning after he made love to you for the first time, in the early evenings during your stay, he’s been helping you try to learn how to ride a horse before he took you out to buy you one of your own.

No matter how much you failed, it was the reality that Caleb was your helping hand to make your heart dance in your chest.

You whole heartedly blamed your pops for your inability, but it partially on you, too. He tried to teach you when you were younger, but gave up once he realized how scared you’d always be no matter what horse he put you on or in front of you. Despite how badly he wanted you to conquer, he refused to traumatize his little girl further after all the falls and near accidents.

And Caleb was far too young and inexperienced himself at the time to try, so you simply never got the hang of it. Not even when he took you a few times to ride on Applebottom before you left for college.

You were honestly too embarrassed to try asking for any assistance the older you became and add you leaving on top of that, horse riding just became a skill you accepted that you’d never acquire.

Caleb soothed the beautiful steed, rubbing down her nose and scratched below her chin to ease her defiance.

“You wanna call it a day?” he grinned up at you, the warm setting sun making his dewy skin glow.

“Please.”

“No worries, angel. Scoot back.”

You maneuver yourself on the leather saddle to make room for the burly man, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting against him once he sat and grabbed hold of the reigns before making sure you were ready to go. After your confirmation, with a click of his tongue and a soft “go ‘head girl”, you were riding towards his large home with the slightly humid wind wiping across your dampened skin.

“I’m taking you out tonight,” he said the closer you got.

“For what?”

“Because I want us to have some fun.”

“I think we have a lot of that here, don’t you think?”

He laughs, the sound warming you on the inside. “You’re not lyin’, but I wanna take you dancing. Remember the last time we went?”

You flip through your memories like they’re pages on a book, not having any recollection.

“Exactly,” he fills in your silence. “We weren’t even ten years old and couldn’t catch a beat for shit.”

“Caleb, that does not count!” Now you’re the one laughing, hard enough to make you snort a little bit.

“It definitely does!” Slowing Applebottom down until she completely stops beside the wrap around porch, he jumps down first to then help you. When you’re standing in front of him, he cups your face in his hands and kisses your lips tenderly.

“I’m gonna set her up for the night, we’ll head in, get cleaned up, and I want to be back down in my pickup in an hour. You got that, angel?”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, making him smirk.

“Go on.” He plucks his cowboy hat off his head and hits you playfully on the ass with it on your way up the steps. “Get the shower going for us.”

You and Caleb have been on the dance floor for nearly an hour straight, and you couldn’t get enough. With every twirl and the feeling of his body pressed against you alongside all the other patrons having their own fun, you wished this night could go on forever.

In your floral pink knee length summer dress, his strong hands were on your waist as he moved you side to side to the thumping beat that vibrated the walls and floors of the classical country dance bar that’s been around long before the both of you.

Your sexy cowboy was a sight to drool over in his sage green long sleeve shirt that he had pulled up on his strong forearms to display his tattoos and dark blue jeans that showed off some of his impressive physique.

You were wearing his black Cattleman that he slyly placed atop your head in the middle of you swaying to the music. You helplessly giggled when he kissed down your neck and took you by the hand to spin you around to face him.

His skin was slightly flushed and his soft hair a small whirlwind of a mess, but if you asked Caleb what he was feeling—complete and alive were the only adjectives that could come to mind.

Your arms went around his neck with a bright smile to accompany your eagerness as you sang along to the lyrics of a song your momma still loves to blast on her cleaning days. Caleb flashed you that boyish grin that made you swoon when you grew dramatic in your efforts to match the passion of the talented singer’s voice blasting through the speakers.

Then he started to sing with you and for a moment, there was no care in the world about how crazy you both sounded. This was where you had fun and you wouldn’t let anything prevent you from enjoying it to its fullest potential.

That was your intention until a woman walked up to you both as the upbeat song ended and transitioned to something slower. You couldn’t even get close to him again before an airy voice said behind you, “You finished with her yet, C?”

C? Who the hell is she calling C?

You craned your neck to figure out who was emitting the strong aroma of too-much perfume. A pretty and short, long haired brunette looking up at Caleb with very clear fuck-me eyes, proved to be the answer to the mystery.

Her complete disregard for your presence wasn’t missed, either.

“I know your mother raised you to have some respect, Maycee,” Caleb replied sharply, not bothering to look at her.

“What? I waited ‘til the song was over,” she shrugs, moving closer to him and making this weird primal behavior surge within you when her perfectly manicured fingers tried to rest on his shoulder before he shucked her off.

“That was respectful enough, was it not? I just want to talk with you.” Her judgmental eyes look into yours that’s slowly losing the light it had second ago. “Alone.”

“We’ve got nothin’ to talk about. Coming up to me when I’m with my girl is out of line.”

“Nothing to talk about? Your girl?” she spits out in disbelief. “Seems like you’ve made the wrong choice.”

“Am I invisible?” you interrupt swiftly, the irritation coursing through your body making it impossible to keep your mouth shut any longer. The looks were hard to ignore, but the nosiness of others did nothing to put out the flame stoking in your chest.

You face her head on, ready to defend yourself with zero intimidation at her attempt to size you up.

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“The moment you spoke to him made it have every fucking thing to do with me.”

“Aww, let me guess: you think you’re special?” she scoffs with a mocking grin. “Tell her about our time together Caleb, since it’s so necessary that she stays clued in.”

Your body tenses as your jaw ticks. The noticeable reaction makes her smile as if she’s triumphant.

“I’d really rather not embarrass you or ourselves more than you’ve already done yourself, Maycee,” Caleb says through gritted teeth. “That’s not what I want or what I do, but you have a tendency of pushing your fucking luck. You’ve done enough. I suggest you know when to walk away.”

You were hard to rile up—very hard. But Caleb was one of the few people who knew how you could get if that’s where you were brought. It’s one of the reasons he’s trying to deescalate the situation as quickly as possible.

“You’re such an asshole. Her over me—seriously?” She sucks her teeth. “Call me when you come back to your senses. My mouth really misses you.”

Your eyes narrow and you check her before Caleb can try. Your tone drops to make sure that even with the quietness that’s suffocating the already stuffy space, only she can hear you clearly.

“Know that my name was tattooed on his chest while his dick was in your mouth.” You get in her face now, feeling a strong hand on your arm to hold you back.

“I want you to make sure you sit with the fact that every time he got hard, it’s because he thought of me. Even when he was inside of you.”

Maycee’s chest rises and falls, the clear shock and disbelief swirling in her irises.

“Baby, let’s just go,” Caleb calls to you, his grip pressing a little harder to make sure you’re aware that he’s trying to keep you calm.

It’s ridiculous how easily your night has been ruined, and now all the fun is washed out your veins.

Not another word is spoken when you take off his hat and press it roughly to his chest, not caring if he doesn’t catch it. You snatch yourself away from him before you storm out the bar and into the now cool night.

Your anger is misplaced, you know that. But it’s feels impossible to correct with the way it was encompassing your entire being.

Caleb doesn’t waste a moment following you, quickly unlocking his vehicle and opening the door to let you climb inside. Once behind the wheel, he maneuvers the tires over the gravel parking lot before rolling onto the smooth roads, and god is the drive uncomfortable.

“You wanna talk now?” he voices ten minutes in, sighing at your refusal to answer—again.

You told yourself you weren’t jealous of his past, that you didn’t care. And truly, you didn’t.

But the mere thought of Maycee with Caleb in any way, made your blood boil. The way she walked up to him like she was so familiar fueled you with violence.

He was yours, he belongs to you.

“Pull over,” you mumble, making his eyebrow furrow.

“I’m not letting you walk if that’s what you think you’re about to do. I don’t care—”

“Pull. Over,” you repeat slowly.

He does. What other choice does he have when the woman he loves looks ready to set fire to anything in her path that dared to give her a reason?

There’s nothing but long empty rode in front and behind you in the dark night of chirping crickets and twinkling fireflies as he puts the car in park to the side. Caleb looks over at you, the moonlight and rows of illuminated warm street lamps pouring through the windshield giving him the privilege to set eyes on his lady.

“Angel, you know she doesn’t mean anythin’ to me. I know you know.”

“I do.” You turn your body to face him.

“We only hooked up twice, pretty. I don’t want you being upset with me. Tell me what you need me—” Your hand reaching over the center console and the tug on his belt makes his words slow.

“I want you,” you breathe out, your voice shaky and the need to have him overriding anything sensible. “I want you to fuck me, Caleb. I want to erase her from you—erase all of them.”

Pretty,” he coos apologetically. “You’ve already done that. But anything you want. Just let me take us home.”

“No,” you shake your head stubbornly. “Now. I want it now.”

“Fuck…” His cock comes to life at your possessiveness.

He leans in to kiss you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he swallows your whimpers and identifies your cravings without more needing to be said. You stay like that for a moment, letting him savor your taste.

When he releases you, he gets out the truck so that he can slide into the black leather seat in the back. The moment he shuts the door and sits, waiting with his legs spread wide, you’re kicking off your shoes and climbing toward him like he’s your reclamation.

The lack of sufficient space isn’t enough to stop you from sitting in his lap and pulling on his hair, grinding your panty clad pussy against the rough material of his jeans. He sucks on your neck, the sweet and tangy taste on your skin only making his balls tighten with need.

You have to see your name that marks him, that gives you ownership of him. Impatiently, you pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the side and tracing your fingertips along the mesmerizing ink.

“I’m yours, angel,” he whispers, his hands gripping your hips hungrily.

“Show me,” you beg. You feel down his pecs and toned abs before quickly beginning to undo his belt. The clinks echo in the enclosed space at the same time that he bunches your dress above your waist.

Wrapping your hand around his thickness and pulling him out of his confines, you pump him agonizingly slow in your palm.

“You told me this was my cock,” you say against lips, your heart hammering so fast that you’re not too sure how coherent you sound. “You said both of you were devoted to me.”

Your mouths graze, but never meet. “Give me what’s mine…”

Caleb curses under his breath when you swipe a thumb along his slit and smear his precum around, his hips bucking up with eagerness. “I’ll listen to your every w—word. Sit up on your knees, baby…Let me make it better.”

Bracing one hand on him, you follow his instruction and push out a desperate huff when he roughly tugs your panties to the side after you lift yourself.

You didn’t want a condom. In fact, you’d lose your shit if he even offered one. That’s all you’ve been using since your first time together and right now, you just wanted to feel him without any barriers.

When his bare tip slides into your leaking hole, you press your lips together with a pleased hum.

“They can never have you again,” you cry as he helps lower you down to take every pulsating veiny inch. “Hngh—Yes…I miss you like this…”

“N—Never,” he solidifies through a raspy groan, his dick twitching inside your hot and slick walls when you squeeze him.

“You hear how we sound together?” You get closer as you make your hips rise and steadily fall, the squelching of your connection filling your ears. “Only we could make music so powerful.”

The truck begins to shake the harder you go, your palms pressing against the cushioning behind him so your nails had something to scratch when he fucks into you, knocking the breath out of your pliable body.

His fingers dig in your flesh through your dress, surely bruising you, but you need him to. You need that tinge of pain as a reminder that neither of you are never going anywhere because you’ve already made your mark.

“You—hah—you feel so fucking good, Caleb…” The effortless gliding in your pussy makes white dots spot in your vision and your nipples ache beneath the meddlesome fabric.

“We’ve always been in tune.” He shakily reaches over and grabs his Cattleman, placing it on your disarrayed strands and running his thumb across your lip before his large hand caresses down your neck before grasping one of your breasts over your dress. Your lack of a bra lets him flick a nipple, making a strained whimper fall from your puffy lips.

“Don’t ever take it off again. I’m your cowboy, pretty. Own that.” He loses his train of thought for a moment, being buried so snuggly in your heat.

“Ah, fuck…fuck…M—Make me feel it…”

You nod, leaning further back against the console so the outside streetlights could shine upon where you’re connected. Your lover looks down to watch your cunt greedily spread the sticky fluids up and down his cock with unabashed desire.

“Y—you’re not C…” you mewl tiredly, rotating your hips to grind against him. “You’re my Caleb…Just mine…”

The new motion sends shivers down his spine. “You’re right…That’ll never change. It never has…”

The interior grows foggy and humid, sweat beading down your back and his temples the faster your orgasm approaches. You use your muscles to tighten your cunt around his throbbing length, and each contraction makes him feel more precum spurt out in preparation to claim you from the inside.

“That’sss right…oh, baby, keep going… just like that…W—Wanna fill you up so badly…” He pulls your panties over more to gain complete access, his thumb lazily circling your taunt bundle of nerves and sending shockwaves through you.

“Make you so fuckin’ full of me, pretty—I know you want it.”

He sucks air in through his teeth when your peak hits you so hard and unexpectedly that it has you trying to crawl away from him at the simultaneous moment that his cum rushes inside your shuddering walls.

Your moans are on the precipice of pornographic, but for him, it’s the embodiment of sublimity.

You serenade him with your gentle sounds and wavering tone, letting yourself succumb to the deliriousness like you’ve done many times now. Caleb holds you down to make sure you’re filled to the brim, rubbing along your trembling inner thighs. He keeps you spread open so he can watch how the copious amount of cum has no choice but to spill out of your hole and down cock before reaching his balls and staining his clothes.

“‘M so sorry for what happened,” he speaks softly after giving you the space to catch your breath.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble, holding his hat so that it’ll stay on your head as you sit up before taking it off. Fear consumes him for a brief moment when you place it on his.

“Remember when I told you no?” Your head tilts, taking his hand and placing it on your cheek to nestle into. “About being your girlfriend?”

“I do.”

“Tonight has shown me that…I think I’m in wayyy too deep to be trying to play it safe.”

He smiles. “A mutual sentiment.”

“Will you do me the honor,” you flash a genuine one as well, adjusting the crooked hat and brushing his hair away from his eyebrows. “and let me be your one and only cowgirl?”

“You never even have to ask, angel. C’mere.”

After you share yet another kiss, he presses a sweeter one to the tip your nose.

“Your dad is going to whoop my ass.”

You laugh, the vibrations making you remember that Caleb is still inside of you.

“He’ll be okay. Momma will hold him back.”

“Thanks, baby,” he rolls his eyes with playful sarcasm. “That means a lot.”

“Whatever he does, I’ll be there to kiss it better.”

“Yeah?” he smirks.

“Mhmmm.”

You don’t know what you were even going to try and say or do next because any and all calmness and sentimentally is gone when you see red and blue light flash along with two curt blares of a police siren.

“Shit!” you panic, flicking Caleb’s forehead when he starts to muffle his laugh.

“Ow!” he whisper shouts.

“Move your ass!”

“I can’t until you do!”

Then a knock at the driver’s window sounds. You would forever be in debt to tinted windows now.

“Play dead,” you suggest lowly.

“You’re a terrible problem solver.”

“Well, I’m not seeing you come up with any bright ideas!”

When what you know is the final polite knock sounds with four hits instead of the initial two, Caleb closes his eyes and lays his head back, the hat falling over his eyes and forehead.

“You’re right,” he says, his words muffled. “Play dead.”

“You’re all worried about my dad when me and this police officer is getting ready to kick your ass.”

“Can’t. I’m already dead.”

“Caleb!”

“Mr. Xia?” calls a male voice.

“Who the hell..?”

“Oh,” he huffs in relief. “It’s just Xavier.”

“From high school!?” you ask, completely stunned.

He nods. “He moved back a year after you left. Nothing to worry about. We’re cool.”

“You’re shirtless and still in me!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be embarrassed.”

You pluck his forehead once more. “I can’t stand you!”

He rubs his forehead, then pulls you into him. “I’m in love with you too, angel. But flick me again and I’ll fuck you again with him right outside.”

“Just do something!” you pout, your face getting heated at the thought.

Glad to have made you flustered, he smiles. “Anything for you.”

A/N: I felt like creating a scenario like this felt kinda realistic for them because I definitely believe people would fight over a man like Caleb—especially if he sexes you as good as he looks LOLLLL!!!! I didn’t think it would’ve just been sunshine and rainbows initially in a small town where Caleb has been around the block…I could’ve just done a big time skip to their happily ever after, but where’s the fun in that?!?! But I think I’ve unintentionally started another series, DAMNIT! JAYLA, PLS PUT THE PHONE DOWN!!!!

🍎 Tags: @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @meadowinthesky @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat

Creds to @/saradika, @/saradika-graphics, and @/bbyg4rlhelps for the dividers!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deespace smut #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb smut #lads x you #lads caleb #caleb xia #lads smut

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randomfandomworks · 2 days ago

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Huntrix (Separately) x Famous!Reader

Synopsis: Headcanons involving the Huntrix girls falling for you and what kind of fame you possess

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this! I’m still working on general dating Headcanons for these three but I might end up doing more with this concept because I really ended up enjoying it.

Rumi with another Idol

★ You and Rumi had met on several instances though most were because of award shows

★ Often times you and Huntrix would perform at the same venues it was only reasonable that after some time you’d get to know one another

★ You became friends quickly, bonding over shared experiences and tribulations

★ At some point you become a feature on one of Huntrix’s new songs

★ A collaboration that the fans end up absolutely loving which only leads to more moments together

★ Joining them at interviews and shows as the song runs its course of popularity

★ You and Rumi naturally became closer over time, meeting up for things unrelated to your careers until eventually you both started to fall for each other

★ For a while you both tiptoed around the feelings

★ You knew how your fans were, how they’d react knowing two of the most popular idols were together

★ But one night you corner Rumi after one of her shows and everything comes crumbling down

★ After that you start dating in secret

★ It becomes a careful song and dance; avoiding topics that may lead to exposure of your relationships but still risking it to see one another perform

★ You help one another when it comes to singing, finding the right transitions for sets, making sure the notes get hit right and the lyrics are clear

★ And after you’re done being idols for the day you relax into one another allowing it to become simply you and her, nothing more or less

★ Rumi only falls for you harder when she sees that side of you, the comfortable side you keep away from everyone else

★ After a while the fans get suspicious

★ Rumors and theories spread like wildfire over both of your fanbases

★ Catching onto the quick looks you give one another or how you’re always attending each other’s shows

★ You let them have their fun

★ Watching as people make countless posts about the evidence they can find and what they think is happening behind the scenes

★ And when it’s gone on long enough you make it official

★ Which causes social media to absolutely blow up with responses some saying they called it, others believing it to be a trick, a few completely against it

★ Yet neither of you cared

★ You didn’t need people online to tell you who to care about or date, you had one another and honestly the truth was better than any speculation online

Mira with a Model

★ Mira learns about you through Bobby, who’d been trying to find some bigger names to promote the new Huntrix merchandise

★ He reached out to your agency leading to a deal where you and some other top models would do a shoot for them if in turn they got to meet the members of Huntrix

★ And that was that

★ She’d spotted you as soon as they entered the venue

★ You carried yourself differently

★ Some of the models were nervous, others in over their head, or bored out of their minds

★ But not you

★ You had a smile on your face as a new intern directed you, showing you around and what you’d be modeling

★ You didn’t question the photographer even with the strangest of requests

★ And you helped Bobby when no one else listened

★ You were just, different

★ Even when meeting them you didn’t freak out

★ Didn’t scramble for an autograph or a photo

★ You waited patiently for your colleagues chaos to end

★ Introduced yourself with a smile and thanked them for the opportunity

★ That moment made a place in Mira’s mind, one she thought back to even weeks after the interaction

★ Up until she messages you herself, reaching out to just talk to you

★ And even online you were kind, patient, and polite

★ And Mira didn’t know what to do with the fact that she started falling for it, falling for you

★ She invited you to one of their shows, a backstage ticket, per Zoey and Rumi’s advice

★ She couldn’t help the warmth that overtook her when she saw you

★ You lit up when you came face to face

★ Smiling and congratulating her on a show well done

★ And something about it all changed for Mira; she asks you out soon afterwards wanting, needing, to see you again

★ It doesn’t take long before you start dating

★ No one knew besides a select few

★ Many suspected, especially after Mira made an appearance for your agency, but Mira had made a name of standing up for herself and not tolerating rumors so no one questioned it

★ And behind it all, back stage or behind the camera there was just you two

★ And that’s all you needed

Zoey with an Actor

★ You and Zoey knew of one another long before meeting

★ You were a star in one of her favorite K-dramas and you obviously loved Huntrix’s songs

★ The two of you finally get the chance to meet one another when the director of your show begs Huntrix to write a song for the upcoming season

★ They agree, mostly because Zoey would’ve probably lost it if they didn’t, and are invited to the premiere because of it

★ Your first interaction comes up because of a photo

★ Several reporters wanted a picture of you and your co-star with Huntrix

★ Which led to you all posing together and eventually talking after the press has had their fun

★ You and Zoey hit it off almost instantly, the two of you silently freaking out over meeting the other

★ You end up sitting together, talking after the screening and through most of the night, laughing together as though you hadn’t just met

★ And when your managers finally drag you away from one another you still keep in touch

★ Messaging online and meeting at more events over time

★ Neither of you is shocked when you start to fall for the other

★ The admiration existed long before you met

★ Though something more had found its way through

★ Maybe it was always responding to one another, no matter how late, or the smiles across the room at events

★ Whatever it was it wasn’t a surprise

★ The real shock came from the admission

★ Realizing you’d both been running circles around one another to not ruin anything when in truth it was exactly what you’d both been needing

★ It isn’t long afterwards that everyone knows

★ You never say anything but you openly post each other and willingly mention one another in interviews

★ Not to mention you frequenting all of Huntrix’s performances and her sudden guest appearances in your shows

★ Though whether or not the fans know has never concerned you

★ In fact most of your concerns recently are of Huntrix’s latest song releases and the date you’re planning with Zoey to go see your new movie

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vaporwavegothicstudio · 2 days ago

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EDIT: OP HAS MADE IT VERY CLEAR THAT THEY WERE JOKING, I am proud of the analysis but THEY WERE JOKING.

In the context of the time, the twist is that it's not gay. If you know anything about the way the Victorians talked about homosexuality, it's pretty clear that Utterson thinks Jekyll is protecting Hyde because Hyde is Jekyll's kept boy.

RLS makes a point of mentioning that Hyde has a key, that Jekyll left everything to Hyde in his will, that Hyde takes great pains to come in and out through the lab and not be seen by the servants, and that Hyde is young while Jekyll is in sedate middle age. To a Victorian reader, this has a very definite colour: Jekyll is in love with this mysterious Hyde boy, they're secretly fucking, and Hyde is planning to kill Jekyll for his money. Read this passage:

... there sprang up and grew apace in the lawyer’s mind a singularly strong, almost an inordinate, curiosity to behold the features of the real Mr. Hyde. If he could but once set eyes on him, he thought the mystery would lighten and perhaps roll altogether away, as was the habit of mysterious things when well examined. He might see a reason for his friend’s strange preference or bondage (call it which you please) and even for the startling clause of the will.

And when Jekyll reads Hyde's letter out to Utterson:

The lawyer liked this letter well enough; it put a better colour on the intimacy than he had looked for; and he blamed himself for some of his past suspicions.

Utterson thinks they're fucking, and when Jekyll has his Very Public Breakup (TM) with Hyde, he's relieved.

Also, from Jekyll's letter:

The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn toward the monstrous. When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity.

Also-also, in the original story, Hyde isn't actually murdering women on screen. It's implied that he's committed more murders than we see, but his main on-screen crimes are a) beating a child and b) murdering an MP. (Who is. Definitively male.) The "Hyde is a serial killer who beats women!" thing is an invention of cinema. They need a way to show the depths of Hyde's depravity and to convey the amount of repressed sexuality the story's got, so...

Like. Jekyll and Hyde is a story with a very obvious gay reading. It's kind of a homophobic story, but when has that stopped us gays from making it our own? It is very much a story about repression, self-denial, becoming the darker side of yourself despite society telling you to be Good, and I can't think of something that'd resonate with most of us more than that.

#jekyll and hyde #both Mal and Lorc wrote this but Mal did most of the words because he was an English major once upon a time lmao.

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mydearestbeloved · 2 days ago

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Chapter 1 [Draft]

Saja Boys x Isekaid!Demon?Reader x Huntrix

Content Warnings: This chapter contains elements of gore—this is a work of fiction, I do not condone or glorify violence in real life; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

You open your eyes to a sky soaked in midnight.

For a split second, it feels like surfacing from deep underwater—like you’d been holding your breath for hours, maybe longer, and finally, finally clawed your way back to air. A gasp tears through your throat. It's dry. Scraped. Your lungs burn.

You don’t remember why.

The thought barely formed before it unraveled, slipping from your grasp like mist. You couldn't hold onto it. You couldn't hold onto anything—not the shape of your thoughts, not the tremor rocking through your limbs, not the heat that was now beginning to simmer low in your belly.

The air is thick, heavy. It clings to your skin like oil.

Your chest heaves and every inhale fans, rough and dry through a sore throat. The pain was dull—muted by something louder inside.

A churning.

A clawing.

Hunger.

A primal impulse, ancient and raw, rising from the depths of your core like a beast pressing its face against the inside of your skin.

You stumbled forward.

The road beneath you was weathered stone, every step digging into your bare feet. But it didn’t register—not really. The fog coiling between unfamiliar stone buildings. The eerie silence. The cold of the air brushing your exposed skin. Even your own body felt strange.

Your limbs feel too long. Your balance, off. The soft fabric hanging from your shoulders. Something whispers, “You’re not quite right.” To someone too far gone to care.

But your legs moved anyway, like it’s done this before, dragging you forward, nose tilted to the air without realizing, following a scent you couldn’t name even if you were conscious enough to try.

All you knew was that it needed to be fed.

——oOo——

Her name was Hae-Bok. "Great fortune." A name her mother gave her during a time when hope still bloomed on dirt roads and prayers still worked.

But there was no fortune in this alley tonight.

“Shhh. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

The hand clamped over her mouth stinks of tobacco and something fouler. His nails dig into her cheek as he jerks her head back, and she kicks blindly at air.

They tied her up. Back to the damp bricks, the ropes around her wrists are tight, ankles scraped raw, mouth gagged, the cut across her cheek stinging where a ringed hand had slapped her earlier. Six men towered before her. She could see their silhouettes under the moonlight, could hear their laughter—dry, hollow, like wolves joking about which part of the deer to chew first.

“Pretty face,” one of them sneered. “Shame we have to sell it piece by piece.”

The words turn her insides to ice. Her mouth tastes like bile behind the gag.

Hae-Bok—daughter of no one, mother to one—her thoughts circled like trapped birds.

Yul-ri… my baby…

The words were muffled behind the cloth in her mouth. Her scream died there. Her tears did not.

She imagined her daughter's tiny hands, her feverish little forehead, the way she always smiled with her two front teeth when Hae-Bok brought back rice and sweet porridge. That smile, that little face, was the only thing she lived for. But now—

What’ll happen when she doesn’t come home? Does she still have enough rice in the sack? Will she know who to go to—will anyone care?

A sob cracks through her nose.

And then—

Then, everything changes.

In the span of one blink, the men were gone.

The alley was… not the alley. Or rather, it was, but wrong. Warped. As though the space itself had tilted—shifted—her somewhere sideways, just far enough from the danger that it felt more like a nightmare than an escape.

And in front of her…

A woman.

Draped in white, flowing and stained faintly at the edges, as though dipped in smoke and ash, barefoot and still as bone. The mist curled around her, yet no breath steamed from her lips.

Ice prickled along Hae-Bok’s skin.

She shuffled backward instinctively until her spine met the wall. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs, fast, terrified.

The woman in white took a step forward.

The air around her bit like winter when she knelt.

Hae-Bok flinched, her eyes squeezed shut in dread.

This was it. This was the end. If the men didn’t kill her, this ghost would.

But—

Shk.

The cords around her wrists fell slack. Her ankles, freed. The cloth gag slipped from her mouth, its middle cut through by something sharp.

She opens her eyes.

The cold intensifies.

The ghost was close. Too close.

The ghost’s finger—long, unnaturally pointed—pressed gently to Hae-Bok’s lips.

Her hair hangs in tangled mess, but even through the veil of it, there are eyes.

But there was no hostility. Just… cold. And something inhuman in the glint.

You look as lost as she is.

“Don’t scream.”

And then—

Gone.

The mist parted.

The sounds of men's screams echo from far off—twisted, distant, coming through a thick fog.

But Hae-Bok was already moving. Running. Her legs screamed in protest, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. She doesn’t wait to question it. Doesn’t want to look. She didn’t care.

She follows her memory, her instincts. Her daughter's face in her mind.

She remembered the way.

Home. Home. Home.

The fog thins as she sprints through the empty road. Her fingers find the old wooden door. She fumbles with it. Opens.

“Eomma!”

The little voice broke her.

Yul-ri leapt into her arms, toothy smile bright like a lamp in the dark.

Tears spill as Hae-Bok crumples to the floor, clutching her daughter as if to fuse their bodies back together, sobbing, whispering thank yous over and over into her child’s hair through cracked lips, breathless and trembling.

To the ghost in the mist.

——oOo——

“Aishhh—michin geoya, where the hell did that woman go?!”

Gwak Seol-jun’s voice echoed sharply down the alley walls, rough and ragged with disbelief. His boots stomped through the puddles as he kicked over an empty basket and snarled at the shadows. “She was right here! Tied up like a pig, mouth stuffed. You—you saw her, didn’t you?!”

His underlings—five in total—glanced at each other. One scratched the back of his head with a grimace.

“I swear on my late mother, Boss, she was right where you’re standing…”

Gwak Seol-jun whipped around and smacked the nearest man across the face with the back of his hand. The crack of it echoed like a whip. The man staggered.

“Don’t swear on dead people when your eyes can’t even catch a walking corpse,” he spat. “That widow owed me five nyang of silver, and not a single coin paid back.”

He paced, fuming. “I knew she was useless the moment she came crawling to borrow coin for that sick brat of hers. All tears and shaking hands. Thought I was being generous—offering mercy to some abandoned sow who’d fetch a decent price if we kept her face intact.”

Another man chuckled. “She was pretty. Could’ve warmed us all up before sending her south. Eunhae Market likes them soft and quiet.”

The others laughed.

Seol-jun smirked, but the edge in his voice sharpened. “And now she’s gone. Vanished like a ghost, with no rope, no blood, no sign. What—do you all think she flew away on her dead husband’s back?”

He turned to bark another insult, but something stopped him.

A hum.

Not sound exactly. Not music either. But resonance. A low, slow vibration that sank into the bones and made the teeth ache.

The temperature sank low, far too quickly for a summer night. The air, damp and sticky moments ago, had turned thin and brittle, like frost pressing against the skin. And the fog—thicker than before—rolled in silent waves down the alley, a pale sheen gathered along the edge. The lantern on the post flickered.

One of the men dropped his half-chewed tobacco stick.

The others fell quiet.

The youngest—Mu-sik—gulped, stepping back. “Boss…”

“What now?!”

And there—at the mouth of the alley where the mist bled from the darkness—stood a figure.

A woman.

Draped in white, bare-footed, still as death. Her hair hung wild around her face, strands glinting like wet silk. Her robe was unlike anything Seol-jun had seen—old, not peasant’s wear, nor noble’s silk, but something older, far older. Goryeo? No—Silla, maybe. But it shimmered faintly like starlight trapped in rice cloth.

Her face obscured, only lips and chin, she hadn’t looked up.

Yet she was walking. Slowly. Toward them.

“…What the fuck…” Seol-jun muttered, squinting. “You one of the temple freaks or something?”

No answer.

He stepped forward, scoffing, posturing with a sneer. “What, did the widow hire you to play bulgasal and scare us in the fog? Tsk.”

“…”

“You don’t even talk? Stupid bitch.”

Still nothing, the mist coiled at her feet like a living thing.

“Oi. I’m talking to you, whore.” His voice grew more venomous. “You think you’re scary with your funeral gown and silence? Hah. Scared some street rats already? Try me.”

He waved a hand sharply. “Grab her. Break her legs if you have to, I want answers—now.”

They men moved. All but one.

Mu-sik again—spoke up. “Boss… I-I don’t like this. Something’s not right…”

“Did I ask for your feelings, beoseon?!” Seol-jun snapped, turning to smack him again.

Thump.

He paused.

Mu-sik’s face had gone pale.

Eyes locked behind Seol-jun.

Thump.

Another sound behind him.

Then another.

He turned.

The alley was quiet.

Too quiet.

Four bodies lay crumpled like discarded sacks on the cobbled stone.

Not a drop of blood. Not a wound on their bodies.

Just… gone.

Their chests no longer rose.

Their eyes were open, but stared into nothing.

And the woman in white was still walking forward.

Each barefoot step eerily soundless, her presence devouring the space around her like a tide made of mist and death.

Seol-jun’s bravado withered. His sneer slipped into a grimace, then panic.

“N-no…” he stammered. “What are you…?”

Then, on instinct, he grabbed Mu-sik by the shoulders and shoved him forward like a human shield.

“Go! Stop her! Do something!”

Mu-sik stumbled, protesting—“Boss—!”

But he didn’t make it halfway.

A few seconds passed.

Then his shoulders sagged. His head slumped forward.

No sound.

Just stillness.

Seol-jun, breathing hard, let go.

Mu-sik’s body dropped like a severed puppet.

His eyes stared upward. Vacant. Hollow.

Soulless.

“AAAARGH!”

The scream that tore from Seol-jun’s throat was thin, unmanly—pure terror given voice.

He staggered backward, hands scrabbling behind him until his back slammed into the stone wall of the alley. The impact rattled him, but he didn’t care. He looked left. Right. No escape. The fog was so thick now he could no longer see the sides of the alley—no windows, no corners, only endless, pale mist.

“Help—someone—ANYONE—”

He tried to scream again—

But he never got the chance.

A hand clamped down over his mouth.

Hard.

Ice-cold fingers dug into his face—so cold it burned, the way frozen metal did in deep winter. The claws—because they were claws—sank into the meat of his cheeks, holding him in place as if he weighed nothing.

CRACK.

His head slammed into the stone behind him. White exploded behind his eyes.

Pain flared up the back of his skull like lightning.

The fog swirled.

The cold grew worse.

His eyes rolled upward in panic, following the arm that held him—smooth, inhumanly flawless, glowing with intricate floral markings like plum blossoms inked in moonlight. The patterns curled over skin too perfect to be real, too delicate to belong to something so deadly.

They followed up—past the wrist, the throat.

And then—

Your face.

Half-shadowed by your disheveled hair, lips parting just enough to reveal sharp, inhuman fangs.

Your eyes—

Turning blazing red.

Hungry.

Unforgiving.

The last sound Gwak Seol-jun ever made was a strangled whimper lost behind your hand.

Then the light in his eyes vanished—

Sucked away into the void where your hunger waited.

——oOo——

Blue.

So appetizing—so warm.

They float just out of reach, like fireflies in fog. They pulse, thrum, shimmer against your dimming vision like stars underwater. You want them. You need them.

And they’re yours.

Warm sloshes in your belly.

A little relief. A dull throb of satisfaction.

But not enough.

Still hungry.

You blink.

Everything’s blurry.

Colors don’t make sense—shapes even less. The only things that register are glowing blue—faint, flickering. Floating and slipping away like stars sinking into water.

You wanted them.

You had them.

You remember that.

But they're gone now.

Nothing left.

Nothing glowing.

Only red.

Your eyes shift.

Red.

It doesn’t glow like the blue. But somehow, in the foggy maze of your thoughts, it still looks… appetizing.

Your head tilts. Your legs carry you forward without command.

Something soft brushes against your face.

You open your mouth.

Bite.

Your teeth sink into something plush, still warm. A mouthful, liquid floods over your tongue—coppery, thick, soothing. You suck, the way a starving animal drinks from a spring.

Something heavy slumps under you.

Your hands move again.

You’re pressing—pushing into something soft and wet. Your fingers find something solid and pulsing once. Still warm. You pull.

A sound squelches as it tears free.

You shove it into your mouth and bite. Chew.

The soreness in your throat eases with every swallow. The heat in your stomach cools—just a little.

Not enough.

Again.

Your body repeats the motion. Crawl. Grab. Bite. Suck. Rip. Chew. Swallow.

Another drained. Another devoured.

Sometimes, there were the hard parts, but they crumbled in your mouth soon after.

You lose track of how many.

Only that you kept going.

And going.

You don’t know where one ends and another begins.

You don’t want to know.

You only want the hunger to end.

So, you keep eating. Keep drinking. Keep tearing.

Again. Again. Again.

Until the screaming in your stomach starts to quiet.

You blink.

Your vision clears.

Like waking up from a sleep you didn’t know you were in.

Your body… hurts.

Your head pounds—a sharp ache flaring behind your eyes. You squint against it, groaning softly. Slowly, you become aware of your position.

You’re… sitting.

Sitting… in an alley?

Under a full moon.

The mist drapes the air like silk, the entrance to the street still hazy, still glowing faint.

And on the stone ground…

Ripped fabrics.

Red-stained.

Your eyes scan slowly, heart thudding.

Then they land in your lap.

Glinting. Metal. A ring—

Pale. Bent. Jointed.

—on a severed finger.

“—!!”

Your scream tears free from your raw throat.

The finger tumbles to the ground with a soft thup, rolling away like a loose coin.

You clutch your mouth, trembling, but something wet trails down your chin.

Drip.

You touch it.

Your thumb comes away red.

You stare.

Your body trembles harder.

Your other hand follows—both palms now raised, shaking in front of you.

Slick.

Sticky.

You can smell it.

The metal scent in the air.

Blood.

It’s all blood.

Your breathing stutters. Sharp. Loud. Too loud. Your lungs won’t fill properly. The world tilts. The panic is crashing in—now.

Your stomach twist—you want to threw up but something prevented you to.

“No—no no no—” you rasp, voice thin and hoarse.

You remember.

You remember everything—blue, red, hunger, and now—

You needed to get out.

Get out.

You scrambled, hands against something solid—an old crate, or maybe a wall. You force yourself upright. Your legs wobbled violently.

But you move.

One step.

Then another.

Then you’re running.

Or stumbling—anything to get away.

Blindly.

The fog parts ahead of you like a curtain.

You don’t notice.

You don’t notice how it curls back, yielding to your steps.

You don’t see the way the buildings blur around you—roofs giving way to branches, lanterns replaced with moonlit leaves, stone beneath your feet slowly shifting to dirt, to roots, to uneven patches of grass.

Your body keeps going.

You heave.

You pant.

You trip—

And you collapse.

Your knees hit the earth. Then your side.

You lay there, curled, sobbing.

The sound of water rushing nearby—soft, steady—cradles you like a lullaby.

And finally,

Everything fades to black.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [20/06/2025]

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #reader insert #female reader #reader is not oc #saja boys x reader #huntrix x reader #jinu saja #rumi kpdh #abs saja #mira kpdh #romance saja #mystery saja #zoey kpdh #baby saja #gwi ma kpdh

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intoanotherworld23 · 1 day ago

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Inked In Attitude

Summary: Joel doesn't appreciate you coming into his tattoo parlor with an attitude, and so he shows you a lesson

Warnings: mature themes, explicit content, pure raw smut and filth, unprotected sex, spanking, oral female receiving, fingering, major edging, rough sex, dominant Joel, submissive reader

A/N: hi my horny readers! If you liked this one feel free to comment and reblog so that others can read it as all! That would be so greatly appreciated! If you wish to be added to my tag list let me know and I’ll be more than happy to add you! Thanks everyone! XOXO

Hall of Hunks

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan @lover-of-books-and-tea @bbyanarchist @justajoelsreader @meetmeatyourworst

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

"Let me hear it," he said, a bit rougher now, his voice dipping. "Tell me what you want."

"Touch me," you whispered. "Please, Joel..."

"Oh, you're saying please now?" His grin widened, and one tattooed hand slid down, slipping between your legs, just the outside of your panties, cruel and slow. "That pretty little mouth didn't have manners when you walked in here demanding ink with that bratty attitude."

His thumb pressed in gently, then circled. Just once. It was humiliating how fast you reacted the way your hips jerked, breath caught, a whimper crawling up your throat.

"Fuck," he murmured, voice soft with dark amusement. "You're drenched. You get wet from the pain, or was it me telling you to take your panties off before I even started?"

A whimper slipped out.

"You liked that," Joel whispered, his lips brushing your ear now, his fingers still teasing but never enough. "Liked sitting on my table with your pussy bare while I inked you. Like a good little canvas. Mine to mark. Mine to ruin."

"I'm going to come—please—" you gasped.

"No, you're not." His voice turned sharp, commanding, and he pulled his hand away. You almost cried.

He stood and stepped back, licking his fingers with slow, deliberate hunger. "Mm. Sweet," he muttered. "But you don't get to come just for squirming like a slut in my chair. You're gonna earn it."

Joel grabbed your waist, spun me effortlessly around on the table, until you were bent forward, your cheek against the padded surface, ass bare for him.

"Look at this," he growled, running both hands over your thighs, then gripping your ass. "You've been teasing me since you walked in. All that sass, all that bratty eye-rolling and now look at you. Bent over, dripping for me. Just how I like you."

You gasped as he pulled your panties down to your knees, and gave you a sharp smack that echoed off the walls.

Then another. Harder. Then he soothed the sting with slow, gentle kisses, his mouth warm against your skin, tongue dragging low as he licked down closer.

"Joel," you whimpered. "Please..."

His laugh was low, wicked. "So needy. You want my mouth, baby?"

"Yes—God, yes—"

He didn't make you beg anymore. His tongue slid between your folds like he was starving. Messy, sloppy, loud. He sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned, the vibrations shooting straight through you.

"Fuck, you taste even better when you're desperate." Your body arched off the table, hips twitching, thighs trembling. You were already close, the burn building fast, and he knew it. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place.

"You're not coming," he warned, mouth wet against you. "Not yet."

"Joel—!" He pulled back, let you feel the loss, let you whine for it, then spanked you again, his handprint burning into your skin.

"You'll come when I say you come. Now turn around." You did, dizzy, aching, half-numb from how badly you needed it.

Joel unbuckled his belt with slow, deliberate movements, watching you the whole time. "You want cock?" he asked, smirking. "Or you want more tongue? Be honest."

Your voice cracked as you answered. "Both."

His laugh was pure sin. "Greedy girl."

He fisted his cock, thick and glistening, and walked back toward you.

"Then here's what we're gonna do," he said, pushing you flat onto your back, lining himself up right at your entrance but not pushing in. "You're going to take every inch of me like a good little toy. No running. No squirming. You come when I say. And if you come before that?"

He leaned down and bit your neck, then whispered, "I'll edge you until sunrise." He didn't slide in. Not yet. Joel hovered at your entrance, the tip of his cock just nudging where you were dripping for him, teasing, cruel, keeping you in that torturous limbo where you could feel how ready he was, but he wouldn't move.

"Feel that?" he murmured, voice low, sinful. "That pressure right there? That's how close I am to fucking you stupid, baby. But you haven't earned it yet."

You whimpered, arching your hips a bit. "Please please, I need it—"

His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight, but firm just enough to keep you still, just enough to make your heart pound harder.

"No," Joel growled, cock sliding up your slit in a slow, maddening drag. "You think you need it. But what you really need is a lesson in patience."

You whimpered again, louder this time. Your whole body was a live wire, tension coiled tight in your belly, your clit pulsing, everything soaked. He hadn't even fucked you yet and you were already on the edge.

"God, look at you," he whispered, voice thick with hunger. "You're soaked. You gonna come just from my cock rubbing against you?"

He did it again, slid the thick head of it up and down your folds, catching on your clit with a sharp, electric drag. You cried out, hips jolting, thighs trembling. Your body didn't know what to do, whether to move away or closer, whether to scream or beg.

"I should make you come like this," he said. "Just like this. Rubbing my cock against your pussy like I own it. Not even letting you have it. You'd come for me, wouldn't you?"

You nodded, breathless. Listening to every word like a song.

"Oh, I know you would. You're such a desperate little thing now, aren't you?" He leaned down again, mouth right against your ear. "All those smartass comments earlier. All that attitude. And now look at you. On your back, begging for my cock like a good little toy. Say it. Say you're my toy."

"I'm your toy," you whispered.

Joel grinned, kissed the side of your neck.

"Damn right you are." Then he dropped back down between your legs, spreading them wider with his big hands, licking his lips like he was about to devour a meal. "I'm not done playing with this pussy yet."

And before you could protest, he buried his face between your thighs again.

His tongue moved in quick, relentless circles around your clit, then down to fuck into you with wet, obscene sounds that echoed off the shop walls. You cried out, fists clenching the edge of the table, toes curling as your body spiraled fast toward the edge again.

His mouth was ravenous, his moans rumbling into you like he loved eating you, like it was his favorite thing in the world. His hands gripped your thighs so tight they'd bruise, keeping you open, exposed, twitching beneath his mouth.

"Fuck, Joel—please, I'm gonna—"

"Don't you dare." He growled the words against your clit, pulling back just before you tipped over. You sobbed, high-pitched and needy, your body on fire from the denial.

"You're so goddamn close," he murmured, watching you fall apart. "I can feel how hard you were clenching. You wanna come so bad, huh?"

You nodded furiously, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"Beg for it."

"Please—please, Joel—I need it—I can't take it—"

"Oh, I know you can take it," he said darkly. "You're gonna take everything I give you, baby. My tongue, my cock, my hands, every fucking edge I drag you through. Because you like being ruined by me. Don't you?"

"Yes—fuck—yes," you gasped.

He grinned. "Good girl."

Then he finally slid two fingers deep into you. Curling, slow, thick. His thumb found your clit and began circling hard and fast, and his mouth was back again, sucking, licking, filthy and frantic.

You screamed. Your thighs clamped around his head, and your body begged to come, trembling, shaking, about to—

He stopped. Pulled out. Sat back with a devilish look on his face. Loving how more and more desperate you were becoming.

"No!" You cried out, writhing on the table, empty, throbbing. "Please Joel—!"

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his beard glistening with you, eyes dark and amused.

"Look at you," he murmured, fisting his cock slowly while he watched you fall apart. "Shaking. Crying. And I haven't even fucked you yet."

Then he grabbed your legs, pulled you roughly to the edge of the table.

"Spread wide," he ordered. "Hands on your thighs. Hold them open. I want you to feel how ruined I've made this pussy."

You quickly obeyed, trembling, breath ragged, your own slick smeared everywhere. He ran his cock along your folds again, up and down, torturing you. Then finally he pushed in. Inch by inch. Thick. Hot. Deep.

You both groaned at how deliciously tight you were.

"You feel that?" Joel grunted. "That stretch? That's what happens when you tease me all fucking day. I take my time with you."

He rocked into you once, slow and deep. You cried out again, clenching, already too close, too sensitive. And Joel knew it.

"That tight little pussy's gonna come the second I say the word, huh?"

"Yes Joel, I need to please.” He picked up the pace. Harder. Deep. Hitting that spot with precision every time, his hand back at your throat, just enough pressure to keep you right there completely helpless, needy, his.

"You gonna come all over my cock like a good little thing?"

"Please, yes—please—let me—"

"Then do it," he growled. "Come for me. Right fucking now."

And you did. Hard. Your whole body arched, back bowed, a scream torn from your throat as the orgasm ripped through like lightning as you started shaking, gasping, sobbing with the sheer force of it.

Joel didn't stop. He kept fucking you through it, rougher now, his name a chant on your lips as wave after wave hit you, and all you could do was take it.

"Good fucking girl," he groaned. "So goddamn perfect like this. Look at you, taking it like I knew you would. You were made for this."

And when he came, it was with a deep, broken growl, holding you down, cock buried to the hilt, his warmth spilling inside you as he bit your shoulder and muttered, "Mine."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fanfiction

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ashloremystic · 3 days ago

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18+ MDNI

Desperate Incubus Roommate

Incubus roommate who desperately wants to make a contract with you.

He's tried everything to get you to cave into making one so he could just have his way with you. Desperate to feed on every single bit of pleasure you could offer him. He's tried using magic, Comforting you at "weak" moments....The man even resorted to aphrodisiacs. But you just wouldn't budge.

One morning, the two of you were up having breakfast like usual. Going over your day when he smacks his hand on the kitchen table.

"Surely y/n there's something you really need.."

"I have everything I need." You answered around the piece of toast you were stuffing into your mouth.

He pined you with his inhumane eyes. Surely there was a lie in there somewhere...right? You had to of needed something from him.

"You are the most frustrating person I know."

"Ha it's nice isn't it?"

He rolled his eyes as his tail swished behind him. "Just like your sarcasm." He pouted looking adorable with his puffy cheeks. They stood out more since today his dark hair was pulled back. Showing off his pointed ears and the piercings he had lining them. "Is it me? Are you just not attracted to me?"

"Thats not it at all. I just don't see the point in having a soul bounding contract just to sleep with someone." You egged on. Knowing the importance of a contract as he has drilled into your head plenty of times.

Just as expected...He took the bait. Looking appalled as he went on a tangent. "I'll have you know that it is more than just sleeping with someone. It is an equal power exchange that feeds the very essence of my being. I don't NEED it to have sex and you know that...because we've.."

He slowed down and glared cus he realized you baited him.

"You sneaky little brat." He growled as his tail pulled you slightly forward in your seat and then slipped up the leg of your shorts. "You know first hand that I don't need a contract to make you come."

The tip of his tail slipped between the fabric of your underwear and teased your sex.

"I want to taste what you refuse me. Feast on that sweet aura of yours." His tail slipped lower until it was pressed against your entrance. Yet he didn't push in. Just sat there waiting... "I assure you it feels just as good to be fed on as it does to feed. Are you not curious to know?"

Of course you were curious. You've seen the people he's has come and go. All of them wore the same dumb after sex drunk look as they left. But what you also knew was that some of those contracts didn't have end dates. Even though your roommate was one of the "nicer" Demons. He was still one all the same and could change at any time. They all did at some point.

Watching you think it over, He grew impatient and pressed his tail forward. Letting its tip pop in past your wall and slip deeper till it found just the right set of nerves to draw a whimper out of you. Pressing firmly as it brushed deeper in.

"Stubborn." He spoke softly as he watched your face and leaned onto the table, resting his face on his propped up hand. Had someone on the outside been looking in you would have thought the two of you were just talking.

His tail slipped all the way out making another popping nose before the same as he pressed it back in. Your body tightened around them as it pressed thru your soft warm walls. Now soaked with arousal and making soft wet sounds as he thrusted it faster....harder against those nerves.

You moaned out a plea as you leaned on to the table. Legs shaking as you tried not to fall out of your seat. Which was hard to do at such an awkward angle. Not much of you was left in the chair.

After a while, your gut started to tighten as your release grew closer and closer. Just as you were about to fall over, he backed off and pulled out. *pop*

"wait no no!" You cried out rocking your hips again nothing. Trying to chase the release you were robbed of.

"You know what I want.." His teasing voice came as his damp tail caressed your leg and lightly bump againt your sex. Say yes and everything you desire could be yours."

Tempting...but you were stubborn as he said after all.

"no." You bit out as you got up to go to waddle to your room, frustrated and now pissed. "I'll do it myself then."

"Nope. I'm not done with you." He hissed as he grabbed you again with his tail pulling you down below him. He pressed it back into you and this time brushing faster only to stop right before again...and again...He wanted his contact and damnit he was gonna make you beg for it too.

(Something short just to throw out there. I'll have more stories next week when I'm off again.)

#monster writing #monster fucker #monster smut #monster boyfriend #monster roommate #incubus #incubus × reader

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maxinehufflepuffprincess · 1 day ago

Text

We're Here

BangChan x fem! reader. 9th member.

Taglist. Masterlist. Progress Update. MamaBear Collection.

Summary: Sometimes you're the one who needs to be comforted.

You always did everything you could to keep the boys happy. Their happiness was important to you. Whenever one of them was upset or their mood was down, you always did your best to comfort them, to dry their tears, put a smile on their face and make sure they felt safe. You did this both privately and publicly. It just added to your ‘Mama Bear’ persona. Though, could anyone call it a persona when it was just you being you?

But of course, like every other person in this world, you had your bad days too. Days when getting out of bed felt harder than climbing a mountain. When smiling felt so out of reach. You had days when you were surrounded by people but felt lonely the entire time. There were days when you’d just burst into tears. Sometimes you didn’t even know why you were crying; it was happening, and it was needed. There were days when you were dance moves wouldn’t stick, when your verses felt like a jumbled mess, and cooking seemed like an impossibility. There were times when your anger took over everything or when your silence became a worry.

You weighted the world on your shoulders. You were always trying to be better, to do better. To be as close to perfect as you could be. You had a loving boyfriend, and together you looked after seven men who saw you as a friend and a pseudo-mum. So when they saw you break, when they saw you crying and struggling to put the pieces back together, they were there to help you.

—------

Chan knew instantly something was wrong when you walked into the studio. You didn’t greet him with the same smile. Sure, you kissed him and said hi to him, Changbin and Han, but it was off. You called the boys by their names. There were no sweet pet names like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘hun’, or ‘baby’. Binnie and Han took notice of this as well. The three watched you walk into the booth and started preparing your warm-up.

Chan turned to look at Binnie, who was sitting beside him. Together, they both looked at Han, who was sitting on the couch, a puzzled look on his face.

“She looks tired. Really tired.” Binnie spoke to the two males.

Chan nodded in agreement. You both got home late last night. He had been working on some tracks, and you had been cleaning up the choreography. However, what wasn’t usual was him waking up to an empty bed. He found you that morning, having made breakfast, enough to feed an army. Sure, you always woke up to make breakfast for everyone, but not this early. Never this early. You also didn’t tend to bake this early unless it was for a birthday.

“She is. I’m starting to think she didn’t sleep last night. She said she did, but I don’t know. She made enough breakfast to feed us all for the rest of the day. Plus, she baked. She doesn’t bake that late or early unless it’s for something important or she’s stressed. She was surrounded by cupcakes and cookies, and brownies this morning. She never makes brownies without Felix.” Chan turned to look at the window to the booth. All nine of you had come to work that day, each with a bento box filled with leftovers from breakfast.

You blinked and let out a small sigh. The palms of your hands came to run your eyes. You slept last night. Just not for long. You got an hour, maybe two in. You had gotten up to use the bathroom. But you just couldn’t fall asleep after that. So you spent the night cooking and baking for your boys. Sure, maybe you had gone overboard. But your boys had been well fed. Plus, Felix and Han had fun giving out the sweet treats to the staff members. Of course, each of the boys and you had your own supply of sweet treats, so they wanted to give out the extras.

“Chan. Are you ready to start?” You asked curiously as you looked at him, Binnie and Ji through the window. You waved at them, trying to put a peppy smile on your face. It didn’t work.

Chan pressed the red button. “We’re ready, baby. Are you sure you want to do this today?” He asked, giving you the option to back out.

You nodded your head. “Yeah.”

Chan licked his bottom lip but agreed. He knew he couldn’t force you to stop. He needed to wait for you to be ready to finally let go of all the control.

“What do you want to start with?” He asked you curiously, wanting to do this at your pace and with your input.

“Chorus, please.” You rubbed your eyes as you tried to focus on the words in front of you.

Chan nodded and played the music. You sang. But you messed up on the first go. You've got some words jumbled. It was okay, mistakes happen.

However, you were starting to get upset with yourself once you had been in the booth for half an hour. Your voice had cracked, you jumbled your words up, and you had missed a cue. You just weren’t feeling it, and you couldn’t focus.

You tipped your head back and closed your eyes as you tried to wrench the tears away. But as your body shook, it gave it away that you had started crying. Chan stood up and walked into the booth. He took the headphones off your head and wrapped you up in his arms.

Your head was cradled to his chest, hands clutching onto his shirt that was becoming wet with your tears. His right hand gently stroked your hair. His left hand came to rub your back in soft circles. He looked up for a moment and blinked back his own tears. Seeing you like this always made him feel like his heart had been ripped right out of his chest.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let it out.” And you did. You sobbed as you held onto him.

After a few minutes, you slowly pulled away and looked up at him. “I’m sorry.” Your voice broke as you spoke.

Chan shook his head. “Don’t apologise. All I ask is for you to take a nap, okay? We can do your part tomorrow.” His hands cupped your cheeks. His thumbs wiped your tears away. He then lifted you bridal style into his arms. You clung onto him.

Chan walked to the door, ready to open it, only to see Changbin opening it for him. He nodded at him in thanks. He walked over to the couch. Han patted his lap as he looked at Chan. Chan then lay you down, resting your head in Han’s lap. The younger male immediately began stroking your hair. Just like you always do for him when he falls asleep on you. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.” You mumbled out before falling asleep.

The rest of the day, the boys took it in turns to be a pillow for you. But none woke you up. You were finally asleep, and they couldn’t be more grateful.

—------

Minho noticed you were having a bad day during dance practice. You were struggling to keep up with the dance. However, he chose not to draw attention to this. Instead, he had the group practice one more time before deciding to call for a break. Of course, the rest of the members had noticed too. But no one had said anything after the fourth time.

Everyone quickly got their water bottles and sat down. Some of the couches, some of the floor. You let out a small huff of air as you turned to grab your water bottle. As you opened it, Minho came up to you with his phone in his hand.

He turned the phone to face you, showing you an adorable picture of Soonie, Doongie and Dori. All three were cuddled up together, sleeping.

“Aw, they are so cute.” You were always excited to look at pictures of Minho’s three gorgeous cats. You also enjoyed seeing pictures of Chan, Hyunjin and Han’s dogs. They always seemed to make you smile.

“I knew you’d appreciate their cuteness.” Minho nodded in appreciation and satisfaction.

“I always do.” You had a smile on your face. Minho saw that as a win. He knew how to make you smile, even if it was just for a moment.

“Yah!” Changbin’s voice came, drawing your attention to the male. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“We’re ordering lunch. What do you want?” Changbin passed you Chan’s phone. “Dad’s paying, so go nuts.”

“Why does it always go nuts when I’m paying, but you always say ‘thank you, Mama. You didn’t have to.’ when she’s paying?” Chan asked, throwing his hands up.

“Because we love our mother,” Hyunjin said, pulling a face like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He walked over and wrapped his arms around you. His chin was on your shoulder as he looked at the phone in your hands. “Oh, you should get that. It looks yummy.”

Minho looked at the phone and grinned. “And it’s expensive.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to spend too much of Chris’ money.”

“Sweetheart, you can get yourself whatever you want. Food, drinks, and desserts. Whatever your pretty heart desires.” Chan told you with a warm smile as he looked at you from his spot on the couch.

Hyunjin looked between the two of you for a moment. He then turned to look at Minho. “Our mother has a sugar Daddy.”

Minho sucked in a breath. “We can use this to our advantage. All she has to do is bat her eyelashes or call him Chris or Chan in that sweet voice, and he’ll give her everything she wants. Which means, we can have whatever we want.” He clapped his hands together once.

He could see that you had long forgotten about the dance practice. So he continued to play into all this. He and Hyunjin stood in front of you, quickly joined by Seungmin and I.N. The four are happily trying to figure out everything they wanted and the best way to get you to convince Chan that you wanted all this stuff.

Chan let out a groan from his spot on the coach as he watched the four plotting menaces. “Stop trying to use my wife for your schemes!”

“She was our mother first.” Minho challenged.

“She really wasn’t. I met her first.” Chan told him, a proud smile on his face.

“Please, she prefers her children over you.” Hyunjin let out a scoff and waved his hand in dismissal at Chan.

“We don’t need to use her for anything. All we need is for Felix and I.N. to say please to her, and she’ll melt. She can’t say no to her babies.” Minho added as he placed a hand on I.N.’s shoulder.

You looked back and forth between them all and let out a laugh. At that Moment, Minho knew his job was done. But that didn’t stop him from continuing to play the role of the overprotective son who wanted to give his mother the world.

—------

Changbin had led you out of a room after you had shouted at some staff members. It seemed like the whole day you had been snappy and angry. So, he reacted and got you out of a situation that was causing even more stress.

Binnie helped you outside. The air outside felt nice. Changbin sat down on a bench and looked at you, waiting for you to figure out your next move.

“I lost it.” You said as you paced in front of him.

Binnie nodded his head. “Yeah. You did.” He said.

“I should’t have. It was rude.” You added.

“It was, but you have had everyone pulling at you all day. The stylist made I.N. uncomfortable. There was an issue with Han’s shoe. Scheduling had been pushed back more times than I can count. Hyunjin tripped over a roge wire. Seungmin forgot the dance. You had to do the same take for thirty minutes. Everything that could have gone wrong has gone wrong.” Changbin explained to you. Showing he understood why you had lost your cool.

The whole day had gone wrong. You had woken up later than usual. You and Chan had accidentally left your coffee at home. When you had all ordered lunch, some of the food was misplaced. Felix had gotten a migraine during filming. Minho had tripped and bruised his knee. Changbin had an issue when his makeup was being done. The Music Video you were all shooting was draining. Today had gone wrong for everyone.

You let out a huff of air and crossed your arms over your chest. “Today had been utter shit.”

Changbin nodded in agreement and patted the spot beside in. You looked at the male for a moment before sitting next to him.

“How about this? This weekend, we all have time off. So, how about I take you to a rage room? Or we can all go. Either way, you can let all of that pent-up rage and anger out in a safe way. Plus, this way, you won’t have any lingering feelings of guilt.” It was a good idea. A really good idea.

You looked at Changbin and smiled lightly at him. “I’d love that. Thank you, Binnie.”

The male opened his arms, ready for a hug. And you did. You hugged him tightly as he hugged you back, matching your tightness.

—------

Hyunjin spotted you on the couch in your dorm. It was that time of the month, and all day you had been in pain. Hyunjin has become your official period partner. It wasn’t that the others didn’t want to; Felix often joined, as did Chan. But Hyunjin always seemed to make it all seem easier in a way. Whilst Felix smothered you in cuddles, massages and brownies. Chan would worry over you for the first day before relaxing; he always had a bath ready or had the painkillers you wanted.

Hyunjin was always ready with a hot water bottle or a heating pad for you. Sometimes both, so you could have one on your stomach and one on your back. He was always there to distract you with dramatic stories or gossip he had heard. Or the two of you would snuggle up and watch whatever piqued your interest.

Hyunjin poked your shoulder. “I got the snacks. Felix will be here soon with that blanket you love so much. I told him to borrow a different one next time.” He said as he rounded the couch and sat down beside you. He placed the bag of your favourite snacks, foods and drinks down.

“Thank you, Jinnie. I really appreciate all of this.” You smiled thankfully at him.

The male shrugged. “What kind of son would I be if I didn’t help you? Now I’ll go make the ramen and your hot water bottle…oh, and maybe hot chocolate?” He let out a small squeal, getting suddenly excited at the idea. “We have whipped cream and marshmallows. Oh, and I’ll get some ice cream. Put something good on.”

You let out a laugh as Hyunjin practically bounced to the kitchen. You turned on the TV and went on YouTube. You immediately looked through some of Nigel Baker’s videos before you decided which one you wanted to watch. You enjoyed this guy. He was hilarious, and he always had nice things to say about your boys.

Hyunjin came back a while later, carefully balancing a tray in his hands. Every step was slow. He didn’t want to risk dropping anything. He let out a sigh of relief as he set everything down on the table.

He sat down beside you and gave you your hot chocolate. He turned to look at the TV. “Ah, yes! Binge-watching Nigel. Let's see how many of his videos we can get through. Good call, my muse.”

You let out a giggle at the nickname as you set the hot chocolate down on the table to your side before grabbing the hot water bottle. You placed it on your stomach.

“I thought we could start with him watching ‘Giant’. It's a good one. Plus I love that song.”

Hyunjin nodded in approval and pressed play. You both settled in, eating your ramen.

Felix walked through the door with your blanket and a box full of brownies.

“Oh my god, the visuals of this man. Shit needs to be studied in a lab.”

You let out a cackle. “He loves you, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin puffed out his chest. “Obviously. Everyone loves me.”

Felix looked between the two of you. “I bought brownies for you. I know you always want extra when you're on.” He put the blanket on your lap before setting the box of brownies on the table.

“Thank you, baby.” You smiled up at him. “Would you like to join us?” You asked him.

Felix nodded and sat on your other side of you, so you were between the two boys.

You cuddled into Hyunjin's side as Felix cuddled into you.

You continued to watch Nigel's videos. You all had a good laugh at the SKZ code stuff and the compilations. You all enjoyed watching him lose his mind over the music videos.

You were currently watching him react to the music videos for your song ‘Mama Bear’. It was a song that 3Racha wrote for you as a birthday present. You, Felix, Seungmin and I.N. sang the song. Leeknow and Hyunjin helped with the choreography. It was a song you were very happy and proud of. The guys had all been in the video, of course. The whole vibe of the video was just showcasing the group as one big happy family.

“Honestly, look at this beautiful woman. She's holding her own. Her vocals are shining, and look at her moves. This whole MV is her. She has eight men worshipping her. You can see how much they love her. Mother of seven, taking care of her children in her own MV. Look at them all. They look like an actual, real family. It's crazy but so wholesome, man. Chan, if you're watching this- you're not. But if you are. You need to wife Mama Bear up.” You watched Nigel pick up his water and drink some of it. “Mama Bear, if you’re watching. Stay, love you, and obviously so do your boys. You work so hard. Thank you.” You were tearing up a little. You were here for the jokes, but now here you were, feeling so incredibly appreciated as you were snuggled between two of your favourite people. “Aphrodite, who?”

—------

One minute you were walking, and the next you were on the floor. It hurt a lot, your ankle. You supposed maybe you had stepped wrong and ended up rolling your ankle. You and Han had just gotten home after doing a big shop together. Han was by your side in an instant.

“What happened? Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?” He asked you hurriedly as he held up three fingers.

You looked at the male. “I’m fine, just hurt my ankle.”

Han nodded. “Alright, umm umm.. Let me think.” He tapped his forehead for a second before he picked you up.

You let out a small yelp of surprise as you held onto the male. Han walked to your dorm and kicked the door.

The door opened, and I.N. stood there with a confused face. “What are you doing?”

Han walked inside and set you down on he couch. “She broke her ankle.”

You groaned. “It’s not broken, Ji.”

Han shrugged as Chan came out of your room. He raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to ask?” He asked curiously.

“I fell. I’m okay, but my ankle hurts. We haven’t brought in the shopping yet.” Chan nodded at your words and gave you a soft kiss.

“Han, grab an ice pack from the freezer. I.N., come with me and we’ll sort out the shopping.” The boys quickly went off to do their tasks. I.N. put on his shoes whilst Han went to the kitchen. Chris smiled at you and shook his head.

“At least we know where I.N. and Hyunjin get their clumsiness from.” He chuckled.

You smiled at his words and shook your head. “Be quick. There is ice cream in those bags, and I don’t want it to melt.” You and Chan shared another kiss before I.N.’s voice came from the door, telling Chan to hurry up.

Han walked into the room as Chan left. He put the ice pack, which was wrapped up, on your ankle carefully. He then took off your shoes and shook his head.

“Are you okay?” He asked you, his voice quiet.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you for helping me.” You said as you squeezed his hand.

“You’re welcome, and I’ll keep helping you. Whatever you want, I’m at your beck and call. Want some tea? I’ll make it. Want me to get you food? I’ll do it. Want me to boss any of the guys around? I’ll do it. Please ask me to boss them around.”

That made you laugh.

—------

Felix found you in the kitchen. It was a family dinner night. Chan and Minho were both at the store to pick up some things. So you were cooking dinner on your own. Which is something you have done many times before. However, it seemed you couldn't get anything right. Nothing was going your way.

As Felix stepped into the kitchen, he saw you hunched over the kitchen table, sobbing. He immediately walked over to you and hugged your back. Your body shook as you cried, but feeling Felix’s arms around you helped to ground you.

You let out a small gasp of breath. Felix loosened his grip a little as he felt you moving to stand properly.

“What happened?” He asked you, his voice soft.

“Nothing is going right. It’s like every cooking-related bone in my body decided to leave. Everything is either burnt or not even close to being cooked. I just…I messed it all up.” You told him, the tears freely running down your face.

Felix’s heart broke. He quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped your tears away. “It’s okay. These things happen.” He told you as he gently stroked his thumb over your wrist.

“I just wanted everything to be perfect. We’ve all been working so hard. You guys deserve a good meal.” You told him as you looked down in defeat.

Felix shook his head. “You always give us amazing meals. Let’s order something this once. We can cuddle and forget about everything for a while.” He pulled you out of the kitchen and to the couch. He tapped Changbin on the shoulder. “We’re gonna order food instead.”

Changbin raised an eyebrow but nodded nonetheless. Felix sat down on the couch and pulled you so you were between his legs, your head on his stomach. He immediately began playing with your hair.

Changbin got his phone out and picked what he wanted before passing the phone around the room. He ended up going to the kitchen. He quickly cleaned up.

Meanwhile, I.N. texted Chan and Minho to let them know that plans had changed. You stayed on the couch, slowly relaxing as Felix made sure you were okay. Han came to sit with you both, his hands gently rubbing your back.

—------

Seungmin noticed you were shutting down during an interview. He was sitting on your left, Chan on your right. You hadn’t been yourself all day. You were fidgeting in your seat. Your fingers came up to play with your locket more times than not. Playing with your locket often helped to ground and calm you. However, Seungmin noticed it wasn’t exactly working as well as usual.

So he gently placed a hand on your thigh and rubbed his thumb in circles. The touch helped you to come back to reality. You looked at Seungmin and smiled gratefully at him. A second hand came to rest on your opposite knee. Chan had noticed what Seungmin was doing and wanted to help as well. However, he decided to let Seungmin handle this; he would be ready to step in if he needed to.

Seungmin smiled at you. He continued to stroke your thigh as the interview continued on. He watched as you slowly let go of your locket after a while. You moved your hand to rest next to Seungmin’s. The male linked your thumbs together.

As the interview continued, you felt a lot calmer. All because Seungmin was keeping you grounded. He didn’t make a big deal about it. He didn’t draw attention to it. He just comforted you in the best way that he could in that moment.

Chan looked over at Seungmin, giving him a thankful nod and a proud smile.

—------

You didn’t want to move. You should have been up an hour ago. But you were still in bed, curled up on the bed. You were trying to will yourself into moving, but it was like your body didn’t want it. Like it just couldn’t. So you just lie there. Chan was already at the studio, having left early for a meeting.

However, the rest of the boys were still home. Jeongin had noticed you hadn’t come out of your room yet. Breakfast wasn’t made, and coffee wasn’t made. You weren’t humming in the kitchen or packing everything you needed for the day. The Maknae stood in the middle of the living room in confusion. Had you left with Chan this morning? No. He knew you hadn’t because you always left him two bento boxes and a travel cup of coffee when you left early with Chan. And there was no note saying so on the whiteboard that was on the fridge.

I.N. turned to look at your and Chan’s room. He walked over to the door and knocked on it before opening the door. He poked his head in and spotted you under your duvet. I.N. stepped into the room.

“Are you okay, Noona?” He asked, worry and curiosity filling him. He walked over to the bed and sat down on Chan’s side.

You shook your head. Tears are already filling your eyes.

“Did something happen?” He questioned.

“No, baby. I just..I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You felt tired. You felt like moving was your biggest enemy right now. But you had to move. You knew you had to. The boys needed you. You all had dance practice today.

I.N. shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. You’re allowed an off day. We can just stay in bed today.” He said as he lay down next to you. He took out his phone and texted the group chat. He let them know what was happening.

Baby Fox 🦊: Mama Bear isn’t feeling well. 😭 Fairy Prince 🌻: Is she okay? Can we help? 🩵 Personal Trainer 🐰: Does she need anything? 🫶 The Alpha 🐺: Let her stay home today. I’ll handle things on this end. Baby Fox 🦊: Can I stay with her? I don’t want to leave her alone. She’s really down. She looks like she’s going to cry. CatDaddy 😻: Yeah. Keep us updated. Tell her we can do the choreo tomorrow. Artsy Prince 💐: Tell her we love her.💕 You'd better pamper her. Puppy 📷: Make her tea. Squibble 🐿: We’ll bring home food.

I.N. put his phone to the side and looked at you. “We’ll have a self-care day. The guys have everything covered. Minho-hyung is going to go over the dance with us tomorrow. Nothing to worry about.” He told you.

You slowly nodded. You felt guilty. The boys were still working, you were keeping I.N. from cleaning up the dance with the others.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. You’re allowed to have a day off. The others won’t be mad. They love you too much to ever be mad at you.” He told you as he sat up. “I’ll make us both a drink, and I’ll get the ice cream.” He leaned down and kissed your temple before leaving the room. He went to his room and changed into his pyjamas. I.N. then went to the kitchen. He made your favourite drink as well as his own. He then grabbed your favourite ice cream from the freezer as well as his own. He put everything on a tray and went back to your room. He set everything on Chan’s bedside table. He sat on the bed and looked around for a moment.

He had always liked your room. It was welcoming and filled with memories. On three of the walls were the paintings that Hyunjin had done for you. Above your desk was the painting of the boys all holding something that was presented to you. Above the bed was what Hyunjin named the ‘Family portrait. Beach edition.’ It was your favourite by far. On the wall to the right was a wall filled with not just paintings but pictures. Pictures of you and your family, Chan and his family. There were pictures of each of the guys, their pets. Pictures from the Kingdom and important milestones for the group. It was a real family wall. One that you took pride in. Your bed was incredibly comfortable. You seemed to have the best blankets. The fluffiest ones, too.

I.N. got comfortable before handing you your drink. He watched you slowly sit up. “How about we watch something?” He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He quickly found your comfort movie. ‘Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island’, He then opened an arm to you.

You took the opportunity to snuggle into I.N.’s side. His arm wrapped around your shoulder. He wasn’t big on touch, but he knew you needed it right now.

“Thank you, Innie.” You spoke quietly, but still loud enough for him to hear.

I.N. nodded his head with a smile. “Of course, anything for you. You’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed.” You had. He knew he could count on you. So he wanted to let you know that you could count on him as well.

Later that night, you were feeling a bit better. You had napped. You had watched so many movies and cackled at YouTube videos with I.N. You had done face masks, and I.N. had painted your nails. Innie felt proud of himself when you perked up a little as time went on. You’d had a nice bath whilst I.N. made lunch. The day had been perfect.

So when the boys all piled into the dorm once they had been dorm for the day, they all relaxed seeing you snuggled up with I.N. You head rested on his chest as he pointed at the screen. You were watching Ben Kim. A YouTuber.

“I.N fit now, though. I.N.’s super fit now.” Ben said on the screen as he leaned close to the camera.

“See, he gets me.” Innie connected as he picked up a spoonful of ice cream and shoved it into your mouth.

You let out a laugh and shook your head.

“Can you try not to choke her.” Seungmin spoke as he walked over to the couch and sat on your other side.

“Welcome home.” You said to the seven males.

Chan walked over and kissed your forehead. “We brought food. How are you feeling, my love?” He asked you as his hand stroked your hair.

“I feel better. Innie really helped.” You said honestly.

Chan nodded his head. “Good. Now, how about you go to the table? Minho and Binnie are setting the table as we speak.”

You nodded your head and let Seungmin drag you off the bed and to the dining room table.

Chan placed a hand on I.N.’s shoulder. “Thank you for looking after her today.”

Innie nodded his head. “Of course, I just wanted to see her smile again.”

Chan’s eyes softened as he smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

Those four words were the cherry on top of a pretty awesome day for Jeongin.

-----------

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inseobts · 2 days ago

Text

Her

sanji x fem!reader ➜ law x fem!reader

SONG | 'her' by mino || spotify || youtube || apple music

A/N | I hope the povs are well written lmao I had no idea how to do them

TAGS | past relantionship, angst (sanji), soft (law), bittersweet reunion, emotional tension, hurt/comfort

WORDS COUNT | 2.3k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Your POV

You feel it before you see it.

The breeze from the sea, warmer than usual. Laughter. A voice you know too well. A scent of salt and fire and spice.

Sanji.

You stop walking. The blue scarf around your neck shifts in the wind.

“Captain...” you say quietly, looking over your shoulder. Law’s standing nearby, arms crossed.

“Hm?”

“I changed my mind. I’ll wait here.”

He lifts a brow “Scared?”

You let out a short breath “No. Just… tired.”

Law doesn’t push. He nods and walks ahead.

You should’ve stayed on the Polar Tang.

But it’s too late. Chopper’s already seen you.

“Y/N!!!”

You flinch as the little reindeer throws himself into your arms “Chopper…”

Now the others notice. Nami’s eyes go wide. Usopp blinks, confused. Robin smiles kindly. Zoro frowns. Franky shouts something. Brook makes a joke.

And then... You see him.

Sanji.

He walks up slowly, stops a few feet from you. His eyes scan your face, then drop to the scarf. The blue one Law gave you.

“Hey.” he says, voice low.

“Hi...” you reply.

It’s been two years since you left the crew.

Since you left him.

He doesn’t ask how you are. He doesn’t need to. His eyes say everything.

You look away “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“You… look good.” he says as he eyes stops on your scarf.

You touch it without thinking “It’s warm.”

He laughs, but there’s no joy in it “Yeah. Must be.”

Sanji’s POV

You’re right in front of Sanji.

Your hair’s a little longer. You look calmer. But not happier. That's what he thinks seeing you.

But… you look good. He has to admit this.

It suits you, as always.

Your hair and the way it flows.

A part of my heart aches.

You are completely out of reach.

The scarf.

You’re even matching… Sanji wonders how much you had to insist to convince him to wear it.

Sanji would have proposed it to you instead.

It suits you, that blue scarf.

But the fact that there’s another one next to it.

Bothers me, blue, side by side.

The way you two are walking, it doesn’t really fit.

It’s all wrong.

Luffy invites you to eat. Of course he does.

You agrees. Of course you do.

Why wouldn’t you? It’s just food. It’s just a table. It’s just everyone pretending we’re not broken.

Sanji brings out the food and sets down a plate in front of you.

You whispers, “Thank you.”

Sanji wants to say, don’t thank me—stay. But he just nods.

Everyone talks like nothing happened. Everyone but Sanji.

Law stays close to your side. Sanji can see how he looks at you. Calm, steady. Like he belongs there. Like he’s your home now.

In the stories, you two spitefully whisper to each other.

I wonder if I have a place in it.

After dinner, you get up and walk to the edge of the deck. The wind pulls your scarf again.

Sanji follows you.

You turn before he can speak.

“Don’t,” you say “Don’t make this harder.”

He swallows “Do you love him?”

You hesitate. That pause? It kills him.

“I’m trying to...” you say.

Tomorrow, look good with me…

Please look good with me.

One day, let’s look good together.

Please look good with me.

He wants to take your hand. He wants to say come back. He wants to say he doesn’t look right with you. But you’re already turning away.

He lights a cigarette. The lighter shakes.

“Stay for dessert.” he says instead.

You stop. Look over your shoulder.

“…Okay,” you say “Then I go.”

He pretends he's not watching.

You’re sitting with Law now. Knees turned slightly toward him, but not close enough to touch. You laugh softly, nervously. Your hand brushes the scarf again like you’re checking it’s still there. That it still means something.

“Law,” you say with that sweet tone you used to save for him, “if you keep frowning like that, people will think you’re always mad.”

He doesn’t even look up, just shrugs “They’re not wrong.”

You giggle “It’s cute, though.”

Sanji's jaw clenches.

That’s what you say. Cute. But he doesn’t say anything back. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t react.

Of course he doesn’t. He’s stone. Cold and sharp, like the scalpel he lives by.

It doesn’t fit you, the hard liquor.

The mean words and the soulless expression.

He doesn’t deserve that laugh. That warmth.

He doesn’t even try. He just sits there like a wall.

All Sanji can think is "If it were me… I’d be making you cry from laughing too hard, not wondering if I’m listening. I’d hold your hand like it’s made of gold. I’d kiss you like you were never meant to be anyone else’s."

He carries over the dessert tray. Not because he has to. Because it’s you.

The plate he slides in front of you has your favorite. He remembered. Of course he did.

You light up “You still make this?”

“Only when I miss you.” he says without even thinking.

Your lips part slightly. You don’t answer. Law says nothing either, even tho his hands tighten around his cup.

Sanji kneels next to the table “One bite. Just try it, yeah?”

You give in. Picks up the fork and takes a bite.

And when you close your eyes and smiles? He dies and come back to life in the same second.

“This is still the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” you say quietly.

“I could make it every day for you.” he says.

Your smile fades just a little. You look at him with those eyes… the ones that used to hold oceans for him.

“Sanji…” you whisper.

He shakes his head as he says “Don’t say anything. Just… remember that.”

But all what he really wanted to say was "If you gave me even a corner of your world again, I’d fill it with joy. I’d never leave you wondering. I’d remind you every day you’re enough."

"You think Law is safety, but I would be warmth. Then, I’ll take away half of your sadness. If you make me a place by your side."

You take another bite, not looking at him.

Law finally speaks “We’re leaving in the morning.”

Sanji suddenly stands. His chest burns.

He sees you avoid his eyes.

So he walks away before you can see the cracks.

Your POV

You feel it before it happens.

The shift in the air. The way Sanji stands. The weight in his shoulders. The quiet goodbye he doesn’t say.

He walks away like he’s used to people not choosing him.

And for a second, you just… sit there.

Frozen.

The fork in your hand feels heavy now.

The cake doesn’t taste like anything anymore.

You look up. And Law is already watching you.

His face is unreadable, but not cold. Never cold, not with you. He doesn’t ask where your heart is right now. He knows it isn’t something that can be answered with a sentence.

You hesitate “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, soft but steady.

You lower your eyes “For… being a mess.”

Law leans back slightly, arms crossed “You’re not a mess. You’re human.”

You look at him again.

There’s no jealousy. No anger.

Just quiet understanding in his dark eyes. Like he already knew this might happen. Like he still trusts you anyway.

“I need to talk to him.” you say.

“I figured,” he answers simply “Go.”

You blink, surprised “You’re not mad?”

Law scoffs lightly “You think I’d want someone who keeps her feelings locked up just to protect mine?”

“No…” you whisper.

He nods once “I don’t know what you’ll say to him. But whatever it is, I believe you’ll do it with honesty.”

You swallow the knot in your throat. Stand.

You look back one last time. Law’s already looking toward the sea now, letting you go without chains.

You walk fast.

Down the steps of the Sunny, past the crates and ropes and barrels of a ship your heart still remember like it’s home. Your feet echo on the wooden deck, heart racing, scarf trailing behind you.

You spot him, lighting a cigarette, hand trembling slightly as he cups the flame.

“Sanji!”

He turns, startled.

You slow down as you reach him. You don’t speak right away. You’re not even sure what you’re going to say yet. But you had to come. That much you know.

His eyes search your face like he’s afraid he’s dreaming.

“…You didn’t have to follow me.” he says, voice rough.

“I know,” you say “But I wanted to.”

You stand there for a moment, unsure. The corridor is quiet now. Only the sound of waves and your heart beating too fast.

Sanji looks surprised you’re still here.

He slowly lowers the cigarette between his lips. Then pauses.

Then… he puts it out.

Without a word, he presses it against the railing and tosses it into the small bucket near his feet.

You notice. Of course you do.

“I still hate that smell.” you say softly.

He chuckles under his breath “I know.”

You sit down beside him. Close, but not touching. You hug your knees to your chest and stare at the stars.

For a few minutes, it’s just the two of you and the silence.

Then his voice breaks it, raw, quiet, cracking.

“I still think about you. Every damn day.”

You turn to look at him, but he’s staring at the horizon.

“I pretended I didn’t care. I smiled, flirted, laughed with the crew. But nothing ever felt right after you left. Not food. Not mornings. Not women.” He swallows hard “I hated that now you chose someone else. That you’re here… next to him.”

He finally looks at you.

“Blue scarf, cold stare. He doesn’t fit you.”

You sigh. Not annoyed, just tired. Of running. Of hurting him.

“I feel really good with him,” you say “I like being with him.”

Sanji blinks, face twisting for just a second “But do you love being with him?”

His voice is sharp but shaky.

“You used to say you loved being with me. You remember that?”

You look away.

“I remember,” you whisper “I truly loved being with you. I’m not denying that.”

You meet his eyes “I loved you, Sanji.”

That stops everything.

His lips part “…Loved.”

His voice is nothing but breath. Like the word alone is a blade.

You nod slowly “Even if I don’t use the word love when I talk about Law doesn’t mean I feel bad with him. Or that I’m using him to get over you.”

You tuck your face into your knees, trying to hold it together.

“It’s been years since we broke up,” you say into your arms “And I just got with Law. I’m not trying to rush it. I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. I’m trying to give him time for these things…”

You lift your head, just a little.

“…But Sanji… I do love him. A lot, actually.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Just looks at you like the wind got knocked out of him.

Your heart hurts seeing his face like that. You didn’t want this to be cruel. You just wanted to be honest.

His shoulders drop.

And then he smiles.

Not the flirty one. Not the fake one. The sad one.

“I get it,” he says quietly “I really do.”

You stare at him “Sanji…”

He shakes his head gently “I just want you to be happy. I was stupid enough to hope it might be with me again.”

He reaches out and tucks your hair behind your ear, soft like always.

“Guess I was right about one thing.” he says.

You blink “What?”

“That blue looks good next to you,” he grins a little, “but if it makes you feel safe, then… maybe that’s what matters more.”

Law’s POV

You’ve been gone for a while.

The wind shifts. The sea makes its usual music… constant, indifferent.

Law waits on the edge of the ship, arms crossed, leaning against a post. The scarf you left flutters gently at his neck. It still holds your warmth. Your scent. Not fully his yet, but familiar enough to ache.

He doesn’t need to hear your words to know how it ended.

Sanji’s not crying. But he looks like he might. His hands shake just slightly when he pulls out another cigarette. He lights it this time.

And you walk back.

Slowly.

Like you’re walking away from something that once felt like home.

You don’t say anything when you reach Law. Just leans against the rail beside him, silent, eyes on the ocean.

He doesn’t even have the heart to ask.

You finally speak.

“You were right,” you say “I just had to be honest.”

He glances sideways “And?”

Your voice is soft “I told him I loved him once. I don’t anymore.”

Seems like you have more to say, so he just waits.

“I told him I love you now.”

His chest tightens, not with surprise, but with something heavier. Something real.

You don’t look at him when you say it. You’re trembling a little. Arms crossed over yourself.

So he takes off the scarf and gently wraps it around your shoulders instead.

“You’re cold.” he says.

You look at him finally, eyes wide.

He shrugs “You always think so much, you forget to notice when you’re freezing.”

A faint smile tugs at your lips. Your eyes are glassy.

He hates seeing you cry. But he knows it’s okay if you do it now. This time, it’s not because you’re lost. It’s because you’ve found something worth holding onto.

He doesn’t say I love you back. Not yet.

But he knows he doesn’t need to. He knows that’s not what you want to hear right now.

He just stay. He will always stay. He will always be there.

And so do you, Y/N.

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ilovemarvel97 · 13 hours ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 14

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda’s nausea continues.

Word Count: 4,375

Warnings: fluff

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

The nausea didn’t stop.

It became a pattern—subtle at first, then impossible to ignore. Every morning, Wanda would rush to the bathroom before her eyes had even fully opened, groaning softly as she curled over the toilet. Y/N was always there, rubbing her back, whispering soft reassurances, her voice laced with growing worry.

Breakfast was now a struggle. The smell of eggs turned Wanda’s stomach. Garlic made her gag. Even the scent of freshly brewed coffee, once a comfort, sent her reeling. The only thing that calmed her was Y/N—her scent, her touch, her voice. As soon as Y/N was near, Wanda’s breathing steadied, her nausea eased. It was like her body knew exactly what it needed to feel safe.

But Wanda wasn’t safe—not from the truth unraveling quietly in her mind.

She was late.

Three weeks late.

And deep down, she knew what that might mean.

She hadn’t said anything. Not yet. Not when they’d only been together for six months. Not when everything between them still felt fragile and sacred. Not when the truth would force her to admit what she’d done.

She sat on the edge of the bed that morning, pale and trembling slightly. Y/N was in the kitchen, making toast—just butter, plain and safe. Wanda’s hands were folded tightly in her lap, her heart pounding with guilt.

It had been meant to be a gift.

A spell she wove with so much love and care, enchanted delicately into the strap they’d chosen together. She wanted to make their intimacy feel more deeper. Something Y/N could feel together with her. She’d linked it to her magic so that when they made love, Y/N could feel everything. Not just touch, but warmth, closeness, connection.

She didn’t know it would work this…real.

She pressed a hand to her abdomen, still soft and unchanged.

The sound of footsteps drew her attention. Y/N appeared in the doorway with a plate of toast and a glass of water, her brow creased with gentle concern. She set the plate down on the nightstand and knelt beside her.

“You’re scaring me, baby,” Y/N said softly. “This isn’t just a stomach bug. Something’s going on. Please… talk to me.”

Wanda blinked fast, willing the sting behind her eyes to fade. Her throat tightened.

She wanted to say it. I think I’m pregnant. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I’m scared too.

But all she could see was Y/N’s face—the love in her eyes, the trust—and the terrifying thought: What if she thinks I betrayed her? What if she thinks I was with someone else?

So instead, Wanda leaned forward, cupped Y/N’s face with shaking hands, and whispered, “Just… hold me. Please.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She climbed up beside her on the bed and wrapped her arms around her, holding her like she always did—gently, completely, without judgment.

Wanda pressed her face into Y/N’s neck, breathing her in like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. And for now, it was. Her nausea subsiding immediately.

But the truth pressed heavy against her chest.

And Wanda knew she couldn’t hide it much longer.

---

The next morning, the nausea hit harder than ever.

Wanda barely made it to the bathroom in time, the retching violent, exhausting. She clutched the edge of the sink afterward, knuckles white, heart racing. Her legs trembled beneath her. She rinsed her mouth, splashed cold water on her face, but she couldn’t bring herself to look in the mirror.

She didn’t recognize the reflection these days—tired eyes, pale skin, guilt sitting in her chest like a second heartbeat.

Behind her, the door creaked open.

Y/N stepped in quietly, eyes instantly scanning Wanda’s reflection. “Baby…”

Wanda turned toward her, lips parting to speak, to offer another half-truth—just a stomach bug, I’ll be fine,—but something stopped her this time.

Y/N wasn’t looking at her like someone who needed an excuse. She was looking at her like someone who already knew something wasn’t being said—and was terrified of what it might be.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Wanda whispered, voice cracking.

Y/N crossed the room in two steps, cupping her face. “Then don’t. Just tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

Wanda’s eyes filled with tears. Her hands rose slowly, trembling, as she pressed them over Y/N’s on her cheeks.

“It’s not food poisoning,” she said softly. “It’s not stress. I’m… late.”

Y/N blinked, not understanding at first. “Late?”

Wanda nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Then, barely audible:

“I think I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like a lightning strike.

Y/N stepped back slightly, her hands falling away. “But… how? We’re both… you and I…” Her brows furrowed, confusion shadowing her features before realization began to flicker behind her eyes.

Wanda swallowed hard. “You know I enchanted the strap, right? To make it feel like a real one for you?”

Y/N nodded slowly.

“I… I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just wanted us to feel everything together. I didn’t even think but…” Wanda looked down, shame washing over her. “Maybe our soulmate bond got linked or…I don’t know…I never imagined it could actually…”

“Create life,” Y/N finished for her, voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

Wanda’s heart raced. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t dare look up.

Y/N smiles lovingly as she caress Wanda’s cheek, “did you take the test?”

Wanda shook her head slowly, eyes still cast downward. “No… I was too scared,” she whispered. “What if it’s true? What if it’s not? Either answer would change everything.”

Y/N’s thumb traced gently along Wanda’s cheek, wiping away a tear. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice steady and warm. “We already changed everything the second we chose each other. Nothing could make me walk away. Not even this.”

Wanda’s gaze finally lifted, hesitant and glassy. Y/N was smiling—gently, openly, without a trace of fear. Only love. Only faith.

“Come on,” Y/N said, brushing a strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear. “Let’s take it together. You don’t have to be scared alone.”

A shaky breath left Wanda, a tiny laugh breaking through the tension. “You really want to be in the bathroom with me while I pee on a stick?”

Y/N grinned. “We’ve fought aliens and gods side by side, Wands. I think I can handle three minutes of waiting on a pregnancy test.”

That finally pulled a smile from Wanda, a real one, small but honest. She nodded, then leaned forward to press her forehead to Y/N’s.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Wait here” Y/N kiss her lips softly before super speeding away.

Wanda watched her go, the warmth of that kiss still lingering on her lips, her heart pounding in a mix of nerves and hope. The silence of the room felt heavy, but in the quiet, she could almost hear the steady rhythm of Y/N’s presence beside her, even when she was gone.

A few minutes later, Y/N zipped back into the bathroom, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, the pregnancy test in hand.

Wanda’s breath hitched as Y/N held it out gently, eyes full of tenderness and unwavering support.

“No matter what it says,” Y/N whispered, “we face it together. Always.”

Wanda reached out, fingers trembling as she took the test, the world narrowing down to this fragile, pivotal moment between them.

Wanda unwrapped the test with slightly shaking hands, her eyes fixed on it like it might explode. Y/N didn’t rush her. She just stood close, steady as ever, letting Wanda set the pace.

When Wanda finally disappeared into the bathroom stall, Y/N stood outside the door, hands in her pockets, trying not to pace. She could hear the quiet sounds of Wanda following the instructions. Then a long silence. Then the sound of the test being set down.

The toilet flushed. Water ran. And then the door creaked open.

Wanda stepped out, eyes wide and uncertain, the test clenched in her hand.

“It says to wait three minutes,” she said quietly, voice tight.

Y/N nodded. “Okay. Timer’s on.”

She gently took Wanda’s hand—the one not holding the test—and led her to sit on the edge of the bathtub with her. Y/N set her phone timer, placed it face down on the counter, and then wrapped her arm around Wanda’s shoulders, pulling her close.

Wanda leaned into her immediately, burying her face in Y/N’s neck. Her breathing was shallow, uneven.

“I’m terrified,” she whispered.

“I know,” Y/N murmured into her hair. “Me too. But whatever happens, we’ve got this. I promise.”

The bond between them pulsed—calm, warm, grounding—and Wanda clung to it like a lifeline.

Three minutes had never felt so long.

When the timer finally buzzed, Y/N reached out with a steady hand, silencing it. Then she glanced at Wanda.

“You want me to look first?”

Wanda hesitated, then gave the faintest nod, barely breathing.

Y/N picked up the test, looked down at it—then stilled.

Her lips parted. Her eyes widened slightly.

Wanda’s heart felt like it stopped. “Y/N?” she whispered, barely audible.

Y/N turned to her slowly, her expression soft, stunned, and impossibly full of emotion.

She nodded.

“It’s positive.”

Wanda stared, lips trembling, as tears filled her eyes. “Oh my god…”

Y/N was already pulling her into her arms, holding her so tightly, so carefully, as if she were cradling something sacred. And maybe she was. Wanda sobbed against her shoulder—not just from fear, but from awe, from the overwhelming realization of what they had created together.

They stayed like that for minutes, tangled in each other, the test resting forgotten on the counter.

Eventually, Y/N whispered into her hair, “We’re gonna be parents, Wands.”

And Wanda, still crying, still smiling through it, whispered back:

“We already are.”

Y/N didn’t let go—not when Wanda’s breath caught in her throat again, not when another tear slid down her cheek, not when her whole body trembled with the weight of what this meant. She just held her tighter, firmer, like she could absorb all the fear and replace it with love.

With certainty.

Wanda clutched the fabric of Y/N’s shirt. “This shouldn’t even be possible,” she murmured, voice muffled by Y/N’s shoulder. “It was just a spell… it wasn’t supposed to do this. I just wanted to make you feel closer, not—”

“Hey.” Y/N leaned back enough to take her face gently in her hands. “I know. I know you didn’t plan this. But magic or not… it’s ours. You didn’t mess anything up.”

Wanda searched her eyes—scared, vulnerable, still unsure.

“I don’t want you to think I was trying to trap you,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Or that I betrayed you. I didn’t even know this kind of magic existed…”

Y/N gave her a look so loving it nearly undid her. “You’re not capable of trapping me. And you could never betray me. Wanda, I know your heart. I feel it. Every second. We are soulmates. And this is the most beautiful thing that could ever happen.”

Wanda’s lips trembled, more tears slipping free, but this time they weren’t from fear—they were from something deeper. A kind of quiet, overwhelming relief that flooded her chest and made her limbs weak.

“You really mean that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N leaned in and kissed her gently—slow, lingering, filled with the kind of reassurance words could never give. Then she pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Wanda’s again, both of them breathing each other in.

“I mean every word,” Y/N whispered. “This isn’t something that happened to us. This is something we made. Something born from love and magic and everything we are.”

Wanda nodded, finally starting to believe it. “I just… I was so scared. It’s only been six months since we finally got together and now everything’s changing so fast—”

“It is,” Y/N agreed softly, brushing her thumb along Wanda’s cheek. “But love’s never been slow for us, has it? We’ve been through battles, heartbreak, hell—and we found our way to each other. You may think this is fast… but I loved the idea of you since your name appeared on my wrist. If you think that way, it’s not really fast”

Wanda let out a soft, choked laugh at that, her heart twisting with affection. Her fingers tightened around Y/N’s shirt again, grounding herself in her soulmate’s presence.

“You really are the most ridiculous, romantic woman I’ve ever met,” she whispered, brushing her nose against Y/N’s.

Y/N smiled, eyes crinkling with warmth. “Takes one to love one.”

Wanda’s tears started again, but this time they flowed freely, with no resistance—tears of acceptance, of safety, of awe.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” she whispered.

Y/N shook her head gently. “No. We didn’t get lucky. We got meant to be.”

Silence fell between them again, but it was soft, safe, filled with more than words could carry. Wanda rested her head against Y/N’s shoulder, both of their hands still cradling the small space between them. The place where something impossible was now entirely real.

After a long moment, Wanda murmured, “I think I want to tell the team soon.”

Y/N chuckled. “I was wondering how long it’d take for you to suggest a dramatic reveal. Do we go full soap opera? Or maybe just drop it during breakfast like it’s no big deal?”

Wanda looked up at her, a playful sparkle finally peeking through the emotion in her eyes. “Well, we could let Nat find the test in the trash…”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Please no. I want to live.”

They both laughed—really laughed—and that sound, after all the fear and doubt, felt like a blessing.

Wanda leaned in and whispered against Y/N’s lips, “We’re going to be okay, right?”

Y/N kissed her softly and nodded. “We’re going to be amazing.”

---

Two Weeks Later

The world outside their shared bedroom hadn’t changed, but for Wanda and Y/N, everything had.

In public, it was business as usual—training sessions, mission briefings, late-night team dinners. But behind closed doors, they whispered about baby names, stole quiet moments to feel the faint pulse of magic warming beneath Wanda’s skin, and shared soft, sleepy kisses before Y/N pressed her hand to Wanda’s belly and whispered goodnight to someone only they knew existed.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to tell anyone. It was just… fragile still. Sacred. The kind of joy that felt like it would dissolve if exposed to too many eyes too soon.

And despite wanting to tell everyone at the beginning, Wanda wasn’t ready for questions she couldn’t answer—not about the magic, or the biology, or the way their bond had rewritten what was supposed to be possible.

Not yet.

So they kept it theirs.

That morning, Wanda sat at the compound’s kitchen island, nursing a cup of peppermint tea while pretending to scroll through her phone. Y/N stood across from her, slicing apples with ridiculous care.

“You know you don’t have to cut them like that,” Wanda said with a raised brow.

“I do,” Y/N replied without looking up, “because you gagged the last time I brought them in wedges.”

Wanda wrinkled her nose. “They were… aggressive wedges.”

Y/N smirked. “Can’t have the mother of my child assaulted by fruit.”

Wanda flushed and ducked her head quickly, the words still so new they made her heart flutter every time. She placed her hand over her lower stomach almost instinctively, fingers splayed gently.

Mother of my child.

She was still wrapping her head around it.

The quiet was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Please tell me that’s not breakfast.”

Nat.

Wanda jolted, nearly knocking over her tea. Y/N stepped in front of her in a second, casual but subtly protective, slipping the plate of apple slices toward the center of the counter.

“Good morning to you too,” Y/N said, cool as ever.

Nat raised an eyebrow, eyeing the scene. Wanda looked unusually pale. Y/N looked unusually… alert. It wasn’t suspicious. Not yet.

Just curious.

“Morning,” Nat replied, grabbing a coffee. “You two are up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Wanda murmured.

Nat’s eyes flicked to Y/N’s.

“Nightmares?”

“No,” Y/N said quickly. “Just… got restless.”

Nat took a slow sip of her drink. “Right.”

She didn’t press. But she didn’t stop watching, either.

When she finally wandered off toward the training room, Wanda let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Y/N leaned over, kissed her temple, and whispered, “We’re terrible liars.”

Wanda let out a shaky laugh. “We’ll need to be better. I think Nat suspects something already.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You want to tell her?”

Wanda thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Not yet. Just a little longer.”

Y/N nodded. “As long as you need. This gets to be ours for a while.”

Wanda smiled softly. “Ours.”

Wanda reached her hands up to Y/N’s nape, fingers threading gently into her hair, and pulled her down into a kiss—soft, slow, and full of emotion that words couldn’t quite capture. It was the kind of kiss that said thank you, and I’m scared, and I love you more than I know how to say all at once.

Y/N melted into it, one hand bracing against the counter beside Wanda and the other resting just above her hip, careful and reverent, like touching anything more might break the fragile peace of the moment.

When they pulled apart, Wanda kept her forehead resting against Y/N’s, her hands still cradling the back of her neck.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,�� she whispered. “With this… with us. With everything.”

Y/N’s thumb traced a slow circle on her waist. “We don’t have to know everything. We just have to stay here—in this. Together.”

Wanda nodded, her eyes misty but steady now. “You make me feel safe.”

“You are safe,” Y/N promised, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “With me, always.”

For a long beat, the world faded to just them. The quiet hum of the fridge, the distant sound of Sam yelling at someone in the training room, the clink of Natasha’s coffee mug being set down somewhere far—all of it blurred into background noise.

What mattered was this. The warmth between them. The secret they shared. The future growing quietly, impossibly, within Wanda—made of love, magic, and everything they never thought could be real.

And somehow, it was.

---

Few Days Later

The days that followed were quiet, filled with soft mornings and hidden smiles. Wanda had always been close to Y/N, but now she clung to her more than ever—especially in the early hours. Each morning, like clockwork, Wanda would burrow into Y/N’s chest, nose tucked just below her collarbone, where her soulmate’s scent was strongest. It was the only thing that eased her nausea, her nerves, her overwhelming emotions.

Y/N quickly learned to wake earlier just to hold her. She’d stroke Wanda’s hair and whisper silly things or gentle reassurances while Wanda’s breathing evened out again. They hadn’t said the word “pregnant” since that night, but it was there between them—in the way Y/N rubbed Wanda’s back, or how she kept a protective hand on her lower stomach when they suddled. It was quiet, sacred, and just theirs.

They didn’t tell anyone. Not yet. Wanda wasn’t ready, and Y/N respected that completely. She didn’t let Wanda train like before. The most she allowed was gentle stretching and walks around the property. When Nat raised an eyebrow about Wanda skipping combat sessions, Y/N had simply glared—sharp, dangerous, and so unlike her usual calm. Natasha hadn’t asked again.

---

Mission Briefing Room:

Everyone was gathered in the debriefing room, lounging around the table or leaning against walls while holograms flickered above. Steve stood at the head of the table, tapping a tablet.

“This mission is strictly numbers-based,” he said. “Intel recovery, cross-verification, nothing that’s supposed to turn into a fight.”

“Keyword: supposed to,” Natasha muttered, sipping coffee.

Wanda sat close beside Y/N, closer than usual, thigh pressed tightly against hers. Her hand rested on Y/N’s knee under the table, thumb drawing slow circles. She looked calm, but Y/N could feel the tension humming just beneath her skin.

Y/N leaned in slightly, murmuring, “You okay?”

Wanda gave a small nod, then added under her breath, “Just… stay close, alright?”

“Always,” Y/N replied, brushing her pinky gently against Wanda’s.

Steve continued outlining the mission parameters, oblivious to the quiet exchange between soulmates.

Wanda’s eyes flicked to the screen. But her fingers never left Y/N’s.

The briefing wrapped up with the usual chatter, chairs scraping back and team members peeling off to gear up. The mission was scheduled to launch in under two hours.

Y/N lingered behind, waiting until the others filtered out. Wanda was still by her side, arms folded loosely as she stared at the mission schematic, but Y/N wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. She was looking at her.

“Wanda,” she said softly.

Wanda glanced up, reading the shift in her voice instantly. “What is it?”

Y/N stepped closer, lowering her voice even though the room was empty. “I don’t want you to come on this one.”

Wanda blinked, surprised. “What?”

Y/N reached out and gently took her hand. “I know it’s not supposed to be dangerous, but missions never go how they’re supposed to. And if something happened…” Her voice dipped, and she exhaled. “I wouldn’t be able to focus. I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Wanda hesitated, her fingers tightening around Y/N’s. “I can take care of myself, you know that.”

“I do,” Y/N said, nodding. “But I’m scared…if something happens to you or the baby…”

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat at the word.

The baby.

It sounded so real when Y/N said it—so much more than a secret, more than a quiet truth held between kisses and morning clings. It was a life. Their life. Growing slowly inside her. And Y/N was already protecting them both with that fierce, unwavering love she carried in everything she did.

Wanda’s expression softened. “Y/N…”

Y/N stepped closer, voice low and full of emotion. “You’ve always been strong. You’ve always fought. But this… this isn’t just another fight. This is different. You’ve got two heartbeats now. And I just—I can’t risk losing either of them.”

Wanda looked at her, eyes full of something she couldn’t quite name—grief at being sidelined, gratitude for being seen, fear of change, love so thick it nearly hurt.

A beat passed. Then she nodded.

“You’re not going to lose us,” she whispered. “We’ll be right here. Waiting for you to come home.”

Y/N smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear before leaning in to kiss her forehead. “That’s all I need.”

Wanda closed her eyes and leaned into her. She could still taste the worry on Y/N’s lips. But beneath it, deeper, was something steadier—something that told her they were going to be okay.

Even if things were changing, one thing hadn’t: they still belonged to each other.

---

The Quinjet engines rumbled to life as the team loaded up, laughter and idle chatter muffled by mission focus. Wanda stood just outside the ramp, arms crossed over her chest, trying to look composed. But Y/N could see right through her.

They lingered behind as the rest of the team boarded.

“I’ll be back before dinner,” Y/N promised, adjusting the straps on her gear. “And I’ll bring you that weird pickled snack you keep craving. The one Nat says smells like feet.”

Wanda smirked despite herself, her hand slipping into Y/N’s. “It does smell like feet. But… you’re the one who makes it taste good.”

Y/N chuckled, then glanced down at their joined hands. “I’m serious, Wands. You feel anything—anything off, even just a headache—you call me, okay? I don’t care if I’m in the middle of a firefight.”

Wanda nodded. “And if you so much as get a scratch, you call me. I’ll fly there myself and hex everyone responsible.”

Y/N grinned. “God, I love you.”

Wanda’s voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for her. “We’ll be waiting. Me and our little soul-light.”

Y/N’s heart skipped at the nickname Wanda had started using when they were curled up in bed late at night—soul-light. A magic-born life only possible because their souls had matched, bound, and burned so brightly.

She cupped Wanda’s cheek and kissed her one last time—soft and full of everything she couldn’t say in front of the team.

Then she pulled away, stepped onto the Quinjet, and forced herself not to look back again.

Wanda watched until the ramp closed.

Then, alone on the landing pad, she pressed a hand to her stomach, eyes closed.

“Come back to us safe,” she whispered.

Inside, the tiny hum of a second heartbeat answered her.

Inside the Quinjet, as the engines steadied into their familiar hum and the jet began to rise, the team settled into their usual pre-mission rhythm. Weapons check. Light banter. Tactical rundown. But there was still one missing piece—and it didn’t go unnoticed for long.

“Where’s Wanda?” Sam asked from his seat across the aisle, brow furrowed. “She was cleared for this one, wasn’t she?”

Nat glanced toward Y/N, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Yeah. She was even looking over the briefings yesterday.”

Y/N didn’t flinch, but her hand clenched slightly on the strap across her chest. “She’s not feeling well,” she said calmly, keeping her tone neutral. “Woke up a little off this morning. Nausea. I told her to rest.”

Sam nodded slowly, accepting it at face value, but Nat continued to study Y/N with quiet curiosity. Not suspicion—just instinct. She always knew when something ran deeper.

“Must be something going around,” Steve muttered, checking his comm. “Clint’s youngest had the same bug last week.”

“Wanda’s tough,” Y/N added lightly, trying to steer the moment away. “She’ll be fine. She just needs to take it easy today.”

And no one argued. The conversation shifted back to the mission parameters, but Y/N caught Nat giving her one last look.

A knowing one.

But Nat didn’t push. Not yet.

Y/N exhaled softly and leaned back in her seat, eyes drifting toward the window, where clouds rolled by beneath them.

"Hang in there, Wands," she thought, thumb brushing over the edge of her glove. "We’ll be home soon."

---

I think everybody expected the pregnancy already, right?😁

#wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x y/n #g!p reader #wanda maximoff x gn!reader

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legendofmorons · 2 days ago

Text

Written in the stars (forever on loop) chapter sixteen - out of touch

Pairing: poly! Chain x reader, Wind & reader

Rating: T

Summary: The day after you wake up from the Evil Magic Dungeon Of Doom leaves everyone with plenty of feelings. Some of the group is better at handling this than others. Dark is losing his temper and is back to planning attacks.

(Aka: two of the boys get hugs, Hyrule opens up on accidents, Sky drops some random lore about his Sunshine, Time puts his foot in his mouth like three different times, Dark has a vendetta over the dungeon mishap, and Epona is offscreen but very annoyed at Twilight.)

Warnings: cursing, grief, Time puts his foot in his mouth

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know.

Previous masterlist next

-------

The morning after you get to town is something you aren't ready to face, so you get up before anyone else and go to sit on the inn porch and watch the sunrise. You make sure your sword is with you. After getting surprised at the river, you're not keen to go without it.

Sleep is nowhere in reach, but sitting on the porch with Spooky at your side is nice.

"What do you think, pumpkin?" You ask as you scratch their chin.

Spooky purrs happily, leaning into your touch.

"Yeah?" You smile a little, "I'm glad you're happy."

You lean back on your hands while Spooky stretches across your legs. The air is still a little chilly, but it's a nice reprieve from the too-hot bed.

The looming talk with Time is not something you are looking forward to, but you know he has his concerns. You can't blame him for that.

Honestly... you don't know why Legend and Warriors are being so chill about everything. They're hovering still, but there's no distrust.

Maybe you're just missing something.

There's a few stray voices that the door muffles, but you chalk it up to other people being unable to sleep.

You sigh, leaning back on your hands and letting your head fall back.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and savor the fresh air.

Spooky purrs happily as they lounge on you.

This is nice. The air is cleaner than most places you know on Earth, and the sunrise is well worth seeing.

There's still a lot on your mind, but it isn't going anywhere.

You know what you did in the dungeon wasn't great. You can't ignore the twisting pit in your stomach around the promise or knocking Hyrule out.

It all feels ... dirty.

You didn't mean to make the promise. You didn't think about it. That dosen’t change that you did make the promise or that it broke a boundary that Hyrule made clear...

As far as knocking him out?

What else is there to have done?

You could have tried harder to convince him to come with you on his own? Maybe? But he was so out of it...

Maybe you could have told him you're his honeybee? That feels dirty, too, because you are and you aren't. It's not true, and it sets him up for disappointment and hurt when you don't remember everything.

You could have tried dragging him while he was awake? But really... how do you expect to get him anywhere he doesn't want to go while he's in that state?

What does it say about you that you knocked him out? Are you the kind of person who does that to make things easier?

Are you...

Are you a bad person?

If the roles were switched and Hyrule had knocked you out... how would you feel?

Hurt.

You would feel hurt... but with an explanation, you would like to think you'd understand and still trust him.

Hopefully?

No wonder Hyrule wants space, and Time doesn't trust you anymore.

You let out a heavy sigh. "I'm so screwed, Spooks."

Spooky just yawns.

The voices inside get closer and sound urgent.

Strange.

You set your hand on your sword, unsure if you're about to need it.

Probably not.

...Right?

Hylians probably don't pose a threat.

You're just... jumpy.

That's all.

There's more talking.

The door opens quickly, and three members of the chain are spilling out and rushing down the stairs of the porch.

"Is someone hurt?" You ask as you push Spooky off of you.

Spooky huffs but sits up.

You push to your feet as all three heroes turn to look at you with wide eyes.

Warriors, Legend, and Hyrule all stand there looking as if they got up in a rush.

Warriors wears only pants, undershirt, and chainmail. His boots' laces are wild and untied.

Hyrule wears no shoes and his under tunic with pants. His hair is wild and has leaves in it.

Legend ears only his evergreen tunic and socks. No hat or shoes in sight.

"You - where were you?!" Legend rushes out as he catches his breath.

"Right here?" You manage weakly. "What's wrong? Is someone hurt?"

"We thought you were hurt!" Warriors says tightly, "you weren't there when Wind woke up!"

"I was just getting some air. I'm sorry I worried you," you say as you let yourself relax.

"We thought the shadow had you," Hyrule breathes out.

"Oh. I- I'm okay. I didn't want to wake anyone."

"Just tell someone next time," Warriors sighs as he drags a hand down his face.

"I will. I didn't - " You start only to fall silent.

You didn't think about it.

That's apparently going to be an issue for you.

You didn't think before you made the promise.

You didn't think before leaving without telling anyone.

You're just messing up left and right, aren't you?

"We just - we don't want you to get hurt again. You have a knack for getting into incidents," Legend offers as he stumbles closer.

You wince, unable to argue back. "Would you believe it wasn't this drastic back home?"

"Yes," Hyrule says simply. There's a strange weight in his tome that makes you sea sick.

"You - you know next time I want air, I'll tell someone. I'm sorry I worried you," you say as you step off the porch. You set a hand on Legend's shoulder, "I really wasn't trying to."

Legend just surges forward, pulling you into a tight, almost desperate hug.

You gasp but hug him back on instinct.

He shakes in your arms, and he lets out a bitter laugh. "Take someone with you next time."

"Are you offering?" You manage to ask as you ignore how nice his arms are around you.

"Sure," Legend says as he pulls you closer.

His voice is shaking.

("Take me with you next time, Trinket," the man laughs as he pulls you into his arms.)

"Okay," you say as you let yourself have this.

The hug is nice. It's like coming home. He's warm and solid and real.

He's him.

His arms hold you just as you remember.

He smells sweaty, but you don't really mind.

Legend holds you as if you are precious and someone he loves deeply. One hand pets your back gently with his other hand settles on your shoulder.

The door opens again behind you.

"Oh ya foun' 'em," Twilight says thickly.

"We found them," Hyrule says slowly.

"I'll run 'n tell th' othe's," Twilight says as he turns to go back in.

"I'll come with you," Hyrule says.

You watch Hyrule leave while still hugging Legend.

Legend just sighs as he steps back, hands coming up to your shoulders. "Seriously, take someone with you."

"I will," you say.

"Good."

You glance over to Warriors, who is standing there awkwardly as if he isn't sure what to do.

"Are you okay, Wars?" You ask.

"Yeah," he says, like a liar.

You aren't sure what compels you to offer it, but you ask, "Do you want a hug too?"

"I- you're sure you don't mind?" Warriors manages.

"I'm sure," you say as you step closer to him and open your arms.

Legend steps back.

Warriors stumbles into you, pulling you into his arms gently with a half sob.

You don't comment on that, wrapping your arms around him instead.

He shakes too, but he's just as real and solid as ever.

He smells like the sandalwood soap he loves so much.

"You - I thought I'd lost you..." Warriors manages as he clings to you.

("I thought I lost you!" A man chokes as he pulls you out of the foliage. He pulls you close, the blue of his scarf familiar and soothing.)

You just sigh, rubbing his back. "I'm harder to get rid of than that."

"I know," he says mournfully.

"It's okay," you tell him.

"I know."

You can't help the next words that fall from your lips. They rise from the same place the memories and affection do. "I'm okay, Link. We all are."

Warriors chokes on a sound and shakes in your hold as he holds you closer.

He holds you as if you are a bouy in a stormy sea.

"You should both go back inside. You all need more sleep," you sigh as you step back and out of his hold.

"What about you?" Legend asks weakly.

"I'm just going to stay here a bit longer."

"We can stay too then," Warriors manages to say.

"You don't have to. I'm just going to watch the sunrise and think," you smile weakly.

Legend comes to stand next to Warriors with his arms crossing. "We don't mind staying."

"I really do just need to think," you say.

"Do... you want to think alone, or can we stay out here with you?" Warriors asks.

You -

You can't find it in yourself to turn them away. You still need to think... but is it bad to let them stay?

"I'm not going to be much of a conversationalist," you say.

"That's okay," Legend shrugs.

"If you don't mind that, you're welcome to stay."

The three of you end up sitting on the porch with your backs to the inn.

Warriors is on your left, and Legend is on your right. Spooky lays between the door and you three.

You let yourself run scenarios of what you could have done differently in the dungeon.

Maybe you're spiraling if you're honest...

Legend slumps towards you, head falling onto your shoulder as his body falls into you. His spine curls some.

You glance over and find him sleeping.

Good. He needs it.

Warriors isn't far behind Legend. He falls towards you a little too.

You help guide Warriors to slump against you as well, letting him rest.

You still can't sleep, but this is nice.

This is really nice.

The weight of the men on either side of you is a wordless reassurance that you are safe.

You still have too much on your mind, but you are not some abhorrent monster. You don't cause pain at any given chance.

You apparently give off enough comfort for two of the most insomniac and weary heroes to sleep deeply.

Settling into your new positions, you relax into the moment.

-------

Time sits at a table nursing his coffee while wondering just how long you, Legend, and Warriors plan to be outside. It's well after sunrise now, and even Sky is awake and alert.

Sky actually sits himself down by Time.

"They still haven't come in?" Sky asks before taking a sip of his own coffee.

"No," Time says primly.

He's not being paranoid like Hyrule says. He is simply being realistic.

You are a mystery to them all.

You seem to have some sway with two of the least trusting members of the group.

You have a panther that adores you.

You have Wind's adoration - which is admittedly one of the less concerning things because you are good to the kid.

You get into all of the strangest accidents.

How can he trust you after this latest issue? You say Hyrule was being controlled, but Hyrule isn't talking, and you were dragging him out.

Time sees how cagey Hyrule is around you since yesterday, how he watches you closely but dosen’t talk to you...

"Are you okay?" Sky asks.

"I'm fine," Time says evenly.

"Uh huh, why are you white knuckling your mug?"

Time frowns, looking down to see he is, in fact, gripping his mug tight enough to make his knuckles white.

He loosens his grip.

"I'm just concerned," Time says evenly.

Sky gives a look of exhaustion. "You aren't seriously thinking that (Y/n) did something to them."

"You can't tell me that isn't a concern," Time says as evenly as he can.

When he looks at Sky, he finds a thoroughly unimpressed look staring at him.

"Time, you have to be kidding me," Sky says with a heavy sigh.

"How are you not concerned? Hyrule has barely spoken to anyone since the dungeon, and they dragged him out. We don't even know if he was really being controlled," Time explains as calmly as he can. His voice is high and tight.

Sky just sighs heavily, "If that's what happened, Hyrule would have said something."

"To who? Legend? Warriors?"

"I understand that they're messing with your head, Time, but think about it. We know the fae running the dungeon was feeding on misery," Sky says slowly.

"Yes..."

"You don't get to hold them doing what they had to do to get Hyrule and themselves out alive against them," Sky says evenly, though his eyes look stormy.

There's an intensity to the sky child that Time isn't expecting.

"I'm just -"

"No. You're looking for something wrong because you are having a hard time with them around," Sky says as he stares the eldest down. "You're allowed to be upset and struggling, but you don't get to do this."

Time stares at him, pushing down the urge to shake sense into him. Time is struggling with that.

How dare Sky say that?

He isn't looking for problems!

Time just sees a suspicious situation!

"You don't think it's suspicious?"

"No. I think (Y/n) is someone who has no experience with things like this adventure. I think they were in a bad situation with no good choices."

"What if they're lying?"

Sky just stares at him for a moment. Then he gives an incredulous laugh. "Why would they lie and say they knocked him out? If they were lying, wouldn't they say they didn't?"

"I -" Time pauses.

He can't argue with that. It's a good point.

He still thinks it's strange. Hyrule won't talk to you.

"Your version of (Y/n) never had to do things to survive, did they?" Sky asks with a strangely heavy tone.

Time swallows thickly. "No. I kept that part of my life far away."

"Is that the issue? Seeing someone so similar thrust into this life?" Sky asks.

Time does not like the surging grief the question brings.

"I don't think it is."

"If you say so."

"You think it is?" Time asks, thoughts even he can admit it sounds accusatory.

"I think it's weighing on you. It weighs on a lot of us."

"Does it weigh on you, then?" Time asks as he shoves his emotions as far into his trusty Repression Canyon.

Sky huffs. "How could it not?"

"I... Sky, I shouldn't have asked."

"I brought it up. It's fine. I just - my Sunshine did have to do hard things to survive. I - hate seeing (Y/n) have to do it, too."

"Oh," Time manages faintly. "I -"

"They - weren't ever quite the same."

"No... no one ever is."

"No. They were still them. They just... had a little less hope in their eyes. That damnable demon had the gall to take them..."

"I'm so sorry," Time's manages.

"Don't be. It's- over, and the demon sword learned not to mess with my Sunshine, they had a stubborn streak..." Sky says with an oddly vindictive glee before he shakes his head and returns his attention to Time. "Just don't take your grief out on (Y/n). They did their best."

"You're... right," Time sighs.

He hates that Sky is right.

He hates that he is apparently just being paranoid.

"You still want to check on them," Sky says knowingly.

"It's been hours."

"Just don't be too hard on (Y/n)."

"Okay," Time says softly.

Shame is a hell of a suppressant.

He is going to have to look at his own biases and fears. Isn't he?

He hates feeling his own feelings.

Time misses his lover.

He misses his lover a lot.

Sky is right, though, about a lot of it.

If you were lying, why would you say you knocked Hyrule out?

You haven't shown any malicious behavior either.

You're good with Wind, encouraging the kid to do fun things.

You are just some unlucky sap who is on this adventure because the shadow has a sick sense of humor.

Time stands and makes his way to the door. Each step is just another chance to wonder if he's walking too heavy to come of non-threatening.

He leaves the dining area and makes it to the reception and front desk area.

There's an older woman at the desk and a few guests milling around.

There is no sign of you, Legend, or Warriors.

Time supposes he should go outside then.

He lets himself wonder how unfair he is to you a moment before he opens the door.

He makes it onto the porch and shuts the door behind him.

He turns to see if he can find you and nearly startles when he hears your voice from the left.

"Time?" You ask.

Time looks over and down, and he finds he isn't sure what to say.

You sit there and look up at him with a sleeping hero on either side of you.

"I was looking for you three," he manages.

"We've been here. They fell asleep, and I didn't want to wake them."

"I can see that."

"I guess you want to talk to me then? If you'll give me a few minutes... I can meet you inside? Or somewhere else?" You offer haltingly.

Time swallows thickly. What is he even going to talk about now? "You don't have to. I just wanted to ask for more clarification on what happened."

"Oh."

"That can wait," he decides.

Really, seeing Legend and Warriors asleep is... good.

They both look so at peace.

Their brows are lax, and Warriors actually looks to be dreaming.

"Are you sure?" You ask slowly.

Time just nods once. "Yes."

He isn't sure why the conversation seems so much less important.

Well, that's a lie.

He does know.

How can a conversation meant to prove you aren't worth trusting be important when you are sitting here for the third or fourth hour in a row while letting two heroes nap on you?

"Okay."

"You should probably come inside and eat soon," Time tells you.

"Probably," you agree.

He just watches you.

There's an exhaustion in your eyes that he recognizes.

He opens his mouth, and he means to ask if you want coffee or tea. He dosen’t. He instead does a truly glorious job of putting his foot in his mouth.

"Are you sure there wasn't something else you could have done besides knocking Hyrule out?" Time asks.

He dosen’t know why that's what came out of his mouth.

You suck in a breath.

Time could shake himself.

"Give me a minute," you say shakily.

Time watches as you start to gently wake Legend and Warriors. You shake them gently and whisper things he can't make out.

Legend and Warriors both groan, but they come to awareness at your gentle insistence.

Within a minute and thirty-seven seconds, both men are sitting up.

"I'll meet you guys inside," you say from your spot, still sitting.

"What?" Legend blinks at you.

"I'm just going to talk to Time, I'll meet you inside," you assure.

"No, you should come too," Legend says as he stares at you.

"It's fine," you wave off. "It needs to happen."

Time wants to shrink when he sees the looks that Warriors and Legend cast him.

Accusing and cold.

Their eyes are anything but understanding.

"Does it?" Warriors asks as he raises one horribly judgmental brow at Time.

"Wars," you sigh, "I'll be fine."

"I'm sure it can wait," Legend says darkly.

"Guys, please," you say firmly.

Time watches Legend and Warriors share a series of looks before they stand up.

The two leave with dirty looks.

You sigh, leaning back where you sit.

Time wants to apologize again. He wants to tell you it can wait.

"You want to know what else I could have done?" You ask him while avoiding his gaze.

He should say no.

"I do. What else could you have done?" Time asks.

He hates himself.

"I don't know. I didn't know what to do. I feel horrible about that, by the way. I didn't want to do that! I didn't want to take away his autonomy!" You say sharply, as if even you are angry at yourself.

You blink a few times, as something dawns on you.

"I - I just... I don't want those boys getting hurt. They're been through enough," Time says weakly.

"I know," you say softly.

He finds he believes that you do know some.

"I didn't mean to - I'm not trying to cause you distress. Are you... okay?" He hasks hesitantly, eyeing the way your shoulders shake.

"I - I'm still alive," you say instead of anything more reassuring.

"Do you... want to talk?"

"You know I couldn't figure out why exactly knocking Hyrule out felt so wrong? I knew it was. I knew I didn't want to and that hurting him felt bad enough... Talking to you made me realize a lot of it is because I took away any autonomy he had," you say with a shaking voice.

Oh.

Well, Time has made a mess of things now.

"That's... not great," Time manages. "I shouldn't have brought this up."

"What?" You ask as you look up at him with wide eyes.

"I was just so worried I let that blind me, and I got angry. It's unfair."

You give a soft, shaking laugh. "You know, you and Hyrule are the only people who are reacting normally?"

"What? No, I was just lashing out," Time tries to back pedal.

Really, he shouldn't hold this against you!

"Maybe. But do you know how weird it is that no one else is mad? Hyrule is. You are. I'm not saying you shouldn't be! Everyone else is just... sweeping it under the rug?"

"They aren't."

"They are. I really fucked up, Time," you say this in a shaking voice.

"I -"

"Why isn't Legend mad at me?" You ask with startling concern. "Why isn't anyone else wary?"

"They trust you," Time says.

You laugh at that, bitter and tired. "I don't even trust myself."

"Now I'm sure you did the best you could."

"You don't have to tip toe around it. I know you're upset," you sigh.

"I - was."

"Was?"

"I was. Then I spoke to Sky, and he put things into perspective."

"Don't tell me he made excuses for me."

"No. He just pointed out that you were in a bad situation."

"I'm so sick of hearing that," you sigh. "Bad situations don't magically excuse shit actions."

Time... isn't sure it matters if he's mad at you anymore. You're clearly mad at yourself and aware your actions suck.

What does he even say?

"What else could you have done?" Time asks.

You sigh, "Anything else, according to Hyrule. He's right. I could have really hurt him."

"Maybe," Time manages.

"I don't knock people out. If something had gone wrong he could have been hurt so much worse. I took away any autonomy he had left. I broke his boundaries. I could have done a lot different," you say.

"I - what do you mean you could have hurt him worse?" Time asks tightly.

Are you really that strong?

Has Time been missing things?

"If I - If I miscalculated the force? Or if I'd aimed my knee wrong? Or if I dropped him when he went dead weight? He could have gotten a head or neck injury. I - fucking hell Time, do you know how bad that would be?"

"How, exactly did you knock him out?" Time asks slowly.

"I slammed his face into my knee," you admit weakly.

"I - did you?" He asks faintly.

You sigh heavily, looking away. "I did."

"Well..." He manages before he realizes that he has no idea what to say.

On one hand, he's still very worried about Hyrule.

On the other? You obviously know how what you did was not great.

If he is honest... would he care so much if one of the boys did what you did?

He would certain worry. But would he be so callous?

"You're being rather hard on yourself," Time says finally.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"Maybe. But I still messed up pretty bad. I still endangered Hyrule. I still - I still took away his autonomy like the fae controlling him."

Okay.

Time is officially sure nothing he can do in 'retribution' will ever top your self flogging.

He isn't even close to mad at you anymore.

He's actually a little concerned.

"The fae was going to hurt him. You got him to saftey."

"I guess."

"I... can't exactly hold it against you when you got Hyrule out," Time says weakly.

He can't believe he was planning to tear into you.

You got his brother out of a situation meant to kill him.

Yes, your methods were... less than stellar, but he's got his own share of skeletons in the closet.

"If you say so."

"Do you want to come eat?"

"Probably should," you sigh.

"Do you need help getting up?"

"No."

-------

Dark dosen’t care to know what the heroes were thinking, he is going to have their heads for their failure.

He goes away with his darling lamb for a few days to go tend his love's health and then he comes back to see you dragging the traveler from a dungeon that reeks of cruel magic?!

Then he hears the story of what you faced!

You very nearly died because the heroes didn't have the sense to keep you away from the malicious dungeon!

You had to chase after one of them?!

Dark throws the knife and lands it in the bullseye perfectly.

You very nearly lost your life!

He only cares because it would take his darling lamb from him.

But even so, how could they ever do that to you? How could they ever leave you in such a vulnerable position?!

The reckless, careless, idiotic choice to leave you alone like that is unforgivable.

"How could they be so careless?!" Dark sneers as he throws a second knife.

"They're just incredibly stupid," Onyx sighs as they come up behind him.

They wrap their arms around his waist and lean to the side to see him better. Their cool touch is ever refreshing, and a treasure he thought lost.

"They are going to get you killed!" Dark snaps with a venom that so few achieve.

"We know they're incompetent," Onyx rolls their eyes. "It's not like they can stop the curse."

"If they could just stay away, or I don't know- not fuck up and abandon their soulmate it would not be such an issue!" Dark snarls as he throws another knife with impressive precision.

"You have to admit that (Y/n) has grit though," Onyx sighs as they lean into their lover.

He laughs, low as rolling thunder. "The heroes never deserved their soulmate."

"Mh, no they don't. So quick to get upset at them for doing what they must?"

"We have to keep a better eye on (Y/n), accident prone as they are."

"I do rather like them alive," Onyx laughs.

"Obviously."

Dark leans back against his lover. "Maybe we can seperate them again."

"Perhaps a yiga?" Onyx asks lightly.

"Maybe so. Maybe we can get (Y/n) on their own using the yiga..."

Onyx laughs, malicious and gleeful. "You're always so devious!"

"You always inspire my best plots," Dark says as he twists in their arms.

"Flattery?"

"What can I say? I am rather fond of you, my darling lamb."

They laugh again, tilting their head as they examine him. Their eyes are depths of liquid silver that he would happily drown in for even the slightest hint of their joy.

"My, my, you are smitten," They grin at him.

"As if you could go a day without me," Dark smirks.

"I went years without you, my viper," Onyx says with a scoff.

"I... yes. You did."

Onyx grins up at him, "I don't want to go that long without you ever again."

"Good," he says.

"Now, how about you and I work on that plan with the yiga?"

"Hm... Perhaps we could spend some time ensuring your health first?"

Onyx laughs, shaking their head before pulling him in for a kiss.

"Both?"

"Both."

-------

Legend stays inside with Hyrule while the others go to get information. He half wants to try to switch rooms around so he can watch you, but you have Warriors and Wind looking out for you.

Hyrule needs Legend.

Hyrule also needs to stop sulking inside his head.

"You're mad at (Y/n)," Legend says.

Hyrule gives him a look and then sighs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"They knocked you out because -"

"I'm not mad about that," Hyrule cuts in firmly. "It's not my favorite thing, but that's not what I'm mad about."

"Oh."

"Legend, they said they wouldn't make me Promises."

"Oh..."

"They made me a Promise anyway."

"Yeah... they did," Legend says.

He wants to defend you. He knows you! You aren't malicious!

You don't go against your word like that usually... but you did.

You said you wouldn't make Promises to Hyrule and then you did anyway.

"I can't believe them," Hyrule groans.

"Yeah..."

"You're not mad at them," Hyrule says, his tone is somewhere between calm observation and accusatory.

Legend dosen’t know how to explain it...

You may not do the perfect thing, but he knows you aren't out to hurt.

Legend knows you made that Promise on accident. You say so, and you just aren't the kind to purposefully cross boundaries like that.

Legend knows you were stressed and falling back on your habits. You always did like to promise to get yourself and someone else to safety...

Legend can't tell Hyrule that you're you thoigh. He can't do that because it's cruel.

Legend is not cruel.

Snarky? Yes.

Awkward? Absolutely.

Weary of strangers? You bet your hat.

But unnecessarily cruel? Legend does his best to not be that way.

"I don't think it was on purpose. It was their first dungeon," Legend says with a half shrug.

Hyrule sighs, slow and heavy. "I know. They - I'm sure it was on accident, but that dosen’t change that it happened."

"I know."

"I don't even know anymore, Legend. It feels like I'm losing my mind."

"I... The dungeon sounds like it was hell," Legend sighs.

"It wasn't," Hyrule gives a mirthless laugh. "I was so... excited."

Legend swallows thickly. What is he to say?

What can he say?

"Do you... remember any of it?"

"Bits and pieces. I was... not super aware."

"That sounds rough."

"You know, (Y/n) did great. They kept us alive."

"That's good."

"They told the fae they couldn't have me," Hyrule's says with a soft awe that Legend can't help but echo.

Of course you are the one to stand up to some strange and malicious fae.

It's you.

You always seem to have the stubborn streak to pull your boys out of situations that they aren't strong enough to save themselves from.

Legend can't help the adoration that swells at the thought of you.

"That sounds right," Legend says.

Hyrule just sighs, leaning back onto his bed. "They apologized to me before they knocked me out."

"They did?"

"Yes."

"Huh," Legend says.

Hyrule just falls backward onto the bed. "I don't even think I'm mad about the Promise... I'm just... hurt?"

"That makes sense."

"They endangered themselves," Hyrule says tightly. "They said they wouldn't make me Promises, and then they did."

"I know," Legend sighs.

He does know.

"They're the clearest thing about that place besides the feeling of false hope," Hyrule says with a weight behind his voice that is impossible to name and even harder to ignore.

"Oh. Is that... good?"

"I don't think anyone else would have gotten me out," Hyrule says with a snicker.

Legend frowns. "We would have."

"That place would have eaten any of the others alive. Legend my honeybee was calling for me. They were screaming."

"Hyrule... that's- that's so fucked up," Legend breathes out.

He wants to do something to help. Anything!

Hyrule's laughs an empty number. "Is it bad that I'm glad no one else went in?"

"No."

"I ... Legend we can't take them with us. We need to leave (Y/n) here," Hyrule says as he stares up to the ceiling.

"What?!" Legend demands.

He can't leave you!

He can't let you slip away from his life.

Not again.

"Legend... we are going to get them killed."

"No, we aren't."

"Just trust me," Hyrule sighs.

"Hyrule you don't understand what you're saying-"

"I can't lose them again!" Hyrule's snaps as he sits up again. The blood in his face is gone. He looks pale and a little sickly. His eyes are wild.

He looks far more ready to do something thoughtless than Legend thinks is safe.

Legend swallows thickly. "Hyrule-"

"I can't do this again, Legend. I nearly died last time and I can't do this again!"

"Hyrule..."

"Legend!"

"You know (Y/n) is our (Y/n), don't you?" Legend asks softer.

"I - you know too?"

"Wars does, too."

"Oh God - that explains a few things..." Hyrule manages weakly.

Legend sighs, "Hyrule, we can't leave them here."

"How many times have they almost died on this adventure?"

"We can keep them safe!"

"Can we?"

"Yes!"

"Legend, how? The curse -"

"Is already happening!" Legend cuts in sharply. "Leaving them behind in a strange town isn't going to save them!"

"I-... What else do we do?"

"We keep them with us and teach them to survive. Leaving them alone isn't going to help."

"I can't lose them again, Legend."

"None of us can."

Hyrule just lets out a shuddering sigh. "They saved me without thinking about themselves. I just - Legend I can't be why they die."

That's not a surprise. It's you, after all. "I know. We'll figure it out."

"We will?"

"We will. We're going to figure it out."

"Okay."

------

Next - wip

Taglist: @danyzta @vrsin @silver-the-pendejo @tulip-does-stuff @justanotherweeb666 @yourlocaltreesimp @blueberrysungie @victoryssong23 @shu-leepy @sleepifonlyigoti @sour-patch-delight @phlying-squirrel @pumpkincitrus @krys0210 @theregoeskittykat @fuckingfaraway @doodle-with-rhy @luxreader @chaos-inperson @justacommonwriter @time-shardz @ships-lover @theforgottenheros @clementine0068 @sinbehavior @maraigh-me @tialovesyoutoo @parvanovel @smilexoxoes @aura-likes-all-the-things

#misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu written in the stars (forever on loop) au #lu written in the stars au #written in the stars au

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ceyanabbiolo · 1 day ago

Text

PHOTOGRAPH // M.S [18]

Summary: Daphne Denoire, a 21-year-old, returns to Boston after 3 years—but working for her brother’s best friend, Matthew Sturniolo, wasn’t part of the plan. He’s a 26-year-old multimillionaire. She’s the girl he was never supposed to feel this way about. With secrets between them and boundaries set, how far will they go for a love they never saw coming?

Warnings: angst

wc: 2387

Chapter 18: Beauty In Death

The second the door slammed shut behind Noah, my stomach dropped like a stone.

“Shit,” I breathed, heart racing.

Daphne clutched the blanket around herself, frozen in pure panic, her cheeks flushed deep red. I gave her a quick look—guilt sinking in deep—and grabbed the first clothes I could reach.

“Stay here,” I said quickly, tugging my shirt over my head and stumbling into my pants, not even bothering to fix myself properly. My heart was pounding so hard it made my chest ache.

By the time I reached the living room, Noah was pacing near the kitchen island like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Hands in his hair. Breathing unevenly.

He turned the second he heard me.

“Don’t even,” he snapped. “Don’t say anything.”

“Noah—”

“You were fucking her, Matt?” he yelled, rage rising in every syllable. “My sister?”

“I—”

He didn’t let me speak.

“How long has this been going on? Huh?” he spat. “How long have you been lying to me?”

I didn’t respond; he needed to calm down.

“Why her, Matt? You can have any fucking woman. Why the fuck are you in bed with my sister, that I trusted you with?!”

The words hit harder than I expected, because we had been lying to him. For months.

“Noah, man,” I said quietly, standing still. “We didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

Noah laughed—cold, bitter. “Didn’t mean for what, exactly? For me to walk in on my best friend naked with my baby sister?” He scoffed, eyes bloodshot. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said firmly, stepping forward. “We weren’t hiding it to be sneaky. She was scared.”

Noah let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, now you’re speaking for her?”

“I’m not speaking for her,” I said, voice rising. “I’m trying to explain. We didn’t plan for this to happen, alright? But it did, and I would never—never—use her or hurt her.”

He stared at me, breathing hard, fists clenched at his sides.

“I asked you last month,” he raged. “Last month, if something was going on, and you looked me dead in the eye and said no.”

I swallowed. “Noah, I swear to you…I love her.”

“You love her? You love her, and you couldn’t even have the decency to tell me? My best friend? You let me walk into my apartment—into her room—”

“I didn’t know you were coming!” I snapped back, my voice rising despite myself. “You just showed up—”

“Exactly! I showed up because this is my home, and I trusted you, because you’re supposed to be like a brother to me.”

Noah’s eyes burned as he stepped toward me, his voice low and laced with fury.

“You don’t love her.”

I stared back, stunned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t love her,” he repeated, louder this time. “You just think you do, Matt. You’re not that guy. I’ve known you for too long—you’ve slept with half of Boston.”

My jaw clenched. “Are you serious right now?”

He laughed bitterly. “Don’t act surprised. I’ve seen the way you treat women. One minute they’re in your bed, the next they’re ghosts. You’re not some forever guy, Matt. You're not built for it.”

My blood boiled. “So that’s what you think of me?” I stepped forward. “You think I’d risk everything—you—our friendship—for a fucking fling?”

He didn’t back down. “I think you saw something in her, and you convinced yourself you were capable of loving it. But you’re not. You don’t even know what she’s been through.”

I froze.

He kept going, voice sharper now. “You couldn’t handle it. You just see what’s on the surface—she’s shy and kind—and it makes you feel like a good guy for wanting to protect her.”

My stomach dropped. I couldn’t even speak.

I didn’t have to.

I had completely forgotten he didn’t know I knew about Daphne's SA.

Behind us, the soft creak of a door opening cut through the tension like a knife.

I turned. Daphne stood there.

Hair tousled, face pale, a t-shirt hanging loosely over her frame. She looked like she’d heard everything.

And I think she had.

Her eyes flicked between me and Noah—my fists still clenched, Noah’s chest still heaving—and I saw it: that flicker of pain flash across her face.

Noah turned too, and when he saw her, something in him ignited again. His nostrils flared. His jaw tightened.

“You heard all that?” he asked bitterly.

She didn’t answer.

He took a step toward her. “You lied to me.”

Daphne flinched, just slightly.

“I didn’t—” she started, voice thin, but he cut her off.

“You lied, Daphne.” His voice was shaking. “All this time, you lived with me. You let me go on, thinking there was nothing between you two—”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t about hiding it to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Tell me what, huh?” he barked. “That you’re in love with my best friend? That you’ve been sleeping with him under my nose?”

“Stop,” Matt said firmly, stepping between them. “Noah, that’s enough—”

“No.” Noah shoved past me. “She doesn’t get to play innocent.”

He looked at Daphne again, raw and furious. My whole body hated the way he was talking to her.

“You kept me in the dark. You let me talk about him, and you never said a damn word. How long?”

Daphne swallowed hard. “Since January.”

He stared. “No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “No, no way. That’s… months. You—Gosh, Daphne. What else have you been hiding from me?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Nothing, I swear.”

But he wasn’t listening.

He turned away, pacing, then spun back. “Did you ever plan on telling me? Or were you gonna keep sneaking around until I walked in on you again?”

Tears started swelling in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “I wanted to tell you. I just—I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Too late,” he snapped.

He turned back to me.

“I knew this was coming,” Noah said, his voice tight with anger. “The moment she told me she was working for you, I just knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off.”

He spun back to Daphne, eyes blazing.

“And you?” he snapped. “You just let the first guy who pays attention to you mark you like that, Daphne? After everything you’ve been through, haven’t you put your brain cells together?”

I watched, confused and tense, as the argument spiraled between them. Daphne’s voice was steady but strained as she said, “I’m an adult, Noah.”

He scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, sure. Because you for sure act like one.”

“I love him, Noah,” she said said, my voice trembling but sure. My heart sank.

He let out a bitter laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “Shut up, Daphne. No, you don’t.”

His tone was biting, but I could hear the hurt underneath it all.

After a pause, he added, voice heavy with frustration, “After everything I’ve done for you.”

Daphne’s shoulders tensed, and she murmured, “I didn’t want to make it seem like I was taking something away from you again.”

Noah’s gaze sharpened, and his voice dropped, darker this time.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I stood there, heart pounding, not fully understanding what he meant, but feeling the weight of his words.

However, Daphne seemed to have been taken aback by those words. Daphne’s voice wavered but held firm.

“You can’t blame me for that, Noah. I was twelve.”

I watched Noah’s jaw tighten, his voice cutting sharper than before.

“Yeah, well, it was because you weren’t patient, because you couldn’t control yourself.”

I stepped back, confusion swirling in my mind, the tension thickening between them.

He took a step towards her, his glare darkened, voice low and raw, like he was dredging up a wound no one had dared touch.

“Because of you… I don’t have parents anymore.”

Daphne looked like she had been punched in the gut.

His eyes locked onto mine with a harsh intensity that made my breath catch.

“Or a friend I thought I could trust.”

The room fell into a suffocating silence.

What did he mean by that? A million questions flooded my mind, twisting with every heartbeat.

Noah’s eyes locked on me, burning with raw anger. “Get out of my apartment,” he said, voice low but deadly serious.

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could say a word, Daphne stepped between us, her hands trembling.

“Noah, please—don’t do this.”

I shot Noah a pleading look. “Come on, man. Let’s just calm down.”

But Noah’s glare didn’t waver. “This isn’t about calming down.”

His fist clenched tightly, and in a sudden, furious motion, he swung toward me.

Time seemed to slow as I saw the punch coming, but before it connected, Daphne threw herself forward, placing herself between us.

Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, “Noah, stop! Please!”

Her sobs echoed in the room, and for a moment, everything shattered—the anger, the tension, the fear—replaced by raw, desperate pain.

I reached out, gently pulling Daphne back from the edge, heart hammering in my chest. I hated seeing her like this.

Noah’s chest heaved, his fury clashing with the pain in his eyes.

He stared at us, like it physically pained him to see his sister in my arms.

Noah’s chest rose and fell heavily, the storm of fury swirling with a deep, aching pain in his eyes. He looked at us, like Daphne in my arms, physically pained him to see.

He sighed.

“It’s not that I’m even mad you two are together,” he said, voice rough and strained. “I want Daphne to be happy. I want that more than anything.”

But then his gaze hardened, the raw hurt sharpening his words.

“It’s the lying—the secrecy—that makes it all feel like some kind of lie to me. Like, none of this is real.”

His fists clenched at his sides, trembling slightly with the weight of everything he’d been holding in.

“I’m angry. I’m pissed off because you kept me in the dark. Because I thought you were my brother, and instead, I’m just some outsider watching it all happen behind my back.”

His voice cracked, heavy with the torment of betrayal, as he looked at Daphne.

“I always put you first, Daphne, that's why I can’t accept you keeping this from me.”

There was an unbearable silence before he spoke again. Noah’s voice cut through the room again—sharper this time.

“Get out, Matt.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a shout. It was final. Cold. Strained.

I swallowed hard. My chest felt like it had been split wide open, each breath tighter than the last. My eyes flicked to Daphne—her face crumpled with disbelief, her mouth already parting like she was going to beg him not to say it again.

“No,” she said, her voice cracking as she stepped forward. “No, Noah, I’m sorry—don’t do this.”

I reached for her hand gently, squeezing it. She was shaking. Her eyes were glassy, and everything about her looked shattered.

“It’s okay,” I said softly, my voice hoarse. “Let everything cool down. I’ll go.”

“Matt—” she whispered, grabbing at my shirt like she couldn’t bear to let me walk out again.

Her fingers curled around me like I was the only solid thing left.

“I love you,” I murmured so only she could hear. “And I’m not leaving you. Just giving him space to calm down.”

I turned to Noah then, and—it took everything in me not to snap. Not to let my rage rise to meet his.

But instead, I looked him dead in the eye. And all I let him see was the pain. Pain that the person I’d once trusted like a brother could look at me like I was nothing more than a betrayal.

I gave one last look at Daphne—one that said I’ll come back. I promise.

Then I stepped out the door, and the second it clicked shut behind me.

The elevator ride down felt like hell. Every floor that ticked by, I could still hear her voice echoing in my head. “No, Matt… don’t go.” The image of her reaching for me burned behind my eyes like it had been branded there. I could still feel the tremble in her hands, the hurt in her eyes.

And Noah—the look he gave me. Like I’d stolen something sacred. Like I wasn’t the person he thought I was.

Maybe I wasn’t.

By the time I stepped out into the parking garage, I couldn’t breathe. My hands were shaking as I grabbed my helmet, my heart slamming in my chest with nowhere for the anger or heartbreak to go. I felt like a coward—walking out like that. Leaving her in the ruins of a mess I helped build.

What the hell was I doing? How did everything go so wrong, so fast?

I fired up the bike, needing the engine’s roar to drown out the voice in my head. The city blurred around me as I sped out into the night. The streets were dark, glistening from a drizzle, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even feel the cold.

I gripped the throttle harder, faster, weaving past traffic, tunnel vision setting in. My thoughts kept spiraling:

I should’ve fought harder for her. I should’ve stayed. Why didn’t I stay?

Was I too scared to deal with Noah’s anger? Did I just prove him right?

My chest ached, but I couldn’t slow down. Not now. I needed something—anything—to cut through the chaos in my head. I didn’t even notice the sharp bend in the road until it was too late.

A flash of headlights. Screeching brakes. My tires hit the painted line—wet.

My world tilted. My body flung sideways.

Metal screeched against the pavement. I didn’t feel the impact right away, but I could taste the blood running down my skull.

The wind was knocked out of me. My helmet bounced.

My limbs scraped, pain blooming in fragments.

For a moment, I just lay there, stunned, breathless, unconscious.

Everything went black.

The last thing that echoed in my mind was her soft, broken voice.

“Matt… please, don’t go.”

I’m so sorry, sweetheart.

I think I might have to.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS NOW!

[a/n: don't hate me guys :( – you guys convinced me in my inbox to post twice sooo here you go, like and reblog! love you all] –ceyana

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