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thedemoninme141 · 23 hours ago

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The Maiden Of Death PART 1.

Summary: They say opposites attract. But you? You weren’t her opposite. You were worse.

A/n: This is a new series, I actually had part 1 written like a month ago, But I didn't post it back then mainly because I won't write part 2 until I finish Her Heartbeat. I also am not really sure if you guys would like it, because its a bit dark. But I hope you do.

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Warnings: Violence at the end but you guys would be satisfied by it lol.

She met you in fencing class.

As Wednesday was walking through the hallways of Nevermore, on her way to the fencing class, she couldn't help but question herself, why had she returned?

Sure, she had defeated Crackstone. Tyler was locked away, the Gates family’s legacy was ash. Yet, despite her apparent victory over the forces conspiring against Nevermore, Wednesday couldn’t shake the hollow feeling of anticlimax.

So why?

Perhaps it was the faint pull of unfinished business. The photos of a shadowy stalker she’d received at the end of her first year were an unsolved loose end, but even those now felt underwhelming. Whoever it was hadn’t made a move worth her attention in months.

Or maybe she was here because it gave her the chance to humiliate Bianca this time. That thought warmed her more than she cared to admit. Bianca had always been the most formidable opponent in fencing, her skill matched only by her infuriating arrogance. Wednesday lived for that. She would never say it aloud, but Bianca was the only opponent worth her time.

As she entered the fencing room, the chatter of students died down. The tension in the room was immediate, Wednesday didn’t need to look to know that all eyes were on her. She had always been the odd one in this class, the only one to don a fencing uniform as black as her soul while everyone wore the casual white.

But something was different today. She caught sight of a figure seated casually in one of the chairs lining the hall but the reason her eyes found this one so fast because they dressed entirely in black fencing gear, just like her. Their mask and helmet obscured any hint of identity.

For as long as she had fenced at Nevermore, she had been the only one to wear black. This was an intrusion.

Her gaze shifted to Bianca, and for the first time, Wednesday noticed blood dripping from the other girl’s left hand. It was a small, angry trickle, barely enough to warrant alarm, but the sheer fact of it was startling. Bianca never bled. Not in fencing. Her form was too precise, her reactions too swift.

“Wait, that’s not Wednesday?” Kent was the one to speak out.

The rest of the students murmured, their gazes bouncing between her and the stranger. Even the coach was a bit confused.

Wednesday’s curiosity deepened but she said nothing.

Her dark eyes flicked back to Bianca. The siren’s usual air of superiority was gone, replaced by something raw and bitter. Humiliation.

Bianca Barclay had been beaten, and beaten badly, by... whoever this was.

“Barclay,” The coach said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Infirmary. Now.”

Bianca huffed, her glare locked on the figure in black. If looks could kill, the stranger would have been reduced to ashes. But they remained unmoved, offering no reaction.

As Bianca passed Wednesday, she slowed, her lip curling in disdain. “Not one word,” she muttered, low enough that only Wednesday could hear.

Wednesday tilted her head, her tone as cool as ever. “Careful, Barclay. Your blood loss is showing.”

Bianca huffed but she said nothing, stalking out of the hall with as much dignity as she could muster.

Wednesday’s lips curved in the faintest of smirks. Whoever this person was, they had achieved something remarkable. The idea that someone could dismantle Bianca so thoroughly sparked a flicker of excitement deep in Wednesday’s chest, a sensation she quickly quashed.

The possibility of being bested was not one she entertained lightly, but the idea of such a challenge thrilled her in a way she couldn’t deny. It was rare to find someone who could match her ruthlessness, let alone surpass it.

Her gaze returned to the masked figure. They hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even acknowledged the chaos they’d caused. They simply sat there, busy in their own world.

She took a step forward, “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.

The figure didn’t respond. Their silence was deliberate, unyielding.

Wednesday’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile, dark, challenging, hungry. “If you’re going to steal my aesthetic, the least you can do is prove you’re worthy of it.”

A murmur swept through the room. Someone let out a low whistle, and the coach frowned, clearly torn between maintaining order and allowing the drama to unfold.

“Addams, this is not the time for theatrics,” the coach started, but Wednesday silenced her with a raised hand.

“It’s not theatrics. It’s a challenge,” she said, her dark eyes fixed on the seated figure. “Unless you’re too afraid to accept.”

For a moment, the figure remained motionless. Then, slowly, they stood. The black fencing uniform clung to their frame, and the mask’s darkened mesh remained inscrutable. They stepped onto the fencing strip—silent, measured, and deliberate and Wednesday adjusted her fencing mask.

The room collectively held its breath.

The coach sighed, knowing full well he can't stop Wednesday.

“En garde.” he yelled.

With her perfect stance and razor-sharp mind, Wednesday raised her blade. A precision tool she had used innumerable times, the weight of her foil in her hand was reassuring. The other fencer, whose mask concealed any emotion, mirrored her movements with eerie grace across from her.

“Prêts,” the coach said.

Wednesday’s focus narrowed. Her heart beat steadily. She would rule. She did it every time.

“Allez.”

The duel began. Wednesday moved first, her blade darting forward in a testing thrust. Her opponent’s response was immediate, a deflection so swift it was almost imperceptible.

Wednesday pressed forward, her footwork precise and aggressive. She lunged again, trying to draw her opponent into a mistake. But the figure in black sidestepped, their movements fluid and economical. They struck back, their blade skimming past her guard with alarming speed. Wednesday barely parried and dodged in time.

A flurry of attacks and counters. Wednesday’s strikes were measured, calculated to exploit any opening. Yet her opponent offered none. It was as if they were reading her mind, anticipating her every move.

Her frustration grew, simmering beneath her stoic exterior. She was Wednesday Addams. She did not lose.

Then it happened. In a single, breathtaking motion, her opponent disengaged, their blade whipping around her guard to land a clean hit on her shoulder.

The coach’s voice rang out. “Point. 1-0.”

The room exhaled collectively. Wednesday’s grip on her épée tightened. Her eyes narrowed behind the mask. She had underestimated them. That was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

They reset. The coach’s whistle blew. “Allez!”

This time, Wednesday took a defensive stance, watching her opponent closely. Their movements were fast, almost inhumanly so, but there was no sound—no labored breathing, no huffs of exertion. It was as though they weren’t human at all but a ghost sent to haunt her.

Their blade darted forward in the blink of an eye. Wednesday countered, attempting to draw them into a trap. But they saw through it, disengaging and circling to her left. She pivoted, parrying a thrust aimed at her torso, but their follow-up was too quick. The tip of their blade grazed her arm.

The coach’s voice rang out again. “Point. 2-0.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched beneath the mask. The students murmured, the shock evident in their voices. Anger flared in her chest, hot and unwelcome. She was not accustomed to being outmatched like this.

The next round began. Wednesday forced herself to focus, she studied their movements, searching for a pattern, a weakness. Their strikes were precise, but even precision had its rhythm.

Then she saw it—a slight hesitation in their retreat, a fraction of a second where their weight shifted too far back. It was enough.

When they lunged, she was ready. She sidestepped, her blade sweeping upward in a controlled arc. The tip struck their shoulder.

"Point 2-1" The coach whistled.

For the first time, her opponent faltered. It was subtle, a small hesitation as they reset, but Wednesday caught it. The way they froze for a heartbeat, their head tilting slightly as if registering the touch, was fascinating. She couldn’t see their face, but she imagined what might lie beneath the mask. Surprise? Annoyance?

She allowed herself the faintest of smirks.

But the pause was brief. The stranger reset, their stance as flawless as ever. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her foil. If they can get hit, she can win. She just needs to be patient.

The whistle sounded again, and they moved.

This time, it was a storm. The stranger’s attacks came faster, sharper, each strike more relentless than the last. Wednesday parried and countered, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to keep up. They weren't getting tired, and Wednesday for a fact understood, this was must be because one of their powers, Was it fair? No. But it was... maybe a lit... amusing.

For every move she anticipated, they had another waiting in line.

She refused to give ground, but her endurance was waning. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, her breaths coming faster despite her efforts to control them. And then, just as she thought she might regain the upper hand, they struck.

The tip of their foil grazed her chest with clinical precision.

“Touché! 3-1."

The class went full silent, except a few gasphs.

Wednesday staggered back a step, her breath caught in her throat. She had lost. And it wasn’t luck or a fluke. It was a deserved victory. This opponent, whoever they were, was better.

Her gaze flicked to the masked figure, who was already lowering their blade, their movements as calm and unbothered as ever. They turned without a word, stepping off the fencing mat as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

Anger bubbled beneath Wednesday’s surface, sharp and unrelenting. Not just at her opponent, but at herself. She had lost, just as Bianca had.

But unlike Bianca, she wouldn’t accept it.

“Wait,” she said, the stranger paused mid-step but didn’t turn.

“I’m not finished.”

Taking off her gloves, Wednesday ripped off her mask, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clang. Her pale face, flushed faintly from exertion “One more match,” she said, “No helmets. No gloves. First blood.”

The figure paused mid-step. Slowly, they turned back to face her. The room held its collective breath as they reached up, removing their gloves with deliberate precision. Then, they raised their hands to their helmet and pulled it off.

Wednesday froze.

A cascade of hair fell free, framing a face that froze Wednesday in place. Deep blue eyes met hers, piercing and unreadable.

A girl.

For the first time in years, Wednesday Addams felt something foreign and unfamiliar. Her mind stumbled over itself, her usual composure shattered. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She could only stare. The sharp lines of the girl’s face, the way her eyes seemed to see straight through her.

The girl’s expression was unreadable, her silence almost oppressive. Her gaze was sharp, piercing, but there was no mockery in it, no trace of satisfaction. It was as though the outcome of their first match had been irrelevant to her.

That infuriated Wednesday more than the loss itself.

The coach hesitated before stepping back and raising his hand. His voice wavered slightly as he called out, “En garde.”

Her grip of her foil tightened as she drew her focus inward, forcing her breathing to steady. She couldn’t allow herself to think of the humiliation, This was about proving a point- to herself and to the girl who had dared to take her victory so effortlessly.

“Allez!”

The match began with a lunge from Wednesday, her blade aiming for the girl’s shoulder. It was a calculated strike, meant to gauge her opponent’s reaction. As before, the girl deflected with an unnerving ease, her blade redirecting Wednesday’s attack in a single fluid motion.

Wednesday pressed forward, her strikes coming faster, sharper, each one aimed to corner the girl into a defensive position. But her opponent was quick, impossibly quick, slipping out of reach with minimal effort.

Wednesday felt her frustration mount with each failed strike. No matter how precisely she aimed, the girl always seemed a step ahead.

Wednesday pushed harder, her movements growing more aggressive. She feinted left, aiming for the girl’s left hand, of course her attack was parried... but barely this time.

For the first time, her defense seemed less impenetrable. Wednesday seized the opening, striking with renewed vigor. But right then, Wednesday’s eyes locked on the girl’s, her heart skipping a beat. They were… haunting. Deep, unfathomable, and completely devoid of emotion.

And then, the girl did something that froze Wednesday mid-movement.

She shifted her stance; a slight adjustment to her footing, the angle of her blade. But as the girl moved, it became clear that this was something entirely different. Her grip on the foil changed, her movements adopting a fluidity that was both unfamiliar and unnerving.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. The stance was unusual, almost ceremonial in its precision. And then it clicked.

It was the stance of a katana.

The realization sent a chill down Wednesday’s spine. She had studied fencing extensively, priding herself on her knowledge of techniques from all over the world. But this was something else, something that Wednesday isn't an expert on...

The girl moved, and Wednesday barely had time to react. Her strikes came in sweeping arcs, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. The blade seemed to dance, its movements impossible to predict.

Wednesday’s defense faltered under the onslaught. She parried desperately, her mind racing to adapt to this new style. But the girl’s attacks were relentless, her blade slipping past Wednesday’s defenses with alarming frequency.

For the first time, Wednesday felt out of her depth.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t let this girl overwhelm her—not again. She lunged, aiming for a weak point in the girl’s defense, but her blade was deflected with a force that nearly knocked it from her hand.

The girl countered with a strike so precise, so swift, that Wednesday barely dodged in time.... or did she?

Because the girl had stopped.

It wasn’t a retreat or a hesitation. She simply froze, her blade lowering slightly as though she had no reason to continue.

Wednesday frowned, her gaze dropping to her arm. Her stomach dropped. A thin line of red traced its way down her pale skin, a tiny drop of blood beginning to bead at its edge.

First blood.

Wednesday’s foil slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as the weight of her loss settled over her. She stared at the girl, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

She had lost. Again.

The girl stepped back, her expression unchanged. There was no emotion in her eyes, no trace of satisfaction or smugness. It was as though the match had meant nothing to her, as though Wednesday had been just another opponent to dispatch.

Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. The loss was infuriating, yes, but it was the girl’s indifference that stung the most. She didn’t care. She hadn’t even been challenged.

The girl bent to retrieve her helmet and gloves. She turned without a word, walking toward the exit as though the match had never happened.

Wednesday watched her go, her emotions a tangled mess of anger, humiliation, and something she couldn’t quite name. She had been defeated before by Bianca, but not like this. Not by someone who had reduced her to irrelevance with so ease.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to see Bianca, her left hand freshly bandaged. Bianca stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest as if she wasn’t sure how to start.

“Now you get it?” Bianca muttered, crossing her arms.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, “Get what?”

Bianca exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Why I lost.”

Wednesday remained silent, waiting for Bianca to elaborate.

“When she showed up in the black gear, I thought it was you.” She raised her bandaged hand, her irritation palpable. “So, naturally, I challenged her. Gloves off. I wanted to prove a point to you..."

“And yet here you are,” Wednesday noted, “Unproven.”

Bianca’s jaw tightened, but she pushed past the jab. “She’s not like anyone else. The way she fights? It’s... unsettling.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “She doesn’t fence. Not really. She reads you, adapts, and then it’s like she’s a step ahead of you the whole time. You can’t even throw her off. I tried."

“And failed.” Wednesday said flatly.

"So did you. But at least you got a point against her." With that, Bianca turned and walked away.

Wednesday remained where she was, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

Why did it feel like she was everywhere and nowhere at once?

She exhaled sharply, spinning on her heel and leaving the gym.

By the time she reached quad for lunch, the words had already outrun her. As she stepped inside, the chatter shifted noticeably, students stealing glances at her as though they couldn’t believe the day’s events.

And then there was Enid.

The werewolf practically launched herself at Wednesday, her vibrant energy an unwelcome assault.

“Wednesday! Oh my gosh, is it true? Did you actually.......lose?"

Wednesday gave Enid her death glare... which Enid is immune to, unfortunately.

“Everyone’s talking about it. Apparently, you got your butt kicked by the new girl in, like, the most epic way possible! Like, who even is this girl? And why is she just as dark and scary as you?”

“I am not discussing this.” The glare deepened.

“Okay, okay,” Enid said, holding up her hands. “But seriously, who is she? And why are you so.... intense about this?”

“I am not intense,” Wednesday said curtly.

“Come on, are you jealous? Or just annoyed that someone might actually be better than you?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Or… is it something else?”

Wednesday’s turned slowly, fixing Enid with a look that could have withered flowers. “Your penchant for meddling will get you killed one day.”

Enid smirked, unfazed. “Uh-huh. So, jealous and annoyed. Got it.”

Before Wednesday could retort, her gaze shifted to the far end of the dining hall.

There she was, sitting alone at a table. She had chosen a seat far from the crowd, her posture calm and unbothered, as though the buzz around her didn’t exist. The students nearest to her stole glances at her, some murmuring, and some looking at her like she was a ticking time bomb.

“You should go talk to her,” Enid whispered, leaning closer.

Wednesday tore her gaze away, fixing Enid with an incredulous look. “And say what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. How do goths befriend each other?” Enid said earning another death glare. She shrugging. “Besides, you two have the same energy; dark and brooding. You’re practically soulmates.”

“Ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the girl. She was so still, so utterly composed, it was unnerving.

Before Wednesday could decide whether to act, the girl stood, collecting her tray and leaving the hall without so much as a glance toward anyone.

She found out your name in alchemy class.

Alchemy was Wednesday’s next class, and she had hoped it would provide a distraction, But as she sat at her desk, her mind kept going back to that girl... and as she began the delicate work of combining reagents, She glanced at the door, almost involuntarily, as though expecting something... and she wasn't disappointed.

The room fell silent. Every student turned to look as the girl walked in, unhurried and unbothered. Her expression betrayed no hint of apology, no trace of acknowledgment for the disruption. She simply stepped inside as though she owned the space.

The professor sighed, “Well, if it isn’t our newest addition. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “Y/N, I’d ask why you’re late, but something tells me you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

You said nothing, offering only a blank stare before scanning the room. The only empty seat was beside Wednesday. Without hesitation, you walked over and sat down.

Wednesday stiffened, her focus now completely obliterated. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, you seemed utterly unbothered by the attention of the room, just as she was at her start here in Nevermore.

The professor resumed his lecture, but Wednesday barely heard a word.

She pretended to focus on the lesson, her pen moving across her notebook. But her eyes betrayed her, darting toward you at every opportunity.

She should have been focused on the experiment, on proving her superiority in yet another intellectual endeavor. But all she could think about was.... those eyes.

Every time Wednesday stole a glance at you, she found herself lingering, her gaze caught by the depth of your stare. There was something unsettling about it, something that gnawed at the edges of her mind. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t look away.

The rest of the class passed in a haze, when the professor finally dismissed them, Wednesday gathered her things ignoring you. She refused to acknowledge you as you rose and left the room, as silent and unbothered as ever... but she did. As she watched you disappear into the corridor, Wednesday felt a twinge of something she couldn’t name. Curiosity. Frustration. Whatever it was, she was sure she didn't like it.

She first talked to you in the library.

If she could eradicate botany from this school, she would. She despised the assignment. Plants were irritatingly alive, with their need for sunlight and water and their incessant growth. And worse, they were resilient, continuing to thrive no matter how much she wished otherwise. That their existence shared the same planet as hers was one of life's more enduring inconveniences.

But what annoyed her more was giving these green nuisances even a moment of her attention. It was an indignity she had endured only to achieve perfection in her report, which, of course, had been flawless. That's why she had come to the library, she needed a book, Comprehensive Biology.

And there you were.

At the far corner of the library, you stood alone, scanning the shelves.

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed. She hadn’t planned to confront you, but the sight of you, unbothered and aloof, stirred something in her. Frustration? No, she refused to acknowledge such a trivial emotion. It was something deeper. A need to understand. To assert control.

She approached quietly, her hands clasped behind her back as she stopped a few feet away. For a moment, she simply observed. You were searching for something, your eyes moving methodically over the spines of the books.

“Lost?” she asked finally, her tone sharp and cutting. Her voice broke the silence like a blade slicing through cloth. “Or have you simply forgotten how to read?”

You turned your head slowly, your expression unreadable as you looked at her. For a moment, there was nothing, no reaction, no flicker of recognition. Then you tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in your eyes.

“Who are you again?” you asked, your voice devoid of malice but also of any warmth.

The question hit Wednesday like a slap. Her expression didn’t falter, but inside, a slow burn began to rise. Who are you again? The words echoed in her mind, each one twisting the knife of insult deeper.

“Who am I?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief and irritation. She stepped closer, her dark gaze locked onto yours. “I’m the person you defeated. Twice. Today. The one you sat beside in class today. Or has your memory been as unimpressive as your personality?”

You blinked, unperturbed, and returned your gaze to the books. “Oh,” you said simply, as if the information had already slipped from your mind. “Right.”

The dismissiveness of your voice made Wednesday’s jaw tighten. Most people crumbled under her sharp tongue or recoiled from her glare. You, however, seemed utterly immune

“You’re remarkably unbothered for someone with so little reason to be,” Wednesday said, her voice icy.

You pulled a book from the shelf. “And you’re remarkably persistent for someone who lost.”

Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. The audacity. The nerve. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle you or applaud your ability to get under her skin.

“I don’t lose,” she said firmly.

You finally turned to face her fully, the book resting in your hands. “Then what do you call what happened earlier?”

Wednesday’s glare could have melted stone. “An anomaly. One that will not be repeated.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression still maddeningly neutral. “If you say so.”

Most people would have shifted under her gaze by now, stumbled over their words, or tried to appease her. You did none of those things. Instead, you opened the book, flipping through its pages showing your complete disinterest in the conversation.

“Why are you here?” she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less pointed.

“Looking for a book,” you replied simply, your tone making it clear that the answer should have been obvious.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “And what, pray tell, is so fascinating that it brought you to the library instead of, say, gloating over your victory?”

You closed the book, sliding it back onto the shelf with the same quiet precision that marked everything you did. “I don’t gloat. Victory isn’t worth much if it’s expected.”

The words struck a chord.

“You’re insufferable,” she said finally, her voice a low growl.

You tilted your head again, considering her words. “So I’ve been told.”

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What type of outcast are you?”

No reply.

Her irritation spiked. “What’s your power? You must have one, unless the administration suddenly decided to admit normies."

Still no reply.

Wednesday huffed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Ignoring me is ill-advised. I’ve been known to make people regret it.”

You pulled a book off the shelf, inspected it briefly, and then replaced it with a calm that bordered on infuriating.

Wednesday stepped closer, her boots silent on the carpet. “I asked you a question.”

Without a word or any visible motion, a glint of metal appeared in your hand. A knife, sleek and deadly, materialized out of nowhere. Wednesday froze, her body tensing as her hand instinctively moved toward her own hidden knife. But she stopped short when you spun the weapon in your fingers with fluid ease, offering her the handle.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious and calculating. She didn’t take it immediately, instead scrutinizing both you and the blade. After a moment’s hesitation, Wednesday stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours as she took the knife.

It wasn’t an ordinary knife; it was a parrying dagger, the kind designed to trap and break an opponent’s blade... and it looked old, centuries old.

“Conjuring weapons,” she said slowly, her tone even but laced with curiosity. “Is that your ability?”

"Something like that." you answered.

Before she could probe further, you let out a quiet sigh, your gaze drifting back to the shelves. It seemed you still hadn’t found what you were looking for. As you stepped away from the shelf and headed toward the exit, Wednesday tried to stop you. She held out the parrying dagger, “Here. Take it back.”

"Keep it." You said simply without even glancing back, leaving Wednesday standing alone in the dimly lit library, the dagger still in her hand. She slid it into her pocket, her mind already plotting how she would uncover the truth about you. She didn’t just let things go. And she certainly wasn’t about to start with you.

She understood a bit more about you during botany.

Breakfast was, at best, tolerable, and at worst, a chore. The only reason she even bothered was the unavoidable biological need to sustain herself.

She surveyed the room with her dark eyes, already calculating the path of least interaction to her usual seat with Enid.

But her gaze froze mid-scan.

You were there.

Sitting at her table.

Sitting in her seat.

And beside you, chattering as though her life depended on it, was Enid Sinclair. Did Enid mistook you as Wednesday?

And beside you, animatedly chattering as though her life depended on it, was Enid Sinclair. Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed as she stood by the entrance, taking in the scene. How did you end up here? Of all the tables, all the seats in the dining hall, why hers? . You, however, were picking at your breakfast with the same disinterest Wednesday reserved for Enid’s most frivolous stories.

Enid noticed her almost immediately, waving excitedly. “Wednesday! Over here!”

Wednesday suppressed the urge to roll her eyes but failed. She stood rooted for a moment, weighing her options. She could walk away, claim another seat, and avoid the unbearable company of Enid and you. But that would mean admitting, if only to herself, that she was bothered. She was not one to surrender her territory so easily.

With a sigh that carried all the weight of her disdain, Wednesday made her way to the table. When she reached the table, she didn’t ask for her seat back. She was too mature for that.

Enid beamed. “Look who joined us! Isn’t this great?”

“It’s something,” Wednesday muttered, her tone flat as she slid onto the bench across from you.

You didn’t look up from your plate. The lack of acknowledgment was grating, though she couldn’t decide why.

“So,” Enid said, her voice a mix of excitement and curiosity, “Y/N was just telling me, well, okay, not telling, more like I was guessing, that she’s not really into breakfast food. Isn’t that funny? Like, how can anyone not love pancakes?”

Your fork paused mid-air for the briefest of moments before continuing its journey to your mouth. You didn’t respond.

Wednesday, who understood that pointless chattering annoys you as much as her... maybe she could try "The Enid Way"

“Perhaps Y/N finds pancakes as insipid as she finds conversation.”

Enid blinked, clearly unsure whether to laugh or defend herself. “Uh… okay, rude? But honestly, you two could totally bond over being broody and, like, totally impossible to read.”

Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you then, a sharp, probing look. “I wouldn’t say impossible. Predictable, perhaps. There’s a certain monotony to Y/N’s silence and I do not find it intriguing at all.”

You glanced up, finally meeting her eyes. There was no irritation in your expression, no spark of retaliation, just an unreadable calm that only served to unnerve her further. “And yet, here you are, commenting on it,” you said evenly before returning to your plate.

It wasn’t the sharpest retort, but the way you delivered it, like an afterthought, as though Wednesday’s presence barely registered, made it sting all the same.

Enid looked between the two of you, her eyes wide with the kind of excitement only she could muster. “Oh my gosh, this is like watching two glaciers collide! I mean, not that you guys are slow or cold or anything. Well, maybe a little cold. Anyway, isn’t this fun?”

“No,” Wednesday and you said at the same time.

Enid burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “See? You’re already bonding!”

Wednesday shot her a look that could curdle milk, but Enid was unfazed.

Eugene was approaching their table but he stopped short when he saw you, his gaze darting between you and Wednesday. His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Uh… are we seeing double, or is this the person who—”

“Finish that sentence, Eugene, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Wednesday said.

Eugene’s eyes widened as he nodded quickly. “Got it. Not finishing the sentence.” And just as Eugene joined the table, her attention returning to you. You were wiping your hands with a napkin, getting ready to leave. Wednesday can tell, your hate for social interaction, raged more than her's. Perhaps, she can use that against you.

As Enid watched you stand and leave without so much as a goodbye, she sighed dramatically, "You two would make the perfect brooding couple.”

Wednesday shot her a withering look. “Your penchant for romanticizing everything is both exhausting and nauseating.”

Enid just grinned. “Admit it, Wens. You’re curious about her.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Enid was right. You were a mystery, and Wednesday Addams hated unsolved mysteries almost as much as she hated losing.

Wednesday walked into her botany class with her usual measured pace, her eyes scanning the room as she adjusted in her seat. She didn’t expect much from this class... wait... she forgot to pick up her botany book from the library last night because of you...

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. It was only fitting that you had managed to distract her into forgetting something as trivial yet necessary as a textbook. You were becoming a consistent thorn in her side. And speak of the devil,

You entered the greenhouse. Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you for a moment as you made your way to the empty seat beside her. You sat without so much as a glance in her direction.

When the class began, the new teacher, whatever her name was Wednesday doesn't care, droned on about invasive species and their effects on native flora.... just like you invaded her perfectly built world.

You weren’t writing anything down.

Your notebook remained mostly untouched, save for a few idle scribbles. Instead, you stared straight ahead, your gaze fixed on some undefined point, your expression unreadable.

For all your skill in fencing and your mysterious arrival at Nevermore, there was an emptiness in you, that Wednesday can feel now...

You didn’t belong here or maybe you belonged too much, in a way even Wednesday couldn’t define.

She first won against you during lunch....

During lunch, Wednesday sat at her usual table with Enid, who was excitedly recounting the latest gossip she’d overheard from the other werewolves. Her voice was a constant hum in Wednesday’s ear, background noise she had learned to filter out with practice.

Then Enid’s chatter abruptly halted.

“Y/N!”

Wednesday turned her head to see Enid bounding across the dining hall. You stood near the entrance, holding a tray of food with the same level of enthusiasm one might have for poison. Enid grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward their table with a persistence that could only be described as infuriating.

You shot Enid a glare that could have killed a lesser person, but the werewolf had her practice with Wednesday's death glare so she seemed unfazed. As you passed other students, you glanced down at Enid’s hand gripping yours with something bordering on confusion, as though physical contact itself was a foreign concept.

“Come on!” Enid chirped, her cheer undeterred by your visible disdain. “It’s not like it’ll kill you to sit with friends!”

“I wasn’t aware we were friends.” you said flatly.

“Not yet,” Enid said brightly, as if your protest were merely a formality.

Wednesday watched the exchange with a mixture of intrigue and irritation. How did Enid always manage to worm her way into the lives of people who radiated darkness like storm clouds? She had done it with Wednesday herself, and now it seemed you were the next victim.

When you reached the table, you didn’t sit immediately. Instead, you crossed your arms, glaring at Enid with a mix of irritation and reluctance.

“Sit!” Enid chirped, patting the bench beside her.

You exhaled sharply, muttering something under your breath, but eventually slid into the seat, placing your tray down.

Wednesday watched the exchange, her dark eyes narrowing at Enid’s ability to befriend the most unapproachable people. The werewolf had done the same with her. And though Wednesday would never admit it aloud, Enid had wormed her way into a space in her life that she didn’t entirely hate. Wednesday would be lying if she said she doesn't care for Enid at all.

Would Wednesday ever find you in that position? She quickly pushed that thought down the stairs, killing it then dumping the body.

“So,” Enid began, already bubbling with energy, “did you know that Wednesday is like, super into typewriters? It’s kind of adorable, honestly.”

“I’m right here,” Wednesday deadpanned.

“Oh, I know,” Enid said, grinning. “Speaking of which, didn’t you say you ran out of typewriter paper last night?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.

“Well,” Enid continued, “I was thinking of taking Y/N to Weathervane for a tour. She’s new, after all."

You rolled your eyes. “I rejected.”

“Same thing!” Enid said brightly, brushing off your correction." Anyway, I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? You can come with us and pick up your paper, Wednesday!”

Wednesday smirked faintly. She could tell you hated the idea of being dragged into Enid’s plans. You hated company, just as she did. But that made the opportunity to spite you all the more enticing.

“Fine,” Wednesday said, her tone even. “I’ll come.”

Enid clapped her hands together. “Yay! This is going to be so fun!”

You shot Wednesday a death glare, clearly unamused.

“Oh,” Wednesday added, her voice laced with mock innocence, “perhaps Eugene would like to join us. He loves coffee.”

“Eugene!” Wednesday called the hummer who was in their hummer's table. “Join us for a trip to Weathervane later.”

“Really?” Eugene’s face lit up, and he quickly shuffled over to their table.

You looked between Wednesday and Eugene, your glare sharpening. “This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Wednesday replied, meeting your glare with one of her own. “This is retribution.”

Enid, blissfully unaware of the tension, leaned forward with a grin. “This is going to be the best day ever!”

You didn’t respond, instead stabbing a piece of food on your plate with enough force to make the table tremble.

Wednesday allowed herself a small, victorious smirk. The fencing matches may have been your victories, but this round was hers.

But she hadn't seen the real you... until now.

“She’s late,” Wednesday muttered, already regretting her choice, agreeing to go just to spite you.

“Relax, Wednesday,” Enid said, though the werewolf sounded a little unsure herself. “Y/N doesn’t strike me as the punctual type. Or, you know, the type who tells people things. Like ever.”

Eugene adjusted his glasses. “Do you think she just bailed? Maybe she doesn’t actually want to come. I mean it has been almost half an hour...”

“She’s coming,” Wednesday said with conviction. She didn’t know why she was so certain, but she was.

Finally, you appeared in the distance, walking toward them with a measured, unhurried pace.

You stopped a few feet from the group, your hands shoved into your hoodie’s pockets, and regarded them with your usual, unreadable expression. You didn’t apologize for being late.

“You’re late,” Wednesday said, her tone biting.

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Eugene offered an awkward wave. “Uh, hey, Y/N.”

Enid, ever the peacemaker, quickly stepped in. “Glad you made it! We’ve been waiting forever, but, like, no big deal or anything.”

You didn’t respond to Enid’s cheerfulness, your gaze briefly flickering to her before shifting elsewhere.

“Well,” Enid said, clapping her hands together, “let’s go! The bus should be there any minute.”

The bus ride to Jericho was quiet, at least between you and Wednesday. Enid filled the silence with her usual chatter, talking about.... everything?

“Have you been to Jericho yet, Y/N?” Enid asked, turning to you with a curious smile.

You shook your head, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the bus window.

“It’s cute,” Enid continued, unfazed by your silence. “Small, but cute. Oh, but you should know, some of the normies there aren’t super friendly to outcasts. So, it’s always good to go with people who’ve got your back, you know?”

At her words, Wednesday saw something flicker in your eyes. It was brief, barely there, but it was enough to catch her attention.

A shadow of acknowledgment, perhaps, as you gave a small nod.

The bus arrived at Jericho and the group hopped down.

Enid led the way, her excitement not affected by your clear preference for distance. You trailed behind, keeping a noticeable gap between yourself and the others.

Eugene tried to bridge the gap a few times, but each attempt was met with silence, and eventually, he gave up.

The group stopped at a small general store first. Enid immediately darted toward the cosmetics aisle, her eyes lighting up as she scanned rows of nail polishes and makeup.

“Y/N, do you need anything?” Enid asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“No,” you replied simply, your voice as flat as ever.

Enid shrugged and continued her search, while Wednesday moved toward the stationery section, searching for her typewriter paper and ink. She found the items quickly enough but lingered, her gaze occasionally drifting toward you.

You stood near the entrance of the store, your hands in your pockets, watching a pair of children playing near the candy section. The boy, no older than six, was laughing as he chased his older sister around, their footsteps light and carefree.

It was subtle, but Wednesday noticed something in the way you observed them. Wednesday noticed something in your eyes, different from your usual detached demeanor. Intrigue? Longing? It was impossible to say.

“What’s so fascinating about them?” Wednesday asked, her voice low as she approached.

You didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

“That’s doubtful,” she pressed.

You finally turned your head toward her, your expression unreadable. “Who says it’s your business?”

For a moment, Wednesday considered pushing further, but something in your tone warned her off. You weren’t going to share, and she didn’t care enough yet to pry the answer from you.

“Suit yourself,” she muttered, turning back toward the shelves.

When she returned to the checkout counter, you were already standing there, waiting. Wednesday placed her items on the counter, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

You didn’t acknowledge her, your attention fixed on the glass door as though willing the others to hurry up.

“Got everything I need!” Enid chirped, appearing beside them with an armful of brightly colored products. She paid quickly, practically bouncing toward the exit.

“Come on, guys!” Enid called from the doorway, already heading outside.

Wednesday followed, her bag in hand. You moved to the door without a word.

The group had just stepped out of the store, when Wednesday’s sharp eyes caught movement near the counter, on the cashier, his shoulders hunched as five boys loomed over him. They weren’t just grabbing beers from the fridge. One of them yanked a handful of cash from the register

“C’mon, old man, don’t look at us like that,” one of them sneered. “Think of it as…taxes for keeping your store safe.”

The cashier muttered something inaudible, his voice trembling. The boys only laughed, grabbing more bottles and shoving them into their backpacks.

Enid’s cheerful demeanor shifted instantly. She grabbed Wednesday’s arm. “Wednesday…shouldn’t we do something? He needs help.”

Eugene took a step back, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know, Enid. These guys look...trouble. And we’re not even supposed to be here, technically.”

Wednesday frowned. On one hand, this was a normie problem, a petty theft that would resolve itself eventually. On the other hand, there was an undeniable injustice in letting the boys get away with it.

Before she could decide, the boys finished their “business” and left, swaggering out the door with their loot. Enid sighed, clearly disappointed but not wanting to push it further. “Guess we’d better go,” she said, turning to leave.

Wednesday hesitated for a moment but followed Enid and Eugene down the street. However, something nagged at her. A presence. She glanced back, and sure enough, there you were, still standing in the store’s doorway, watching the scene unfold.

“Y/N,” Wednesday called out,

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze with your usual unreadable expression. “I need to buy something.”

Enid frowned, confused. “But you said you didn’t need anything earlier.”

You didn’t respond to her. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked back into the store.

Curiosity piqued, Wednesday followed, with Enid and Eugene trailing behind. From their spot near the door, they watched as you approached the counter and spoke to the shaken cashier in a low, even voice. “I need that, that, and that.” you said, pointing to items behind the counter.

The cashier blinked, visibly confused but too shaken to argue. He retrieved an aluminum baseball bat, a heavy chain, and a pair of black gloves, placing them on the counter.

“What is she even going to do with all that?” Eugene whispered nervously.

You slid the gloves onto your hands, gripping the bat in one arm and coiling the chain loosely in the other. Without a word, you passed them, heading toward the alley where the boys had disappeared moments earlier.

“What is she—” Enid started, but Wednesday cut her off with a raised hand.

“Follow her,” Wednesday said, her voice low and firm.

The three of them trailed after you, keeping their distance until they reached the alley’s edge. Peeking around the corner, they saw the five boys lounging against a brick wall, laughing and drinking from their stolen beers.

When they noticed you, their laughter grew louder. One of them, tall with a cocky grin, stepped forward.

“Hey, little girl,” one of them said, smirking as he stepped forward. “What’s with the bat? You gonna play baseball with us?”

The others laughed.

But you didn’t respond. You simply stared at them, your grip tightening around the bat.

The first boy took another step closer, his smirk widening. “You lost, sweetheart? Or maybe you’re here to—”

CRACK

Wednesday can swear if she blinked she would've missed the swing of the bat as it connected with the boy's temple with a sickening thud, cutting his words short as he crumpled to the ground. The sound echoed through the alley, silencing the laughter instantly.

“What the hell?!” one of the boys shouted, his eyes wide with panic.

Wednesday’s breath hitched, her eyes locked on you as you adjusted your stance. There was no hesitation in your movements, no wasted energy. You were a predator, and they were your prey.

One of them lunged at you, but you sidestepped easily, the chain in your other hand whipped out, coiling around the wrist of the next boy like a serpent. With a sharp tug, you yanked him towards you, and the bat came down again with brutal precision on his head. Another one down.

“Holy crap,” Eugene whispered, clutching at Wednesday’s sleeve. “She’s… she’s gonna kill them!”

“No,” Wednesday murmured, her voice almost reverent. “She’s too precise for that.”

The remaining boys hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized the odds weren’t in their favor. One of them pulled out a pocketknife, holding it up shakily.

“Stay back,” he warned, his voice betraying his fear.

You tilted your head slightly before the chain lashed out again, latching onto his hand. The knife clattered to the ground as you closed the distance, the bat swinging upward and catching him squarely under the chin. He collapsed in a heap.

You slowly picked up the knife and glared at the last two. With a flick of your wrist, the blade sailed through the air, embedding itself in the leg of one of them. He screamed, collapsing to the ground clutching his thigh.

The final boy tried to run, But you were faster. The chain wrapped around his ankle, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground. The bat came down once, twice, and he was out.

The boy still screaming because of the knife latched onto his leg begged, “Take it! Take the money! Take the beer! Just don’t—” Your bat silenced him with a single, calculated blow to the side of his head.

Wednesday’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. There was something captivating about the way you moved; calculated, efficient, merciless. Not a single touch landed on you, and yet you left all five of them groaning on the ground.

You crouched down, rummaging through the pockets of the nearest boy. Pulling out a wad of cash, probably way more than what they even stole. You rose and picked up the bag of beers.

As you passed the trio at the end of the alley, Wednesday’s gaze followed you, her smirk still there, she wouldn't hide it because she was, truly, for the first time in her life, impressed.

Wednesday followed you instantly, and the other two followed hesitantly... stopping just inside the doorway as you approached the cashier.

“I’d like to return this bat,” you said, placing it on the counter alongside the cash and the beer.

The cashier stared at you, wide-eyed and speechless.

Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked out of the store, passing by the trio without so much as a glance.

Wednesday watched as you made your way to the bus stand, and just stood there. The three of them stood there in stunned silence.

Enid was the first to break it. “Okay, I take it back. She’s not just like Wednesday. She’s way scarier.”

[A/n: Tried a new route, Didn't really find much fics out there where reader is the one who is more badass , so thought about writing one myself lol, Comment how you guys like this new one]

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hcneymooners · 1 day ago

Text

⋆ cellophane.

dance instructor!ambessa x muscular!f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: you are an athlete forced into retirement by an unforeseen injury. ambessa is the dance instructor who rehabilitates you through ballet. could it be any more obvious?

cw: mentions of injury, tall!reader, muscular!reader, angst, implied mental health issues, age difference because it's me, non-sexual intimacy, rehabilitation from an injury, ballerina!reader, soft!ambessa, emotional hurt/comfort, making out, getting together, implied praise kink, body dysmorphia.

notes: written completely for @for-sappho based on their post about ambessa's canon type. this is a drabble.

“begin.”

without opening your eyes, you began to let your body break down. surrendering was the only way forward. it had been years since you’d danced professionally, but the memory was still a deep instinct. you felt the ripple of your back, flexing under the easy weight of your instructor’s hand, and let it guide you, pressure you.

you’d started taking classes again, not for ambition but survival—something to give your defeated body a purpose. after the accident, the world felt permanently off-kilter, as if it had spun wildly and refused to settle. your days blurred into repetition: waking with the sun, curling into yourself to relearn how to move, then collapsing into bed again. sometimes, you’d coax your dog to lay on you, his solid weight anchoring you to the grave of your bed.

the classes were private. shame dictated that much. it wasn’t that the other dancers weren’t kind; they were. but you didn’t fit in, and you couldn’t bring yourself to try. bitterness clung to you like a second skin, a self-inflicted punishment for ruining the athletic future you’d worked so hard to build. and then there was your body—tall, muscular, powerful in ways that made you feel both monstrous and vulnerable.

you always thought you looked misshapen in a leotard, like a tree gnarled by time and trauma. yet the world, in its stubbornness, disagreed. magazines, headlines, strangers—they described you in words you never allowed to belong to you: graceful, elegant, divine. it only felt like another cruelty. but maybe if the world insisted on that truth, you owed it to yourself to try and believe it.

when you found the studio—medarda—you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t just the glowing reviews or the name that caught your eye; it was her. ambessa.

she was your instructor now, a thickly muscled woman with a commanding presence, her skin traced with scars that spoke of combat. there was no warmth in her gaze when she first met you; it was only a firm assessment as she took in the way you folded into yourself, trying to shrink in a body that refused to be small.

the first day, she scoffed when you requested to dance. instead, she stretched you.

that summer day still burned in your memory, slurred with heat and the bite of her hands cooled from a bowl of ice water she kept beside her. you’d been unprepared for the emotions that spilled out of you.

tears slipped down your face as her hands worked along your body, massaging, lengthening, coaxing. when she pressed on your hips, one hand steadying your back as she bent you forward, the fire that licked through your thighs wasn’t just physical. it felt like grief unraveling. a gasp had shuddered from your throat as she bent you, wet and small.

your head bowed, neck surrendering as you let go of something you hadn’t even realized you were holding. she said nothing, only pulled you upright and held you straight. her thumbs pressed deep into the curve of your lower back. and then she trapped you there, steady, until you stopped shaking.

you’d never felt so exposed. you hated her, desperately. the next day, you returned.

“are you here, or are you somewhere else?”

her voice brought you back, cutting through the haze as you spun into stillness. her sharp eyes followed your every movement; her hair was braided tightly away from her face. you let out a slow breath, fingers brushing over the loose strands of your own undone bun. your toes flexed against the floor, grounding you.

“i’m with you,” you murmured.

it was a bizarre thing, your deference toward her. the words in themselves were an odd thing to say, but she didn’t comment. she only nodded, choosing to save her sharper critiques for moments when she knew you could bear them. today wasn’t one of those days.

she could tell from the way you moved—raw and sluggish—that you were caught in one of those moods where you turned on yourself, uselessly cruel.

“good,” she said. “that’s where you should always be.”

“yes, ambessa.”

“again.”

you spun out, arms lifting as you rose to pointe. your calves screamed, your ankles throbbed, but you didn’t stop. you wouldn’t. ambessa stepped toward you, silent and deliberate, her hand pressing firmly against your stomach. she guided you, her touch steady, pushing until your back curved deeper, the stretch pulling at your muscles with a delicious ache.

a sound escaped your lips, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, as you exhaled shakily. your lips parted in silent anguish.

“i understand,” she said, her voice softer now, her thumb brushing against your side like an unspoken promise. “just breathe.”

this body was a monster to you.

it had betrayed you, defied you, broken you in ways that were undeserved. you had loved it, used it, but still there were days it felt foreign—like an unwelcome thing you had to drag through the hours, an intruder you could never escape. even now, as ambessa’s hands pressed against your trembling core, your knees chose to abandon you and buckled.

the ache surged too fast, too sharp, and you stumbled forward, your body instinctively seeking refuge. you fell into her.

her arms caught you easily, steady and sure, and for a moment, you stayed there, leaning into the solidity of her frame. her body, like yours, was carved with power—muscle over bone, skin stretched taut from years of wear. it struck you, suddenly, how similar you were to one another.

“see?” she murmured, her voice low but unyielding, a vibration that traveled through you. “see how we are the same? this body you hate—this body you think of as destroyed—is no different from mine. you are not alone, and you are far from weak.”

her hands didn’t let you go. instead, they held you tall, forcing you to bear the weight of her words.

“i’m not a child,” you hissed, your voice trembling with frustration, but not at her. at yourself. at the world. “this was my life. once. i was strong. i was capable. and now…”

you trailed off, the silence heavier than anything else.

“it isn’t anymore,” ambessa said firmly, her words like a blade. “and you must make peace with that.”

your head snapped up at her, anger flashing in your eyes. “make peace with it? how? how would you make peace with losing everything you worked for? everything you were?”

her gaze softened—not with pity, but understanding. she tilted her head, her scarred hands moving to rest on your shoulders.

“you rebuild,” she said simply. “you take what remains, and you shape it into something new. you let go of the life you had, not because it wasn’t worth something, but because clinging to it will destroy you. you are strong. you are still capable. but the strength isn’t what it was. it’s what it is now. and now, you are learning.”

you closed your eyes against the sting of tears, your chest heaving brutishly.

“i don’t want to start over,” you whispered, voice cracking. “i want it back. i want to go back.”

ambessa exhaled, a sound heavy with both patience and exhaustion. her hand slid to your jaw, tipping your face up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes.

“you can’t,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “what you had is gone. but what you are becoming—what you can become—is something greater. and you will not do it alone.”

her words settled into the silence between you. you didn’t have it in you to argue. instead, you continued to let her hold you, her strength bracing yours.

then you pulled away.

you sat on the studio floor, your legs stretched out awkwardly as you packed your ballet bag. your fingers fumbled over the soft fabric of your cardigan, the worn ribbons of your pointe shoes. the quiet felt heavy, pressing against your chest like a dead animal. your reflection in the mirror stared back at you, distant and tired.

ambessa’s presence was impossible to ignore. she moved silently, a relentless force of nature, and before you realized it, she was there—lowering herself to the floor beside you. her broad frame folded gracefully as she settled next to you, close enough that her knee brushed against yours.

you looked at her through the mirror first. her sharp, regal features were softened by the dim light, her expression unreadable. your chest ached at the sight of her, and you turned toward her fully, unable to stop yourself.

your hands reached for her face before you could think better of it, cupping her cheeks with a gentleness that surprised even you. her skin was warm beneath your palms, scarred and beautiful, and you felt her gaze settle on you, an invisible blanket.

“you,” you whispered, the word trembling as it left your lips.

then you kissed her.

it was tentative at first, a soft press of your mouth against hers, but when she didn’t pull away, you deepened it. your lips moved against hers, searching, desperate. your hands trembled as they slid from her face to her neck, to her shoulders, tracing the strong lines of her body.

you kissed her neck, her hands, each touch more tender than the last, until the emotions bubbling beneath your skin finally escaped you. tears streamed down your face, silent and thick, as you pressed your forehead against hers, your breath hitching with the force of it.

ambessa let you cry. her hands, steady and sure, came to rest on your shoulders, grounding you as she always did. when she spoke, her voice was low and steady, each word deliberate.

“life,” she murmured, “is like a hive. at its center, there is both the bee sting and the honey. you sting yourself constantly, over and over, until you swell with pain. you must allow that to die off. only then can you taste the sweetness.”

you shook your head, your tears falling faster now, but there was something in her tone, in her words, that stilled you. she studied your face for a moment, her thumb brushing lightly over your jaw, and her next words came softer.

“i will still want you,” she said, as if your desire had been sitting quietly between the two of you, open and magnanimous.

you pulled back slightly, enough to meet her gaze, your hands still trembling as they rested on her shoulders. your voice was low, but the words came with a bruising force.

“there is no honey at the center,” you said, your voice breaking. “only you.”

her lips twitched, a hint of a smile breaking through the seriousness of her expression.

“then i will be the honey,” she said, her tone steady and sure. “let me remind you of what you’ve forgotten—of who you are, and who you can still become. let me into your mouth, let me drip across your teeth.”

your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your hands falling to your lap as you searched her face. the words tumbled out before you could stop them, raw and vulnerable:

“will you—can i be your favorite?”

the question hung in the air, fragile and desperate, a callback to the days when being the judges’ favorite was everything. when it meant proof of your worth.

ambessa’s expression softened, and she dipped her head.

“you already are,” she said, the words unyielding. “it is only natural.”

her hand came to rest on your cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. “there is no need to compete. not for this. you are enough as you are.”

her words freed something within you, a bird whose wings had been bound tightly for years. your breath hitched again, but this time, it was laden with relief.

slowly, she picked up the cardigan you’d cast beside you, wrapping it carefully around your shoulders and tying it snugly over your chest into a perfect bow. then, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“you will always be my favorite,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure.

you bent forward, listened to her heart. it didn’t skip a beat. she was honest and strong. you, for the time being, were weaker but wanting.

#ambessa medarda #arcane ambessa #ambessa x you #ambessa x reader #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #arcane fanfic #ambessa my sweet wife.#i love her (vi voice): i don't fucking care.#mine ; 🐎.

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hoonieyun · 2 days ago

Text

now playing...

oscar winning tears - raye

pairing: lee heeseung x reader "y/n" x sim jaeyun

warnings: profanity, drinking and driving (do not do this omg), toxic relationships, heeseung faints because he is so drunk, reader is left to clean up his mess, overall 18+

ignore timestamps and any possible typos lol - this chapter is partially written so please make sure to read the written text to make sure you understand the story lol

wc: 940

heeseung has spent the last 48 hours drinking his sorrows away. anytime it seems like he was ready to change and fix everything with yn, it all fell to shit. like someone up above is constantly playing a joke on him or that whenever he’s reaching his goal, a new obstacle or problem finds its way to stop him.

what heeseung doesn’t understand is that he was the only thing getting in the way of himself.

so there he was, driving to your condo at 3AM, drunk off his ass, not caring about a single thing in the world besides you. he takes another swig of the bottle of beer, finishing it off and tossing it to the side, the bottle creating a rattling sound as it lands on top of the other empty bottles in his passenger seat.

heeseung knew it was a bad idea to not only drink and drive but also a bad idea to see you right now but it’s been eating at him for the last two days. there was no way you actually liked jake and there was no way in hell he was going to believe you had moved on from him. the two of you had dated for so long, shared so many happy memories, how could you just throw that away?

except you didn’t. he did.

heeseung threw all your happiness away when you spent a whole week fighting and at the end of each day, he’d leave you alone at night to cry yourself to sleep while he drowned himself in alcohol, telling himself that you’d get over it.

he was wrong.

heeseung wrecklessly parks at your condo and barely makes his way to the lobby, stumbling on his own feet as he makes his way to the elevator and up to your condo, earning him weird side eyes from the staff but he doesn’t care. he instinctually pressed the button for the 22nd floor and he swears he could almost smell your apartment the higher the elevator went. he felt crazy knowing that the last time he was in this position was when you broke up. you had kicked him out of your place with all of his things lazily thrown into one box except that time he was headed down and not up.

with the ding of the elevator, he’s brought back to the familiar long hallway and with a turn to the left and 5 doors down, he was stood at the door to your condo. your welcome mat that read “go away” still sat at your front door and as he brings his hand up to knock, he almost contemplates not knocking at all. thinking about what good this conversation could bring but it’s almost like his body was moving before his brain could think because his knuckles make contact with the enforced wooden door and three knocks echo in the hallways.

for a moment there was only silence and when he was about to knock again, he hears the door unlock and the door reveals you. you’re in a two piece pajama set, in his favorite color: purple.

the shocked expression on your face tells heeseung all he needs to know. you looked like you were not only shocked, but also disgusted. who wouldn’t be? the two of you had just gotten into a nasty argument over text and surely he was the last person you wanted to see. you stared at heeseung & blinked a few times before responding, taking in his features– flushed cheeks, red shot eyes, and puffy skin like he had been crying.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, voice clearly laced with disdain.

“yn, please. just listen to me…” heeseung begins and you roll your eyes in annoyance. “what more could you say heeseung?” you scoff. he had already said so much to you about how he feels, more than when you were even dating.

heeseung tries to reach for your hands but you recoil away from and heeseung almost flinches like he was surprised you didn’t want to be touched. he was a stuttering mess, stumbling over his words, not forming coherent sentencs, and train of thought going off the rails.

“heeseung, please leave.” you whisper, pulling out your phone as a chain of text notifications appear on your phone. jake was texting you but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to him right now with heeseung still being here. “no, please. fuck!” heeseung says, shutting his eyes and running his hand through his hair. he lets out a sigh and you could smell the alcohol off his breath. “are you drunk?” you ask and heeseung slowly looks up at you. he tries to say another sentence but fails due to his drunken state and as you’re about to turn him away, heeseung’s eyes roll over and he’s suddenly falling on top of you.

you didn’t realize how drunk heeseung was but it seems he’s had so much to drink that he was now passed out in your arms as you struggled to drag him inside of your condo.

unsure of what to do or why he even came there in the first place. after settling him onto your couch, covering him with a blanket, and leaving a bottle of water and painkillers on the coffee table next to him; you decide that you don’t think its a good idea to stay the night at your own apartment with heeseung there, so you make the drive to manon’s condo that was only a few minutes away– trying to wrap your head around what just happened and mostly, why you felt bad seeing heeseung so wrecked.

masterlist - back - next

hoonieyun notes: heeseung spiraling... but i promise this is the last time heeseung is a mess i know i said its only up from here on my last chapter BUT now i swear it is only up from here... at least for heeseung lmfao

also... who gonna appreciate jake??? i would ...

also the typo in "you're jen" is supposed to say "youre right jen" 😭😭😭

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

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ylangelegy · 7 hours ago

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all seok wants for christmas 🎄 seokmin x reader.

your fellow glee club member, seokmin, has been trying to confess to you for the better half of the past three years. key word: trying. maybe a christmas duet is in order to get the message across.

🎄 includes: alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: glee club. seokmin has a crush, confessions, fluff. word count: 1.4k 🎄 @tusswrites, surprise! it's me! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ hope you enjoy this little drabble, which i wrote while looping the glee version of all i want for christmas is you. love you lots and merry, merry christmas, my light! 🎄 this was written as part of cam&em studios' a very seventeen christmas secret santa event.

Seokmin has tried to confess to you seventeen and a half times.

He's done nearly everything in his power to get the message across. A letter in your locker? Check. An orchestrated, one-on-one walk in the rain? Check. Hell, he even begged Joshua to lock you two in the club room that one time.

It seems Seokmin's efforts are all futile— because you remain blissfully unaware of the fact he's kind of in love with you.

"No plans of giving up yet, Seok?"

The hushed question drags Seokmin out of his reverie. Mingyu at least had the decency to whisper the query, but Seokmin still instinctively looks towards you to check if you might have overheard. You look none the wiser as you engage in a conversation with Wonwoo.

Seokmin's grumbled response of "shut up" only makes Mingyu snicker.

"Year three of being down baaad," the taller man teases, sing-songing the words to vex Seokmin just a little more. It works; Seokmin elbows his friend in the side.

"I'll figure it out," Seokmin huffs, even though that's something he's said at least once a month since he first realized how he feels for you.

The glee club meeting of the day kicks off with Seungkwan offering reminders and pointers for the upcoming national show choir competition. Try as he might, Seokmin can't really bring himself to listen.

His focus is entirely on you.

From where he's seated, he can onlysee the side of your face, and he truly tries not to make his staring obvious. His friends have all teased him relentlessly for wearing his heart on his sleeve yet failing to offer that very heart to you when it matters.

Honestly? Seokmin feels like he's running out of ways to confess.

He's so caught up in his moping that he doesn't immediately register Seungkwan addressing him. Seokmin only snaps to attention when Mingyu knocks his knee.

"Hm?" Seokmin looks to Seungkwan. "Sorry, what was that?"

There's a ripple of laughter throughout the room. In the corner of his eye, Seokmin can see you biting back a smile. It makes the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment.

"I said," Seungkwan repeats exasperatedly. "I was hoping you could perform a Christmas song for the next club meeting."

Seokmin blinks once, then twice. Right. He was slotted to perform next week. "A Christmas song," he echoes, his mind still trying to sort through its thoughts of you. "Gotcha."

He's convinced that that's all there will be to it until Seungkwan goes on, "It could even be a duet, if that makes things easier for you."

Seokmin is just a second too late to the punch line, because you're already raising your hand. You look just the appropriate amount of excited as you call out, "I'd love to do a duet with Seok, if he'll have me."

He nearly chokes on air then and there.

If he'll have you? How can you say something like that and expect him to not want to pass out?

Mingyu is visibly fighting the urge to burst into laughter. Seungkwan has that annoying, knowing look on his face. None of it matters to Seokmin, though, because in that very moment, he realizes that maybe he has one more confession up his sleeve.

It's a mammoth task, keeping his expression under control as he meets your gaze. You're sporting that smile he loves so much— the one that steals the air from his lungs.

That's why Seokmin's tone is just a little bit breathless as he says, "Of course."

He's saying yes to the duet, sure.

But he's also saying yes to the treacherous prospect of having you and wanting you.

"Baby, It's Cold Outside is off the table."

Seokmin isn't at all surprise with your opening statement. It draws an affectionate laugh from him, even, because having known you for so long gives him some sense of what you like and what you don't.

The two of you decided to meet up outside of school hours to discuss and practice your impending performance. It was far from the first time that you were out together, though it was the first time the two of you were slotted to sing together.

"I can't believe we haven't done a duet yet," you say amusedly as you scroll through your Spotify playlist for prospects.

"It's criminal, isn't it?" Seokmin muses with a coolness that he could almost applaud himself for. He's acting like his usual self on the outside, but his mind is running a mile an hour as he imagines how to execute this.

One chance. He has one chance to get this right.

"We can be Christina Aguilera and Brian McKnight," he suggests delicately. "A little Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas moment."

You let out a thoughtful hum. "I don't think I can hit Aguilera's notes," you admit with a giggle.

Seokmin chuckles along. He's not miffed by your contradiction. This is all part of his master plan.

"Is Happy Christmas, War Is Over too serious?" you ask.

"A little too solemn for my taste."

"Fair."

The two of you exchange suggestions back and forth for the next half hour until Seokmin decides it's finally time to pull out the big guns. "How about we stick to a classic?" he prompts, his tone innocent as ever.

You roll your shoulders as you glance at him inquisitively.

Seokmin clears his throat, at least a dozen platitudes running through his mind. Now or never. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take. Just do it.

"Mariah Carey," he says. "All I Want For Christmas Is You?"

There's a terribly long moment where Seokmin thinks you're going to deny him. He doesn't really have a backup for this, doesn't have a Plan B. His breath stills in his chest as he waits for your response of—

"Hey, I think we can pull that one off."

Seokmin just barely holds himself back from pumping his fist in the air.

It's a miracle that Seokmin makes it to the day of your performance. His leg is bouncing up and down. His palms are sweating like crazy. He's been through Sectionals and Regionals, but he hadn't been this nervous in any of those contests.

Does it help that the two of you decided to color coordinate clothes? Seokmin isn't sure. The pair of you look like a couple now, which only seems to do more harm than good on his poor, poor heart.

At this point, all he can do is straighten out his checkered button down and hope he doesn't keel over mid-song.

"Ready?" you ask, your voice betraying no hint of your own nerves.

Seokmin shoots you a tight-lipped smile. "As I'll ever be," he lies.

Seungkwan works on queueing up the minus one. Mingyu not-so discreetly sets up his phone to film the whole thing. And Seokmin?

He takes one look at your face and decides that he may as well go out swinging.

The uptempo beats of the festive track ring through the room. Reactions to the choice are mixed. Some groan. Some cheer. Seokmin, once again, could care less what any of them feel or think. He has a plan, and he will see it through.

Your honeyed, dulcet tone effectively shuts up anyone who might've doubted the two of you.

I don't want a lot for Christmas, you croon. There is just one thing I need.

Seokmin is surprised that he manages to not melt on the spot. His fingers tighten a bit around his Bluetooth microphone, but he holds it together enough to join you.

I don't need to hang my stocking there upon the fireplace, he sings. Santa Claus won't make me happy with a toy on Christmas Day.

As the track goes on, some of Seokmin's nerves ease. Being around you has always been easy; his little plan doesn't change that. The two of you execute the duet with effortless chemistry, trading saccharine verses and middling dance steps like the two of you have been singing together for ages.

It exhilarates Seokmin, gives him just enough courage for what he's about to do.

The song is winding to a close. You're in a club room full of some of your closest friends, all of whom are watching you two like hawks. But with the way you're looking up at Seokmin, the way you're singing with him, to him, you might as well be the only two people in the whole world.

Make my wish come true, you belt out.

Oh, baby. Seokmin's heart is in his throat. He pushes on.

All I want for Christmas is—

He stutters. You blink up at him. Confused, concerned.

He says the word instead of singing it— the single, intentional choice carrying the weight of everything he has tried and failed to tell you so far.

"You."

#svtsecretsanta #seokmin x reader #dk x reader #seokmin imagines #dk imagines #svt x reader #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy #୨ৎ muse .ᐟ svt #[ hi tuss... r we still married..... hehe O:) ]

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httpseungmxn · 2 days ago

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Hallucinations

Yang Jeongin x Reader(afab)

🍰🍬 - suggestive and fluffy

Authors note: Hai Angels, been a while, hm? It hasn’t been too long but I have definitely been denying you guys some works, especially my kpop readers. So to end the long wait for my series, i have decided to write a quick suggestive mini-fic for i.n:3! This will be a part 2 to the one I did a while ago named Sweet Siren! It will be suggestive since its a part two, the first part was suggestive!

Warnings: Suggestive, heavy spit-swapping, groping, dry humping, touching under the clothes but over the undergarments, not much talking happens except texting, I think thats about it!

Triggers: None as far as I am aware!:3

Despite Jeongin telling you to keep your hands to yourself, you couldn’t help but slide a hand up to your chest, gently groping at your left tit. A soft moan falling from your lips at how sensitive your chest was, your nipples hardening and showing through your shirt, Feeling startled when you heard a knock on your front door not even five minutes later.

Patting your cheeks to get rid of the redness from them and getting up from the couch, making your way quickly to the front door and opening. A yelp leaving your lips as you were nudged backwards and pulled into a kiss faster than you could say the word ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’. Melting into jeongins lips as he shut the door behind himself and leaned back into it.

His tongue made quick work to slot between your lips and explore your mouth. Humming into your mouth as he sucked your tongue into his mouth, your spit swapping with his. The kiss feeling very sloppy and fast but neither of you seemed to mind at all, that must’ve just been the mood he was in. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs wound around his waist as he lifted you into his arms.

Allowing him to carry you to the couch where he sat lazily with his legs spread and you on his lap. His left hand rested on your hip while the other slid under your shirt to paw at your right tit like you had done not too long ago. Parting from the kiss to drop your head back and moan out softly. Lifting your hips when jeongin pulled up your skirt over your hips so he could grope your ass with his left hand.

Out of instinct you ground yourself down against the bulge in his sweats. Gasping softly at how the friction felt against you. You had never had a dry orgasm before in all of your life but you had heard about it. You wondered if Jeongin would be able to bring you to one over the clothes. Your thoughts melted away as he began to grind up against you lazily.

Your lips met his in another messy kiss as you both grinded in sync with each other. You were already wet before from jeongins texts but now that you guys were in such a position, you were sure you had gotten wetter. Feeling like your orgasm was already fast approaching from the coil winding up in your lower stomach.

When he parted from the kiss it was just to let out a soft moan into your lips while he wrapped his arms around your waist to get you closer. Tears welling in the corners of your eyes from the intense pleasure you were getting right now. His hands gripped your ass and helped guide you in grinding down against his crotch. He must’ve been very pent up because he was the first to let go. Creaming in his pants and causing a wet spot to form in his sweats.

His grinding didn’t stop though, wanting to help you get to the sweet release you craved. Shortly enough he was able to get you there with a soft cry of his name. Your body collapsing against him as he helped grind you through your climax. Panting softly against him while he held you close to his body. The both of you just laying there and relaxing for a while before he laid you down and walked to run you both a bath.

You were definitely in for a long night

Authors ending note; Sooooo, that was mighty intense, huh? This might have made it to the top of my favorite suggestive fics ive ever written! I will hopefully be posting the first part to my new series soon! Putting in the work on these fics so they are perfect for you guys! Also make sure to leave me requests for whatever you want and whoever you want because I get no requests and it makes me sad:( so start requesting! Let me know what you all thought of this in the comments! Until next time, My Sweet Angels 🫶

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nagis-wife · 15 hours ago

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𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇: Nagi Seishiro 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 1.6k 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈: fem!reader, fluff, comedy, pet names used, cuddles turned into a snowball fight. 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: none

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒: I have fallen deep and I don't feel like pulling myself out of it. I hope you enjoy it. I haven't written in a while, so if its bad forgive me pls :x

It was freezing.

Curled up in bed as you turned your gaze to the window, white flakes fell from the sky and covered the ground in a blanket of snow. It really did feel like no matter how many layers you put on or how high you turned the heat up you simply couldn't get warm. Seishiro was at his desk, headset over his ears playing his game. The sound of fingers tapping against the keyboard and mouse clicks filled the room with his huffs when he died which you just giggled at as you played on your phone waiting for his little gaming session to be over.

A warning flashed across the top of your screen with a travel warning due to the snow storm. High winds possible as you grumbled about being cold again as you sat up removing yourself from the warm cocoon you had made for yourself. Barefeet pressing against the cold wooden floors as you walked over to Seishiro leaning over the back of his chair, arms wrapping around his shoulders peeking over as you uncovered one of his ears.

“Sei, you gunna come cuddle me soon or am I gunna die from hypothermia?” You spoke amusement in your tone as your eyes met with his grey ones. His brow rising at you, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips as he paused the game and switched the screen off.

“My little dramatic baby come, you're lucky that I love you, ya know” Seishiro mused as he pushed from his chair moving it under the desk as he towered over your frame leaning down to grab the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up pressing a kiss against your lips.

“Yeah, I think I’m pretty lucky, actually I think you're the lucky one for putting up with your gaming addiction” You teased as his brows raised again at your antics, a dramatic gasp leaving his lips as he looked at you with faux annoyance.

“Hateful and hurtful” Seishiro pouts as he walks over to the bed plopping you back down against the mattress. His arms coming to wrap around your torso pulling you against his frame as he huffed. “Ya know, your words, wound me angel they wound me” Nagi spoke, his words as dramatic, as he nuzzled against your warm frame, his nose cold against your exposed skin. You laughed lightly at his dramatics and pressed a kiss against his forehead in return. “You know what wounds me Seishiro? When you leave me all alone in bed, and refuse to turn the heat up, and then I start shivering and shaking from how cold it is” You mused once more as he rolled his eyes at your antics. “Look, the heat isn't even on Sei, not all of us have all the muscle mass to keep us heated” A pout took over your features as he scoffed at you.

“Well my poor baby, why don't we get you warmed up then hm? Seems like we are having big feelings because we didn't have a nap today and a bit cold” His tone seemingly condescending as you kicked him. Nagi grumbled as he nearly fell out of the bed as he blinked at you a few times. “Okay that's it” He huffed, strong arms coming to yank you from the bed, screams of protest laced with laughter filled the air. Clinging onto him, you knew exactly what was going to happen.

Heavy footsteps echoed the apartment, holding you in his arms as he opened the door to the wintery elements outside. Nagi made his way down the stairs, the crisp cold air filling your lungs making it harder to breathe as your protests continued all the way down.

“Sei! Please no! I'm sorry I beg for forgiveness!! Uncle! Uncle!!” You plead as he hummed pretending to think as he looked at you with a smug expression before tossing you into the large pile of snow. A screech ripped from your throat as the cold snow consumed you. Standing up as you gripped the front of his hoodie yanking him down into the snow with you. Shoving snow down his hoodie as you huffed.

“Hey! That's not fair!” He barked out as his chest began to rumble with laughter, sitting on your knees as you threw a snowball at him watching it crumble against his chest. “Fair is fair when you're thrown into the snow. Now I’m freezing and can't feel my hands or my feet Seishiro.” You went to stand as he tugged you back down wrapping his strong arms around you, an icy hand coming to the back of your head as he pressed a long kiss against your lips. Melting into it as you returned it in kind. Although the heartfelt moment came to a holting stop feeling snow being poured down your back.

“Seishiro Nagi..” Your voice low as you looked at him, an amused expression on his lips as he looked at you “yes? My darling angel, love of my life?” He spoke, voice dripping with adoration. “You better sleep with one eye open.” You threatened, although, when you threaten people it should have some bite to it, not a dopey smile with love twinkling in your eyes. “Yeah yeah come on you little fake criminal, let's get you inside before you turn into a snowman or something” Nagi stood, nearly slipping on the frozen ground under his feet. A laugh pulled from your chest as you stood up with him shaking your head. “I think hot cocoa and a movie might be on the table for the rest of the night.” You suggested as he only nodded in agreement.

The two of you walked back inside, his gaze on the thermostat as he finally switched it over to heat, the smell of something burning filling his nose as it scrunched up. “See I have a reason to not turn it on” Nagi mumbled, earning a glare from you, “Well maybe if you used it more, then it wouldn't smell like burnt hair Seishiro.” You grumbled as you stomped to his bedroom discarding the now wet clothes and putting on one of his hoodies and some leggings with some fluffy socks.

Making your way around the apartment, plugging in the blow dryer to dry your hair and his when he finally joined you in the bathroom. He had changed as well and sat on the toilet. “Look at you, how did I get lucky.. Hm?” You rolled your eyes at him with a small smile on your lips. “I don't know, maybe it was your persistent need to tell me to get online to play matches with you because I was your lucky charm or something.”

“We both know you aren't as good as I am baby” he said, making you switch the setting on the blow dryer to cold, earning a whine from him.

“Heyyyy turn it back to warm” Nagis voice drawed out, shivered from the cold running down his spine, cold that was already swimming through his body and now from the blow dryer was not the combination he desired. Hands seeking more warmth as he slid them up your thighs to under the hoodie where he hummed feeling your warm skin against his finger tips.

“Take it back, you wouldn't have won half of those games without your beloved healer” You grumbled as you switched the setting once more back to high heat running your fingers through his messy hair getting it to dry out. Hissing as his icy fingers slid against your back a shiver rippled through your body. “Seishiro..” you warned, however he did not move his hands from your body

Nagi sighed as his hands slid back down and rested against your thighs rubbing them through the fabric. “Yeah yeah, I guess you're right. But you wouldn't have made it out of half of those matches without me” Nagi said, which earned him yet another eye roll. “Yeah yeah whatever you say” you sighed as you felt around his hair making sure there was no wet spots left.

With both of your hair now dry, there was still a pressing matter, now the both of you were freezing due to his actions. Grabbing his hand and leading the both of you to the bedroom. You grabbed the remote for the tv and turned on some movie to have in the background as you crawled into the bed and clicked on the heating blanket. A staple for you as it was needed in this household. Nagi followed in after, crawling in next to you, resuming the comfortable position you both were in before he had yanked you outside.

“See how much nicer it is when you aren't mean to me.” you said with a giggle in your voice, pulling him closer as he rested his head on your chest. Curling your fingers in his hair, as he just hummed in response. Nagis fingers dug into the fabric of your (his) sweater as he pulled you impossibly closer. It wasn't before long that his eyes grew tired and his soft snores filled more of the space. Your eyes were trained on the tv for a bit, drawing circles and absent minded patterns before you had fallen asleep as well.

The snow was still falling, freezing temperatures trying to penetrate the safe haven you both called home. But yet the two of you stayed warm in each others arms with playful banter and sweet hot cocoa. Just the way you liked it.

the Nagi brainrot has infested me and im okay with that.

Tags: @pixelcafe-network @hayatoseyepatch @eevees-hobbies

#nagi seishiro #nagi x reader #seishiro nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #nagi fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock #bllk #bluelock x reader #bllk x reader fluff #bluelock #bluelock nagi #blue lock nagi seishiro #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n

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quirekey · 3 days ago

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ty for confirming my question! I hope this request isn’t too hard to do with Hightide.

Hightide x femme cybertronian who’s a big sweetheart and is so beautiful that Hightide is smitten!!😭

(I also think he would definitely kiss readers hand/servo bc he’s a gentleman when he’s in love-)

This could be HCS or a lil fic, wtv u can do!🫶

WAWA HIGHTIDEE! Sorry if he’s written badly, I don’t know him too well… (i added him to my list tho :3)

[ HIGHTIDE ] x [ FEMME!READER ]

[ hightide x cybertronian!femme!sweet!reader ]

HEADCANONS

- Your height is just shorter of Hightide, being pretty massive for the average femme. You also focus more into the sea-side practice. Optimus Prime has sent you and Hightide to teach the Rescue bots water-rescues.

- When you guys arrive, you two definitely keep your relationship a secret. This idea was from Hightide since he’s way too embarrassed to show off his sparkmate. You are very accepting of his decision and don’t complain one bit, no wonder why he’s in-love with you!

- When he is harshly criticising the Rescue Bots, you usually step in after the session to talk to him. You do confront him but in a softer approach, asking why he was so harsh and that you aren’t proud of his work. Hightide doesn’t fight back unlike the usual. You cup his face into your hands when you do confront him, forcing him to listen while also showing him affection. Though he is stubborn at first, your words will eventually get to him and he’ll try his best to be nicer to the Rescue bots.

- When you two have to separate because of missions or the Rescue Bots only need one of you two, Hightide has a habit of going on one knee and kissing your hand before leaving, you just give him a warm smile and that definitely gets to him fast.

- You do tease Hightide, but not in a mean way. You like to mention when he is flustered. The way you tease is adorable to him, when you poke his nose and giggle at his stern expression. You are able to crack his hard exterior. Sure, he will definitely get pissed at your constant physical teasing, but he doesn’t have the spark to tell you to stop. When you do it infront of others, he just gently pushes you aside while keeping a stern expression (but he will definitely be blushing, a lot).

- Between the two of you, you were the first one to get used to humans. Sure, they were somewhat freaky, but they are also adorable! You really enjoyed talking to the humans from the Rescue crew, they had so much personality and life to them! Hightide was not fond of them though. When you were chatting to literally any human, he’d tried his best to tell you that they were untrustworthy. You don’t budge one bit and you actually flip the tables on him, convincing Hightide that humans are really kind and useful if you just trust them.

- Hightide has many interesting and horrific stories. You would listen to them all fully listening and without interrupting, Hightide definitely loves that part about you. You are too sweet to stop him and you don’t mind his stories, even if they are boring. If somebody else is getting bored of his stories, you try to divert his attention so he’d be talking to you. Hightide is pretty stubborn and keeps telling his story anyways.

- You two are always alone, together. Being get off at sea with no-one to interrupt the both definitely has its benefits. You and Hightide are able to show affection without being embarrassed whenever you guys want. You definitely take advantage and show Hightide lots of love and affection because you enjoy his flushed state.

- You enjoy it when he lays in your lap and you both watch the sunset, it’s a beautiful and peaceful scenery for the both of you. Hightide wanted to lay in your lap at-first but thought it was strange, so you were the first one to bring it up. When you did, Hightide was very willing to go with it.

#transformers #rescue bots #hightide #hightide rb #rb hightide #hightide x reader #transformers x reader #headcanons

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dewdropdinosaur · 2 days ago

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Smutmas Day 10 - Ghost of Christmas

Vox x Reader Summary: It's Y/N and Vox's first anniversary and Y/N decides to get him an expensive gift. Only for Vox to share it, wanting to show his appreciation. Warnings: Making-out, shot-gun kiss with whiskey. PG-15 rating. MDNI, 15+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Dedicated to @macabr3-barbi3

Y/N stepped into the dimly lit bar of Vox’s and her luxurious penthouse, heels clicking against the polished black marble floor. The setting was pure Vox: sleek, modern, and dripping with a power display. The towering demon lounged on a pristine leather couch, his sharp, angular features illuminated by the faint blue glow of the myriad screens floating in the air around him.

"You're late," Vox drawled, his glitching voice carrying that signature note of smug superiority. His glowing red eyes flickered, scanning her, as his static-like grin widened. "Not getting cold feet, are we?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, setting down a sleek black gift bag on the glass table in front of him. "Hardly. I was finalizing your surprise. Try to be patient for once."

Vox raised a brow, his static popping lightly with amusement. "Surprise, huh? You're just full of clichés, aren't you, doll?" Still, he leaned forward, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Open it," she said, crossing her arms as she stood before him. A small smile found its way on her face despite the tense moment just seconds earlier, anticipation fluttering in her chest like a room full of static.

With a flourish, Vox reached into the bag, his elongated fingers pulling out a bottle of whiskey so rare it practically glowed. The label bore the name of a distillery even he had to admit was known for their craft—and their price tag. The glass bottle shimmered faintly under the room’s ambient light, its intricate design a testament to the exclusivity of the drink.

“Mamon’s Eternity Reserve," Vox murmured, his voice glitching slightly, but the impressed tone was clear. "This stuff’s not just expensive—it’s legendary. Even I couldn’t get my way into finding a bottle of this." He leaned back, clutching the whiskey like a prize, his grin growing impossibly smug. "My, my, Y/N. You really went all out, didn’t you? Guess I mean more to you than you let on."

Y/N scoffed, but there was a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. "It's our first anniversary. I thought you’d appreciate something that matches your... extravagant tastes."

Vox tilted his head, inspecting the bottle again before fixing his gaze on her. "Extravagant tastes, huh? Don’t sell yourself short, doll. You’re the one spoiling me here." He placed the bottle down gently, standing up and towering over her. "You know, you could’ve just written me a cheesy card or something. This…" He gestured to the whiskey. "This is overkill."

"Don’t act like you don’t love it," she teased, raising a brow.

"Oh, I do," Vox said, his grin sharp and his tone almost teasingly patronizing. "It’s adorable how much you want to impress me."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smirk betrayed her. "Don’t flatter yourself too much, glitch boy."

But as Vox chuckled, his confident demeanor flickered for just a moment—like the static he embodied. Because as much as he relished her efforts to win his favor, it wasn’t the whiskey or her extravagance that mattered most. She mattered most.

That was the part Vox would never say out loud, though. Vulnerability wasn’t his thing, not when his entire existence thrived on control, dominance, and confidence. Yet, there was something about Y/N—the way she saw through all his bravado, the way she challenged him without fear—that cracked through his carefully curated image.

“Pour us a drink, then," Vox said, his glitching voice as smooth as ever. "Let’s see if it tastes as good as it looks. Though I’m sure it’s not as intoxicating as you, doll."

"Charming," Y/N quipped, grabbing two glasses from the nearby shelf and ignoring the way her cheeks heated at his comment. She poured the golden liquid, its rich aroma filling the space between them.

They clinked glasses, his sharp claws tapping against her glass gently, the sound like a note of harmony between their contrasting worlds.

“To one year of putting up with your arrogance,” Y/N said, her voice laced with mock irritation.

“And to you,” Vox replied smoothly, his grin softer than usual, his gaze lingering on hers for a fraction longer than she expected.

As they sipped the rare whiskey, Vox allowed himself one indulgence: a quiet, genuine moment of appreciating her. Because for all his swagger and superiority, Y/N was the one thing in his life he’d never take for granted. Especially not tonight. Looking so delictable before him, he could almost forget about the whiskey. Dark elegance coated her body in a swath of warmth and expensive fabric, though it did little to cloud the radiance she exuded. A perfection that even his ego could admit he didn’t deserve in his corner of Hell.

“Dollface, come here a second,” Vox spoke softly, though obviously in command. Patting his leg gently in invitation.

Nodding obediently, Y/N placed down her glass and trotted over to her boyfriend, plopping down on his knee with a smile. Her hands came to rest on his chest, supporting herself but truly it was an excuse to feel his strong pecs. Taking a swig of liquid couragel Vox’s hand curled itself around the base of her neck, nimble fingers brushing her hair. Leaning in close, he pulled Y/N to meet him in the middle, locking their lips in a passionate kiss.

Mildly surprised at the sudden action, Y/N wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and deepened the kiss. Swiping his tongue across her lips in a plea for access, it was granted, much to the surprise of Y/N who felt the familiar warmth of whiskey flooding into her mouth from his. Vox’s eyes peek open just for a moment, mesmerized as Y/N greedily drank it all; pulling away after nipping his lower lip.

Her lips began to trail lower, grazing over his skin in trailing hot, wet kisses along the sensitive flesh. Y/N could feel his heartbeat pick up, the pulse point in his neck slightly bulging…along with something else at her continued affection. Sucking softly near the edge of his collarbone, tongue lapping over a now-forming bruise, Y/N pulled back and whispered huskily.

“Next time you wanna share V, all you have to do is ask.”

#hazbin hotel fandom #romance #radio killed the video star #vizziepop #vox hazbin hotel #vox smut #vox imagine #vox x reader hazbin hotel #vox x reader smut #vox x reader #smutmas #dino's smutmas

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daenysthedreamersblog · 3 days ago

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SECRETS OF US - V

i love you, im sorry

you were the best but you were the worst

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first

i was a dick, it is what it is

a habit to kick, the age-old curse

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

summary: fate was a funny thing, it seemed to be incessantly chasing you in the form of a kiss intent on being your doom

pairings: modern!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: MDNI! swearing, smut (we are so back), fingering, handjob

You just need to breath, if you can breath you'll be okay.

His knuckle brushes against yours.

Inhale. Exhale.

His thumb traces your bottom lip.

Inhale. Inhale. Exhale.

He breaths you in.

Fuck breathing, and fuck Coriolanus Snow.

You can't stop thinking about him, about the taste of his warm breath, how you wanted to swallow it down like you needed it for air. You didn't even want to know when that had suddenly appeared within you, how you could only focus on him. On the strange comfort you found when your face rested in his hand, how his eyes suddenly softened when they took you in.

You dig deep, you try to remember hating him, you try to hate him, but its so hard to feel those feelings even after reminding yourself of the long burning history written in the stars.

"Flickerman wants you out there." One of the costume designers says to you, and by the looks of it she had been saying it for a while and you simply weren't listening.

"Okay." You nod watching as she smooths down the pretty dress she put you in for the play's rehearsal. "Okay." You flex your fingers, ignoring the sweat in your palms, and walk out of the dressing room. You knew what scene was today, the one he had finally wanted to rehearse again, and you knew you could only run so fast from his lips before fate caught you.

He's standing center stage holding a folded back script, brows furrowed as he reads. He's wearing a white button up and black tie loose around his neck, a costume, a part, you had to remember that. He finally looks up at you, blue eyes dark as they take you in, his normal smug smirk appears, the feel of animosity attempting to come back between you two, "You look hideous."

You glare. You're so pretty when you glare at me.

The blush tinged your cheeks at the remembrance of his husky words.

Flickerman claps his hands, "Alright folks!" He walks across the stage towards you. "Let's get romantic."

Your stomach turns and you were annoyed by his excitement towards your displeasure. You know your face is scrunch in disgust as his elbow nudges you, "Come on he's not that bad." He wasn't but you were regretting not dropping out sooner in order to not deal with this, not deal with your heart pounding with anticipation, and maybe that had been his whole big plan to chase you away all along. "Okay action!" He runs from the stage to take his spot in the fourth row back.

Coriolanus cleared his throat allowing you both a moment to slip into your characters. He's in front of you the next second, hand slipping up to your cheek, "Please," His face seemed pained, "Don't."

"Don't what?" Your forehead creases.

Eyes flicker around your own, "Leave...just yet."

"Give me a reason to stay." You whisper.

He swallows. "I...I..."

Your hand goes to his wrist to slowly pull it from your face, "Even now the truth scares you so."

"The truth isn't the issue." His brows furrow as he stares down at your intwined hands. "It doesn't matter what I feel, what I want, we can never be together. It would be better to let me go, let me let you go."

You drop his hand, "Is that what you want? For me to never think about you?" You take a step back, "To live a lie?" He nods slowly, "Then teach me. Teach me how to not feel this way."

He scoffs. "I wish I knew how. I'm consumed by you, undone by you..." He blinks and you think its because he is adding in dramatic flair but his blue eyes quiver. He forgot his lines, he forgot...He stares at you, through you as if he could see every fractured part. "I burn for you."

That wasn't the line, wasn't his characters words. You're moving before you can think, hands coming to cup along his neck. He's rigid and his brows furrow in anger. You're searching his eyes, his face, and realize he's not angry at you and he didn't forget his lines at all. "Say it." You whispered. "Say it was real." The hatred or whatever weird thing was going on right now, you're not sure. You need him to admit to something, and maybe then you could too.

His hand shoots out to grab your face walls going up behind his eyes as he growls out, "You're a fool."

"Then tell me you hate me."

You're surprised Flickerman hasn't stopped whatever mess this was. Coriolanus opens his mouth, but closes it shortly after.

A breathless laugh leaves you,"You really do want me." You glance around his face, "And you hate it."

"You're just a habit I need to kick."

You barely have time to inhale before he kisses you and suddenly the world seems to cave in on itself in that moment of contact. Time slows, you're lost in it for that strand of connection with him, in soft lips, in fingers tangled in the base of your hair. You were two stars colliding taking the world with it in a single kiss. It burns through your skin, exploding within you like a supernova engulfing everything you've ever known in blue flames. Your mouths are moving, melding together, tongues sliding between teeth, brain reeling with utter nothingness, but him.

"Cut!" The two of you snap apart, faces flushed as you take in a blank expression on Flickerman's face. You open your mouth to apologize, to explain, but his face breaks into a grin. "That was...perfect! I love this direction, did you two come up with this?"

He shakes his head, "Uh...no uh that-!"

"Improv? I love it!" He's beaming. "I'll pencil this all in you two are truly in-tuned with your..." You can't hear him over the ringing in your ears, over the harsh pounding in your chest.

You glance over at Coriolanus who's staring at a wooden plank on the floor completely dissociated from the same reality. Theres a gentle furrow in his brows and you wonder what emotions are causing him to disappear into the back of his mind.

You go through the motions of the rest of rehearsal, not even present as you get undressed to put on your normal clothes. You wanted to get out of your head, wanted to stop thinking about him this way, it was impeding on everything.

The harsh chill breaks everything up as you focus on walking forward down the street tucked deep beneath layers of wool. You tuck into yourself deeper feeling colder and colder the farther from the building you walk. The only thing scorching hot seemed to be your lips, still numb from a kiss you should have never received, a kiss that would always haunt you. You tug the door of the store open relishing in the warmth spreading throughout the rest of your body.

You take your hand out of your pocket, pulling the glove off with it and your phone. You search for your friends' names. You need to call them, divulge your withering soul to them; instead you tuck it back into your pocket. Not yet...not yet. You're not sure how to even begin that conversation with yourself, let alone your friends.

You peruse the racks of clothing trying to lose yourself in retail therapy instead of thinking about Coriolanus's hands running through your hair, the feel of his tongue in your mouth. Your cheeks are heating at the mer thought of it, at the taste of him, at wanting more of it. You chew on your cheek, fingers mindlessly pushing hangers around not entirely all there.

The door's chime goes off and the energy shifts inside of the store. You know it's him, you just know. You could always tell when he entered the room, even before...this. His presence demanded attention, before it had been fierce loathing, but now it seemed to be intrigue...curiosity. You had two options: pretend like nothing ever happened on that stage, or run.

You look up at him as he stands on the other side of the rack. "It's freezing out there." He says so casually; it makes you forget how soft his lips had been against yours.

"Yeah." Your eyes dart to said lips before back at his face.

"What are you looking for?" He motions to your hands still resting on hangers.

You try to shrug. "Nothing really."

He smirked, "Then why are you in the men's section." You suddenly look down at your hands resting on men's dress shirts. You step back not even realizing you had been in the wrong section. His deep chuckle follows you as you step around him, "Hey," His hand softly lands on your arm. "Want to go get a coffee?"

Yes. "I uh..." You close your eyes. You did, you wanted to go and talk to him about what happened, make sure it was nothing, make sure it was something. You're not sure what you're looking for in a conversation, so you choose option two finally. "I have to meet up with Clem in a bit."

He drops his hand, face hardening. "Tell her I said hi."

You smile softly before turning and running from him.

You know it's wrong, but you do it anyways as your fingers run through strands of white blonde hair, as your tongue slips into his mouth, as the whole stage goes up in flames to hide the burning hidden desire sparking from your chest.

You needed to stop, needed to peel yourself off of him before Flickerman, or yourself for that matter realized this was more than just acting.

Because what else would explain the need of him?

It's a disaster, nothing but bad news as you use every chance you can get to kiss him, let him kiss you, let him pull you against his body and connect it all. Rehearsal after rehearsal you're jumping his bones, and maybe he is letting you, as the kisses last longer, as you start to feel swept away in it all. Maybe he's just as weak.

You were right, I am just as loathsome and lonely as you.

Once you finally able to detach yourself from him the true horror started as you would stare at your dark ceiling warding off sleep thinking of him, what this all meant, what had it ever meant, and the worst of all; was this some big ploy to reel you in to then destroy you once and for all. The last one kept you awake long into the night.

But as soon as you're back on stage with him you're lost once more, sucked into a black hole of him, time a forgotten existence as your hands twist into the fabric of his shirt. It felt good, too good to be true, that an enemy had somehow given you a perfect kiss, passion and longing driven from the depth of fire fueled hatred.

He consumed you and for once you ignore every warning thrown your way, even your own, it didn't matter, only this, only him. The very fabric of reality was shifting, changing from this very moment, and you knew, you had known the minute you began walking towards him that day nothing would ever be the same. You forgot to care. You couldn't care, not as his hands slid into your hair, not as his tongue explored your mouth, as his body pressed against yours.

But Flickerman would yell cut and that has you shooting backwards away from him electricity still zapping through your lips as you traced them. You stare at him with heavy breaths taking in his darkened eyes and flushed cheeks knowing you looked just as wild. You needed to say something, anything, but words failed and all you could do was run from him, run from the expression lingering around his face. You knew joy, anger, confusion, sadness even, but you couldn't place the one he would get once you finally separated yourself from him.

Everything comes crashing down on your little slice of delusion when your seated on a prop couch with him. He's too close, the body heat radiating off of both of you, his cologne, a smell you had always gagged at, now smelled too delightful. You know he's going to kiss you, know you've been waiting on baited breath for action to be called, dreaming of him swallowing you whole.

You avoid looking at him as he pulls you closer by the back of your neck. You watch him lick his lips and then your mouth is on his. One hand slips around his neck to pull him closer as his tongue explores your mouth like you weren't being watched by classmates. Because that's how it felt, like you two were committing arson together, watching the world burn around you taking this stupid theater with it.

His hand traces a line down the back of your ear. Your hand trails over his thigh fingertips accidentally moving too high, brushing slightly against his hardening cock.

Your name falls from his lips like a man sent to worship.

He freezes, you freeze.

You pull back looking up at him, watching every strange emotions pass through his blue eyes until it settles back onto a familiar anger. You pull back further, no he wasn't angry, not really.

It was fake.

You let him go and sit up as rehearsal continues on around you. You disappear into the back of your mind as questions and doubts spin around everything you ever knew, and nothing you wanted to know it all.

"To stop feeling this way, to know it doesn't always lead to ruin."

"You're so pretty when you glare at me."

"Burn me until I'm nothing but ashes."

Little seeds scattered across a ruinous timeline that had started long before the bones of this earth, or so it felt. You're spinning out the whole way home avoiding ever looking in his direction as you leave.

You peel at the skin on your nails while you try to distract yourself from everything that had happened. You want to call your friends, spill you roiling guts to them. You wanted to call him, see him, understand him, kiss him.

You opened a bottle of wine instead, turned your phone off, and put on some horrible reality show. What did it all mean? You couldn't seem to find the answer within the depths of your own mind, you couldn't find sense. You winced as the skin gave way, blood bubbling up from the small self-inflicted wound, so you stood up heading for your bathroom to grab a bandaid out from under the sink.

Once wrapped, you head back to stew in anxiety when you stop, eyeing the book still sitting peacefully on your nightstand. You're walking towards it before you can think about it, tracing the title, flicking through pages you had read too many times with thoughts of him. You bought the book the day he has recommended it in class, you figured it was some way to thwart him, embarrass him by proving how stupid the book was, prove you knew more than him. You dragged your bandaged finger along highlighted sentences when the knock sounds down the hall. You know it's him when your heart jumps in your chest, the book now suddenly pressed against it as you go to open the door to him.

Say something.

"Regret giving me your address huh?" He chuckles taking in the sight of you, the book clutched underneath flimsy bandaids and chewed nails.

You're still holding the door open, you could close it, end this tragedy before it even begins. "You do come here a lot."

He coos, "You keep letting me in." His smile falters as he takes a step backwards. "Take a walk with me." He nods down the hallway. You should say no, you should force him to have a conversation with you right here, right now...or never if you wanted. Close the door. You set the book down on your counter, grab your coat, and follow him.

The door closes behind you.

It is silent for the most part as you; white flakes gently floating around you under midnight blue skies. You hear the faded honks, various distant yelling from pedestrians, more useless noise. "Jungle of background chatter." He smiles over at you reminding you of your spilled guts over sacred sand.

"Those poor boats." You tuck your hands deep into your pockets. "Trapped in ice."

He chuckled, "Nah, they sailed away somewhere warm."

You glance up, at the street lights, at the buildings towering overhead. "Some always stay."

"I guess so." He's watching you, you can tell by his voice turned towards you. "If they had a reason to."

You look over at him. "How unfortunate for us, to be stuck in this frozen city while they get flee to warmer waters." You sighed, "I should have went with them." Flee the cold, flee your mind, flee from this man confusing everything you thought you knew.

"There's still time."

You shook your head, "I'm trapped like those poor little boats."

He snorted, "You're not a boat." He cleared his throat looking down at his feet, "Don't stay stagnant."

"I move where he tells me." Your shoulders brush.

He stills, "Then stop listening."

The clouds shift, white light cutting through the clouds and you take in the bright moon. You wanted to tell him you had been, tell him it was the one thing you were horrible at, sob out your story how it pained you to stretch the tether between you and your father, how for some reason you couldn't cut it for foolish selfish insecurities. You watch the snow fall, watch it catch in his hair, on his eyelashes. You wish you knew how to be weak, how to bare your soul to someone who had once been a threat, know that he wouldn't betray your trusted secrets. You wonder if you ever could, and for that reason you find yourself stepping away from him despite the warmth of his presence next to yours.

You shiver. "I am freezing though." You nodded back the way you came, "Can we head back?" You head back around towards your block curling inside your coat more as your breath swirls around you. He holds the door open for you as you hurry inside your building taking the stairs to warm up quicker enjoying the heat blasting through the vents. He's behind you, following you silently up the stairs like a shadow.

You fling your door open hanging your coat back up and blowing into your hands. You scoop up the book again, intent on settling it back on your nightstand when the sound of your door closing isn't heard. You turn back to see him, "Are you going to invite me in?" He's standing at the threshold; reality at a breaking point as his foot teeters along the edge of everything.

"You're not sly Snow."

He watches you as you take a few steps away, "I can keep my hands to myself kitten. I'll be good."

"When have you ever been good." You rolled your eyes.

"Touché."

He crosses the room in one quick stride smashing your lips to his the book clattering to floor beneath you. It's heated and intense and filled with unrestrained feeling. You felt it all like a freight train hitting you as you open your mouth for him to delve inside of. You should have felt weary, embarrassed, strange, but all you felt was want, for him, for this. His hands grab on your hips and he's moving, pushing you until your legs hit the couch and you're falling, falling, falling...

He's there, hands around your body, teeth grazing down your neck as your pulse throbs beneath skin. You're shoving at his shirt, opening it up to run hands down his bare chest, as he pushed yours up until a hand cups your breast. A sigh is breathed onto your collarbone as he kneads his hand into the flesh of you and a few seconds later he sinks his teeth into the bone. He slithers fingers behind you unclasping your bra to let the fabric bunch up around your chest. It should be awkward, but he doesn't care as he drags his mouth over your bare nipple.

You moan as his tongue swirls around the bud and his fingers dig into you harder. Your back arches, his hand toying with the other one, running his fingers around it as you tug on his hair. And too soon, he's pulling back, hair mused from your hands and blue eyes dark and heavy. You'd never seen him look like this, look at you like this; your head spins. Suddenly that unfamiliar expression comes into view with clarity; want, it had been want on his face every moment you were forced to break away.

He unbuttons your pants, but stops you before you can tug them off. "Not like this." Is all he says gently pushing your wrist away.

"How do you want me?" It's whispered and you sound too desperate. You don't care, you were desperate.

He chuckled to himself as his hand disappeared beneath your waistband and long fingers run down wet folds. "Truthfully?" You nod as you chew on your bottom lip. "Tied to my bed where no one can hear you scream for me." He pushed his fingers into you and your head falls back with a curse. "Just me." He's curling his fingers, pushing them in and out of you with delicious precision. You're clawing down his muscled chest, feeling the rub of his palm against your clit sending shockwaves up to your skull. "That feel good?"

"Yes." You groan out tiling your hips to take his hand in deeper. "Let-Let me..." You're fighting with the button of his pants to dig your hand into them stroking a palm down his hard length.

"Fuck." He stutters as your hand slides along him as his hand starts to fuck you harder. You swirling around his cock, twisting your hand at a too awkward angle to run your hand along the whole thing while he pressed down hard at your clit feeling warm starlight burning under your skin.

He leaned down swallowing your breathless moans, shoving his grunts down your throat. It's all spit and teeth and sighs of pleasure until finally his grip bruised you with stuttered movements cum spilling along fingers and down your wrist. "Coryo." You moan, back arching as you orgasm soon after.

It's starry eyed and dismantling how the euphoria washes over you underneath someone you had sworn to destroy. Yet, here you were, pleasure dripping out of you for him. When you come to he's staring down at you, hand still buried in your cunt and for a moment you seemed unwilling to let it all go, to move on from the intense moment. Your brain is too mushy to comprehend any of it, to make sense of how bright his eyes seemed as they stared into yours catching breaths. You take your hand back as he pulls his out of you, and then you roll off the couch to wash your hand. As you close the door you see him put his fingers in his mouth and everything burns through you once more.

You stare at yourself, the glazed eyes, the flushed face, the glow from yielded pleasure. You chew on your cheek as you wash your hands, as you splash cool water across hot skin feeling the lingering touch of him everywhere. It's gone the next second dread replacing warmth as cold water runs down your neck; this had been the plan right? To make you give yourself over to him, give your power over to him through moans and spread legs. He's planned it all, faked softness and genuinity to make you put your guard down so he can slip through the gaps of armor. You dry your face and leave the bathroom to face him with walls high and armor tightly back on. He's still seated on the couch chest still exposed, pants still open at the top while he skims the book. Moonlight pour in over him, he looks like a statue of some long dead god, cut from marble, sculpted from precious stone lounging along your couch. He looks beautiful and you miss when you didn't say that about him.

He looked up at you as you stand there rigid; his shoulders sag.

He closed the book, "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" You cocked a brow.

"Like you think you know who I am," You opened your mouth but he continued. "And you hate him." He sighed standing up, "Do you always think the worst of me?"

"I only know that version of you." The cruel enemy you had always kept too close. "What are we doing? What are you doing?" Your eyes narrowed, "Is this all some ploy, some game to entertain a dark place within you?"

He pauses, taking in every feature on your face. "Let me take you out tomorrow night." He stared down at you.

You raised your brow as he avoided your question, "A date?"

"A date." He came closer hand wanting to come up, but he left it at his side, the only indication was the slight twitch in his ring finger. "A proper date." You eyed him suspiciously. "Just you and just me, no more feuding or lying or armor, just us. And then I'll answer your question."

"Just us?" You like the word too much.

He nodded, "Us."

next chapter coming soon!!

#daenysthedreamersblog #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coryo smut #coryo snow #president coriolanus snow #the hunger games #smutty fanfiction #fanfic #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo #coriolanus fic

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happyandticklish · 2 years ago

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Fucking my man up on this fine Monday afternoon 😌

#tickling #durarara #izaya orihara #durarara!!#personal #i am experimenting with something x reader-ish so this may end up terrible #like not x reader because its not written that way #but the identity of the other character is left vague enough that you could project onto it #if that makes any sense lol

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seiwas · 2 months ago

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HI MY BELOVED ANGEL!!! i am sending u mattsun + campfire as well as kisses n hugs <33

SAINTTT hello 🥺 thank you for sending a prompty!! 🥹 idt i've ever written mattsun fully before so this is something new!

help me get back into the writing groove! send me a character + any word and i'll write a short blurb about it!

contains: exes, stranded-y situation, feelings are complicated, some expletives

mattsun + campfire

"i told you we should've brought the spare—"

"yeah, let me go back in time for a sec and do just that."

"asshole."

lesson #1: nothing good ever happens when you're stuck in a car with your ex on the way to somewhere remote.

you blame iwaizumi for this one. who the fuck chooses to spend their birthday weekend in the fucking wilderness?

(okay, you don't actually think it's so bad. to be fair, he did plan this a year ago. and it did sound like a good idea. then. at the time. anywhere with the boys was always guaranteed fun―at least, until you and matsukawa broke up.)

"can you pass me the flashlight?" he points at the backpack behind you. when you hand it over, your fingers brush over his as he takes it away from you.

and you hate it, because―

lesson #2: you should never be alone with your ex when you still have feelings for them.

you'd agreed to take two cars to the camping spot: iwaizumi's with oikawa and hanamaki and matsukawa's with you. there was no way you'd fit in one, and hanamaki ultimately decided to ride with iwaizumi because, "you and mattsun have shit to sort out," he'd said.

with night setting and the two-hour headstart they managed to get ahead of you, the best thing you and matsukawa can do is to set up camp temporarily and wait for them to come back for you come sunrise.

you sigh.

leaves crack underneath your feet as you maneuver around your camping space. the light from matsukawa's flashlight tells you where he is, just a bit deeper in the forestry as he looks for wood to help set up the fire.

you unload the car in the meantime, bringing out some snacks and sleeping bags while waiting.

matsukawa eventually comes back with arms full of wood, and you help in whatever way you can, clearing the space and fetching more twigs when needed.

the entire car ride here had been quiet, so it's not surprising that this entire process has been equally as silent. until―

"did you already pull out your tent?" he asks, half of his body disappearing into the trunk of the car.

"huh?" you go closer, "i only brought out the sleeping bags."

then he sighs, ducking out from the trunk with a hand on his hip, "we only have one tent."

"what?"

"makki must have gotten yours with his when he decided to move cars."

his hand runs through his hair, a habit you know well. it lights up all sorts of weird feelings in your tummy

you don't know how to feel―

"i can sleep in the car."

―but you know that you definitely don't want him to do that. all things considered, you were friends first. and you've both been trying to be friends again since the breakup. you wouldn't want to cause him discomfort like that.

so, with a deep breath, you say, "it's okay, we can just share."

"are you sure?" he stares at you.

you nod.

after setting up the tent, you eat a few energy bars and clean up from the day's events. the campfire provides ample enough heat, but with how fast the flames are burning, you're doubtful it'll last the two of you the entire night.

it’s much later on, past midnight, that your doubts are proven right when you and matsukawa are cramped together in a tent made for one. it started to get cold a few minutes ago, and you've found yourself inching closer and closer to the warmth you’ve gotten used to laying against for the past two years.

he's only pretending to be asleep, you know that much, too. the rise and fall of his chest is hardly there; you can see it, how he's holding his breath being this close to you.

"issei," you whisper.

he opens his eyes, eyelids lifting lazily as he meets your stare. the vibration of his hum reverberates to you.

"it's cold."

for a moment, your stomach drops at the thought that he could ignore you; how it would make perfect sense for him to. you broke up with him after all, and he doesn't owe you anything, much less favors as intimate as this one.

but he closes the already dwindling gap between you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulls you closer. it's near, far too near for exes to be―noses touching and all.

"warmer?" his voice comes out hoarser through the whisper.

you nod, your head shifting up and down—which, truly, is where you ultimately fuck up. you feel it, a little chapped but still pliant against your lips.

in your carelessness, you accidentally brush your lips against his, the sensation alone surprising you enough to inch your head back as you mutter your apologies.

"sorry? really?" he asks, eyes half-lidded still as he chuckles.

his question settles into the small space you're in.

your vision trails from his eyes, down to the slope of his nose, until it lands on his lips again. a little split like you've always known, but still your favorite. still the only lips you want against yours.

when you lean in again, you know you're fucked, because―

lesson #3: the number one rule is that exes shouldn't kiss each other anymore.

#mattsun x reader #matsukawa x reader #hq x reader #shotorus.workbook #WAAAAAH i hope u like this saint !!!#ive never rlly written mattsun in length before so i hope i captured him enough ?????#i feel like he's such a tough balance to write (bc i am not witty at all and i feel like he would be HAHAHA)#anyway !!! some stuff abt the fic: the split was amicable for the most part #but the reason why makki says reader and mattsun have stuff to sort out is because there's like a weird tension~~ that he feels around them #and its kind of like. they bicker? and snap at each other like exes do but also it's just like. why do u care abt what the other does so mu #if you arent together anymore ?? typa thing. its like. they argue but in a way couples normally do if that makes sense #HONESTLY MAKKI WOULDNT HAVE ALSO MINDED STAYING WITH THEM cos he likes to watch HAHA but i think #he joined iwaoi more as a 'ill give u guys time together to fuck it out or wtvr just dont be weird on iwa's bday' typa thing #they were also together for a while! friends first and everything hmmm the reason why reader broke up with him #can be up to you! but my intention was for it to be something fixable and just more fitting for a 'break' typa thing #not necessarily a breakup #also the iwa car went ahead and they have the spare tire so they can go back and help but better in the daylight #i think thats all !!!#i hope you like it !!#ask #rep #saint.🩸#honestly these just keep getting longer hAHAH i should follow my 20 minute cap more #ask rep answered #heartsyougave

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pastellmochi · 4 months ago

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#i am so serious the worst thing that has ever happened to me is finding this one ohshc x creepypasta + reader quotev fanfic and i really #really loved it but then it slowly devolved in quality and then got an author switch and the new author didnt write an actual story or even #finish it and i am so sad but i dont wanna end on a bad note so i never finished it nor the chapters written by the first author i really #liked that it was no romance and focused on the relationships of reader and toby being like siblings and it was extremely weird but very #sweet that they were explicitly like toby was happy to join ouran/the host club because he was like i never got a normal hs experience or #got to feel like i fit in anywhere That is such a strange way of approaching it but i really liked that also its just funny in that uninten #tional 2010s fanfic way and also there wasnt unnecessary death until there was and i started disliking it. ofc i dont really like the chees #cake jokes (iirc there were a few) but also reader getting calls from the creepypastas was so cute and sweet i love when people agree that #they are like a family moreso than a business or like Realistically theyd hate each other nuh uh they are sweet stupid family Ok #i just love how genuine and sweet the relationships are and that the slender mansiob is so supportive and checks in on reader #you can read old ao3/quotev fanfics but watch out you will like them and they will never be finished #the solution.. is to do it yiurself…

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einsvei · 7 months ago

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REAL REAL REAL. FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT. some of the twisted wonderland fans be so obnoxious about how a character “WOULD NEVER DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT” but within the same day they’ll post about how a ship is actually canon. or they’ll make a headcanon that is just them projecting themselves onto the character. like which one is it? do you hate people mischaracterizing or are you okay with people having fun? cause there’s literally nothing wrong with making headcanons, regardless of how in character it is. have fun. write whatever tf you want. but the moment i see you berate people for making shit ooc, and then go onto write the same type of shit, that’s when i have a problem.

Im glad my sentiment is shared. Honestly speaking, writing characters that either don't belong to you or that you dont have a full analytical grasp on isn't a walk in the park. Theres a lot of ways to make mistakes, and that's absolutely fine.

Some writers are seemingly alright with adding their own headcannons to characters, yet will yell at others for doing the same.

If you dont like a certain way a writer wrote/ portrayed the character, you're more than welcome to open a google Doc and try to do any semblance of a better job. However, that shouldn't be used as ammunition against the other.

If a person wants to write azul being a CEO of a conglomerate or riddle as a sheltered young master, so be it. But you know what? You're not better than them because you refuse to broaden your range.

#its a slippery slope #i just wish that people could just let others do their own thing.#im not an canon x canon shipper; never was and never will be.#however #that doesn't mean im gonna bust my balls to make everyone elses online fandom experience shite #wake up call; your writing isnt some special type of diamond in the rough.#because you boast of not making the characters OOC like you're the leader of a new religion; now you've possibly made others #afraid of posting- or even interacting in the fandom at all.#the entitlement #not to mention the fact that writing in and of itself is something people do for FUN.#if you wanna psychoanalyze characters so be it- hey i do that shit all the time too; it helps me understand more #but im not gonna be an ass and try to make everyone conform to writing it the way i want THEIR work to be written.#snowfall.#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #tw discourse

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tonycries · 8 months ago

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Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now.

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be.

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What?

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird.

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer.

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street.

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing.

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.”

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation.

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?”

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?”

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from.

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now.

“Alright. Plan B, then.”

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you?

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner.

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head.

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.”

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly.

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house.

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins.

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app.

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo.

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least.

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in.

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner.

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in.

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual.

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed.

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside.

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you.

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking.

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner.

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit.

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you.

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders.

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now.

Gathered here - for you.

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them.

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second.

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane.

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.”

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily.

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up.

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru.

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold.

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to.

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list.

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain.

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands.

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod.

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight.

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting.

But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it.

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.”

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~”

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.”

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours.

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table.

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before.

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today.

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic.

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.”

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.”

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave.

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips.

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach.

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it.

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were.

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.”

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.”

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip!

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically.

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub.

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you.

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard. “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now.

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.”

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please.

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him.

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-” You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want.

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue.

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear.

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time.

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself.

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now.

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all.

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back.

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.”

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard.

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything.

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot.

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be.

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much.

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy.

“Close?”

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper.

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now.

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him.

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

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