#my arts been unpredictable lately too

[bea-stie]

redraw because cartoon now(plus an extra expression)

[moe-broey]

Petition to Stop the Passage of Time.

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[fangdokja]

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and you’re the captive—lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 4,326

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ Mr. Reca.

"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my film—my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."

The universe had always been a canvas to him—a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.

But you—oh, you—you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.

You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasn’t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientist’s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.

It began subtly. At first, you didn’t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frog—so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a child’s toy—hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.

He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mind’s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeon’s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.

You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.

He didn’t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.

No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.

You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And he—he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didn’t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.

He didn’t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didn’t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.

“Your dreams are fascinating,” he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. “I could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?”

His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hunger—the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.

When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. “Ah, but do you really have a choice?”

You didn’t, of course.

The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.

The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldn’t have been—your door had been locked—but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. “You feel it, don’t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?”

In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.

His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.

But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. “The way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesn’t want to?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. “I could keep you here forever,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Inside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?”

You would care, of course.

You fight him, or at least you try. But he’s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesn’t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.

His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire you’ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.

“You want this,” he says, his voice a velvet knife. “You want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.”

His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. “And when I’m done with you, when there’s nothing left of you but what I’ve created, you’ll thank me. You’ll beg me to keep you.”

The horror of it all is that he doesn’t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.

He tells you that you’re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.

Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?

And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.

You are not his muse.

You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.

But no one will ever hear your screams.

He’s made sure of that.

After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and he’s already written your final scene.

♡ Mydei.

"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. I’ll carve my name into your soul, and you’ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."

It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturally—always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; it’s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.

And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. “You’re trembling,” he says, though there’s no concern in his tone.

It’s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.

He doesn’t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocating—his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. It’s low and guttural, almost amused, but there’s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that he’ll savor every inch of your fear.

He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. “You should be,” he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. “Fear keeps you alive… but not from me. Never from me.”

He lies, of course.

The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesn’t see you as prey to consume in haste.

No, he sees you as a possession—a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something he’s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.

When he finally touches you, it’s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. There’s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand: you’re his.

The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.

“You can fight,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, “but we both know how this ends.”

And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.

The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, he’s there—everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if it’s a territory to be conquered, claimed.

The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. “Do you know how easy it would be?” he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.

“To tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you? By the time I’m done, you won’t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.”

His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.

And yet he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reacts—fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingers… it’s a symphony to him, a melody of submission he’s determined to conduct to its crescendo.

When he finally takes you, it’s not an act of love—it’s an act of dominance, of ownership.

His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, doesn’t let you escape into the safety of darkness.

No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you do—when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tears—he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.

His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. “Every breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veins—it all belongs to me.”

And yet, even as he tears you apart, there’s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.

Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, there’s a flicker of something more—a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he can’t voice but demands nonetheless.

When it’s over, he doesn’t release you.

His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.

And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesn’t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.

But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, and it’s not a question.

It’s a command, a promise, a threat.

“You’ll stay because there’s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leave…” His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.

You nod, because what else can you do?

And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.

There is no escape. There never was.

And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if you’ll ever want to leave at all.

♡ Anaxa.

"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughts—your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."

The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.

You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyes—one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatch—were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.

He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.

"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. I’ve seen them. I’ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.

Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.

No, his torment was subtle—a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.

You didn’t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poison—so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuary…all of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.

"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.

"It’s wasted on anyone else. They’ll never understand you—not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.

Almost.

Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.

Anaxa didn’t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if it’s the only way to make you stay."

And you knew he meant it—not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.

The moments of intimacy—if one could call them that—were no less haunting.

His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.

His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.

"You’re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.

"Beautiful because you’re broken. Broken because you’re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.

"They said I’d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."

The nights were the worst.

In the darkness, you felt him even when you didn’t see him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. He’d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

"You should sleep," he’d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we’ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."

And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.

When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.

Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.

"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthy—not even you."

And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasn’t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.

And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was love—or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.

"You’ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.

"Even if you try, even if you run…I’ll always find you. You’re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."

And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.

♡ Phainon.

"Every strike I make, every victory I win—it’s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."

The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isn’t kind.

It’s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before you—the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.

Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.

He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see it—heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.

His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.

“You don’t understand, do you? You’ve never understood.” A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. “I don’t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step I’ve taken, every blow I’ve struck, has always been for you.”

His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.

He hasn’t cleaned it.

He hasn’t even sheathed it.

The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.

You can’t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.

He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.

You back away instinctively, but there’s no escape.

His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.

“Run if you want to,” he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. “I won’t stop you. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

There’s no malice in his words, only certainty—a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.

His hands are stained too.

Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.

Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.

You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost human—almost.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.

“And I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when you’re far from me.”

When his lips press against yours, it isn’t a kiss—it’s a conquest.

His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isn’t tender; it’s possessive, frantic, like he’s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

And that’s when his patience snaps.

His grip tightens, dragging you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, it’s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. “You don’t understand how far I’d go for you. What I’d destroy. Who I’d become.”

He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark—a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like he’s savoring the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? You’ll scream for me, cry for me... but you’ll never leave.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifying—but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.

It’s sick.

It’s wrong.

But it’s real.

Phainon knows it too.

He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.

He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.”

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s just solved.

“You’re mine,” he says again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”

And you believe him.

♡ A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm

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[hoshifighting]

Ways to Have a Man in the Palm of Your Hand.

— Synopsis: In the flow of uncertainty that defined your situationship with Mingyu, you decide to take action, making Mingyu start chasing after you like a loyal puppy. — WC: 3.9k — WARNINGS: Smut, unprotected sex, overstimulation, degradation, begging on knees, oral (f. receiving), fingering– he watches reader fingering herself, handjob, dick riding, penetrative sex, humiliating, manipulation and etc.

Your life connected with Mingyu's since you both first met through your groups of friends, and a situationship had emerged between you two. It was just sex, with no strings attached and no promises made.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, it became challenging to keep your heart safe from the unpredictable tides of emotion.

Mingyu had a way of making you feel special. He'd surprise you with homemade dinners, he was attentive, considerate, and made sure to put your self-esteem on the highest with his skillful photography.

The tall and good-looking guy wasn't just amazing during sex; he was an enigma that both fascinated and frustrated you. Mingyu could vanish for days, leaving you on blue. But just as you were about to write him off, he'd resurface, as if nothing had happened. It was a maddening cycle, and yet, you found yourself caught in its web.

Mingyu: Hey! Been swamped asf with work lately. Let's grab coffee or something stronger soon? Let me know when you're free!

You couldn't help but scoff as you read Mingyu's message. His casual tone and nonchalant invitation stirred a mix of irritation and amusement within you. Swiftly typing a response, you questioned his unpredictable appearances.

You: Are you planning on always popping up out of nowhere like this?

Mingyu: I always come back, don't I? So, when are we catching up darling?

Despite the inner conflict and your ego's warning signals, there was an undeniable allure to Mingyu's charm. His words, laced with playfulness, had a magnetic effect that bypassed rational thoughts. With a sigh, you found yourself succumbing to the familiar pull.

The room was filled with the echoes of skin slapping as you both lay on Mingyu's bed, your eyes locked as you two moaned out loud, the crescendo of pleasure punctuated by the rhythmic thud of the bed against the wall.

Mingyu lays beside you, the heat of the moment still lingering between your bodies. You rose from the tangled sheets, picking up your scattered clothes. Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on you, an intensity that betrayed a deeper connection than the situationship allowed. 

"I really like spending time with you Y/N" 

"Me too Gyu." 

[...]

Seungkwan leaned in "Okay, spill. What's the latest drama with Mingyu?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Honestly, I can't figure him out. It's like a cycle. We talk every day for a month, hang out, fuck, and then poof! He disappears for a week or more. I don't get it."

Seungkwan chuckled knowingly. "You know, maybe you should try something. Do the same to him, but take it up a notch. Make him miss you even more."

You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly taken aback. "Seungkwan, I'm not into playing games or being spiteful. It's not my style."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, hear me out. It's not about being spiteful. It's about making him realize what he's missing. Mingyu knows you'll always be there, right? So, he takes it for granted. Maybe he needs a taste of his own medicine."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "And how exactly do I do that?"

Your mouth hung open as Seungkwan delivered his comprehensive lesson in the art of emotional tactics. The confidence in his advice left you both amazed and slightly apprehensive. Unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you finally asked the burning question.

"How on earth do you know all of this, Seungkwan?" you inquired, eyes wide with disbelief.

Seungkwan leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, my dear friend, when you've been in the game as long as I have and witnessed enough romantic dramas unfold, you start picking up on patterns. It's like a survival guide for the heart."

You raised an eyebrow, still processing the information. "Survival guide, huh? And all this contempt, playing hard to get, and hurting egos – that's your secret weapon?"

Seungkwan chuckled, "Not a secret weapon, sometimes, a little strategic move can make all the difference. Trust me, I've seen it all."

With Seungkwan's advice resonating in your mind like a strategic playbook, you approached the next phase of your relationship with Mingyu, with a newfound determination. It felt like diving into a complex homework assignment, each step carefully calculated to shift the dynamics in your favor.

As you decided to implement the first step, a newfound sense of liberation washed over you. You stopped responding to Mingyu's messages immediately and resisted the urge to initiate contact. It felt strange at first, but there was a sense of power in reclaiming your time and not being at his beck and call. Mingyu's messages awaited your attention. 

The challenge of making Mingyu realize he could lose you sparked a newfound determination. Your calendar filled up with plans that didn't involve Mingyu. Mingyu, accustomed to your constant availability, seemed to sense the change, though he couldn't quite pinpoint it. He might have been the object of desire for many hoes, but your indifference challenged his accustomed narrative. 

After all, a man is not more important than your personal goals, right?

All while allowing Mingyu to observe your life unfolding without him. The realization that you were not waiting by the phone for him sparked a large curiosity.

Throughout the process, a mix of emotions surfaced. Doubt, at times, whispered in the back of your mind – was this the right approach? Seungkwan's advice, unconventional as it was, had brought a shift in Mingyu's behavior. Now, you wondered how Mingyu would respond to the transformed version of you – a person who refused to be taken for granted.

Mingyu's relentless messages flooded your phone. The janitor, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, discreetly shared the news of Mingyu's visits to your condominium entrance. Three times he had appeared, seeking a glimpse of you, only to be met with the absence of your presence, the deliberate distance, and the air of indifference were beginning to provoke a reaction from him.

You were determined to see this journey through, to understand whether Mingyu's renewed interest was genuine or a fleeting reaction to the perceived loss of control.

The persistent pings of Mingyu's messages had become a constant background noise in your life, infiltrating your workdays and even interrupting the serene moments of your brunches.

"Free today, Ms. Busy?"

"Pls respond to me. :(("

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Wtf…"

"Omggg, when are you going to answer me properly?"

"I'll invade your house."

"Y/N-ieeee, pleaseee!"

"I really want to see you right now."

"You make me so confused :("

The encounter at the pedestrian crossing unfolded in a scene of unexpected tension. Mingyu, spotting you in the midst of your Sunday morning run with Seungkwan, seized the opportunity to bridge the gap that had grown between you. As you halted, waiting for the light to change, Mingyu approached, a mixture of eagerness and confusion etched across his face.

"Hey there! Fancy meeting you here," Mingyu greeted, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Seungkwan, standing beside you, looked on with a side-eyed glance, a smirk playing on his lips as he sipped casually from his water bottle. As the pedestrian light shifted to green, you seized the moment to extricate yourself from the short encounter. "Sorry, Mingyu, I really need to finish my morning walk. Catch you later," you excused yourself, leaving Mingyu standing there, perplexed and surrounded by the bustling activity of the street.

He couldn't shake off the confusion – Why weren't you responding as before? Why weren't you as available as you used to be? Did you at least still like him? It dawned on Mingyu that the game had changed, and he wasn't sure if he understood the rules anymore. The pursuit, once fueled by the expectation of your constant availability, now seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand. The reality of being just one among the many who sought your attention was a bitter pill to swallow.

[...]

The doorbell's unexpected chime disrupted the tranquility of your self-care routine, with moisturized skin and a mind ready for a cozy movie night, you approached the door, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

As you swung the door open, the sulky face of Mingyu greeted you. A momentary pause hung in the air, your eyes meeting his in silent expectation. Before you could utter a word, Mingyu stepped inside, dropping to his knees and hugging your legs as if seeking solace.

Surprised by his sudden display of vulnerability, you widen your eyes, caught off guard by the intensity of his reaction. The door lingered ajar, and you managed to close it, arms crossed, a mixture of confusion and caution etched on your face.

Mingyu, still hugging your legs, looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice laden with remorse. "What did I do, Y/N? Why are you treating me like this? I'm sorry."

"Hm?"

He looked up at you, his eyes brimming with a mix of confusion and regret. "I just… I don' understand. I miss you," he admitted, his voice trailing off.

Your initial surprise transformed into a mix of emotions – disbelief, a hint of empathy, and the need to assert your newfound boundaries. Crossed arms and a measured gaze met Mingyu's desperate expression. The sudden intrusion into your personal space prompted a silent assessment of the situation.

"What did you expect, Mingyu?" you countered, your voice steady but laced with the weight of unspoken questions. "You disappear, then reappear, and now you're kneeling in my living room. What's going on?"

"I messed up, okay? I thought I could keep things casual, but I didn't expect to feel like this. I miss the way things used to be between us." he confessed, his voice carrying a raw honesty.

"You ask me to come to your house, and then after you get what you wanted, you let me go. Do I look like a food delivery or something?" you confronted Mingyu, your words cutting through the charged silence that hung in the room.

Mingyu's eyes widened at your accusation, shock and a hint of hurt registering on his face. "No, no, no, Y/N, it wasn't like that."

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and frustration evident in your expression. "It feels like you only want me around when it's convenient for you."

Mingyu, still on his knees, looked up at you, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want to push you. I thought you preferred it this way."

You sighed, the weight of the unresolved tension palpable. "Mingyu, I can't read your mind. If you want me to stay, you have to say it. Communication goes both ways."

"Y/N, I'm truly sorry. I'll do whatever you want. I didn't see you as just a fleeting thing, and I want to be present."

Mingyu's earnest apology hung in the air, a plea for understanding and a promise to change. As he laid his face on your bare thighs, expressing his sincere regret, you cut through the moment with a tsk sound, a dismissive gesture that left him wide-eyed and caught off guard.

"Poor boy, begging on his knees for attention. What a shame," you remarked, a hint of teasing in your voice as you observed his reaction.

Mingyu, his hands now gripping each side of your thighs, sat back on his feet, his expression a mix of surprise and a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He hadn't anticipated this response, your playful teasing catching him off guard.

"You didn't see me as a fleeting thing?" you continued, your tone mockingly contemplative. "Well, Mingyu, this is quite a sight – you, on your knees, practically begging for my attention. I'd never do something like this."

His widened eyes met yours, uncertainty and a trace of embarrassment flickering in them. Mingyu's bit his lip, cheeks flushing deeper.

"I'll do whatever you want, Y/N. Just tell me," Mingyu replied, his hands still holding your thighs.

You let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair as you continued your teasing. "Oh, Mingyu-ah, the mighty one on his knees. Maybe you'll learn to appreciate what you have when it's not handed to you on a silver platter. Now, let's see if you can keep up with your promises."

As you spoke, Mingyu's cheeks continued to flush, a complex dance of emotions playing out on his face.  "How can you forgive me?" 

Mingyu's question hung in the air, a genuine plea for forgiveness. You paused, considering the weight of his words, before adopting a more serious tone.

"Get up," you instructed him, your voice carrying a command that seemed to catch him off guard.

Mingyu, without hesitation, rose to his feet from his submissive position. His eyes fixed on you. An arched eyebrow and a smirk played on your face, savoring the moment of dominance as you instructed him to follow you.

The atmosphere grew charged with anticipation as Mingyu attentively trailed behind you, his eyes inevitably drawn to your body covered only by a shirt. The click of your bedroom door signaled a shift in the dynamics, and when you turned to face him, his eagerness manifested in an attempted kiss.

Your finger halted his advance, a calculated pause preceding your question, "Do you think you deserve to kiss me?"

Mingyu, his eyes reflecting a mix of longing and remorse, shook his head no. Your smirk deepened as you delivered a verdict that left him whimpering.

"Then you won't kiss me today."

A whimper escaped Mingyu's lips, a sound that echoed the frustration and desire that simmered beneath the surface. The unexpected turn of events had left him yearning for a connection, yet you, in your assertive control, denied him that solace.

As the tension hung in the air, Mingyu's eyes glistened with unshed tears. The dynamics between you had taken a surprising turn, a power play that left both of you navigating the intricate threads of desire, forgiveness, and the consequences of a maybe – ex-complicated situationship.

With a commanding tone, you instructed Mingyu to kneel once again, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. He obeyed, sinking down to his knees with a mix of anticipation and eagerness. The air in the room crackled with a palpable tension as you laid down the terms.

"If you act like a good boy, maybe I'll forgive you," you declared, your voice carrying a hint of authority.

Mingyu nodded earnestly, a silent pledge to abide by your terms. As you proceeded to remove your shirt, next your pantie, allowing it to fall to the floor, the atmosphere became charged with a new layer of intensity. 

"How much do you want this pussy Mingyu?" you inquired, the question hanging in the air as you observed Mingyu's reaction. His shoulders slumped, a subtle expression of desire and longing evident on his face.

"A lot," he moaned, the words escaping his lips with a mixture of need and surrender. Your legs spread open, an invitation too tempting, as he feels his mouth waters at the view. 

"Open your mouth," you commanded Mingyu, your voice carrying an air of authority. He complied without hesitation, anticipation flickering in his eyes.

As he held his mouth open, you slid two fingers inside, the intimate contact a subtle exploration of boundaries and desire. Mingyu's tongue teased your fingers, a provocative dance that elicited a hiss from you.

"No teasing," you admonished, a note of warning in your voice. With a swift motion, you delivered a little slap to his chin as you withdrew your fingers from his mouth. The air crackled with a newfound tension, a moment that blurred the lines between control and submission.

Mingyu furrowed his eyebrows, as he watched your fingers slowly disappearing inside of your cunt, your fingers and your slick gushes out of you, and all he can do is watch. He sits patiently on his feet, watching your fingers leaving and entering your pussy in a too provocative rhythm. His bottom lip quivering to the desire of eating you out.

"Please Y/N…"

"What?''

"Please, let me eat you out, it looks so good…"

To tease him even more, you fastened your fingers, moaning while your cunt sounded like Mingyu's favorite song, wet, luscious, mouthwatering, appetizing, tempting. He cries out, his hands together on his lap. "Please, I beg you, I missed you so bad." 

The room was charged with a blend of anticipation and surrender as you stopped, taking a moment to look at Mingyu's mournful face. The desire in his eyes was palpable, and the silent plea for what he had begged for lingered in the air.

With a subtle nod, you allowed him to fulfill his request. Mingyu, starved and eager, approached the task with a concentration that hinted at a deep desire to please you. As he held you with a gentle yet fervent touch, mouthing your pussy, licking you clean, his focus on your pleasure was unwavering. The way he clung to you conveyed a fear of losing you, made you mewl as he sucked your clit, you held onto the sheets, a silent anchor in the sea of sensations. Mingyu's devotion and the way he concentrated on your pleasure only intensified the building release within you. Like a wave, you're cumming all over his mouth and chin, he hums in response flickering your clit with his tongue.

"Enough." You breathe out, closing your legs. "Strip, and lay for me." 

Mingyu rose from the floor, a determined look on his face, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort his knees might be feeling. The sounds of his clothing being discarded echoed in the room, punctuated by the soft thud as he settled onto the bed. The mattress shifted as he moved closer, his warm touch caressing your arm.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, a hint of curiosity and desire lingering in the air.

"Don't touch me," you instructed Mingyu, your tone carrying a note of command as you climbed onto his lap. Leaving him momentarily frozen, his hands hovering in the air, uncertain of where to go.

The close proximity of his cock intensified the wetness between your thighs. Mingyu, eager and responsive, looked at you with a mix of desire and restraint, his hands now cautiously placed together on his chest.

The atmosphere crackled with a blend of dominance and submission as you straddled Mingyu, humping your wet pussy against his cock, your movements deliberate and provocative. His moans in response to your degrading words only heightened the intensity of the moment.

"Oh my god, look at you," you cooed, your voice a mix of mockery and desire. "I just stopped paying attention to you, and you came fucking begging me to talk with you. You're humiliating, Mingyu."

His moans, a symphony of pleasure and submission, filled the room. Mingyu's response to your degrading words conveyed a complex dance of desire and self-awareness. The acknowledgment that he deserved the degradation.

The room filled with a momentary hush as you sank your hips, Mingyu's length now fully inside. He shut his eyes, a silent surrender to the sensations that enveloped him. 

The unspoken admission hung in the air—though you wouldn't openly admit it, there was a trace of longing, a subtle acknowledgment that, despite the complexities, you had missed him a little. The air became charged with a mix of desire and restraint as your hips rode him, his length fully fulfilling the connection between you.

His angry tip brushed against that special spot, sending a surge of pleasure through both of you, cause now, you were so tight around him. "I'm going to cum, f-fuck"

"You better not." 

The charged atmosphere intensified as you edged Mingyu, denying him release, while simultaneously relishing in the control you held over his pleasure. He gasped for air, his eyes clenched shut, a desperate attempt to hold back as your dominating presence and the sensations of your movements threatened to overwhelm him.

Your hips moved with a purposeful intensity, driving him to the edge, and his body contorted in a desperate attempt to maintain control. The struggle was evident in the way his breath hitched and his eyes rolled back, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure that surged through him.

"I-I can't hold it anymore," he stuttered, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.

"If you cum, I will-"

The moment of release was inevitable. Mingyu's hot cum filled you, triggering your own orgasm, he cried out your name, making your wall clench harder around him.

As Mingyu managed a string of apologies, you allowed him to slide out of you, leaving his lap coated with both of your arousal, your legs damp with his seed. 

The scoff echoed in the room, a mix of amusement and assertion. However, your actions spoke a different language. As you tighten your legs around the sides of Mingyu's legs, restraining his movement, your hands take control, pumping his cock fast. The focus on his red tip elicited a loud cry from Mingyu, his back lifting off the mattress in response to the overstimulation.

The wet sounds filled the bedroom as the intensity of your touch drove him to the edge. Mingyu's hands gripped the pillow beneath his head, a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the whirlwind of sensations that consumed him.

As Mingyu's body trembled under the heightened sensations, he felt a knot tightening in his abdomen, a sensation he hadn't anticipated. The overwhelming intensity built up to a point where he couldn't contain it anymore. A primal scream tore from his lips, his body convulsing in the throes of another orgasm.

His cum pooled on his abdomen, a physical manifestation of the powerful release that coursed through him. You observed his trembling body, struck by the raw intensity of his response. Mingyu's reaction seemed to surpass any previous experiences, his vulnerability and ecstasy on display in a way you hadn't witnessed before.

"Sorry, I came without your permission…"

"Enough with the sorry's, Mingyu," you said with a soft smile. "Let's just take a bath."

As the warm water cascaded around you, cleansing away the external worries, you both found solace in the simplicity of the moment. Emerging from the bath, you lay on the bed alone, the silence speaking volumes. Mingyu, holding his shirt, stood in contemplation. His gaze met yours, and he released a breath he seemed to have been holding.

The room felt charged with unspoken emotions when Mingyu finally gathered the courage to ask, "Can we sleep together tonight? Can I stay here with you?"

His eyes held a lot of shyness, and for a moment, you felt a genuine change in the air. You bit your lip, a subtle smile playing on your lips. In response, you patted the bed twice, a silent invitation for him to join you.

Mingyu threw his shirt away with a smile, a blend of shyness and excitement. He settled on the bed, maintaining a cautious distance, uncertain about what the night held. Your gaze met his, and you turned to face him. His eyes sparkled, and with a newfound boldness, he closed the gap and hugged you tightly.

"Don't be away from me again," he whispered, his voice tinged with vulnerability. And for the first time in those weeks, you let yourself savor the sweet taste of his pink soft lips, making him melt in response.

You smiled, your palms sliding gently along his back. The walls that once stood between you seemed to crumble as Mingyu embraced you, his actions speaking louder than any words. In that moment, it felt like a page turned, and a new chapter began.

Well, Seungkwan, you knew a lot. The five ways to have a man in the palm of your hand indeed. 

[dailynnt]

CAPTIVE OF HIS ATTENTION

♡ Summary: You're an art and design student at Seoul National University, trying to maintain your independence and focus on your studies. Your peaceful life is shattered when you meet Jungkook , a charismatic, stubborn, and unpredictable guy who pairs up with you for a group project. He starts to annoy you by challenging your principles. Jungkook, who loves to be the center of attention, uses his charming and playful nature to play with your feelings and control the situation. You are constantly trying not to succumb to his manipulations, but gradually you find that his influence on you is becoming stronger and stronger. The relationship between you is a game of power, desire, and sensation, where each tries to leave their mark without letting the other take over completely. But will you be able to maintain your independence, or will Jungkook eventually make you his?

♡ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

♡ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

♡ Age restrictions: 18+

♡ Relationships: ⚤

♡ Number of part: 1/?

♡ Tags: university life, students, from enemies to lovers, everyday life, mild longing, sex, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, smoking, profanity, tags will be added as the story progresses

♡ From the author: So the first part is ready. I'm so excited, will all of you love this story too? Let me know in the comments what you think about the first part 🥹🙏🏻❤️‍🔥

♡ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

♡ Tag list : @kooko007, @someoneelse0109, @kelsyx33, @minimoninini, @smokinghotstargirl (Want to be on tag list? Just let me know)

PART 1: Partners in a group project.

The asphalt under your feet was half dry. Your white sneakers contrasted against the gray road surface. You tried to walk carefully so as not to fall into a puddle that hadn't dried.

Yesterday it had been raining all day, and this morning the sun appeared, which seemed to make this world more bearable. It was early spring outside. The end of March, to be exact. You breathed in the cool air, which was warmer than February and promised to more warm soon.

You walked at a brisk pace, looking at your watch at the same time. You were late for an early lecture on "Conceptual Art and Installation."

Last night, you slept poorly and not enough. The session soon is starting and you have been studying hard. You went to bed at three o'clock in the morning as soon as you finished working on the practical assignment for Graphics. You were also helping some of your classmates, so instead of doing one practice problem, you did 3. It wasn't hard for you. You loved to draw, and when you held a pencil or paint in your hands, time ceased to exist. That's why you didn't notice how late you stayed up late at night while drawing the practice tasks.

You also had a strange dream. You were in the arms of a guy. He was taller than you, and you remember wanting to look at his face in the dream, but you were blinded by the sun. You also remember having strange but strong feelings for this guy. Is this what everyone calls "butterfly feelings"? You remember how much you liked being in that hug and what the guy who was holding you said: "Who would have thought that I would change for you?"

You shake your head as if trying to drive away the thoughts of this dream and the feelings that have been overwhelming you since you woke up. You shouldn't fill your head with all kinds of nonsense. It's just a dream.

You run into the building, holding an unfinished cup of coffee. You bought yourself a double cappuccino to keep you going. It's crowded around you. In five minutes you have to be on the third floor in room 3001/b.

The professor is always on time. He is scrupulous and disciplined, and he demands the same from his students. So you are in a hurry. But it's not realistic to get to the classroom in 5 minutes. If you take the elevator, it will take 3 minutes, but seeing the line for it, you decide that you will take the stairs.

You almost ran. In a minute you were in the corridor leading to the stairs. You were holding the materials for today's lecture and the next two, and you had coffee to finish.

You see nothing but the door leading to the stairs. It is your ultimate goal to get there as quickly as possible.

As you reach a group of guys standing off to the side in the corridor, one of them takes a step to the side without noticing you. You crash into each other. You don't even realize it when his arms are around your waist, and you're leaning against his chest. You crash into his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. You cry out and feel the coffee you didn't finish spilling onto his snow-white sweatshirt and your cream-colored sweater and coat. But you get only a few drops, and all other remainder of coffee on Jungkook.

Time stands still as you look up to see who you've crashed into. The light from the sun coming in through the panoramic windows on the first floor of the campus initially covers his face. But when he lowers his face between your bodies, which are still touched, you recognize him as Jeon Jungkook. The local playboy, and without exaggeration, the genius in your class.

He is a chaebol who is the heir to the "Jeon Art Group Foundation" which owns expensive and valuable art pieces and numerous art galleries in Korea and around the world. That's why he is probably studying at Seoul University. He is supposed to take his father's place one day, so this is where he will get the basic skills and knowledge about the business he will be doing.

But Jungkook seems to have other plans for his future. You study with him in the same stream and almost never see him at lectures. And when he does come down to mere mortals and honors the audience with his presence, he is almost always asleep. He is only at the university because his father is a good sponsor of the institution. If he had even your status, he would have been expelled long ago.

Although Jungkook is a hidden genius. You've seen his work, and it impressed you, to put it mildly. The way he used his drawing skills was absolutely amazing. It's a pity that such a talent was given to such a useless person as Jeon Jungkook.

You stared at the stain on Jungkook's chest, frightened, and didn't know what to do.

"Fuck..." - You hear Jungkook's irritated voice. It vibrates in your ears. You finally feel his arms around your waist, hear the quiet, mocking laughter of his friends from the side, and you fly away from him like a scalded.

You realize that your clothes are spoiled by coffee, and there is a black stains on Jungkook's chest and pants. You bow quickly, several times, apologizing.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't notice you, I was in a hurry..." - You say without looking at him.

"Damn! Girl, you ruined my clothes and my mood, and it's only morning..." - Jungkook says sarcastically. He's assessing the damage you've done.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't notice you..." - You apologize again and bow low. Jungkook finally pays attention to you. His eyes bore into your face. He looks you up and down and thinks he has never seen you before. And really why? Because he likes what he's looking at.

"You should watch your step, not sleep on the go." - He says defiantly. His friends standing nearby are watching the situation carefully.

You straighten up at his tone. Irritation rises in your chest. He's a cocky guy. He stepped into the road, so you hit him. It's his fault, too. You're annoyed that you sincerely apologized twice and this brat didn't even pay attention.

"I was awake." - You say firmly. "I apologized before, you shouldn't talk like that." - You bravely look at Jungkook's handsome face, which for some reason is unpleasant to you. He looks surprised, but he shows a cheeky smile. The corner of his mouth curves up and he hums.

"How is your apology going to save my $1,500 sweatshirt from Balenciaga?" - Jungkook asks you. You raise your eyebrows. Buying a new one is definitely not going to work. You don't have that kind of money. You take a deep breath and look up at Jungkook. His arrogance is off the charts. The situation was an accident, but he seems to have decided to make you look guilty of all the sins of the world.

"Probably not." - You answer in a steady voice, slightly shrugging your shoulders. "But if it's that important to you, I can pay for the dry cleaning." - You notice his friends laughing quietly behind him. Jungkook tilts his head slightly to the side, clearly intrigued by your calm tone and the fact that you're not giving up.

"Dry cleaning?" - He asks again, his voice filled with sarcasm. "You think that's going to solve the problem? This is Balenciaga, girl. Not some cheap stuff from the sale."

You press your lips together to keep from saying anything else. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself not to lose your temper.

"Yes, it's Balenciaga. But it's just clothes. And I've already apologized, so there's nothing more I can do!" - You answer confidently, tilting your chin.

His eyes squint. He obviously didn't expect you to put him in his place so quickly. His friends behind him are clearly interested in your answer. One of them seems to be laughing.

"Nothing you can do?" - He repeats slowly, as if savoring your words. "That's a cheeky answer for someone who just ran into me. Besides, how am I supposed to walk around all day with a black stain on my clothes?"

"Just as bold as standing in the middle of the hallway, disturbing others. It's Balenciaga, say to everyone that it a limited edition." - You say ironically.

This time, you can definitely see his eyebrows rise slightly. But instead of getting angry, he just smiles again, his cheeky smile that almost drives you crazy.

"You're an interesting girl…" - He says, leaning in a little closer, his voice lower. "You don't know your place, but it's kind of... fun. Are you new or something?" - You feel your cheeks start to flush, but you try to keep your composure.

"We've been studying in the same class for two years." - You say colorlessly. He's such an idiot that he doesn't know all his classmates by sight. Of course, why would a jerk like him want to? Maybe it's for the best that he didn't know you and didn't notice you before. After all, he seems to be an asshole. You decide it's time to leave. "I definitely don't belong here, wasting time arguing." - You retort, taking a step back. "Sorry about the stain, but I have to go. If you need to pay for dry cleaning, you'll find me in the classroom." - You say and turn to leave, but his voice stops you in your tracks.

"Hey, what's your name?" - You stop, but don't look back.

"I don't think it matters." - You throw over your shoulder and walk confidently toward the stairs.

Behind you, a voice is heard the soft laughter of his friends and someone's voice.

"That's Turner Y/N. She seems to be an exchange student." - One of them says in a low voice.

"Y/N." - Jungkook says, as if savoring your name on his tongue. Jungkook looks away and remembers your frightened face next to him and your big eyes of an unusual color.

"What? Did you like her?" - Jungkook's other friend asks. His voice is high and cheerful. His eyes sparkled with something sly. Jungkook smiled.

"She's hot, isn't she, Jimin? I've never had a foreign girl before." - Jungkook says cheekily. Jimin and the other friend laugh.

"Jungkook, it seems you've lost your future victim." - Says a black-haired guy who looks like a model.

"I don’t think so, Taehyung." - He replies with the same cocky smile, but now his eyes are curious.

You enter the classroom and apologize to the professor. As usual, he does not miss an opportunity to complain about the student's lateness. You listen to his reproaches for about 5 minutes. Almost when he finishes, you hear the door open behind you. Since you were standing close to the door, you find yourself almost standing next to Jungkook, who, as it turns out, is also late for Professor Park Min-suk's class.

"Look at that insolence!" - The professor was surprised as he looked at you and Jungkook. Jungkook gave you an indifferent look as he stood behind you. You immediately turned away. You noticed that Jungkook was wearing a T-shirt. It looked strange, because it was spring. You knew the reason why he was dressed like that.

"Sorry I'm late, professor." - You heard Jungkook's voice above your head. It felt like he was talking right into the back of your head. You didn't notice that he had come close and was standing almost next your body. "I had an emergency." - Jungkook tried to make excuses. The professor shook his head angrily.

"What situation made you 11 minutes late for the lecture?" - The professor asked for an explanation.

"Coffee was spilled on me and I had to change my clothes." - Jungkook said. You straighten your spine. Professor Park Min-seok frowned and tapped his fingers on the lectern in frustration.

"On you spilled the coffee?" - He repeated, his voice filled with sarcasm. "And surely you couldn't change clothes faster so as not to disrupt my lecture?"

Jungkook tilted his head slightly to the side, his lips curling into a slight smile that looked more like a challenge.

"I'm afraid, Professor, I can't anticipate such cases." - His tone was calm, but you could feel the tension in the room rising. The professor sighed, obviously trying to hold back.

"Okay. Next time, Mr. Jungkook, make sure you don't pour coffee on yourself before my lectures." - He said, turning sharply to the audience. "And find a seat." - Jungkook nodded, but he suddenly leaned down to your ear in what was only a split second.

"Looks like you helped me with my excuse a little bit." - He whispered. His words caused you to experience a wave of mixed emotions, from surprise to indignation. You turned sharply to him, but he had already passed by, throwing you a half-smile.

"Y/N, you should also find a seat." - The professor's voice made you come to your senses. You quickly nodded and headed for an empty seat, feeling the stares of your classmates. Jungkook, as usual, took a seat at the back of the classroom, leaning back comfortably on his chair. You sat down next to your friend Miyon, who was worried about you.

The professor flipped through his lecture materials and exhaled nervously, getting ready to continue.

"So..." - He began again. "In three weeks we have an exam. But in order to pass it well, you have to pass all the practical tasks and complete the pre-exam project." - A wave of dissatisfaction spread through the classroom. You pull out your notebook from your bag and make notes for the upcoming project.

The professor continues. "The grade for this work will affect the grade for the midterm exam. So you should do your best. In addition, it will be a pair project, and at the end of the lecture I will assign you to pairs according to the number of points for the practical assignments for the course." - You heard whispers in the classroom again, and you were not very happy with this decision either. Because you would have liked to be paired with a some easier, Miyon if say exactly, but the odds are just one in sixty.

"It would be great if we were paired." - Miyon whispers to you as if reading your mind. You just nod in the affirmative, listening to the professor. He explains that the project will have two parts: a theoretical part - students will have to answer questions related to a topic of their choice - and a practical part - each student will have to create a concept for their own installation and present it in the form of a sketch or 3D model with an explanation. He also announces that he gives two weeks to complete the assignment.

For the rest of the lecture, Professor Park announces the topics for the project and briefly explains what they are. You make notes for each topic because you don't know what you might get. When the lesson comes to an end, the professor has to divide the two groups into pairs.

"...You have to tell me the topic of your project on Monday, you will have two whole days off to think about it. The topics will be repeated, so I require at least 80% originality. Now let's move on to the announcement of the pairs." - You were determined. You knew you could handle the project. The main thing is that you have a good partner. Of course, it is desirable that it was your friend Miyon.

Unfortunately, your friend is paired with Heran. She sighs in disappointment and you try to cheer her up.

"Y/N Turner..." - You hear your name and tensely turn to the professor. He looks at the list and makes a note. "You'll be paired with Jeon Jungkook." - Your heart drops to your heels. You freeze with your mouth open. Everyone around you is buzzing. You don't know why, because maybe everyone wanted to be paired with him. Everyone except you. Because you couldn't even imagine being paired with him for a project.

Jungkook, who had been dozing on his desk the whole time, stirred and looked up with interest. When he heard that he was going to be paired with you, he immediately looked at you. He could only see your tense body.

And he could not imagine your expression. He smiled slightly. What a gift of fate, now he doesn't even have to hit on you. But he didn't expect you to raise your hand and interrupt the professor who continued to assign students to pairs.

"Excuse me, professor, can I choose another partner?" - You ask. Jungkook laughs when she hears you ask. You so intrigued. Doesn't she want to work with him? That's absurd, everyone in this classroom would love to be his partner, but you're asking him to switch? Just laugh and that’s it. The professor raises his eyebrows and looks at you over the top of his glasses. He nervously takes them off and answers you.

"Dear Y/N. I'm assigning pairs based on your final grades for the practicals. Since you have a high score and Mr. Jeon has a low score because he hasn't turned in most of his assignments, you have to do the project together so that he can pass before the exam." - You grimace, because the professor's words are meaningless. Jungkook doesn't need to turn in any assignments to pass to the next class, and everyone knows it.

"But..." - You want to protest, but Professor Park interrupts you.

"Dear, you cannot choose another partner because I have already assigned you. If I wanted you to choose a partner, I would have let all the students do it. So please, I'm waiting for your and Jungkook's choice of topic on Monday." - The professor cut off and you silently turned away.

You scribbled indignantly in your notebook. It seemed unbelievable. He's talented and popular, of course, but how can you work on a project with him? The thought of him being your partner made you feel a little anxious.

Thoughts kept spinning like a wheel in your head. Jungkook was not just a classmate - he was at the center of everything that was happening at the university, with that group of "Bulletproofs", and his reputation was far from what any student would want. And why did you have to be with him? It was so annoying!

As soon as the professor finished announcing the pairs and everyone started to gather their things, Jungkook suddenly walked over to your desk. You looked up and noticed that his expression had become much more serious. A short silence passed between you. Miyon, who had been waiting for you, nervously greeted Jungkook. He nodded a meek "hello" to her and returned his gaze to you.

"You really wanted to change partner, Y/N? Did I’m that horrible?" - He asks leaning on the desk next to yours.

You shrugged slightly, trying not to let on how much this situation was stressing you out. Jungkook's gaze was attentive, and his words were tinged with irony. You stood up, throwing your backpack over your shoulder and looking at him carefully.

"It's nothing personal. I just want to pass the project with a good grade. Your reputation is not the best." - You said casually. Jungkook laughed, but his laugh wasn't angry or mocking, rather light, even a little relaxed. It was striking because his usually cold expression changed back to a more relaxed one.

"You're jumping to such hasty conclusions. What makes you think I might be the reason for your bad grade?" - He asks without taking his eyes off you. You tower over him, but you know that Jungkook is in complete control of the situation.

"I'm drawing my conclusions based on the facts." - You answer and walk out of the room. Miyon follows you out. Jungkook follows you with his eyes until your figure disappears from view. He bites his lip and feels something inside him twist. Are you trying to get his attention or are you really that buzzkill?

You're sitting at a table in a coffee shop near the university, clutching a folder of materials that has blurry coffee stains. You were waiting for Miyon to go place your order so you could eat before the next class.

Your thoughts were interrupted by loud laughter from the next table. You looked up. A few meters away, a group of young men were sitting. One of them immediately caught your eye. Dark hair, carelessly disheveled, a twinkle in his eye, and a smile that seemed too perfect to be real.

Jungkook. He came here when you were already sitting at the table. He and his company chose the table next to him because he was big and could accommodate all of them. Jungkook didn't even give you a glance when he landed nearby. He obviously never looks around, why would he do that. He's the one who has to be paid attention to.

Jungkook was the center of attention, as always. And even among the “Bulletproof” guys, he stood out the most. He had a lip piercing and a tattoo on his arm, which is not visible now because he was wearing a black sweatshirt over his T-shirt. His muscular body was clearly visible even under all the clothes he wore.

Girls were easily attracted to his appearance and you understood why. You thought he was handsome because it was obvious. Girls like these guys, charismatic with a touch of danger. Someone who can easily capture your feelings and make you want something forbidden.

Your friend Miyon, who had just returned with the order and diverted your attention from Jungkook, sat down next to you. She pursed her lips and served you your lunch. It was a chicken salad and a banana and berry smoothie.

"Just look at him. That Jeon Jungkook. I bet even your skepticism can't resist his charm. Everyone thinks you're lucky to be paired with him." - She said as she put a few lettuce leaves in her mouth. You grimaced. And picked up the chopsticks.

"I would have gladly switched with anyone. You heard me ask." - You said as you stirred the salad. Miyon smiled.

"You be careful. He's such a playboy. If he likes you, you'll be his captivate." - Your friend says. You give her a look full of skepticism.

"Don't be silly. Why should he like me... I'm not going to play these games. My main concern is to make the project." - You stir the salad and realize you're not really hungry. You take a sip of smoothie thinking it will be enough

"I don't know, the way he looks at you..." - Miyon says. You give her a look full of irritation.

"How did he look at me? We just talked for a minute!" - You say.

"Well, I saw him smiling at you. You could hear a hint of frivolity in his tone. You know, that lazy, low voice…" - Miyon says and you laugh. Not realizing that you've caught Jungkook's attention. He noticed you when he heard you laugh out loud. His gaze looks interested. He stared at you and couldn't understand why you caught his eye again. For the third time that day.

"Are you crazy? He was just talking." - You said.

"By the way, he spoke as if you knew him. I've never seen you interact with him before. You're not hiding anything, are you?" - Miyon asked. You tensed slightly. You weren't hiding anything. You really hadn't talked to him until today. And you just didn't have time to tell him about the coffee incident.

"What do I have to hide? I accidentally spilled coffee on him this morning. It was my first interaction with him. This idiot asked me if I was new." - You say, and Miyon oohs and aahs.

"You poured coffee on him?!" - She is horrified. You nod silently. Miyon wants to ask you how it happened, but her phone rings. She sees her boyfriend's name on the screen and excuse yourself to move away.

You drink your smoothie and feel someone look at you. When your eyes meet the Jungkook's, you feel like you're getting an electric shock. But you don't show it. You stare at each other for a long half minute, not wanting to give in. You think that if you look away, he will feel your weakness before him.

But Jungkook reads your challenge in his eyes in his own way. He gets up from the table and throws something to his friends. He walks in your direction and you panic. God, you should have looked away, that's why he's coming to you.

Jungkook walks over to your table and grabs the back of a chair that was standing not far from you. He sits down next to you, almost touching your thigh with his knees. He has a sly smile on his face, and you can see it in his peripheral vision.

"May I sit down?" - He asks. You glance at him, showing him your disgust as much as possible. But his smile sets your insides on fire. You wonder how you can be interested in him. It's probably because of his looks.

"Why do you ask when you've already sat down?" - You answer the question with a question. Jungkook laughs, tilting his head slightly, his gaze piercingly fixed on you, and you feel his presence increasing your tension even more.

"I'm being polite." - He says. You glare at him. The corner of his mouth tightens and you see the dimples in his cheeks.

"Who needs your politeness?" - You ask indifferently. Jungkook is amused by your behavior. You're unconsciously piquing his interest in you.

"Wow, why is such a nice girl so tactless?" - He asks. You try not to roll your eyes.

"What do you want? Why did you sit down here?" - You ignore Jungkook's question, trying to figure out the reason for his presence. He gives you a half-smile.

"I should have discussed with you how you're going to undo the damage you did this morning." - Jungkook says, leaning in slightly. The gesture makes you unconsciously strong grab glass of the smoothie.

"I offered to pay for dry cleaning." - You remind him. Jungkook blinks lazily, looking at your face. As you speak, he thinks about how beautiful you are.

"I'm not interested." - Jungkook replies sharply. You frown. You don't like his tone.

"What are you interested in? Do I have to wash it myself or what?" - You ask rudely. Jungkook bursts out laughing. He is amused by your behavior.

"Can you do it?" - He asks. You set the smoothie on the table, and the sound of glass.

"Tell me what you want for your ruined sweatshirt and go away." - You say irritably. Jungkook feels the pleasure of your irritated voice. He is attracted to your irritation and it makes him even more interested in you.

"Are you always this impatient?" - He asks, leaning closer, keeping his eyes on your face. You try not to react to his closeness, but you feel your heart beating faster. He laughs again, his voice low and a little cocky. "In bed too?"

Your eyes instantly meet his, and you stare at him fiercely, a fire burning inside you. Jungkook leans in even closer, and you feel his warm breath tickle your skin. Your heart starts to beat faster, and you can barely hear his words. His smile becomes even more playful, but it can't hide the anxiety you feel.

"What?" - You barely manage to say, not recognizing your own voice. Several thoughts are running through your head at once, from the urge to push him away to the unknown desire to leave it at that and dive into this game.

Jungkook, as always, watches you with perfect calmness, but you can see something in his eyes that completely disorients you.

"In bed?" - He repeats again, his voice subtly intertwining with your thoughts, touching the deepest points of your emotional state.

You try to collect your thoughts, but his questions and presence put you in a quandary. What to say? How can you not show him how much these words have touched your weakest strings? You look at his face, at his sparkling eyes, and instantly feel the gravity of the situation.

"Hey, Jeon, you're playing with fire. You better not do that." - You say, trying to look away. But he doesn't give you a chance - Jungkook doesn't back down, he just gets closer.

"Maybe I should?" - His words sound like a challenge that you just can't ignore.

The tension in the air becomes almost physical, and you can feel your body reacting to his presence. You can feel your skin pulsing with tension and your heart literally leaping out of your chest as his hand involuntarily touches your hand on the table. "I can't believe you don't want to try it..." - He says quietly, his voice warm and slightly husky, as if he's not only asking, but also seducing.

You feel his words subconsciously pulling you into his web. At first you try to look away, but you can't. The answer he's looking for fills your brain, but you're not ready to say it. You know he's waiting for your weakest moment, your insecurity. And, damn it, you can feel him starting to win this game.

You pull your hand out, trying to maintain your dignity, but he doesn't even move, staying at a distance where there is still enough space between you for those electric pulses that arise between you every time he gets closer.

But suddenly, his gaze shifts to the side, and you notice him glancing over your shoulder unobtrusively. It doesn't seem like anything important until his expression changes - he seems to become more attentive, focused, and even a little distant.

Before you have time to react, Jungkook stands up from his chair, keeping his eyes on your face. You catch his eyes again, his movements clear and calm, like a man who knows what he wants.

"We'll talk tomorrow." - He says, and his voice sounds suddenly serious, almost hard, as if he's decided it's time to end this game. He leans forward, as if for a moment he wants to plunge you back into that tension, but then quickly pulls back. "About your debt. And, of course, about the project. I’ll text you." - He adds, taking one last look at your face, and again trying not to show how interested he really is in your answer.

You understand what he means. It's about a debt - a ruined sweatshirt, and a topic for your joint project.

But while you're still trying to process everything, he turns and leaves without another word. His back is moving away, and you hear his footsteps fade away, leaving you with only a moment to think.

You glance at his friends, but you notice Miyon returning to the table, her movements confident, and she has no doubt that everything is fine. And yet, even though he's gone, you can't shake the feeling that your meetings will be a challenge.

☰ Index 𓏧 ❘ Next chapter ⎘

[frenchkisstheabyss]

✦ love poem ✦

✦ Pairing: dad!choi san x pregnant!chubby!fem!reader w/ appearances by ot8

✦ Genre: fluff/light angst

✦ Summary: Being pregnant during the holidays has been hectic. Especially for your fiance San whose tight work schedule has him under pressure. But when his best friend Hwa steps in to ease the burden on him by being there for you, it creates more jealousy than Christmas cheer.

✦ Word Count: 3.5k-ish

✦ Warnings: pregnant reader, occasionally strong language, some quick lusting after San while he's in the shower (nothing graphic), & that's all.

✦ A/N: I really wanted to write something sweet with like the tiniest bit of angst so there's nothing heavy here. It's mostly just lovey dovey shit cause, I mean, I'm a lover girl. What can I say?

Standing at the entrance of the tunnel of lights, you watch in awe as thousands of tiny bulbs twinkle to the tune of the Christmas music that coasts along the night air. Every year the local zoo holds a massive festival of lights to celebrate the holiday season. During your first year here San had plans to take you to opening night but, with his schedule being as unpredictable as it is, that never did happen. This year though, he promised that nothing would stop you from experiencing this together and he meant it.

As much as San and the rest of the boys hyped this place up to you, nothing could’ve prepared you for how breathtaking it is in person. It’s magical. The carnival rides, the little Christmas themed games, the stalls selling some of the best food you ever tasted. And the displays. They’re pure art. It may be too cold for the animals to be out but the elaborate light sculptures of them make up for it tenfold. Children race through the light tunnels while couples cuddle up in line for hot cocoa. If ever “Winter Wonderland” were a place this would have to be it.

“Stop running!” Hongjoong yells from behind you. Seconds later Mingi and Jongho dart past you in a blur. You turn in time to see the look of defeat on Hongjoong’s face as he approaches with the others close behind. “I swear sometimes they act like children,” he groans, “Take it from me. Don’t have kids. It’s not worth it.” Popping on a pair of knit gloves, Yunho gestures towards the pregnant belly rounding out your thick winter coat. “I think that advice is about 7 months too late.”

Hongjoong gasps in horror, “Oh. I mean, you know, except that one. I’m sure it’ll be a cute little thing.” You can only giggle at how flustered any mention of your pregnancy gets him. Hongjoong hasn’t quite grasped that San’s about to be someone’s dad. Even as your belly has grown, he’s managed to periodically forget what’s happening but he’s trying to be supportive and it’s sweet. Seonghwa pats you softly on the belly, laying his head on your shoulder, “Pay him no mind. She’ll be a cute little baby. Not a thing. I mean, look at her mom”

"Oh, Hwa, you’re too sweet” you blush, patting him on the cheek. “The baby! I think it kicked!” He’s right. You felt it. It’s about that time of night after all. The moment she could start kicking she did. Especially around bedtime. Suddenly they’re all gathered close around you staring at your stomach as if the baby will burst out at this very moment like some alien spawn. Woo kneels down in front of you, resting his hand behind Hwa’s. “Aah!” he squeals, “She’s saying hi to her uncles. Hi, baby!”

By now Mingi and Jongho have circled back, stopping dead in their tracks to see what all the fuss is about. “What’s going on?” Jongho asks, Mingi’s hat clenched in his hand. Mingi snatches his hat back, peering over Jongho’s shoulder, “It’s not happening is it?” Seeing the panic in his eyes, you immediately jump to calm him down, “Not yet. She’s kicking up a fuss. That’s all.” “So much like her dad already” Yeosang teases, just as San appears to push them aside. “Hands off!” he orders, shooing them away, “I go to the bathroom for two seconds and you’re already crowding my kid.”

The others just laugh, not expecting to witness such a perfect example of Yeosang’s statement so soon. “You okay? Everything okay?” he asks, fixing the scarf around your next and popping your hood over your head. “Baby, it’s not that cold.” “Temperature’s supposed to drop 5 degrees in the next half hour. Gotta stay toasty, honey.” San’s always been attentive, doing everything he could to make sure you were taken care of but the pregnancy has kicked it into overdrive.

Taking his hands, you give him a warm peck on the lips and flash a smile that soothes his worries. “I’m okay, Sannie. I promise. Now let’s go.” The tunnel’s far more mesmerizing from the inside than it is simply looking in. It feels like a portal to a different world, replacing the darkness of the night sky with constellations of red and green that guide you to the next section of the zoo. Each area has one unique to the space you’re about to step into.

A tunnel of mistletoe and vines for the flower garden. One built like a giant sleigh for the reindeer village. And that’s not even half of it. How anyone can make it through this place in one night is beyond you. Then again, not everyone is toting another human around in their belly. By the time you make it through the ice tunnel into the replica North Pole, your feet are killing you but you try to hold it together.

Between doctor’s appointments, work, redecorating the apartment, and a million other things that need to be done before the baby arrives, there’s been zero time to do anything fun. Calling it quits this early feels wrong. Especially since San's been so stressed lately. Spending time with the guys seems to be just the thing he needed to shake some of that off.

“How many more lights do we have to see before we’ve seen enough?” Mingi whines, dragging his feet. Alright, so maybe someone else is as over it as you are. Yunho slaps Mingi on the back, taking a deep breath, “Have some holiday cheer! We’re in such a beautiful place. Where else would you rather be?” “Somewhere warm! With food!” Woo adds, backing Mingi up. Jongho jumps it, never one to miss the opportunity, “And drinks! When’s the last time we all had drinks together?”

Hongjoong crosses his arms, throwing them some wicked side eye, until he realizes, “Actually it has been a while since we went out for drinks.” Woo wraps his arms around Yeosang, determined to rope him into this plan, “You in? Say yes. Say yes!” “Yeah, sure fine, whatever” Yeosang laughs, shrugging him off. Hwa clears his throat, preparing to be the bearer of bad news, “Well it’s not just us you guys. There’s kinda a 10th person here now.”

For a fleeting moment, you were able to detect some excitement on San’s face and Hwa’s words wipe it away in an instant. Everyone falls silent, not quite sure what to do with the awkwardness of the moment. “Hey,” you say, lovingly rubbing San’s chest, “Why don’t you go get those drinks?” “What? No. I’m not leaving you. We said we’d do this.” “We did and I’ve had the best time but, honestly, my feet hurt like shit.” “Then I’ll take you home and run some water so you can soak your feet” San insists, guiding you out of the way of an approaching crowd.

“San, please, for the love of god, go” you beg, looking to his friends for support. “I’ll take her home!” Hwa volunteers, “I’m not really up for drinking anyway.” San glares skeptically back and forth between the two of you. He wants to protest but he gets the sense that arguing with you is a losing battle and he’s right. “Fine” he relents, “But text me when you get home. Love you.” The way you light up when he finally gives in is one of the infinite reasons why he loves you the way that he does. “I will. Love you too.” “Love you three!” “Love you four!” you say, kissing him before Jongho begins to drag him in the other direction. “We’re not doing this all night! Let’s go!”

Parting ways is a sea of goodbyes and bickering that continues until you lose sight of the rest of the group. Hooking his arm into yours, Hwa directs you towards a festive snack stand not too far away. “Wanna eat like trash before we go home?” he offers with a mischievous grin, knowing San would murder him if he knew. You nod, playfully tearing up, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

“Baby, have you seen my keys?” you shout from the bedroom, digging through your purse for the third time. “Huh?” San calls back, the water rushing from the shower making it impossible to hear you. Shuffling down the hall, you pop your head into the bathroom. “I was asking if you’d seen my keys.” San peeks from behind the shower curtain, shampoo bubbles dripping down his sculpted cheekbones. In an instant, you forget all about your keys. What else could possibly matter when San’s standing here dripping wet, every muscle in his defined chest glistening like gold. Snap out of it. This is how you got pregnant in the first place. 

“I saw them by the stove I think.” “Thanks, ya cutie” you wink, ready to skip off to find them. “Wait,” he says before you can make it more than a step and a half away, “You’re all dressed up. Where are you going?” Scanning your outfit, you don’t see anything particularly “dressed up” about what you’re wearing. Some knit overalls with a cozy sweater underneath and your favorite boots are far from red carpet ready in your mind. “Hwa’s taking me shopping for decorations. Don’t you remember?” San frowns, only vaguely remembering the conversation, “Why didn’t you ask me?” “I did but you said you were busy today so Hwa offered to take me.” 

Your phone dings in your pocket. You fish it out and find a text message from Hwa telling you he’s outside. “Ooh, speak of the devil. Gotta run.” Carefully, you make your way across the bathroom floor, giving him a kiss that you struggle to keep innocent with the knowledge of what’s behind the curtain. “Have fun and tell Joong I said hi! I’ll bring you back something!” you sing and you’re off to find your keys. San’s frozen in place, unable to bring himself to move an inch. Even after he’s heard the apartment door close, it takes him a second to get back to his shower.

It’s been two weeks since the light festival and you’ve seen Hwa every few days since. Every time San’s too busy to do something Hwa’s right there to help. When did he become so available? You always come home so happy too. Were you that happy with him? Letting the water wash over his head, he tries to shake away his jealous thoughts.

You moved here to be with him and, in that time, the only friends you’d made were his. Hwa’s just being a good friend to the both of you, helping when San’s unable to. Thinking that it's anything else is ridiculous. All of the long hours spent working must be getting to him. Hwa would never...

You would never...

Neither of you would...

Right? Right? 

Pregnancy hormones. They’re the one thing no one can ever quite prepare you for. One minute you’re hanging ornaments on the tree, humming along to your music in a cozy pair of pajamas. The next you’re crying on the kitchen floor, stuffing your mouth with the cookies you baked for the holiday party tomorrow.

It’s nearly midnight and everything makes you emotional. The lights on the tree are too bright, your feet feel swollen, the cookies aren’t as sweet as you'd like, and suddenly you can’t stand the song that’s playing despite it being one of your favorites. You want everything off but then the house would be quiet and empty. You’d be reminded that you’re all alone until San comes home tomorrow and cry even harder.

You pull out your phone to call him but when you see the time you decide not to. His flight is in a few hours and he’s already told you what a long day he had. You’d hate to wake him up, to burden him any more than you feel you already have.  Just as you’re about to put your phone down it lights up. A text from Seonghwa. Some adorable video of a cat dressed up as one of Santa’s elves.

The poor thing looks miserable running around in that costume but it makes you laugh enough to stop you from spiraling. Taking a deep breath, you wipe away the tears blurring your vision and shoot a text back. 

You: Thanks. I really needed that.

Hwa: Why? Something wrong?

You: I’m having a crying thing. Kinda sad tonight.

Hwa: Need some company?

Without thinking, you type out the words “You don’t have to—” before erasing them and typing out something new. "Sure!"

It takes him no time at all to reach you. The streets are empty this time of night and he only lives a half hour away. Even if he lived two hours away—three hours away—he’d drive every single one of them to come support you. When you became someone special to San, you became someone special to him too. He’s never seen San more serious about anything than he's been about you and this baby. As much as he wishes that San would get out of his head a bit more, it’s cute to see him love something so much. 

“Anybody home?” Hwa whispers, his eyes narrowing when he notices that your front door is cracked. “Come in” you sob from the couch, blowing your nose for what feels like the 1000th time since you sent that last text. Hwa follows a trail of discarded tissues to find you curled up on the couch, as curled as you can be this far along in your pregnancy. “Hey, hey, don’t cry” he coos, easing himself down onto the couch and resting your head in his lap, “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You try to speak but you’re too short of breath to get anything out. Hwa strokes your hair, taking slow breaths in and out, “Follow me, okay? In and out.” You shake your head in protest. The whole room is closing in around you. You can’t do it. “Just try it. For me. Please” he begs so sweetly that you can’t refuse. Deep breath in, long breath out. The same way that they taught you in those birthing classes you went to. “This is total bullshit” you’d whispered to San at one point during the class but it turns out it isn’t bullshit at all. 

After a few seconds, the tightness in your chest eases and the room begins to open up. The world isn’t falling apart anymore. You’re safe. Hwa sits with you in silence as your breathing quiets, dabbing away any rogue tears that drip down your cheeks. “Is San happy with me?” you ask, catching him off guard, “Is this too much for him, do you think?” Hwa laughs, knowing how extremely far from the truth both of those questions are. “Hwa, it’s not funny! I’m serious!” “I’m sorry! I’m not trying to make fun of you, it’s just—if you make him happy or not, that’s not a question. He’s crazy about you.”

Grabbing the small blanket folded over the back of the couch, he opens it up and tucks you in with it. “None of this is too much,” he swears, “You and her…” Hwa pokes your belly, making you giggle. “You guys are everything he’s ever wanted. He pushes himself so much because he wants to be perfect for you.” You yawn, Hwa’s presence and the warm blanket activating the exhaustion you’ve been fighting. “But he’s already perfect to me. Why can’t he see that?” “Mmm, it’s really hard sometimes to see ourselves the way other people do but he’ll come around. I promise.”

If there’s one similarity you’ve come to find between San and Hwa it’s how important promises are to them. If Hwa says he’ll come around then he will. They’d been friends for ages before you came into the picture. They’ve gone through more together than you can imagine. If Hwa's confident about it, then you have to believe it too. You drift off to sleep, your brain still spinning but much quieter now, trusting that everything will be just fine.

Right? Right? 

“Listen to yourself. You sound crazy!” Hwa snaps, trying his hardest not to raise his voice in the midst of his anger. San tosses his bags to the floor and they hit with a thud that shakes you from your sleep. “I come home to you cuddled up on the couch with her and I’m crazy?” “She texted me last night that she was crying. What was I supposed to do?” “Tell me! And let me take care of her! She’s not yours so stop treating her like she is!”

San’s jaw clenches, the jealousy he’s been harboring turning into true pain for the first time. He thought he had this under control. Those hours of talking with Woo about how stupid his suspicions were had chased off his insecurities. But coming in, tired and cranky from his flight, to see you so peacefully cuddled against Hwa had undone all of it. He wanted to kill him and the knowledge that he was the first one you reached for when you were hurting only adds fuel to the fire currently burning his self control to ash.

“Sannie?” you squeak, stretching out your cramped limbs, “What’s going on?” You sit up, eyes still squinted, to see what all of the fuss is about. Hwa hangs his head, unable to face you, “I think I should go. If you need me I’m here for both of you.” “Wait, no!” you say, doing your best to roll off of the couch and stop him but by the time you’re on your feet he’s gone. Turning your attention to San, you immediately sense his anger. Something happened and whatever it was has him fuming.

“Baby, what happened? You can talk to—” “Is there something going on between you two?” “What?” you laugh, placing your hands on your lower back for support. You keep laughing but the sharpness of his expression never changes. He’s actually waiting for an answer. “Oh god, you’re serious. You’re actually asking me if I’m fucking Seonghwa.” “I didn’t say that.” “But that’s what you’re saying. That’s what you think of me.”

You catch yourself wanting to cry again, only this time it isn’t because of the pregnancy hormones. It’s because you waited for days to see the man you love only to be accused of something like this. San can almost see the moment your heart breaks, making him regret his doubts in an instant. “He’s been helping me because I was worried about you burning yourself out. That’s it. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Your bottom lip quivers and the tears are rushing from your eyes again. “Fuck, I’m so tired of crying” you huff, flopping back down onto the couch. 

San’s at your side quicker than he’s ever been, his arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let go. “I’m sorry! Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean it. I know you’d never do that.” “Then why were you two arguing? Why even ask me?” “Because I’m afraid” he admits, leaving you both shocked at his admission. He’s scared, terrified, so much that it keeps him up at night. “I’m afraid I’m not good enough to be what you need me to be and it was easier to be jealous than to admit that.”

You’re frustrated enough that you could slap him but your body feels so at home in his embrace that you can’t pull away. “You’re good enough for me…for us, San. You have to believe me when I say that.” “Then why do you call him when you’re crying and not me?” “Because,” you sigh, “I’m afraid too. I don’t want to lean on you too much.” “What? Lean on me too much?” he asks, almost offended, “Lean on me all you want. What do you think I work out for?”

You giggle when you feel his muscles flex against you, “San, be serious!” “I am! Lean on me, please. We’re a team. I need you to trust me to be here.” You stare at him, your eyes beautiful enough to hypnotize him even when they’re clouded with tears. “You have to trust me to be here too, you know?” San kisses your forehead, one hand gently massaging your back, “I trust you, baby.” Closing your eyes a tingly feeling washes over you. Is it love? The Christmas spirit? The tingling is chased by a contraction stronger than any period cramp you’ve ever felt.

“The baby’s coming!” you shout, gripping your stomach. San jumps back in shock as if he didn’t know you were pregnant to begin with. “Are you sure?” “You said you trust me!” “I do! I do! Hold on!” Leaning you back on the couch, San darts around the apartment collecting all of the things he’s prepared over the last few months to make you comfortable when this happens. A bag packed with clothes for you and your favorite slippers. Phone chargers, baby wipes, stuffed animals, the snacks you love. The list is endless.

“I’ll pull the car up and come back for you, okay?” he says, propping your feet up on the coffee table as he tries to put your coat on. “Just get the car. I’m okay.” “You sure?” “I’m sure and San,” you say, grabbing his arm. “Yeah?” “You’re gonna be a great dad. The best ever.” San can’t fight the smile that spreads across his face or the slight reddening of his cheeks. You believe in him, you truly do, and for the first time, he does too.

[ddejavvu]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE can we get reader being harassed by some guy in an alleyway and hotch is walking by with the team (perhaps going to get drinks after wrapping up a case) AND HE LIKE STEPS IN AND THREATENS THE GUY?? MAYBE EVEN FLASHES HIS BADGE OR SM. Basically I'm thirsty for some protective!hotch <3

You're reminded of how unpredictable life can be when you're yanked backwards unexpectedly, tugged into the darkness of a shadowed alley between two buildings. Five seconds before you'd been thinking about dinner, and now you're not sure you'll live to see another meal.

"Cash," The man grunts, his mouth pressed to your ear as his arm cuts tight around your neck, "I need cash."

"My- my bag," You whimper, frozen stiff in fear and rendered useless, "I- I don't have much, but you- you can take it."

He throws you forwards, ripping your bag off of your shoulder in one fluid motion. He rifles through it while you relearn the art of breathing, but before he can pull your measly collection of bills from the inside pocket of your wallet, there's a gun over your shoulder pointed at his head.

For a moment, you're so dazed that you honestly think you might be holding it. But you don't have a gun, and your wrist doesn't have the dark, wiry hair on it that you see beneath a grey sleeve of whoever's got the weapon.

"Drop the purse, and the knife." A voice booms through the alleyway, deep and firm. If it was directed at you, you'd spook like a horse, and your assailant looks properly terrified.

"It's just a little cash, man," Your attacker tries, "I- I know her! She's my girlfriend."

Your savior knows he's lying before you shake your head vigorously, but you do it anyways, because sitting there and doing nothing feels wrong.

"You've already assaulted someone in front of a federal agent, don't make it worse for yourself by lying about it, too. You're lucky I don't have my cuffs with me or I'd haul you into the back of my SUV and take you down to the station right now. Instead, you're going to drop the purse, and the weapon, and run as fast as you can, because the more time you sit there and let me look at you, the better my chances are of describing you to a sketch artist and placing a warrant out for your arrest."

By the middle of the man's speech, your attacker is trembling just as much as you are. He drops your bag and his knife on command, barely avoiding tripping over the edge of the gutter drain as he flees the scene.

As soon as the gun isn't necessary anymore, the man behind you stashes it in a holster, but you can't see, your back feels permanently adhered to the wall you'd backed up against.

"You're okay," The man assures you, and his voice is much more soothing at a softer tone. He bends to gather your purse, tucking a tube of chapstick back into its confines before holding it out as a peace offering to you.

"He's gone," He promises, ducking down where your eyes are stuck to peer worriedly at you. He has a handsome face, but it's pinched in concern, big brown eyes dripping with care, "And I will put that warrant out for his arrest. Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

"No," You breathe, still pressed to the wall even as you shake your head, "No, he- Thank you, I- I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I usually show up to these things a little late," He grimaces, dropping your purse back down to his side and holding out an empty hand instead, "Can I help you get where you were going?"

"Home." You mutter, "I was- I was going home. After work."

"I can drive you there, if you'd like." He offers, pleased when you reach out with a shaky hand to take his own, "Or we can walk, whichever you prefer. I just want to make sure nothing else happens."

"Um, I- I can pay for a ride. Here," You take your purse back, tugging a bill out that you're lucky to still possess, "If- it's just down the street, if you really don't mind."

"Keep it," He pushes your hand back towards your purse, "I just stopped a guy from taking your money, I'm not gonna do the same. My car's right outside, okay? Let me help you there. And- uh," He rifles through his jacket, "I wasn't lying about being an agent." He showcases a black-covered badge, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner written in bold lettering beneath his name, "You'll be safe with me."

"Okay," You nod, accepting the hand that he holds your arm with to ease you off of the wall and onto your shaky legs, "Uh, thank you, Agent- Hotchner."

"No need." He murmurs, eyes scanning the crowd to make sure there's no sign of your assailant, "Let's just get you home safe, honey."

[sporeclan]

Sorry this may be a bit of a ramble I talk a lot-

I’ve been wanting to try making a clangen comic for a while, since I’ve seen so many cool ones and I’ve tried out the game (admittedly just the web version) and had a lot of fun. I haven’t done so yet because I haven’t been into warrior cats in a while and it felt poser-ish, and ALSO I’m still getting back into the groove of drawing cats, but this blog is SO COOL and it’s making all the inspiration come back and AUGH!

So I may make a comic eventually, and if I do, thank you for the inspiration!!! That may mean restarting my clangen save, but I do reaaally like a few of the cats so idk…

I really really like your characters and art, it’s all very cool and I have so much admiration for people who can make a full story out of something so unpredictable. I stumbled across this blog at a pretty late moon and then read from the beginning, and when I realized mushroompaw wasn’t in the later moons I was really sad bc I knew she had to die… my favourite kbity…

But yeah just wanted to say your stuff is very cool! Sorry for dumping 3 paragraphs in your inbox ���

AWHHH this is one of the sweetest asks I've ever received, thank you so much :'D I'm so honoured to have inspired you! I look forward to what you come up with if you do end up making something!!! <3

It is just straight up them sneaking off to places they shouldn't just to search for Cinnamonpaw :'] They felt so bad about their own percieved failure to protect him that they were still actively searching for him for a good year after he was lost </3

Nope, they don't know anything about what Mousegrove did, and even if they had an inkling, I don't think they'd even want to entertain the thought. The only cat currently in the clan who knows for certain is Puddle, and maybe Crowstar has a twinge of doubt about it too.

LMAOOOO honestly so so so valid and fair

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 General’s Day Off

♡ featuring: jing yuan x f!reader

♡ summary: the general has been stressed as of late. a day of relaxation is what he needs. wc: 2.8k+

♡ cw/tw: non-sexual nudity, fluff!

notes: whew I've been waiting to do some jing yuan fluff for a while my lil smoochie. the next one is gonna be so long oof but I can't wait. art by ArtRobiins on twitter :) <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The dozing general hadn’t had a moment of peace since Phantylia’s invasion. The Xianzhou Luofu was still recovering from betrayal, and its people were on edge ever since. Jing Yuan wouldn’t admit his weaknesses, but the welfare of his people weighed on his consciousness greatly. It bled through his ghostly skin and sinking eyebags stretching at the tired corners. The threat of another disruption loomed, and so he obsessively prepared for the untold attack. He busied himself with preventative measures, documents upon documents stacked on his desk. Yanqing had never seen him behave so adamantly, so sure of some eventual calamity. Though his demeanor reflected that of a lazy, carefree man, his heavy heart and soul bore the curse of immense grief. He needed to portray a headstrong and unwavering strength, otherwise the reality of his situation would be too apparent to the Luofu. His close friends were lost to the unpredictable winding ties of fate; he couldn’t stand to mourn another. Especially with you around. 

If you and Yanqing weren’t by his side, he would be undoubtedly consumed by sorrow. Your warm smile on the mild sunrise planted a blossoming light in that dimming core. Patience was a virtue when it came to his stubbornness; you could tell he was unwell, but whenever you voiced your concerns, he aimed to ease your worries with fleeting promises of rest. He would sooner die than see tears in your eyes at his affliction. Bailu was overseeing his recovery, until he proclaimed a sudden influx of health, and steadied his posture as if it was as spry as before. Yanqing attempted to keep him in her care, but he was forced to watch Jing Yuan push himself beyond inherent limitations. 

Mornings on the Luofu are always quiet. It gets hectic during the afternoon, so you take the opportunity to do some calming activities. Jing Yuan was already gone before you woke; he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. You stir the dark bitter substance in your cup and stare out at the endless blue, pondering how you fell in love with such an obdurate man. That is, before you glimpse his half naked body dreaming, shadowed by the snowy curls spilling down his back in your memory. You can’t help but smile. 

You receive a knock at the door, and rush to answer it. These days, news about Jing Yuan and another injury shaded your mind. You open the door, and it’s Yanqing, at attention as if he’s facing the general. 

“Good morning, ma’am, I have something to report” he says, straight and dutiful. You giggle at his professionalism, and a tinge of pink grazes his ears. “It is a good morning. You know you don’t have to be so formal with me, Yanqing.” He drops the soldier-like pose and sighs with a slouch. “I know, ma’am. But I really need to talk to you.” You invite him to come inside, and you both sit at the dining table quietly. You notice him shifting uncomfortably in the chair, a far stare in his contemplation. 

“Did you eat? I can make something.” He cuts back to reality from the broken silence. “Ah! No thank you, I ate already” he stammers. You offer your most welcoming smile. “What would you like to discuss, Yanqing?” 

“It’s...about General Jing. I’m really worried about him. He spends a lot of time working now. I’ve tried to get him to relax once and a while but he’s always up and out the door. I can’t get in contact with him for hours. And he’s so tired! Sometimes when I look over his shoulder, the things he’s writing are nonsense!” You allow him to continue, it seems that Yanqing became more relieved with honesty for each grievance he admitted to. “He struggles to hide it, but I see him grab his side in pain whenever he stands...I don’t know what to do. So, I wanted to tell you.” Your head is propped by your hand, taking in all the information you suspected was occurring. Perhaps you should’ve strapped him to a hospital bed for eternity. You click your tongue in annoyance, Jing Yuan is truly a gorgeous handful. 

“I knew it.” 

“Oh, you did?” 

“A sneaky suspicion, I guess.” 

“I can’t get through to him.” You let out a dejected chuckle. “Me neither. He’s really the worst, stressing us out like this.” Yanqing subconsciously nods his head, fumbling with his thumbs. “I never thought you’d help me go against the general” you tease.  

“N-no! I’m just trying to help him recover, is all!” he splutters, waving his hands over his face. “I’m kidding. I know you care about him. I do, too. I love him more than anything in this universe.”  

Your mind replays every kind gesture; the fresh bouquet of flowers he got you every few days, sharing unending stories that kept you awake at night while you both gazed at the stars, his tendency to be horrible at games that weren’t chess, and the warm hug enveloping you just as you dozed off in his arms. You endured to be strong for him up until this point, but bittersweet longing pierces your thoughts. The truth spills down your cheeks. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-” 

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. If you’re willing to help, could you do me a favor?” you whisper, wiping the persistent staining tears. Yanqing stands at attention as if he’s accepted a life-or-death mission. “Of course.” 

“Please make sure his schedule is clear tomorrow.” 

You aren’t sure if your plan will convince him to stay home, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Unfortunately, he didn’t come home as you expected. You slept intermittently. By the time you woke, the sun was just rising, casting a rose-colored gradient across the sky. Still nowhere to be found. 

Click. The door creaks open. Jing Yuan stealthily moves his hand behind it and tiptoes past the welcome mat. The screech makes him pause briefly, before sliding against the wall to get past the snitching door. Right as he closes it, he whips around, only to see your figure swaddled in a quilt waiting for him on the couch. Too tired to react, he flashes a weak smirk, and sets his scroll on the table. His shirt is wrinkled and turned a dirty beige, most likely from fighting, with the collar undone. Truthfully, he was elated to see you after hardly being home for weeks. You made the blood and bruising worth it—it ensured your life and protection. 

“Oh? What’s this?” You make grabbing motions with both hands, reaching out to him from your spot. “You ordered a general?” he jests. You unfold the plush quilt and beckon him to your embrace. “Mhm. Come here, honey.” Be it lack of sleep or resolve, your body looks too comfortable in this moment, and he falls to temptation. Kicking off his boots, he quickly strides towards you and dives in your arms. He’s extremely heavy, nearly twice your size and probably the fluffiest weighted blanket you’ve ever felt. He melts in your hold. The buckles from his waist prickle your soft flesh, but the vibration of his breath soothing in your ear makes you forget. You rub the firm muscle of his back with one hand, it’s taut and anxious. You untie the red bow and tangle your other hand through the puffs of marshmallows between your fingers.  

“Your delivery is here” he mumbles. 

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for it for sooo long.” 

“My apologies. I got caught up at work.” 

“I’m sure.” You pull his hair back to gaze at his jagged features, those dark ringed orbs filled with amber. “Do you want me to have a heart attack wondering when you’ll come home?” 

“If that were to happen, I’d jump in the coffin right after you, my dear.” You pinch his nose, and he laughs. “However, I must return soon.” His voice sounds flat, defeated. You go back to stroking his hair. “No. You have the day off.” 

“Really? And who arranged that?” 

“Yanqing. He told me about your...reluctance to relax.” Jing Yuan half rolls his eyes, but never moves to leave your warmth. “That boy, he’s nervous over nothing.” You poke his side to test the pain and watch him instantly wince. He sighs deeply at your irritated expression. 

“(Y/N), I can’t just stop over a feeble injury.” 

“You took a spear in the chest, and nearly died. I wouldn't call that a feeble injury.” 

“The Luofu needs me.” 

“I need you.” He surveys your upset expression. Did he ever stop to consider your feelings, how despondent he’d made you from reckless habits? He deemed himself fortunate that you chose to stay. He gently pecks your temple. 

“You’re right. I won’t go anywhere.” Your face lights up, and you wrap your legs around him tighter. “Good, you’ll enjoy yourself. I have something planned.” 

You start preparing your plan, arranging the master bathroom to a calming variety of aromatic trimmings and sheer drapes hanging just above the tub. Jing Yuan didn’t know what constitutes a spa day, and so you briefly described it as a “day of relaxation”. You didn’t want to ruin the whole surprise. When you get back to the living room, you have a pen and paper with scribbles on it. 

“Mr. Yuan?” you say, pretending that his name is somewhere on the unwritten list. He grins and plays along. “Are you here for the spa package?” 

“Yes, I am. I didn’t know the receptionist was so breathtaking” he teases. He always knew how to fluster you. You do some fake calculations and nod to yourself, ignoring the hands wandering on your body. “For everything your total comes out to…3 kisses.”  

Jing Yuan cradles your face with calloused hands. “Hmm, that's quite expensive, but I think I can manage.” Pressing a soft kiss to your awaiting lips that lasts too long between breaths. It feels desperate, like you’ll float away if he lets you go. You part for air and place your finger over his mouth. “Payment accepted. Right this way.” He kisses your finger, and you guide him to the bathroom. You nudge him inside, and immediately the aroma of vanilla and perfumed petals escapes from the steaming shower. It was spotless and arranged similar to an exotic getaway. “Please undress and get comfortable. I’ll join you inside shortly.” He nods and starts undressing. You gather everything you need and head inside. 

He’s sitting on a stool under the rainfall showerhead, scrubbing down his body. The water bounces off his admittedly neglected hair, and he turns so that the heat doesn’t creep into his wound. You hadn’t realized showering was painful for him. You follow him into the shower. “May I?” you ask, motioning for the semi wet loofa in his hand.  

“Be my guest.” His knees support his elbows, and you kneel behind him to massage mild soap into the sudsing loofa. His scars are much more apparent now, healed but carved roughly on the war-torn muscle. You delicately lather the product across and down his mole dotted back, gingerly kisses littering his shoulder blades. You spread the soap to his sternum and stomach, and you feel his tense form caving to your touch. Jing couldn’t recall receiving affection of this caliber, and so it was nice to be pampered, to feel you closer than he’d ever imagined. It was as if you two were the only people existing in this moment, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

After he’s properly washed, you expose his skin to the dew and allow it to run down his back, making sure to block the scar from further distress. You stand and grab the shampoo bottle, squirting an ample glob in your palm. You plop it onto his scalp, and begin working it through his thick mane. Your nails massaging and manipulating the sensitive skin makes him nearly drool. It’s as though you’re shaping his brain, and hums of approval rumble up your hands. He leans back on your stomach and enjoys your digits frothing substance. You almost see a ghostly tail wagging violently at each caress. When you pull his bangs back to wipe his hairline, you gaze at his face, a content smile prodding the crinkling corners of his mouth. “Are you falling asleep?” you whisper, washing away the soap from his forehead and roots. He groans in response and snuggles his head under your breasts. The sounds of serene rain beading the floor echoes in the humid foggy space, and the sweet scent of citrus conditioner crowds your nose. You squeeze out the remaining water. His eyes ajar from infinite slumber once your hands leave his cleansed scalp. You turn off the shower and escort him to the tub. An iridescent blue sparkling liquid stills in the marble stone, complete with botanical flora bobbing aimlessly.  

“There’s more? You’re spoiling me.” He soaks in the room temperature tub, unwinding above bath salt gradually dissolving. You undoubtedly added a concerning amount of eucalyptus and lavender to the water, hoping it would miraculously restore him instantly. Positioning the stool behind him, you pull his hair back with a headband and start to mix a face mask in a small wooden bowl. His head lays in your lap, watching you diligently combine cream with medicinal powders and clay.  You brush the blend over his face and neck, cool to the touch. 

“Feels nice.” he breathes. “Doesn’t it? It’s made with-” you go on a passionate tangent about the ingredients included, he simply stares at you, the twinkle in your eyes while you trace his cheekbones. What did I do to deserve someone so kind and selfless, constantly seeking out my well-being and nurture- 

“Are you even listening?” you accuse. He snaps out of the trance, and nods unconvincingly. 

“I was.” 

“What did I say then?” 

“Mm, something something, your beautiful eyes and lips, I want to kiss them.” he drawls. You grunt disapprovingly, and place thin slices of cucumbers over his eyes. “No looking until it's over.” He pouts like an unruly child. You snicker and scoop a chunky clump of brown sugar scrub between your palms, rubbing together to coax warmth. Kneading the grains along his robust biceps and torso in wide circles, you’re sure you heard snoring at some point. Your hands unrolled a dull ache, and you wanted to stop, but his chest heaving deeply in relaxation pushed you to continue. You ladle water over the sugar and face mask, rubbing it dispersed. With a pristine face, you pat serum and moisturizer into the skin and admire the glowing haleness slowly returning. He sits up, freeing his eyes and gazes at you. 

“How do you feel?” 

“I always feel good whenever you’re around, my love” he flirts. You huff and drain the water. “You should dry off. I’m gonna give you a massage.” He steps out the tub to dry but attempts to follow you out of the room. You turn and he’s right behind you, his massive presence covering your silhouette. “Jing, I’m getting stuff ready. Can you wait here?” He says nothing and embraces your nude figure, nuzzled in your hair. You grab his arms, prying room to look up at his hiding face. You’re shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes threatening to overturn. You wipe them as they fall; somehow, he’s still grinning. He couldn’t register why he was crying yet. “Are you okay-” 

“I missed you greatly.” he murmurs. You kiss his nose and pillow his shaking arms and legs. Dispelling the fears and insecurities that strangle him to a gasp. It’s easier to breathe. "I missed you, too.” He picks you up bridal style, and you yelp. 

“Wait, but the massage” you contest. He walks to the bedroom, swaying you without a care in sight. “That won’t be necessary. I just want to hold you.” He lays you on your back and climbs over you. Despite all the space on your king sized bed, he intertwines your bareness with the velvety sheets, and locks you in his arms. His cuddles are cushiony and pure, cocooned like a life-sized teddy bear. You had numerous things planned today—you'd make him dinner, cater to him, watch a movie—now that you’re snuggled cozily, you couldn’t envision leaving this bed. “I didn’t get-” you yawn lengthily “-everything done.” 

“You've done more than enough. It’s time I take care of you.” He kisses your forehead, and your eyelids feel dense as they ultimately come to a close. He wished your eyes would remain open, he wanted to stare into them for as long as possible. “Truly, thank you, (Y/N). I needed this.”  

He listens to your soft breathing, your heartbeat pounding methodically against his. “I love you. So much” you say in trailing hushed tones before drifting to a distant dream. Maybe you’d dream about him, somewhere on a different planet with your children, spending forever together. For now, things are just as they were before.

“I love you more.” 

[cupidspup]

CG!Ticci-Toby x Little!Reader

All art credit above goes to the original artist!!

A/N (PLEASE READ!):

OKAY SO-- It's been a long while since I've done a fic (especially an agere one) SO PLEASE BE NICE (╥ᆺ╥；) I love writing but it takes a lot of courage and energy and when it comes to agere fics it's especially for littles who feel lonely and take comfort in reading a fic! I want my fics to be something that allows littles like me (who have a softer heart and need extra lovins) feel better and more little!! And I've decided to start writing again by being indulgent in what I write! Today's prompt is based off of what I remember from creepypasta when I was young and I'm not very well versed in any of their lore as much as I used to be skdksks if that's not your thing that's okay! I just hope you enjoy my writing! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ anywho! Back to the post!! Below are some trigger warnings if needed :3 I won't be including anything too graphic or anything but there *MAY* be a curse word or two or just more adult things since they're serial killers x) (I'm writing this all before I'm writing it lol)

- ꒰ა♡ Kewpie ♡໒꒱

Trigger Warnings:⤵

Strong language, mentions of blood (past tense/present), implications of death/murder via the presence of blood (past tense and very minimal), mentions of weapons, masc caregiver nicknames (daddy, dada, baba, papa, ect), feminine and gender neutral nicknames (princess, kid/kiddo, tiny)

Summary

Toby comes back to Slendermansion after a long day on the job only to find you asleep in bed! Oh no that won't do! He wants to see his baby!

Not a trigger warning but more so something to keep in mind: I know Toby is/was known for a stutter because of his tics BUT I will NOT write the way he speaks like people used to. I don't have Tourrettes myself but I also know that stuttering doesn't always happen when you have it. I also did do research on him a little and found that his tics are more physical rather than verbal! I would like to avoid doing it until im more knowledgeable about it just so i dont offend anyone on accident ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა If any of you guys feel that I need to change anything or would like to educate me please do in the comments or in private in a polite manner! ^^

It's dark out and you're already snuggled into your bed. Going to sleep alone isn't very uncommon and you've gotten used to it. You and your daddy have put together quite the bedtime routine to make up for your lack of tucking ins! As you're cuddled nice and warm into bed, there's a slight creak in the door.

Not enough to wake you up, it's slow and quiet. You hear footsteps make their way throughout the room, closer to your bed. This is what makes you stir and start to wake up.

The footsteps stop. They know you're awake now.

You groan as you sit up, squinting and looking into the darkness. "Dada?" You wait for an answer. The footsteps resume this time faster.

Finally, the mystery person comes out from the shadows. The gentle light from your nightlight shining on them and it's your one and only caregiver, Toby!

He excitedly makes his way back to your side of your bed, sitting right by you. Before he does anything else he makes sure to put his (now clean) hatchets away before hugging you close. Toby always gives the best hugs, even though his tics are unpredictable it doesn't mean the firm yet gentle squeeze isn't nice to sink into.

"Yes, princess? Did I.. did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did. I was trying to be quiet, but I was just, just so excited to see you! You, you're just so cute when you're snoozin away like that!"

His mind goes a thousand miles a minute, and his mouth can't catch up, especially with his tics. So there's a stutter here and there. Not that it's a very big issue. It's just how your daddy talks! And you love it when he talks.♡

You yawn and lean into him, your eyes closed as you try to wake yourself up more. It's very late, if you were big enough to read the clock you'd probably know but now? Clocks are for big kids and you? You're very small, so the moon shining light through the window is enough for now.

"C'mon, cutie I know you can hug, hug me better than that! You missed your dada, didn't you?" He says in a playful tone, squishing you slightly in his arms. You reach your hands up to him and give him your best sleepy hug. To which he holds you even longer, resting his cheek on the top of your head. When he does you feel this weird wet substance and it makes you fuss a little.

"Mmmm babaaaaa m no like itttt" you whine at him.

He releases you from his hug and takes his goggles off, looking at you confused. "What do you mean, baby? What's going on?" When you look him in the eye you see it, he's got a small cut on his cheek and it's leaking blood. He probably doesn't feel it due to his disorder that prevents him from feeling pain in the first place. You yawn and point sleepily at his cheek. "You gots messy on you face, dada"

He feels around his face before touching his cheek right above his muzzle before looking at his gloved hands. Sure enough there's a spot of blood on the fabric where he touched.

"Oh no that's no good, thank, thank you for telling me kiddo! Daddy wouldn't have known if it wasn't for you! Wanna make it all better and put some...some cute bandaids on it?" He says to you with a smile, cleaning the blood off of his gloves for the most part. You nod with a smile and start doing grabby hands at him, the lack of cuddling and holding already making you feel lonely.

He smiles at you wider than he already is and ruffles your hair a little before going off to the bedside drawer. He always has bandaids handy for you. You two are the perfect pair! A clumsy little with an even clumsier caregiver! What a match!

He carefully opens the box, taking out a few bandaids for you to choose from. Of course these are patterned all cute with your favorite characters on them! You smile at the selection and before Toby can tell you to choose one, you're already opening the packages to each of them.

"Sure we can put all of them on my ouchies! Be super super careful though, sweetheart. I don't want any of your cute pj's getting messy because of me alright?" He says with a cautious but still laid back and nice tone. You nod happily in response before sticking on all of the bandaids. Two actually did the job for what he had, but you also know Toby is never gonna say no to you when you put them all over him. By the end of it, Toby has some on his muzzle, his nose, forehead, even some on his fingers! Everywhere that your daddy has owies on or you know he might have some in the future. Extra love for him can never hurt!

He takes out his phone and looks at himself in the screen. Most people can't tell but because you're not most people you can see the little squint and grin across his face. He seems really happy with your bandaid makeover! He looks over his fingers fondly, chuckling at you trying to think ahead for him.

"How lucky am I to have such a..such a thoughtful lil one?" He says happily before sitting closer to you, his phone still unlocked in his hand. "I wanna remember this moment so how, how about we take a selfie together, cutie? I want to have something to see for when I miss you and you're not with me!" You smile and nod your head quickly at the idea, coming closer to him and cuddling up to his arm, nuzzling your nose into his neck and cheek.

"C'mon tiny, say 'Cheese!'"

"Cheeeee!!"

It takes a few tries to get a photo that isnt blurry from his tics but finally he takes the photo and looks it over. You look it over, too and you feel the swarm of butterflies flutter in your tummy. Being with your daddy always makes you so, so happy. Especially when he's so soft and sweet like this!

"Hey baby I found some, some filters! Let's take a few more!"

Once again you're snuggled up to your silly caregiver, posing for photos with him while he puts bunny ear filters and funny face filters. He saves each and every one and you can't help that fuzzy lil tingle in your chest when you see his gallery is basically only filled with you two. You smile and give him a lil peck on the side of his muzzle. To that he smiles from under it and puts his hand softly over the spot.

"Awe that was real sweet of you kid, what, what was that for?" He says with a happy tone.

Your face flushes a little as you twiddle your fingers, mumbling softly. Something about cute and loving your baba. He chuckles and pulls his goggles off, now seeing you much easier in the dim lit room.

Toby pulls his muzzle down just enough to lean in for a quick peck. He kisses your forehead softly and smiles at you before putting it back into place. ♡ His kisses always feel extra special when he does that. Toby doesn't like people seeing him without his muzzle, especially because of the gash on the side of his cheek. But with you, he knows that extra but of vulnerability goes a long way. You're his baby after all, if you trust him so much he should trust you just the same.

Once his muzzle is back on your stomach let's out a low growl. At first you're a little embarrassed but Toby isn't phased at all. As a matter of fact, Toby wastes no time picking you up and hoisting you to his hip. He rests you onto the side and carries you with one arm (because he's your daddy, of course he can carry his little one no problem!).

Carrying you is never an issue for Toby. It can only be a little difficult when he's has his tics or they come more than just once. But it never stops him! He just makes sure to hold onto you a little bit tighter and tries to move his head away when he does.

It's hard to predict when his tics will come but even when you're small you're understanding and patient. He's doing his best just like you are.

"Let's go get some midnight snacks for that lil tummy of yours huh? A midnight...midnight snack with my princess sounds delicious." He says as he tickles your tummy a little. He was about to start walking to the door before you started to fuss in his arms, squirming as you continue to whine.

"What is it baby what's wrong? Did Dada do something to make you upset? Are, are you sleepy? Hungry? Sad?" He questions as he bounces you gently. His questions come left and right as he continues trying to find the answer. You fussily point to your forgotten stuffie on the bed and turn back to whine at him. With that he finally gets the hint.

"Ooooh you, you just wanted your plushie! You silly billy you've gotta use your big kid words for stuff, stuff like that okay?" He goes back and retrieves your stuffie, snuggling it right into your arms before heading out the door.

This, of course, sends you even deeper into your little space. Even though he tells you to use big kid words, something about him babying you and talking to you that way just makes you melt. And he's fully aware of that too.

Finally, you're both out of the room and headed down the halls of the mansion to the kitchen. All the residents of Slendermansion are very aware of you and Toby and the different aspects of your guys' dynamics. They don't really care what you both do as long as you aren't making other uncomfortable and being civil they're all pretty on board! That or stick to themselves for the most part.

Once you and Toby are in the kitchen he finds a place to set you down by the counter. Before starting his snack preparations he turns to you. "Can you be a good baby for Daddy and sit, sit here for me? Be reaaally careful so you don't fall okay? I need both of my hands for this so that I can make you...make you the bestest snack ever!" You give him an affirmative nod and snuggle your plushie closer for comfort. You see his eyes squint as he smiles, he pets your hair gently before ruffling it.

"That's a good baby, so we'll behaved" He says affectionately, "I'll be...I'll be done in just a minute okay, tiny?" You nod affirmatively again and flush slightly at his praise and gentle touch.

Toby rummaged through the cabinet, taking out a cute bowl fit for a small child. With some more rummaging he finds some baby puffs along with an adult sized baby bottle. Of course, this one is decorated and themed to your liking. He fills the bowl with the puffs to an amount you both can share. He knows you enjoy sharing your snacks with him and honestly, baby puffs "smack" (according to him) and he'd eat them with you any day.

Once the bowl is filled he heats some milk with honey in the microwave (Toby isn't allowed to use the stove unless there's another person with him - regressed babies do not count). While the milk heats up he brings the bowl to you and offers a puff up to your mouth.

"Here sweetheart, say 'ahh' for me." He says happily.

You do as told and he pops in a puff. You chew on that and offer him one, to thar he quickly pulls down his muzzle and lets you feed him a few at a time. Not too many at once due to his gash. After a few more moments of you feeding each other, Ben walks into the room. He comes in without looking up, busy playing with his games on his phone.

" 'Sup." He says as he makes his way to the fridge.

"Hey dude, whatcha up to? Is, Is it snack time for you too? Whatcha gonna do after that?" Toby starts to bombard him with questions, always one to not only strike up conversation but carry that conversation too.

"Jesus Toby one at a time I can barely answer the first God damn question-" Ben says at first before looking at you. He stops in the middle of his sentence before lowering his voice.

"Didn't notice you had the baby with you." He takes a random snack from the fridge and closes it, leaning against the counter close to you while he eats it. Toby feeds you some more puffs, keeping you occupied as you wave at him politely.

Ben has seen you this way before so you don't mind being little with him that much. He's even babysat you before a couple of times, though most of those times were spent playing games (that he would let you win sometimes). Ben definitely acts like the big brother when he's around you. And because he's like your big brother he waves but sticks his tongue out at you right after. You stick your tongue out back at him before giggling a little.

"Hey you two be nice to each other," Toby says, piping up slightly, "I've still got to put them back to sleep Ben, don't rile them up too much either." Ben waves Toby off and rolls his red pupils.

"Yeah, yeah I know it's fine. We're just messing around." Ben responds, perfectly dismissing Toby's protective nature around you. Just when Toby is about to respond the microwave beeps, signaling that your bottle is ready! "Actually, I need a favor from you." Toby says as he takes it out, handing the bottle like it's nothing at all.

Ben looks at Toby with a curious look, waiting to hear what the favor is. Toby hands him the bottle. "Test that on your arm, I need to know if it's warm but not too hot for the baby."

(Of course Toby and Ben's repeated use of "the baby" makes you feel even more babyish and has you regressing even further. Big kid vocabulary is out the window and it's semi-nonverbal time for you.)

"What?? Why?? I don't wanna do that do it yourself." Ben protests quickly, going back to his phone.

"Dude I can't, I feel numb all of the time how, how would I even know?" Toby rebuttals to Ben just as quick.

Ben huffs and takes the bottle in his hand, turning it over his wrist and letting it drip onto him. "Ugh fine gimme that." He waits a second for it to process and see if it's hot or not. Luckily the bottle was just right so he hands it right back to Toby, licking the milk off of his wrist. "Its fine you can give it to the kid now."

Toby takes it with a smile and batting his eyelashes at Ben while he puts the bottle in his large pockets. "Thank you Bennie~" he says with a sickenly, sweet voice. Ben, of course, rolls his eyes at this and keeps at his game.

"C'mon cutie it's time to put you to sleep. Say 'bye-bye' to big brother Bennie!" He says as he hoists you back onto his hip, walking away. You smile and wave at Ben, "Bai Bai Bennie!!" You say happily to him. He looks up and waves back a little at you, a little smile across his face. "Bye gremlin, sleep well."

Toby makes his way back to the room and sits on your guys' bed. He lets out a long sigh as he sits, now situating you onto his lap as he gets ready to feed you. With you rested into his arms and the bottle at the ready, you both were absolutely ready for bedtime. He takes his muzzle off and smiles, kissing your forehead. "Drink up tiny, it's time that... that daddy puts you sleep! I'll head to bed once you're snoozin away don't worry kiddo."

He brings the bottle up to your lips and before he can even tell you to open wide you already do so, guzzling down the sweet drink he made you. Toby absolutely melts at how cute you are, squishing you a little closer just to relish in you. And of course, you cuddle into him just as much.

He always does such a good job at taking care of you and doing all the little things. Even though his tics can get in the way or startle you awake again, you never get angry with him or fuss. Maybe it was new to navigate at first but you know that it was out of his control and he always does his best to keep them under control when it's necessary.

Finally, you finish your bottle and bury your face into his chest. Curling up and fully starting to fall asleep again. Toby puts your finished bottle on the nightstand and rests his cheek on top of your head for a few seconds. Just to savor this moment. He loves these moments so much. He softly rocks you as you drift to sleep, rubbing your back gently as he does.

"I love you baby. I'll head to bed too." He says before laying down fully with you in his arms as he pulls the covers over you both. With a quick kiss on your cheek the night is once again peaceful and you're together again.

♡

A/N: Waaah! It's finally finished!! It took me so, so long to do everything but its finished and I'm so proud of myself for sticking it out QwQ I really hope you guys liked this story, it's truly just so nostalgic to me and honestly has such a nice place in my heart 🩷 This is my first agere fic with a character and I hope I did well!! I was so anxious about this but I think I did well with balancing everything out hehe ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა I'm going to head back to sleep now but I'll have another fic up soon! ૮( ˃ ꒳ ˂)ა if you have any requests or suggestions please comment or submit them to my account I love it when people do those! :3 (also maybe a sorta part 2 with Big brother Ben drowned? ८,,◐⩊◐,,ა ) hehehe okay bye for realsies now, stay safe everyone!૮ ᴖﻌᴖა🩷

[beentobeetle]

what's six's relationship with the companions? :00

(Ignore me answering this 20 billions years later)

All around, Six’s relationships with all the companions are relatively good, down the line at least! It takes Six quite some time to warm up to people, and he’s naturally a decently quiet person. Most automatically view him as awkward, or intimidating, on something along those lines, especially with his reputation as “That Spooky Courier”.

But getting into specifics! Six’s dynamical change with Arcade and Boone goes hand-in-hand because they’re the first two he travels with, and his personal subconscious favorites. To Arcade, Six is this big stupid maniac who, while trying to be a good person most of the time, goes about it… unique ways. Boone sees him as an idiot, but a strong one. Smart and big when it’s needed. Boone very much appreciates Six’s bouts of silence.

It’s all quite different near the beginning though! Six travels with the two of them at the same time and they are both uh. confused, for the most part, just in different ways. There’s this tension, mostly with Boone and Arcade towards Six, because he’s just so… off. This is before he ever starts taking his helmet off, so he’s just the quiet, faceless wanderer. Unpredictable, vengeful, and fucking terrifying at times. Easiest explanation? Whatever this is

Moving on, though, to Lily! Pretty well-expected, he sees her as his little grandma and is VIOLENTLY protective of her. Buuuttt there’s a very slight sense of ‘selfish’ or ‘wrong’ calculation beneath it. Lily is a nightkin, she’s strong, she can kill. An effective attack dog, when it’s needed. As much as Six values and cares for Lily as her own character, he is well aware that she is a TANK, and… might as well take advantage of that, right?

And then there’s Raul and Cass! Again, the relationship between the three goes pretty hand-in-hand. Six sees them as effective assets and wildly entertaining drinking buddies, even at the beginning. He appreciates Raul’s old-timer, sardonic but just chipper enough grandpa attitude, and very much likes Cass for being, well… Cass.

Aaannd Veronica!! At first, Six sees her as naive and far too in-over-her-head. Over time, though, he notices his shell starting to break. For whatever reason, Veronica is scarily good at cracking the walls Six usually builds around himself. Over time, they develop this really silly brother/sister dynamic.

And, of course, Rex and ED-E. He loves both of them to death. Most any animals automatically melt Six’s heart, and he’s always had a soft spot for robots. And after the events of Lonesome Road? Good lord. That was something that really hit Six, in a way not many situations would. While maybe not entirely true, Six gladly states that Rex and ED-E are his favorites to travel with. “They don’t complain about eating pork-n-beans for a week straight.”

While a couple of these relationships are likely far more complex than I’m putting them, those feel like posts for other days !! But uhhh ty ty for the question, and sorry it took my so long to answer it FJFJDBFJSJD I wanted to actually draw something for it but I’ve been in the weirdest art slump lately… glad i remember how to draw Six!

As always, if anyone has any questions… holds out hands… I’ll try not to answer it after a lifetime….

[castlebyersafterdark]

Thinking about how Will loves to put on make up has got me in a chokehold.

Imagine Mike coming home early one day because he and Will have dinner reservations (or anything like that) and he walks in on Will putting on his eyeliner, face full of glittery make up, and my man is stunned.

Will wanted to surprise Mike by prettying himself up for their date but is upset because he can’t get it right and he needs everything to go perfectly

but Mike is now just focused on ruining Will’s make up (and the bed sheets).

They had to cancel their dinner plans 🤭

"We're going to be late again," said not annoyed or irritated as Mike lingered in the doorway, but matter of fact.

He peeked around the counter and glanced at the absent sway of Will's hips, butt poked out enticingly as Will leaned closer to the mirror. He bit his lip and smiled, then stepped back, giving him space. Fought back temptation.

Will hummed in acknowledgement from the bathroom and said no more. He was trying to concentrate. And not poke his eye again. He'd had to start over on the left eye twice. Artist's hands, typically steady, hadn't mastered the art of tracing soft, chalky pencil against slightly damp skin just yet. He didn't want to look like a clown - and a very sad one at that. Or maybe a raccoon. Either way. Not the look he was going for - that being, the mysterious artist type.

This was a brave step for him.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Can you go wait in the living room or something?" Will asked, not annoyed or irritated either, but nervous.

He wanted to get this right. He wanted to look pretty. It had been a hard enough decision to decide to try this for a night out. His previous little experiments had been subtle, private so far. But they were going out, to a nice dinner in a nice restaurant he felt safe being himself in. Taking a taxi. Alone in the dark backseat, together in some fancy booth. Him and Mike, being their very best selves after working so hard for a treat like this.

"If you want me, too. I can. I just-"

"Just, what? I want to surprise you."

Oh no. Wrong thing to have said to Mike Wheeler, who could never let a damn thing go.

(continued below...)

"A surprise?"

"Mike. Please. It's not that big of a deal," he lied and said no more after Mike's continued pleading inquiries.

Mike groaned and left the doorway. Didn't head to the living room, though, but sat on the edge of the bed. Too antsy, he scooted back, propped against the headboard, legs sprawled, arms like a wingspan across the pillows. He shifted and mustered up a sultry look, hoping that Will would walk out to find him there like an enticing gift soon enough.

He glanced at their bedside clock and saw they actually had a decent amount of time. Yes. They had time. He'd only wanted to play it safe, get out early, factor in unpredictable city traffic.

Mike contemplated unbuckling and getting his own surprise ready. Debated, and spread his legs, palmed at his slightly hard dick, beginning to take interest. They might have time for something quick. Maybe. Better not...

After only several minutes had passed, and barely that, he gave up. He couldn't take it.

"Hey, Will, sorry - oh. Oh, baby look at you."

Will, distracted after concentrating deeply on putting the finishing touches on his look, turned instantly at the sound of Mike's voice this time. Instinctual. Without thinking. He shrugged and gave a coy smile, masking his nerves. Hoped he didn't look stupid. Faked some confidence.

"I've seen me."

"You've seen you. Uh-huh. Have you really?" Mike stepped forward, sly smile in place. "Look at you."

Mike spun Will to face the mirror and hugged him from behind, kiss placed to the back of his head. He stepped back and shook his head. He wanted to devour him.

Will placed the cap back on the make-up and set it down on the counter. Mike traced a finger down the strong line of Will's jaw, contrast to the softness of his other features. He used a finger to tip Will's face up from where he'd cast his gaze to the floor. Needed to see him fully, needed Will to know how how effected he was.

"You are so beautiful, Will. I mean it. So gorgeous. Gosh, I love you."

Will squeaked at the quickness of the kiss that followed, with Mike swooping down to kiss the fresh color on his lips and squeeze him around the waist, drawn flush from thigh to chest. Mike pressed him against the counter, heard the sound of small plastic items clatter over and bounce into the sink and laughed at Will's whine.

"Mike, you're gonna ruin it," Will giggled, and swiped at the corner of his mouth where the light pink color had already smeared a little. It stuck on Mike's bottom lip, too, a slash of pink across his perpetually red mouth.

"Isn't that the point," Mike answered, voice deep and quiet, like low thunder reverberated across marble walls.

"For later. Haven't even gotten to wear it out the door, yet," Will protested but he already could tell his work was going to have to be reapplied before they left the apartment now, going by the look in Mike's eyes.

Will was transfixed to the spot, trapped. Heart rate rising. The foxes were circling the meadow. Little rabbit had nowhere to run.

Mike hummed and kissed his cheek, pulled back to stare at those pretty, dark rimmed eyes. Dark but soft. Carefully, artfully applied liner and mascara, just enough to enhance those bright, doe eyes. Made them look even bigger. Some sort of barely there powder made his skin shimmer and glow on the high points of his cheeks and the side of his face. Made him look otherworldly, delicate. And his mouth - fuck, his mouth. Pouty and pink, stained a perfect color and glossy on top. A vision. Subtle, but with effort that made him look effortless. Like he was supposed to look like that.

Skin soft as ever, hair combed and styled and falling just so, strands slipping between Mike's fingers as he carded a hand through. Flushed cheeks - natural, embarrassed slightly by the situation but excited by Mike's obvious appreciation. Smooth skin, freshly shaven, and the rest of his skin subtly applied with scents of vanilla and deep spice.

Mike was starving.

Dinner could wait.

Mike pressed him harder against the bathroom counter, moving from cheek to neck with kisses that avoided smudging Will's mouth further. Will moaned under the attention, head tilted to the side. Mike undid a few buttons, pushed the silky shirt over Will's shoulder as he mapped a path across his warm, bare skin, hot kisses to every little freckle and mole on his shoulder. He knew what he was doing. He knew every trick and button to push. Teeth to skin, mouth sucking hard at the hollow his Will's neck. A knee raised between Will's thighs, feeling his excitement grow, feeling how Will was just as instantly keyed up as him.

"What time is it?" Will gasped as Mike passed a thumb back and forth over his nipple, hissing through the jolt of pleasurable ache that shot down to his cock when Mike pinched and rolled the bud.

"I don't know. I don't care. We have time."

"Seemed impatient to get going before."

"Was I? Doesn't sound like me at all."

Will didn't answer and sprung into action. Fine. He wanted to play now.

He pushed off the counter and led Mike backwards from the bathroom to their bedroom, and shoved Mike down onto the bed. Mike's legs spread on muscle memory as Will shouldered his way in, already grappling at Mike's belt buckle.

Will's mouth was on Mike as soon as his pants and briefs were shoved partially down, out of the way only enough for Will to get at hot skin, mouth watering for it. Lips sealed over the leaking tips, savoring the taste like he was breaking a hunger strike. His talented tongue, his lips stretched and sliding down. Breath harsh through his nose. He was drooling around it, working his jaw to take Mike down further, now the impatient one.

He gagged on Mike's length, too eager, and received a soothing hand cradled his face to slow him down. Mike said as much out loud. Will didn't want that. He wanted to look pretty and he wanted to be used.

He pulled off and sat back on his heels, looking up at Mike. Make up mostly still intact, save for the smeared pink around the corners of his lips - some was left on the skin of Mike's dick. Will saw it, wanted to lick it off.

Soon enough.

Watery eyes. Wide. Pleading. Mouth open, tongue out. And Mike was the one who took action now.

It was a blur from there. Pants fell the rest of the way to the floor, clank of belt buckle. Big hands cradled the back of Will's skull. Cock slid between perfect, pink lips, heavy in Will's mouth. Will let his body go slack along with his jaw, hyper aware of his shoulders, his neck, releasing the tension and working his throat, fighting the urge to choke as Mike guided him, shallow thrust fucking his mouth and driving into a deep grind as Will swallowed him down.

So wet. An entire mess. Make-up ruined as the perfect, pretty color across Will's lips had mostly disappeared. Mixed with the saliva that dripped down his chin, spat from his mouth as Mike pulled off at at a painful sounding gag, only for Will to dive back in and suck him harder after several heaving gasps, hand flying over Mike's dick until he was ready.

Tears in the mix. Shimmer from Will's cheeks rubbed off on Mike' s hands and wrists, tiny specs of glitter embedded in Mike's pubes. Neither were going to notice that one. Didn't matter. Will gripped the back of Mike's thighs and swallowed and sucked and moaned until Mike pulled back, shallow thrusts until he spilled over Will's tongue and lips, painting him with a new color to replace the one he ruined.

Mike collapsed to the bed, bouncing on the mattress as his legs gave out. Will was pulled along with him, still gripped around his thighs. They laughed together and resettled. Will rested against Mike's bare thigh, draped across him, taking deep breaths after licking his lips as clean as possible at that point. Sticky mouth pressed to pale skin. Mike pet at his hair as he caught his own breath, as variations of "fuck, what the fuck, oh my god Will, what the fuck" were muttered above Will's head. He pressed nimble fingers along Will's jaw, soothing to the sure ache.

Will looked up at Mike and if he hadn't just come, Mike would have stiffened up full right then and there. Stirrings, though, a definite twitch as he took in the sight of Will. Debauched. Ruined. Like a fallen angel, landing directly into his lap. A big splotch of black makeup was smeared across Mike's leg along with a streak of come. Nothing compared to the state of Will.

Will's once so precise and demure eyeliner and lash application was smudged and streaked, bare patches in odd places as the rest followed sweat and tear tracks down flushed cheeks, mixed with the tiny bits of shimmer that remained on his face, overall shiny with spit and everything else.

"How do I look?"

Mike burst out a laugh at Will's quiet question, then hauled the man up into his lap, only to fall backwards onto the mattress together in a tangle of limbs and clothing. Mike kicked off his pants and reached down to start undressing Will, eager to repay and miss their dinner reservation entirely...

[illusionremember]

Title: Building Something on the Side of the Road in Heaven

Teaser: "There’s something incredibly fulfilling about knowing he has someone to come home to, that he gets to build something with. That he gets to build that with Cas."

~*~*~

I am late to the party lol but I had such a good time putting this story together! A thousand thank yous to @alkalidumpling for your invaluable midnight feedback!

This is my submission for the @destielvalentineszine2025! There are so many fantastic pieces of art and writing coming out of this project. Please go check out everyone else's work! And thank you so much to @disabled-dean and @butch--dean for putting this all together! <3

I'll be posting this to my Ao3 later today and will update this with a link then. Maybe a pretty header too.

Read here on Ao3, or, you can hit the keep reading button below! ;D

~*~*~

Dean is driving home in Heaven.

Right now, the road cuts through a forest, one of those big Pacific coast ones, with the giant redwoods. He’s got the window down, but the radio is off for now, because he’s listening to the trees singing. Their deep woodwind tones resonate in the air as the Impala rolls by underneath. Maybe he’ll bring Cas back here sometime. They can sit under the trees and feel the notes in their bones. He doesn’t know whose patch of Paradise he’s passing through, but he likes their style. He might have stopped to listen, but he has somewhere to be soon.

He doesn’t actually need to drive, of course. He could just wish himself home — close his eyes and concentrate and let Heaven shift around him. Less than a moment, and he’d be right in his cozy living room, in the little lakeside farmhouse that he and Cas have made into home. Instead, he’s got miles of road ahead to go.

It’s tempting to rush, given what today is, but Dean’s been working on learning to savor anticipation. It helps that now the things on the horizon tend to be good things, instead of apocalyptic horrors that he is somehow meant to counter.

Dean casts a glance at the now-empty passenger’s side of Baby’s bench seat. He recalls Cas sitting there, a lifetime ago now, the scent of sunflowers clinging to his coat. They’d stopped on the side of the road so Cas could take a closer look at the wall of sunflowers bordering a farmer’s field. Dean remembers the way the stalks had wavered in the prairie wind that day, their golden crowns all turned in the same direction. Cas had followed their gaze to look up at the sun. “You’ll go blind looking at the sun like that you know,” Dean had told him, but Cas had only smiled.

Sunflowers would be nice, probably. Cas would like them. Dean blinks, and three sunflowers lie next to him on the seat, neatly bundled with a blue ribbon.

It’s four years today since their wedding, according to Cas. He has to help Dean keep track of milestone dates now. Not that Dean doesn’t make an effort, but as an angel, Cas is just better at tracking the strange way that time passes here, compared to on Earth.

Upstairs, an hour can stretch into innumerable days, or compress into an instant. Cas tried to explain it to him once, but the celestial math involved is way more complex than Dean is capable of following, even without the limitations of physical form.

Atoms and time and mass don’t really exist here, but humans live by the laws of physics — solid, three-dimensional, linear. Even when a soul has been in Heaven far longer than it had lived, perceiving Paradise usually means translating abstraction into something readable.

Dean does not find celestial time readable at all.

Celestial space, however — that is something that Dean’s oddly good at navigating, for a human. There’s an art to understanding Heaven’s landscape that most human souls struggle with, on account of the abstraction. Traversing unpredictable space that can and will spontaneously change can be difficult. Cas thinks it helps that Dean had a lifetime of practice at rolling with the punches, always forging a way forward despite all odds. Dean thinks it’s because he’s always been good with maps.

Today, the soul he’d ferried across Heaven had been chatty. Dean likes getting the opportunity to talk, to learn people’s names. Her name was Tara, and she’d treated Baby like a lady, which won her Dean’s immediate approval.

“So, Heaven’s Uber driver,” she’d said, with humor. “How’d you land that job?”

“My husband suggested it,” Dean had told her.

It still surprises him how easy that feels to say — my husband. Not that Dean was in the closet, exactly. He just figured it wasn’t anyone’s business but his. No point or purpose in drawing attention to it. By the time he’d even realized that love was fully on the table instead of tucked out of reach on the shelf, it had been too late to live it. Now, just thinking the word makes a warm glow fill his chest.

When Dean dropped his passenger off, she’d kissed his cheek before she jumped out of the car. Tara’s first love wore a pink dress, and was waiting by the road with roses in hand. Always a smart idea, he’d figured, the flowers.

Dean guides the Impala around a curve in the road, and Cas’s flowers slide across the seat. He slaps a hand against the stems to keep them from falling, cusses when his hand hits a thorn. There’s a deep red rose in with the sunflowers. Dean moves the flowers closer to the backrest and sticks his finger in his mouth, but the sting is already gone, with no trace of broken skin.

Dean likes driving, is the thing. That hasn’t changed since dying. He could just wish himself home, but he’s got all of eternity spread out before him. Might as well make use of it. Taking the long way around is a much better way for him to go about his afterlife than skipping through.

When he was alive, and they weren’t rushing to a job, Dean would take the paper maps out of the glove compartment while Sam checked them out of their motel. Sam and Cas would chat over diner coffee and eggs, and Dean would trace his finger down the squiggles of highways and backroads. He’d look for out-of-the-way towns and strange, rural landmarks they’d never passed by before. It was fun, getting to explore. Getting to take their time.

You’d think in Heaven they’d have nothing but time. Which, they did, but that also meant finding ways to make use of that time was important.

At first, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling like he was still hunting, chasing that goalpost of peace and fulfillment ever in the distance. He was tired of chasing. He wanted to slow down, to build something.

When Dean had first arrived, Cas and Jack’s reconstruction project was still fresh enough you could taste the drywall dust. They’d been busy knocking down the walls that divided up Heaven. Freedom of choice and movement would be the lay of the land, rather than keeping souls complacent with familiar trappings and fond memories. Less hallways and closed doors, Cas had said.

Human souls simply do not handle isolation all that well. People wanted their loved ones back — the real deal, not eternal reruns of their greatest hits. Even favorite memories wear thin after a while. They want to create things. They want more time, new time, with family, with old loves and childhood friends.

The current model of Heaven is far less structured. As it turns out, allowing human creativity to affect the way souls perceive and experience their afterlife is a lot more effective, if chaotic, as a means towards happiness. Most souls tend to self-manage their corners of Paradise without the rigid constraints of memory just fine. Traversing Heaven to find each other is where things get tricky, which is where Dean comes in.

The singing redwoods are far behind now. Dean is finally reaching his neck of the woods, as it were, the bleed of other people’s Heavens falling away. He passes the Roadhouse and smiles. For their wedding, they’d kept things simple. Ellen had let them drag all the tables outside, which Charlie and Jo had decorated with flowers in refurbished beer bottles. Mary and Bobby had strung lights up all around. Someone (Sam, probably) had gotten Cas out of his trench coat and into jeans and a blazer, to match Dean’s. Jack led the ceremony. Dean remembered some kind of flower in Cas’s buttonhole as they’d said their vows in front of their family. Everything else had faded away but Castiel’s voice, and the raw sincerity in his eyes.

They’d considered coming to the Roadhouse tonight, to commemorate the occasion. But since Cas is home for the first time in a while, and Dean had this last-minute job today, they’ve decided they’ll stay in, just the two of them. Dean wants every minute with his husband he can get. He’d have postponed this trip, but who was he to deny someone else their own Valentine’s reunion? Dean understood. What is the point of Paradise if you can’t be with those you love?

The first year or so (as far as Dean could tell) after they’d gotten hitched had been a long and well-deserved honeymoon.

They finally had the time to relax into each other. Dean continued his crusade to introduce Cas to culture. Cas taught him how to manipulate Heaven so they could create their home together. Dean finally learned what fifth base was. There was laundry, and stargazing, and pancakes, and so many kisses. They intertwined themselves in ways that wouldn’t have been possible were Dean still in his earthly body, threading the fingers of Cas’s grace through his soul.

Dean has had a lot of daydreams over the years about what retirement might look like for him. He’d never quite dared to imagine what his ideal afterlife might look like. Hell, he counts himself lucky he got any of this at all.

It doesn’t stop it from being hard when Cas keeps having to leave him, even now.

While Dean might be dead and retired, Cas is still an angel. In the beginning of their marriage, Jack had given them as much time together as he could spare.

But there’s still a lot of work to do Upstairs, and Cas is nothing if not diligent in his sense of duty.

Jack doesn’t want to make the same mistakes Chuck had, with his control-freak author crap. This is the new Heaven — one where everyone shares the role of creator, to a degree. If any angel understands what it means to make choices — as well as what the Heavenly host had been like when choices weren’t allowed — it was Castiel.

Sometimes, Dean wants to be mad at Jack about it. Hasn’t Cas been strung along by the other angels for millennia already? If Dean deserves a break after mere decades of apocalypses and torture and curses that threatened the integrity of his very soul, then doesn’t Cas?

Of course, Cas doesn’t see it that way. Cas wants to help fix things. It’s who he is — the cracked angel, always trying to put things back together again. Over time, he’d spent longer and longer times away from home; they’d fought about it more than once.

“What am I, your housewife?” Dean had snapped. “You’re off all the time doing literally God knows what. Meanwhile I’m stuck waiting here all ‘When will my husband return from the war?’”

“Dean, we’re not at war, for once.” Cas had laid a hand on his shoulder; it was downright stupid how much that calmed him. “You deserve to be at peace now, Dean. You’ve done your part.”

“And you haven’t?” Dean had protested. “They’ve had you for-frigging-ever. Literally. It’s my turn.”

“Dean,” Cas had said, his voice gentle, “I already have more than I deserve. I should be sleeping in the Empty right now. By all rights, I never should have escaped there the first time.”

“Don’t say that, Cas.”

“And instead,” Cas had bulldozed ahead, “I get to spend as much of the rest of eternity as I can with the man that I love. I’m making reparations to Heaven. If we can make things different here, replace all these broken foundations… then we can stop anything like the Apocalypse, or the Leviathans, or Chuck, from ever happening again. For everyone, in Heaven and on Earth.”

He’d stepped in close, cradling Dean’s face in his hands. “We have eternity, my love. You can spare me for a little while, just now and then.”

“Well, maybe I wanna help too,” Dean had grumbled, kissing Castiel’s palm. “You ever think of that?”

And suddenly it had all clicked, why he was upset. It’s not just that Cas is gone half the time, but that Dean is restless in a place where he is meant to be at rest.

No monsters to fight, and having a quiet, sunlit home he shares with the love of his life (and afterlife) is amazing, don’t get him wrong. But part of what makes Dean feel at peace has always been taking care of people. He needs something more to do than just hang out. He likes having a job, something that makes a difference, that makes people happy.

The Impala’s tires kick up dust as Dean finally reaches the familiar drive around the lake. He turns the radio up now, belting out classic love songs and thinking of Cas.

There are lilies in the bouquet now, and peonies, and a dozen other kinds of flowers that Dean’s not sure he knows the names of. He amuses himself for a while, making up new flowers that only exist in his imagination, their petals a familiar ombré of blue.

The sun is still not-quite-high in the sky, same as it was when he left hours ago this morning. He holds his hand out the open window, catching the air pressure against his fingers. It’s going to be a beautiful day, and he’s almost home. This time, his husband is the one waiting for him.

It had been Cas’s idea for Dean to put some of his skill with forging pathways through Heaven to work. Reuniting souls isn’t instantaneous. In theory, Jack is certainly capable of it, but Dean isn’t the only one who chafes a little under eternal peace. Apparently, it’s just good for human souls to have goals to strive for, but learning to navigate Paradise in order to pursue them doesn’t come easily.

Most souls are accustomed to the confinement of their personal Heavens. The familiar parameters of Earth physics linger. Freedom of movement notwithstanding, trying to locate a particular soul in the whole of Heaven is difficult when you don’t understand how the metaphysics work.

A large part of it, Dean has realized, is about will. About faith. “What is it they say?” Dean had joked, Cas already squinting at the shit-eating grin on Dean’s face, “Where there’s a will there’s a way?”

That had earned Dean an eye-roll so hard he could feel Cas shifting against his shoulder, even as Cas admitted, “In simplest terms, yes, I suppose that’s true.”

He’d raised a hand then, and turned it in the air, winding the sun backwards across the sky like the hands of a clock. Out across the lake, the sky visible from their back porch had gone from sunset to sunrise in an instant. “All this is, is perception,” Cas had said. “You make your world what you want of it.”

Dean had looked down at Cas, curled up with him on their porch swing, comfortable and open. “I’ve got everything I want right here,” he’d said, leaning in to claim a kiss.

In practice, will and faith means they can put another soul in Dean’s passenger seat, tell them that he’ll get them where they need to go, and that surety builds the road right under the Impala’s wheels.

Right now, that road is leading Dean home.

Dean likes having something he can do to contribute, while Cas is off helping Jack parent the new angels or renovating Heaven. He finds that he likes, on occasion, getting to be the one that comes home to find his husband waiting. There’s something incredibly fulfilling about knowing he has someone to come home to, that he gets to build something with. That he gets to build that with Cas. It’s the biggest, most precious thing Dean has ever wanted for himself. He gets to have that now.

Dean pulls up in front of the house and turns off the engine. He gathers up the flowers (piled two feet high now) off the passenger side and carries them into the house, trying not to crush them all.

“Cas?” he calls out. “I’m home, sweetheart.” He pauses, listens, but there’s only the sound of birdsong from outside. He can smell pie — blueberry, he thinks, and peach. The house is too quiet.

Maybe Cas got called away. The thought pings at him like an alarm, but Dean shakes it off. He carries the flowers through to the kitchen, lays them out on the table. Jack knows what day this is. He wouldn’t pull Cas away, unless there was some kind of unforeseen disaster. More likely, Cas is just outside somewhere. He likes to wander.

There’s an enormous basket of strawberries on the counter. Dean’s pretty sure those are for later, but he steals one, relishing the punch of sweetness on his tongue. A peach-and-blueberry pie is cooling on the windowsill. Mixing bowls and measuring spoons and the rolling pin are waiting in the sink to be washed. Through the kitchen window, out by the edge of the lake, Dean can see the silhouette of his husband.

Dean leaves the flowers in a pile to mess with later; he kind of likes the idea of Cas coming in only to find the house drowning in flowers. At the thought, the flowers multiply, blossoms piled on every open surface in the living room, even growing out of the floor like carpeting. That… wasn’t part of the plan, but that’ll make Cas laugh, so he leaves it. He selects a single sunflower from the table and pushes open the back door.

Holding the flower behind his back, Dean comes up behind his husband, already smiling. Cas doesn’t turn around, but when Dean winds an arm around his waist, he leans into him. Dean kisses his shoulder, the side of his neck, his ear. With the sun shining gold on his face, Cas closes his eyes and smiles.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Sunshine.”

[r-memberme]

fixed | k.m

⎯⎯“No. I came because I couldn’t stay away.”

warnings: fluff, exes to lovers

The streets of New Orleans pulsed with their usual rhythm—jazz spilling from open doors, laughter mingling with the scent of gumbo and rain-soaked earth. Klaus Mikaelson moved through the crowd like a shadow, his presence commanding yet unnoticed. His thoughts were heavy tonight, tangled with memories of you.

You’d been a storm in his life, a wild and unpredictable force that swept in and left him spinning. For the first time in his centuries-long existence, someone had unraveled him without even trying. And now, as he wandered aimlessly, he found himself drawn back to you, as if the mere thought of your name had turned his compass.

You were sitting on the floor of your small apartment, barefoot and surrounded by scraps of paper and half-finished sketches. Your fingers were smudged with charcoal, your hair a mess of unruly waves that you had stopped caring about hours ago. This was your sanctuary—your own little bubble of creation and chaos.

Tonight, the inspiration had come in fits and starts, elusive and teasing. You’d given up trying to force it and instead let your mind wander, your thoughts drifting inevitably back to him.

Klaus.

He was a contradiction in every sense of the word. Tender and vicious. Elegant and feral. You’d fallen for him against your better judgment, and though you’d tried to tell yourself it wouldn’t work, that his world was too dark for someone like you, you couldn’t deny the way he made you feel alive in a way nothing else ever had.

A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. You frowned, brushing your hands on your paint-smeared jeans as you stood. It was late—too late for casual visitors.

When you opened the door, your breath caught.

There he was, standing in the dim light of the hallway, his sharp features softened by something you couldn’t quite place. He looked… unsure. Vulnerable, even.

“Hello, love,” he said, his voice low and familiar.

“Klaus.” Your name felt foreign on your own tongue, like you’d forgotten how to say it.

“May I come in?”

You hesitated for a moment, your heart battling your head. But then you stepped aside, and he walked past you, his presence filling the small space like a storm.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” you said, crossing your arms as you leaned against the door.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he replied, his gaze sweeping over the room. His eyes lingered on the scattered papers, the half-formed sketches. “You’ve been working.”

“I was trying to,” you admitted. “Not much luck tonight.”

He picked up one of the sketches, his fingers ghosting over the paper. “You’ve captured something here,” he said softly, his tone reverent. “There’s life in this.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I doubt you came here to critique my art.”

He set the paper down and turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “No. I came because I couldn’t stay away.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy and charged.

“I told myself I wouldn’t come,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “That I should leave you in peace. But every time I close my eyes, I see you. I hear your laughter, feel the warmth of your touch. It’s maddening.”

“Klaus…”

“No, let me finish,” he said, stepping closer. “You have every reason to hate me. I’ve brought chaos into your life. I’ve made mistakes—mistakes that have hurt you. But even knowing that, I cannot deny what I feel for you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “And what do you feel?”

“Everything,” he said simply. “You make me feel everything, love. Joy, fear, longing. You’ve taken this heart of mine, this cursed, wretched thing, and made it beat again. I didn’t think that was possible.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. “Klaus, you can’t just show up and say things like that.”

“Why not?” he challenged, his voice soft but insistent. “It’s the truth.”

“Because it’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking. “You can’t just walk in here and say all the right things after everything that’s happened.”

He stepped closer, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Do you think I planned this? That I sat down and rehearsed some speech to win you back? No. This is me, standing here, telling you the truth because I can’t do anything else.”

You looked away, but he gently cupped your chin, turning your face back to his. “Look at me,” he said softly. “Please.”

You met his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes nearly broke you.

“I’ve lived for over a thousand years,” he said, his voice trembling. “And in all that time, I have never felt what I feel for you. You are my greatest weakness, and my greatest strength. You are my reason.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, his touch so gentle it made your chest ache.

“I know I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “But I’m asking you, with everything I have, to give me another chance. Let me prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your emotions warred within you, a storm of anger, love, fear, and longing. But then you did the only thing you could.

You reached up and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, a collision of everything unsaid between you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as if he were afraid you might vanish.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.

“This doesn’t mean everything’s fixed,” you said softly.

“I know,” he replied, his voice low and reverent. “But it’s a start.”

And as he held you there, surrounded by the chaos of your tiny apartment, you realized that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

i have too many exes to lovers fics now

[swollenbabyfat]

Hello! I saw you were taking asks about anything (with bonus pictures of Mr. Haku?? bless) so I was wondering if I could politely pick your brain about your illustrative process. I've been tearing my hair out over rendering practice lately and your studies always blow me away. I know you've had some training and I think we both use Procreate, so I'd love to hear about how you use layers and/or layer blend modes, but also general process, thoughts, tips, etc. hope you're well, have a nice day :-)

Thank you so much for the ask and kind words!

I don’t cross promote it as much as I should probably but I upload a lot of speedpaints to YouTube, such as this study that might be helpful. Depending on how complicated the piece is, I’ll either break it down by putting shapes down (typically darks first) or do a more formal sketch if I don’t think I can easily eyeball it. After the sketch, I do an under painting on a layer below the sketch, set the sketch to multiply and then I render everything on one layer. It really depends on the brushes you use, but I prefer to build opacity slowly with a brush that doesn’t blend, lowering and upping the brushes opacity as I see fit. This creates a more complicated, kind of glowy effect that I think works particularly well for skin rendering.

I’ve been exclusively using leatherwood under “artistic” in procreate recently. You have to use a pretty big canvas to make it work (I’m usually working on 8000px+ 300dpi) but I really enjoy some of the unpredictability of the brush, makes things feel more natural. Not sure if I altered the brush at all but if there was a multiply or stabilization on I turn those off always, basically.

As for layer modes, I don’t tend to use them a ton for paintings except maybe for maybe throwing a slight multiply layer to bring tones down if the key gets too high. I’m more likely to mess with curves and color balance to experiment with color. I do this especially for my lined illustrations, I use layer modes also for them too and just go to town trying a bunch of stuff. My tip for this is to duplicate your file, flatten everything, duplicate your flattened layer and just mess with it until it feels right. Color editing to this degree is kind of new to me, but since I’ve begun it’s really upped my game I think.

Before/after color editing. I know sometimes people think of this as a cheating tool in digital art but honestly that is a silly take to me.

I hope this answers some of your more specific questions. Thank you again!

This post is already long as shit so Mr. Haku under the cut