#not the only thing hes blowing by the sounds of it.

[tonycries]

FAST N' FURIOUS!

Synopsis. When he’s furious, he’s fast. And rough.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, angry s, manhandIing, they’re FÉRAL, full neIsons, headIocks, creampíes, cúmplay, GOJO’S POWERS, fíngering, chokíng, spítting, p talking, true form Sukuna, dp, p sIapping, breaking the bed, ratio technique, exhíbitionísm (Geto), rough s, they’re big, dumbíficatíon, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Heheh hope you have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - BACK-BREAKER.

CRACK!

It takes a second for Toji to even register the splintering noise let alone realize that he’d just shattered your bed into almost a thousand pieces. Darkened eyes narrowing- a bad gig today and now this?

“Mmm, Toji–” You’re turning your dazed head back to whimper oh-so-cutely. Lips wobbling as you take in the state of your poor bedsprings, “You broke the- oh!”

And Toji Fushiguro didn’t care.

He didn’t care if your bed was in one piece let alone sagging on one side. And before you can even flutter your teary lashes, you’re finding yourself flatly sprawled on your bedroom floor. Spine arched into a curve, legs smeared open by his strong knee.

“Be good for me, girl.” One of his rough, scarred hands creeps up on your neck to manhandle you still. He spanks his puffy n’ red tip down your core with a dampened pap! Voice fuming, “Your husband’s had a baaad day.”

Wait…husband?

Your poor mouth dangles open to ask what he meant by that- but the only thing sneaking out is a shrill whimper. “Fuh-fuck! Oh my god, why are you so big-”

Because Toji’s sheathing in a few of his hard, solid inches in a single thrust. Barely giving you time to adjust, barely letting you even breathe prior to holding onto your rapidly pulsating throat n’ dragging your body up and down in harsh jerks to meet his. 

“Fuck. Shut up.” He’s channeling out a seething hiss, every one of your sweet sounds made his large, weeping tip twitch. Achingly. “Shut up and take- it-”

It’d been nearly hours now since he’d come back from some mission gone awry n’ taken it out on your poor, sensitive cunt. Now tenderly weeping out every time he furiously pours out another batch of wadded pre. 

Toji’s barely even moving in his usually looong, teasing strikes that have you squirming endlessly. Right now he’s fucking you through the frigidly polished hardwood with rough, pummeling half-thrusts that have his own pelvis burning bright red at the slamming impact. 

And you’re so sensitive from it. 

Sobbing, “B-but it’s so much.”

“Shit- if this pretty pussy can’t take it then no one can, doll.” Toji has the audacity to tilt his head sexily and whistle. The wet underside of his shaft rawly inching deeper to stretch your hole wiiidely. “What is it- want me to beg? S’that it? You want me to beg, mama?”

Whining, his rude restraint on your windpipe grows stronger - and so does his cadence. 

With a grunt he swats his plush balls against your cunt and watches as the contact makes your eyes stupidly whirl. “N-ngh- Toji–!”

“Heh- alright then���please.” Grinning, he’s so mean in the way he’s leaning his muscular body down so that you’re dealing with the brunt of his weight. “Please. Hold those legs up f’me and ngh- let your husband blow off a lil’ steam.” Mockingly, annoyed - but not at you, never at you. “Please.” 

Leisurely, you’re only half-way registering what you’re doing once your hands instinctively dive down to perk the inner part of your thighs up. “Like this?”

“More.”

Struggling. “This?” 

He snickers, “Difficult? Need me to fuck ya into the hah– floor instead?” He already was. Letting him throw your jittery legs onto his shoulders and bending–“Not enough, my wife.”

“Wh-what?!”

“I said…” It’s such a primal mating press right then n’ there on the ground. Your thighs on his deltoids, your ass against his washboard abs. 

Toji pliably uses his inhuman strength to roughen you up all he wanted, the fleshy curves of his muscles flexing as he did. It was so mouth-watering to ogle him - all veins of his neck popping out, pecs tense, temple glittered with a thin line of sweat. Easing inside. Groaning, “-not enough.”

“O-oh mmm–” You’re steadily melting as his rugged length angles a straight whack! against the cute target of cute g-spot. Still so delicately bruised from all those rounds prior. “There! Right- ngh- there, baby–”

So deep and big inside of you now that his cocktip was stretchin’ the areas of your walls until you’re damn near seeing stars. 

Swabbing every slick orifice with his reddened, blushing crown, he’s so far gone that the way you twist your hands into his beefy forearms and claaaw your way down only makes him let off a dopey smile. “Tch- like kitten scratches, mmmm- yeah yeah, try harder, doll.”

Harder. Faster. And it was all because of that damn gig- what that damn Shiu had said…

It feels so raw having him inside you, spank after spank you’re reeling from- easily making a complete mess of you. 

Hiking his naturally sculptured thighs further upwards to press a deep snog against your cervix, you’re feeling the spheroid of his mushroomy tip surface the spongy layer of your womb and you sob. 

“Harder. C’mon now- harder.” Toji bites out at you, the honed points of his canines gleaming with a layer of slobber. He was drooling at the repeatedly squelching music of your hot, dripping pussy now. “Oh, the lil’ kitty’s purring for me now…h-heh. Is she gonna cum—?”

He knew the state of your sweet, syrupy cunt more than you did. 

Because just then you’re feeling the white-hot sparks swimming near your navel, thighs shaking ‘round Toji’s gyration hips. You can only nod and nod and nod, “C-close! Not gonna last…”

“There there, mama.” He flicks the pinkish edge of his tongue over his scarred lips, just the sight of you all wet and leaking over him maddening. Flopping his tastebuds out to taste your salty tear-tracks, “Cum for me.” Before you can utter a word, his free hand spanks down on your weepy cunt and dips a thumb past your slit. Treating your quivering clit like a button- one strike on your pretty nub, one strike to your g-spot. “Cum. Harder now.”

You don’t even realize you do until Toji’s gasping. 

Until he’s grinning, until his painfully rock-hard cock bulges just a few centimeters even bigger at the sight of your mouth gaping in awe. 

Toes curled, mouth flapping, overstimulated to tears. “T-Toji–! Cum…ing…”

Your slick-sprayed thighs plaster to the side of his obliques, front glued to his ladder-like abs as he sliiides down between vicious thrusts. Leaving no room for you to collect your breath. Leaving no room for you to even start thinking again—

“We haven’t broken the floor yet, doll.” Toji rustles his heady breath over your features, feral. “And Shiu’s gonna see what happens when he tries ta flirt with my wife.”

Oh. 

♡ NANAMI KENTO - A reeeal man

You had your mouth gagged with Nanami’s silky yellow tie, your eyes curling to the back of your head. Jittery hands struggling to find purchase anywhere for dear life—“Mmpf, Ken—!”

And you were just so cute with your wet, puffy folds squeezin’ down on him that Nanami has to force himself to tear his hazy irises away from your cunt. “S’alright, my love.” Cooing, one of his fat thumbs darts up to swipe away the line of sparkly drool seeping from your lips. “Don’t wanna be mean. And I- ngh- don’t wanna be too rough, but…”

But he couldn’t help it.

Oh, ever since the moment he woke up in this very hospital bed after fighting that damned curse Mahito- Nanami Kento couldn’t help himself. 

Parched for his dear wife’s pretty pussy when he thought he’d never see you again, he’s just slightly roughened up after Shoko had mended him, as good as new. Able to fuck you as good as new in this sloppy full nelson.

Chiseled pecs heaving, groans claggy. 

“Fuck, darling, you’d be lucky if I don’t eat you alive.”

Whining, your back arches as his rugged hands come sliding underneath your knees to tug them all the way up to your tits. Tight. Rude.

His scorching hot breath hits the side of ear in gusts, “I’m- I’m gonna break you, my wife.” Uttering this just as Nanami’s feet plant firmly flat on the creaky bedsprings to shovel his cock deeper. The utter fuckin’ stress of everything that’d happened during battle only making his reddened, ravaged cock oh-so-merciless. “I’m gonna fuck you so had that m’gonna hafta apologize.”

You swear the round, curving edge of his cocktip only grows harder every time he’s remembering - getting angrier. Furiously pumping between your pussylips, it just feels so good to have your calm, sensible husband take it out on your pussy until the toned area of his pelvis is stinging red. 

“Ngh– mmm- there.” 

And Nanami didn’t know whether he should be proud or shocked at the way that geysering hole of yours only grows wetter. A sticky lather of syrup trickling down his veiny shaft- “You…you like that?”

All you can do is nod- your head falling slightly backwards to hit his strong collarbone, where he takes the opportunity to sweetly kiss the side of your cheek. 

Murmuring - more to himself this time than you. “You want it- rough.”

It all happens at once- in one blink of your dewy eyes. 

Nanami has your whiny throat caught in one of his big, beefy biceps in a headlock. His ankles looped over yours to smear them even further apart, n’ his large, bulbous cock swinging inside so deep.

And you suddenly have your teary cunt stinging with impact, your tastebuds sizzling at the stretch. “I’m r-really gonna break you, my love.” And yet, he just couldn’t stop himself. He’s rovering his hungry shaft with hard, slamming thrusts. “Really, really…”

Slap after slap.

Even though Nanami’s voice was so very gentle with you, his hips were anything but.

As if he’s slowly regaining his cursed strength and ramming every shred of it into swabbing your sloppy orifice. Letting his hip bones dig deeply into the cheeks of your ass, you’re whining. “M-more!”

“More…?”

“More.” Cheeks still stuffed with the length of his tie, you’re hastily trying to spit it out- just to have him push one of his ringed hands over and squeeze your cheeks. Pushing. Holding you still. And Nanami’s sheer cadence is so hard n’ fast that your legs fall further open like they’re completely boneless. “Want you in like mmm- this.”

Like this?

The metallic clinic bedframe creaks as he only picks up his pace, grunting. “Being all- hah-disrespected like this?” Drilling into you like he was crazed- he’s never been so sloppy, so disoriented, so messy with a pool of precum laying over your folds. He spanks his wedding band on your swollen clit and watches as you squirm. “How does it feel like this, huh?” Tugging rudely on that sensitive nub, “Lettin’ me treat that pussy like a little slut?”

It’s like he’s tightening his restraint on your windpipe and asking you into making your shrilling wails. Goading you to.

“P-please-”

“How does it feel? Goood?”

Your maw splashes a polish of drool down his veiny forearm, your head pathetically airy with bloodrush. All you can whimper are tiny ‘yesses’ and ‘please!’

Voice higher-pitched, breaking. “Don’t say things like that.” Cutting off your rapid breaths as he raises his toned spine to rut n’ rut- “Gonna hafta draw you a long-” His thick veins were throbbing at this point, patterning across every inch inside of you. The towering curves of his body frame twitch as he’s feeling the stress seep away from him. “-loooong bath after this- and the deepest- massage.”

You’re so wet that you’re squirting off a few dribbles of syrupy sap and his precum, shiny in the overhead lights. And he breathes, “And another ring- fuck!”

Oh, with his blond brows furrowed and his glassy gaze blurred at the feeling of your sweet, sweet cunt- Nanami doesn’t waste a single second before striking your sensitive g-spot with a slick thwack!

Repeatedly. Accurately, oh-so-hard with his strength that your teeth are on edge. “F-fuck! There-” Your poor hips are starting to run away from the raw impact, but Nanami can’t bear that-

“Come- come back.” Headlock still in place, you’re being hauled back down until the line of his tawny happy trail nuzzles your back. One more thrash of his weepy divot into your g-spot. Two more. Three more. Four- 

And it’s only later that your mind registers the pricking sensation of the charged air around you two. Almost as if your pussydrunk husband was leaking…electricity? No, that couldn’t be. It was more like…

Oh, fuck…your eyes widen. His ratio technique. 

He was out of control- and it seems like Nanami is hit with the very same realization. Gasping sharply, “Oh, darling, you are not going to be walking out of this.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Jury Duty

“Now…I don’t get mad, gorgeous.” Oh, but Geto Suguru was fuming - not because you’d messed up your sneaky lil’ mission to collect data from the sorcerers- no. 

The very memory makes him slide his glistening fingertips down your raw, leaking slit. Letting off the loudest ringing sluuuurp–! once he’s digging between your puffy folds to squeeze your clit. Humming, “But was it quite so necessary to be that…close?”

He was mad because of just how sweetly you were talking to that nameless assistant that’d tried his best to get your number. Oh, if only Geto could’ve taken care of him right then and there. 

“B-but-”

“Was it?” Raising his head, his darkened eyes face your little audience of the rest of his cult members, surrounding the two of you on the tatami mats. “Did you think you could pull a fast one on me?”

Heads bowed, reverent of their leader. Each n’ every one there shivers at his attention- and you don’t even get to hear their answer before he’s kissing his plush lips down the line of your back- holding you firmly still with a hand at your throat once the curve of his cock slips just between your legs. 

You’re whining, “No it wasn’t- please!” 

“Stay.” Voice deep, tone guttural. He’s clinging on with a clawed hand onto the side of your hips, no matter how much you wrestle and thrash and ache for more- you couldn’t move because of his carnal, strong hold. Not a single inch.

“He was just hck! being nice.”

“And now you can’t stop talking about him, gorgeous?” And Geto knows he’s being unfair. He knows he’s being mean. But the way you just turned so slippery n’ wet once he’s spanking the entrance to your cunt with his reddened, blushing tip makes him only grin. “Guess you’ll just get to talk out of her.”

Geto was silently seething, watching the way your spit-stuck mouth hangs faaaar ajar with every solid inch he slips inside. Sensually, slow enough that your thighs twitch and you can’t do anything but whine once he’s holding you still to rub the fat of his veins against your sweetest spots. Over and over.

“H-heh-” Something in his voice cracks. “Don’t think she even deserves this. Now, do we think she deserves my entire fucking cock, hm—?”

Oh, the low purr in his voice makes both you and the cult shiver- and your popped ears catch a few stray agreements. Geto’s answering tone low in your ear, “You’re lucky they’re being nice~”

But he wasn’t - and before you know it, your boyfriend has one thigh hiked to help take you from behind. The spheroid of his mushroomed tip flared and red-hot lodging straight into your cervix as he sinks in, pushing and pushing and pushing.

He gasps at the slight resistance of your tight hole, “Take it.” Honed fangs snarling, partially-closed eyes locked onto the way slick was gluing your pussylips all sweet n’ together. Your mouth drops as you stare over your shoulder and wonder whether he was even talking to you. 

Because his low, breathy tone made it sound like Geto was babbling like never before. 

Spitting straight down the glittery slope of your slit so that you whimper. “Can’t hear you, pretty baby. Speak up.”

“Suguru–” Your mouth huffs out, lower lip pushing into a pout. Your eyes criss-cross stupidly once he flinches at the sound of his name on your tastebuds and strikes the spongy layer of your g-spot dead-on- as if it’d just electrocuted him. Slapping down two hands on the side of your hips to haul you deeper down his bludgeoning, split-ended crown. He probes a circular bruise into you, “O-ohhh mmm- s’in so deep-”

“And who said you could speak, gorgeous?”

You’re letting off a whiny shrill, questions building up on your tastebuds. Only for Geto to beat you to it and thwack! his meaty cockhead repeatedly against the splotch of your g-spot until you can’t speak.

Tilting his head towards your spectators with a grin, “Right~? I didn’t say hah- she couldn’t speak, right?” Seemingly nodding, you could feel him lean his weight further down into the base of your spine, pinning you down. “So shut up and take- it-” Punctuating his words with stiff jackhammers that blow your mind. “Let this filthy hole be the one ngh- talking t’me- she’s muuuuch sweeter than you.”

As if he’d just planned it, his flared slit snags on the quivering entrance to your pussy and makes such a saccharine squelch! 

“Heh…when she’s not swallowing my fat fucking cock, that is.”

So vulgar. 

You’ve never seen him like this- you’ve never had him like this. 

Fucking you so deeply into the futon that you’re half-sure the pattern of the tatami below would still be on your front by tomorrow. He wasn’t just pounding away, though-  it was hard, precise mazings of his slimy shaft that drove you the most mad. Geto spanks his hips down until it gives a good pummel against your g-spot and wonders whether it might’ve bruised. 

“B-but-” Just barely managing to get out of your drivelling mouth before two of his arms loop underneath your own and hoist you halfway upwards. Held up only by his big, beefy biceps, splayed out like such a slut. 

He sags his pretty face into the crook of your neck, still driving his hips until the fuzz of his happy trail was scratching you raw. “Still talking, gorgeous?”

“But- wanna-”

“Wanna? Hmmmm…” For a second, Geto looks as if he might just as the rest of his association whether or not you deserved to. And for a second, you expect him to.

But it happens all at once- his wrist reaching out to tilt back your woozy head, his rosy lips puckering, spitting a wadded stream of saliva straight into your half-open mouth. 

He’s wrenching shut your jaw and making you swallow—“Clean that mouth out. Talking to hah- bastards.” Absolutely no shame, absolutely no disgust in the way he plants a lecherous slide of his tongue down in a French kiss. Fuck. “Mmm- now you’re mine. Say ‘thank you’, my girl.”

The sheer girth of his length already has you blubbering, mouth moving before your mind. He’s stirring up your insides n’ every ridge until you mewl, “Th-thank you.”

“Good—” The very same hand that was latched onto your jaw now moves to your cheeks, squishin’ them into an embarrassing pout as Geto makes you stare straight at the sprawling audience you two have. Heady. “Now…ask them if you deserve to cum.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Fuck.”

It’s just about the only thing that your poor, twitching boyfriend can say right now.

And as he bruises a roughened hold upon each side of your bouncing hips, echoing in a pant. “F-fuck!” Baritone cracking into something high, he throws his head back into the cushy pillows and ruts just as far as his spine could curvaceously arch. 

Mahogany eyes fluttering shut, teary lashes touching his cheek.

It takes the soft, fleeting caress of your fingers gliding across his bangs for Choso to even register that he should open his eyes. And you coo out in a gentle voice, “Is everything alright, baby–?”

“Yes-” Breath hitching, he’s almost immediately back-tracking his answer when your dewy wet folds try to clench ‘round his girth. And the very feeling makes him once more sloppily thrust- “No.” You smile as Choso’s plush lower lips fall into a pout, “N-no teasing, baby.”

Oh, there was something so primal about the way that Choso’s saying it. 

Like he’s burning up with red, hot power sizzling underneath his skin. You’re pulling on his hair when he whacks your cervix once and the only thing he can keen is a low–“Harder.” Harder. “No- harder.”

It just isn’t enough, some carnal part of him thinks it might never be enough.

And the only thing that the half-curse can do is channel out a few harder hits, feeling his heart race at how that constant ramming of skin on your skin makes his v-line sting. 

“Fuck- nghh-” Your eyes scrunch shut with a few pearly tears at the sultry sensation. Never ever has your boyfriend pounded into you like this, never has he held your drooling cunt hostage while he shoveled his length from the very tip-top of his strawberry divot, bottoming out until he physically can’t anymore. “So good mmm, feels so good, Cho.”

“Yeah? Yeah?” Watching as your puffy core starts squirtin’ out a few sleek ribbons of slick, Choso crinkles his nose and all but begs. “Can- can I go harder then, baby? Please?”

Oh?

He’s never the first to ask to go harder- usually, you are. 

And that itself is enough to get you nodding stupidly, your glassy peripherals swirling in unison with his veiny shaft. Stirring in a slight curving gyration inside of your gummy walls before he pulls out and slams all the way back in. Methodical and mean.

“Fuck-” His flared mushroom tip hits the side of your g-spot and Choso drools. “M’not gonna hck! make it out of this alive. What…what is this feeling-”

Before you can even think of answering, he plants his feet firmly flat on the floor and uses the sinful leverage to slide you upwards on his hips. The feeling of your perky clit gliding down his happy trail making the man hiss—Reaching upwards, eyes dilated. “Feels like m’gonna eat you alive.”

Oh…you had an idea what it was.

Something about putting his cursed energy into overdrive during a mission today. And you’re sure that your dear, inexperienced boyfriend was simply stressed from the day.

Unsure how to take it out. Unsure how to do anything but flinch once you’re opening your sweet maw to shrill a few teasing words. “Awww– seemed like you’re under some ngh- stress, baby. Want me to take care of that for you?”

“I said no fucking- teasing-” 

Choso looks as shocked as you at those words - apologies ripe on his tongue, cherry-pink lips wobbling adorably as he tries to reel it back in- Only for the weepy hole on top of his swollen crown to pour out a generous load of wadded pre, striking right into the very back of your pussy.

Going harder. Sloppier. And he’s so big that every second has your chin glitter with bubbles of spit.

“O-oh.” And he’s sucking in a shallow breath as if he’d just had an epiphany. Dark brows knitting together, the crevice of his damp mouth opens up to let his pinkish tongue peek through. Carefully grazing his thumb down that lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you, “You’re gonna take me like- like a good girl.”

Fuck- you’re so wet by now that the bottom half of his abs were polished with a glittery sheen. Making it sooo much easier for him to slip n’ slide you with his manhandling arms. “A good- ngh-” 

“Yeeeeah, exactly that.” And he looks so drunk on that little sentence, a dopey smile playing along his mouth once he presses down on that bumpy, cylindrical outline. Giggling, “H-heh, my good girl. You’re gonna take me, aren’t you, my baby?”

Hands clawing onto the plush curves of his deltoids, you can only throw your head back and let yourself be moved. “Yeah- go on. Have your fun, Cho—”

“My fun. My fun.” Almost as if he couldn’t believe it. The buzz of his powers going into overdrive makes his long, sensitive shaft even more sensitive, rovering down your ridged walls so fast that his delicate veins start throbbing. “That means…I can bend you like this-”

His right hand, so loving n’ soft on your hips- starts arching you back, back, back back- until every ramming kiss of his glazed tip stirs your insides fully.

Until he’s staring at that tummy bulge and watching with such heart eyes, “And- and I can fuck you like this-” Not only were his hips rutting up animalistically, his strong, beefy arms were flexing upon your sides and making you bounce. Milking him. Slouching his toned upper body over to bite on the crook of your neck, “And I can bite-”

With his honed canines nibbling down on your heated skin, Choso’s mouth departs with cracked whimpers every time his tender slit was rubbin’ up on the side of your cervix. 

“Please- ngh- please please please-” You’re throwing your head back as his ruby-red tip starts to twitch. Ferally. Every time he slides his velvety length through your walls, he’s striking hard enough that both of you see stars. 

And Choso grins–“Can be all r-rough- and this pussy’s still mine.”

So it only made sense that he was going to cream himself inside like it. Like you owned him, he’s circling your hips in a wide semi-circle that makes his veins snag all over the insides of your cunt. Lecherous. Loud. 

Choso just can’t stop whining with every splat! of salty white cum that sprays out into your pussy, “Gonna do this again.” Not even slowing. Not even faltering. His pulsating cock is just so big that you can’t even spill all over, just sheathing him in a layer of syrupy white. “Gotta- have to.”

Mewling, “Yes— please- make me cum, baby.”

“Hmm—” And fuck- you’d nearly forgotten just how strong he was. Because in a matter of mere sultry moments, you’re being bent forwards with a powerful hand at your throat. “Only if you spit in my mouth.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - TRUE true form!

Ryomen Sukuna was big - so big that every smash of his dual, blushing tips made you throw your head back and see stars. 

And his arms weren’t letting you off easy, either. All four of his bulbous, beefy biceps flexed once he kept his hold on either side of your body- damn near holding you off of the bed in midair as he fucked you like he hated you. 

“P-please, how are you so hck! big, Kuna?” You’re whining, your chin splashing with a syrupy bout of saliva. And every tiny twitch of your boneless hips left his bludgeoning shafts travelling straight to the bottom of your pussy. 

“P-P-please-” He’s mocking, gruff voice clinging onto the back of your neck like adhesive. You’re just on all fours and shaking like a leaf- “S’that any way to talk to your hah- king, little human?”

“Nooo- but…” 

“Shut up and take it then- heh.” Legs boneless, every ricket! of the mattress leaves you wincing at the recoil of his hips. Ramming into yours so hard that you’re sure you have bruises now- his thighs on your own, his abs on your spine, his twin cockheads on the entrance to your womb.

And you have nothing more to say, every other end of your sentence smashed up every time he’d wetly plastering your cervix with a layer of pre. It was so hot n’ hard having him filling up your every tender orifice. “It’s so rough.”

And what else did you even expect?

Cutely asking him not to destroy a few souls- tch, of course he was pent up. Of course, he was seething and taking out every shred of it by clawing down the base of your spine and pushing n’ pushing. 

Bottomed out but still half-rutting like it would kill him if you didn’t take any more. 

Each lil’ clench of your bubblegum pussy making his black, clawing nails only surge, his muscles ripple even bigger, fangs growing-

“Haaa? What? You want me ta be gentle?” Sukuna purrs, low. And you’re whimpering once you feel the slimy tip of what felt like his second tongue sliiiide down your stuffed slit. “Your king will show you ‘gentle’, brat.”

Mewling, each spank of the velvety underside of his cursed tongue leaves you jolting. Purposefully dragging over his textured tastebuds just so that he could taste every syrupy ounce of you. 

And not even clinging onto the aged headboard of the bed and squirming could get him to let up. 

Could get him to move even a single inch when he’s alternating between rude bangs of his matching plump crowns into your cervix, and then a glutinous flick of his tongue. Again and again, he was letting it alllll out on you until you’re all bruised and battered on the gooey ends of your pussy.

Sukuna’s only holding you to his broad pecs with two of his hands, the other two drifting down to smear your sheeny thighs open. So, so wide but his toned hips were so bulky that stretchin’ round him made your hamstrings ache.

“You won’t let me fuuuck- consume humans and now you won’t let me consume this?” Both mouths drooling, he greedily gazes at the way each single whack! of his breeder balls leaves your cunt hole trembling n’ geysering. He spits, molten hot irritation. “Spoiled brat…I’m starved.”

“Can’t- hck! can’t help it- it’s so much-”

Spank after spank, he slots his second mouth in a steamy French kiss just where your cunt was quivering with delight. Every geysering slosh of sap streaming down to his greedy throat- “Yeah? Sayin’ that when yer making such a ngh- mess?”

And you were just slobbering everywhere, painting a translucent little puddle underneath you that he’s eagerly lapping up. Probin’ oh-so-stupidly deep that you can only babble, “Y-yes?”

“Tch.”

Oh. Oh. 

That sinful little answer of yours makes the King’s tattooed body erupt in goosebumps. And you swear you’re feeling the weight of him press you into the bedsprings even deeper. So feverish, so hot that you blearily snap your head around and drink in the sight of Ryomen Sukuna with horns.

Red, jagged and long. 

His true form.

And it was so unfairly sexy, glinting canines snapping at the tendons of your throat. “And ya think you deserve to be messy, hm?” Grinning in such a gone way, he tilts his head as he presses down on the edge of your spine with one knee. Drilling into you like he’s crazed. Out of control. “Think you deserve more?”

“Mmm- can feel you both inside- ngh, both-”

Something in his glowing, crimson eyes was dark- primal. And it was boring at you dead-on once Sukuna splays an open palm of his in front of your face and croons—“Prove it t’me. Spit.”

Your glossy, puckered lips curve into a pout, starin’ at that opened palm of his straight ahead underneath you. Saliva already dribbling down each side of your twitching lips, like he was spearheading you from the other side and pushing it out. You spit-

Only for Sukuna’s second mouth to manifest right at that very split-second on his palm, so that you’re spitting in there instead. “Filthy thing.” And as that great glittery glob disappears between his cursed lips, you don’t know whether he’s talking to you or his mouth. “Want more then, huh?”

And, truthfully, he doesn’t even know if you can handle it.

Doesn’t know if your stretched-out cunt can take any more with his mushy tongue trying to pry apart your core even further. But he wasn’t feeling any ounce of mercy.

Trying to fill you up so much that you’ll be able to feel it even weeks from now, Sukuna’s lengthy nails leave marks all over your waist as he hoists you up even more. Hissing at the way your fingers reach up to graze just the base of his draconic horns.

And the King blushes, he gasps. 

“You- you vicious fuckin’ woman.”

You’d just made Ryomen Sukuna stutter. 

The roughened thrust that comes next so hard that your eyes are swirling cartoonishly, arms aching where you yearn to touch that part of his true true form. 

Holding on while he pounds you like he’s pressing you in to the royal silk sheets, the flatness of his tongue smacks down on the crevice of your pussy. Slipping inside- a third intrusion—“Now you’re really in for it, lil’ human.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - Got milk(ed)?

“This is what you make me, pretty.” And Ino’s tugging whatever’s left of his damn ski mask, he’s bending your legs firmly into a mating press with natural toned strength you didn’t even know he had. “And this is how you’re going to get hah! fucked.” 

And just one swipe of his cute, pre-glazed tip would be enough for your boyfriend to be salivating at the mouth. Lips twitching with eagerness as he sinks his heavy shaft inside.

But right now?

Oh, right now he wasn’t even sensually slowing down to listen to your pretty trilling moans. He’s not going easy on you, he’s doing nothing but sheathing his prolonged length whole in a way that makes your woozy eyes tear up.

Lips speckling with drivelling spit as you whine, “Shit-” The doughy heels of your feet find purchase on his slender shoulders, unsure whether you wanted to push or have him stretch you out more more more- “Shit- you’re so big.”

“Gonna cry about it?” He smirks- meanly. And where the hell was your sweet, innocent boyfriend? 

The Ino right now was just spanking down a few of his thoroughly ringed digits on your soppy slit, leaving you n’ your quivering cunt seeing stars at the sensation. Stirrin’ around the rotund, bawling edge of his pink crown until he manages to bully all the way into the back of your pussy. 

Just barely managing to open your mouth, “O-oh my god- Taku, it feels so- oh!”

“Whaaat–?” And shit- the way his straight nosebridge was crinkling was sexy, looking at you through hazily half-lidded eyes that told you he wanted to devour you whole. “Look at her- just look.”

Ino lets his knobbly fingertips glissade down your folds and latches onto the button of your clit just enough to pull-pull-puuull. Low, gentle voice tinged with something so raspy as he groans, “M’being so meeean to her, making her cry n’ she’ll still mmm- sucking me in, sweetness.”

Truly, you were just so wet that your oversaturated walls were gulping down his every solid inch like you were starved. Filling up every orifice and cranny with his hot, heavy length- “B-because it’s just so good.”

“Is it—?” Ino sighs out, airy and flushed. For merely a split-second before he’s snapping out of it and promptly kneeing apart the insides of your thighs. 

Bed creaking in protest when he reels his lean hips back to bring them down with a ringing smack! It’s so loud that it makes Ino’s pelvis sting, his chestnut lashes wring with tears, and he has to gnaw down on his lush lower lip to bite back a few broken whimpers. “Fuck- fuck, don’t you dare make me all pathetic, pretty.”

Mewling, one of his slender hands comes to push your cheeks together in a pathetic lil’ pout. The edges of his frigid rings lacquering with your spit- and the other keeps slithering right between your legs. 

Not only was he toying with your clit now - he was circlin’ your cute, rubbery hole. Long middle finger scratching your outer entrance with his bands of metal before shoving its way inside-

“S-still taking me.” And for a lecherous moment there it almost sounds as if he’s just lost himself, it almost sounds like he’s breaking. Before shaking the tawny bangs out of his eyes and snarling down a feral grin. “Pretty hole’s takin’ all of me- wonder if you can take ngh- more, sweetness.”

“Sh-shiiiit–!” Your hands claw red, red lines all down Ino’s sculptured back when you feel the probing push of yet another one of his fingers.

Already stuffed to the brim with his sleek, pummeling cock - and now here he was thrusting in a sloppy cadence of whack-whacking your cervix with his bulbously swabbing tip and tormenting your g-spot with the glides of his digits. 

They’re agonizing when they’re stimulating you at the same time, and the only thing you can do is throw your head back and listen to the noisy squelches and slurps. Moaning, you claw at his dextrous wrist as he spanks a third fingerpad on your slope. “Another- oh, fuck!”

Pushing and pushing

Ino groans huskily at the snug resistance when all three of his fingers can’t poke around- brows scrunching, tongue sticking out.

He looked drunk and gone by the time he’s hissing out a sharp breath and flipping the two of you over. And oh- oh, this position was ideal.

Because not only did it give him the heavenly view of your thighs spread all open n’ straddling his hips to ride him- but it also let him dip his creamy fingers down and rub them all over your geysering cunt. Bullying them the entire way inside up to his mountainous knuckles because enough is never enough.

“Fuck- oh.” Ino tumbles his head back once he’s hearing the sappy plop! of your dripping pussy gobbling up his second finger. Entire body twitching at the feeling of his chilly ring digging in- “Pretty, pretty- I can’t do this anymore I hck! need it—”

Your lips quirk up into a smug smile, hips hitting down with a slam of clammy skin sticking onto skin. And he can only half-rut, savage and angrily pumping his cock. “Aww, already, Taku?”

“Yes. Yes.” He’s begging by now. Pleading. This little roleplay you’d begun, now starting to completely switch when he had you on top like this ready to milk his swollen, reddened cock dry. 

Such a pretty coral pink at his tip, and it matches the innocent blush on Ino’s hollow cheeks once he’s guiding one of your hands up to choke him. Gurgling out, “I want you to be angry at me now, sweetness.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Mercy.

“Th-this is where you’re weak, right?”

And the strongest’s voice cracks. 

Gojo utters out a rough breath as he catches his thumb on that designer blindfold of his dangling ‘round your neck and plasters you against his tensely glissading abs. The tip of his cock driving between your wet, aching folds, he’s jerking you up just enough to push his reddish crown into your g-spot with a splat!

“O-oh please mmmm–” Your mouth parts with a ribbon of sleek spit, tumbling out in a heap into the pillow lodged underneath your face. “There- right there, Satoru!”

“There- there.” You’re hearing him raspily utter from behind, each pant higher and more broken than the last. With your back arched oh-so-deliciously, he’s hiking up one of his meaty thighs to pin to the side of your hips and pump even deeper- “There?”

Oh, he knew it was there.

He’s rubbin’ his swollen, veiny shaft all over your sweetest areas like a massage. He was mean. And you’re crying out the cutest lil’ whines that only make him bite back a sleazy grin. “Such a good, tight pussy takin’ me- h-heh, so good taking me, sweetheart. So good…”

“S-so rough.” Your hazy peripherals whirl in circles ‘round the whites of your eyes, brows scrunching with every thwack! of his honed, chiseled v-line striking the cheeks of your ass. “It’s so much- ngh.”

And the only response that Gojo’s overheated body can think of is to twist his large fingers into the jostling fabric at your neck to pull you further backwards. Your breath stutters damply, chest heaving. 

He didn’t care. He was going hard. Hissing swiftly in your ear, “If you think this is too much maybe I should knock you up then, my wife.” Something in the cloyingly sticky air crackles - power, raw need - as he snickers to himself. “Should I—? Should I knock you up like they say?”

They: those damn elders.

He wasn’t just irritated after that ambushed meeting on damn Gojo heirs - he was furious. 

The very reason that Gojo hadn’t made two steps past the door to your shared penthouse before he’s practically dragging you to the bedroom. Shoving his heavy, aching cock inside until you were full, full, full-

“M-maybe you should.” You’re blubbering out through the primal mewls ripping through your throat, just another one of his jackhammers rendering you stupid. Almost instant the way he slimily grazes his bulbous tip down to whack the entrance of your cunt.

And Gojo seethes— cheeks angrily ruddied, spit flying in glittery flecks. “I should?” 

“Yes mmm- please.”

“I…should?”

It’s not a question - it’s a realization.

The clammy pads of his fingers shake unstably, his touch zaps you with cursed energy, movements sensually languid- almost like Gojo doesn’t even register what his hefty body is doing right now. Almost like he doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s toeing his left foot upwards to plant it down on the crown of your scalp until he’s looking down at his pretty, pathetically drooling wife and gasping.

“Oh. Oh.” The red n’ full cock speared inside of you twitches, so big that he swabs all your each sultry, shrouded nook and cranny . “You don’t know how haaah- badly it pissed me off, my girl. Wanted to purple hollow all those fuckers.” 

Your hands fist the silk of the pillowcase now sticking to you like adhesive, hips squirming restlessly- he was so fast that the back of your ass was raw with the texture of his pale happy trail. “Wh-what did?”

“Hearin’ them talk about an heir. Hearin’ them talk about you ngh- pregnant.” He snarls, heel pressing down with slight force that makes all the blood rush from your melty mind straight down to your dripping pussy. He’s fucking you like he hates you. “When really I’m your husband-”

As he speaks, the slick curve of his cockhead snags on your bundle of nerves. Your husband’s Six Eyes working overtime when he’s watching - mouth ajar, gaze half-lidded - as his lengthy shaft impales your gummy walls and drives riiiight into your womb. Precisely.

Gojo blushes at the x-ray vision, “-and I get to make my wife pregnant when she wants.”

They wanted a Gojo heir, they’re going to get one.

With your thighs shaking, breaths heaving- before you know it, he’s timing a direct three hits from your cute lil’ g-spot n’ barreling straight into your womb. And it makes you cum. 

Long, vein-covered length barely even pulling out - Gojo feels your walls clench around his thick girth and he’s only half-rutting.

“That’s it- that’s it that’s it that’s it-” You can hear the pure crazed smile in his husked tone, the edges of his rosy lips twisting with every adorably pulsing ba-thump! of your cunt. Faster. Harder. He was wincing with each recoil of his sloppy strokes, unable to even bear being separated from the syrupy depths of your pussy. “Take it- take it like good girl-”

“I-it’s shoooo—” Left so helpless by the merciless way he was pounding you through your high, your mouth was slurring out bubbles of spittle after each second strike. “-so much- hck! So much.”

“More. Yeah, you’re gonna take more, my girl.” He can’t help but memorize the shocked lines of your face and giggle. Octaves higher. Movements filthier. Running a hand down to toy with your clit, “You’re gonna be filled up to the briiim.”

And usually Gojo would’ve rubbed the soft, velvety tips of his fingers on your sensitive nub in hearts. Maybe even his name, teasingly. Usually. 

But he didn’t have the patience for that right now.

Right now, he was twisting his touch onto where you were most swollen and pinching your clit. Hard. Power sparking like some lewd bullet vibrator. 

All that it takes for him to throw his head back and finish off in such a raw, primal way all up inside of your cunt. And you’re not even sure if Gojo registers it - whether he even feels himself cum, because he’s still drilling away like he’s addicted. 

Bed dipping at the force of his blows, sheets staining pure white with the slippery sheen of seed that glues down your thighs. Toes curling, it’s only when you’re sniffling back a tear of overstimulation that Gojo snaps his head down to catch the pearly ribbon of cum escaping your geysering folds—“Need to get you pregnant. Need to- more.”

“What?”

You’re so wet that it feels like a damn waterfall down there, and your husband only glides his knobbly thumb down to plug every sappy, ivory ounce back into your hole. “More, my girl.” 

The air bristles with charged atoms as he swerves his slender hips just right to push the knotted cobwebs of cum accurately against your womb. Every part of him charged, every part of him still powerful and fuming. 

Whining, your knees buckle as if you were unsure whether you wanted to run or hit your hips back. Again and again.

And Gojo’s voice still shakes as he clings a hand onto the side of your birthing hips to manhandle you further down to him. Unable to escape. “You didn’t think you’re h-heh- getting off easy…mama?”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Mrs. CEO

“I have never seen a CEO this clumsy-” Higuruma’s deep, drawling voice speaks over the haze of your nth high of the night. Thin lips twitching as he takes in the sight of you sprawled on top of your own office desk, shuffling over so many important documents. “-ma’am.”

But oh, he couldn’t go easy on you just yet. Not when you had so much work to do.

And it’s why he’s shuffling his polished shoes further in a step backwards, tongue flicking out to lick his lips as he smeeears the layer of his cum sticking to your cunt like glue. 

Grumbling, “Forgetting the most important hah- meeting of the day. I should report you.” Formal office pants still on, the dangling metal piece of his belt kisses the right cheek of your ass and makes you hiss. Rubbing your gummy walls raw on the slick, winding patterns of his veins. 

And it’s just so wet with all your sappy syrupy and his, travelling down to where you’re rubbing your thighs together. “Are you complaining, hm?” 

Spank! Spank! Spank! 

Three exact swats of his rude hands slamming down on the teary crevice of your slit, Higuruma makes sure to angle his strikes just right so that he can feel the way your clit just quivers. “Watch that pretty mouth, angel.”

And he’s moving so agonizingly, just torturing you with the curve of his mushroomy tip bulldozing straight near your g-spot. 

Never quite hitting it, never quite missing. 

Right up until you throw your head back with a wail and keen–“Please.” Swervin’ your hips back in lecherous figure eights that damn near gets the man above you hypnotized. “M’sorry, Hiromi.”

Spank! 

A hand on your throat- “No, you’re not.” One more to pinch n’ tug on your oversensitive clit until you feel all raw, you’re seeing stars every time he rolls his hips to play with your dripping pussy just right. 

“You n’ this filthy hole need me to ngh- finally fuck some sense into you, riiight–? Finally stop that pretty lil’ head from being filled with just cock?”

You don’t know if you’re nodding, you don’t know if you’re sobbing- but before you can register it, Higuruma’s hiking his capped knee up onto the desk so hard that it rattles. Nearly stepping on the base of your spine just to arch you perfectly.

Whining, “O-ohhh mm- jus’ that deep.” The new angle makes him stretch you open so wide that every splash of buttery white cum slips out of your entrance like a waterfall. Your pussy struggling to suck in his sheer size into your hot insides, “Fuck me- oh, yes, fuck me.”

“S’what I’m doing, silly angel.” The vice-like restraint on your throat is mean, and Higuruma’s tone is even meaner. Cooing- but he’s dragging you by the neck upwards to look directly into his eyes as he sliiiides his lengthy, scorching cock inside and out. “Or are you already that ngh- stupid on my cock, hm?”

So deep, so fat that he can’t even help if the vein-covered sides of his shaft brush up against your sweetest spots by mistake. 

Hips papping back into his, “More.” Cloying layers of seed saturate your innards so much, and you’re so sensitive that every honed thrust makes your knees weaken. “S’more, Hiro, c’mon.”

And the worst part was that your personal assistant’s pinning you with his weight and holding you there to watch you struggling and squirm. Slimy, erect cockhead driving right into the target of your lil’ nerves like he’s addicted to that very spot, “You’ll take what you’re given.” He tilts his head with a smile, “Why don’tcha get some work done, sugar?”

Oh.

You could barely even pick up the pen let alone sign off on important contracts like you were supposed to be doing right now.  

And yet, every time your poor, boneless wrist showed signs of faltering, Higuruma would grit his teeth and painfully slow down his cadence. Each time he lazily rubs just the large, rotund curve of his cocktip on your g-spot, watching as you jerk your hips back for more-

Spank! Spank! 

Massaging two direct swats on the flooded slope of your pussy, “Fuck! This tight little hole really can’t stay that hck! long without me?” Loosening his tie still on him, “She’s even worse than you, angel.”

And he’s milking himself on you- punishing your cunt with the most lecherous drags of his sloppy shaft. Each time you feel him enter past the door to your womb, you can only throw your head back and bite down on the velvety fabric of his damn office tie. 

“H-hck! Please- gonna—” Muffled, your handwriting’s gone astray on whatever document it is by now. “So close-”

Tapping his chin as he pretends to think, “Hm, I’ll let you cum-” And before a gorgeous smile could even start to light up your face, before you can even breathe, Higuruma’s crowning your sweaty scalp with one hand and pushing you to further lay on the mahogany desk. Drooling in such a heaping puddle right then n’ there, “If you can use those fuck! awful manners n’ say ‘please’...”

“Please.”

“Louder.”

“Please-”

Purring, “Can’t hear you, ma’am—”

And you were so far gone that your irises are turning clockwise in circles inside of your eyes, mouth overspilling with a glittered polish of drool and whimpers. 

You thrash your hips up higher on the table, “Please-” Batting your lashes just how you knew he was weak for. “Pretty please, baby.”

Oh- that did it.

That did it.

Because with a final one-two-three more vulgar strokes pumped into your puffy, sopping wet pussy, it isn’t just you hitting your high - it’s Higuruma, too. 

Your stern, sensible personal assistant who slams the chiseled upper half of his body the minute he feels your melty walls clenching and heaves. Meaty quads shaking with every wiry ribbon of cum he departs, letting the goopy mess fill up your cunt to the maximum.

Gasping- “Fuck, look what you did. L-look.”

And for a second you’re so disoriented by your own white-hot flashes of bliss that you barely even hear what he’s saying. In your own little reverie until you’re hit with a spraying splat! of something near your shoulder. 

Blinking, you’re turning behind you and noticing that Higuruma Hiromi was crying tears of overstimulation. 

Crying. 

“S’all your fault, angel.” Your thighs quake with each bout of your high, and just that tiny squeezing motion was enough for him to bead out another thin trail of tears. Milking himself. Your pussy’s holding him hostage until he’s nearly dry, only wrenchin’ out a few pearly knots of seed. Emptied out. 

So lazy and feverishly drunk that he reaches over to softly kiss the matching wedding ring on your hand, “Next time you’re not missing another meeting with me, my wife.”

A/N. OO I NEEDA WRITE HIGURUMA’S ONE LONGER

Plagiarism not authorized.

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Eight

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — The sports day scene really had me in my feels omg.

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

The grass on the main field had been freshly mowed into lines, each one crooked enough to be noticeable. A cluster of teachers stood around with clipboards and stopwatches like they were auditioning for the Olympics, and the school's ancient PA system was making increasingly desperate attempts to stay audible over the wind.

Sports Day at Haileybury was not, as Harper had once assumed, a low-stakes afternoon of novelty races and post-Pimm's bruises. It was a full-scale military operation.

There were tents — tents, plural — each year had their own, flapping slightly in the breeze like they were preparing for battle. Some parents had actually brought champagne in coolers. A drone buzzed overhead. There was a pony somewhere. No one knew why.

Harper stood on the sidelines. It was March now, and at twenty-weeks, there was no hiding the fact that she was pregnant. Unlike the others, who were in their P.E kits, she was in her usual uniform. Blazer, white shirt, plaid skirt, white knee-socks, and black Mary Jane shoes.

She had a whistle on a string around her neck, which she kept fiddling with.

Oscar had insisted she be starter for the boys' 400m. "You'll get the best view," he'd said with a grin, "and you don't even have to run."

Which was, frankly, ideal.

Sam was already moaning. He'd been forcibly signed up for hurdles after one of the Year 11s sprained their ankle falling off a climbing wall during warm-up.

"I'm gonna clip every single one," he declared, stretching dramatically. "I'm gonna eat turf in front of all these people. You're all going to laugh. I'm going to die. This is my legacy."

"Can't be worse than last year," Alfie said, lying facedown on a picnic blanket. "Remember when Jane bit it in the egg-and-spoon and still won?"

"I tripped!" Jane snapped. "And I powered through."

"You ate half the grass on the pitch," Matt said cheerfully.

"Whatever," she muttered. "Still beat all of your times, didn't I? Fucking idiots."

Oscar was off stretching with the other Year 11 and 12 boys, already wearing his signature smug-athlete expression. He lived for this day. Being good at things in front of a crowd was practically his love language.

Harper watched him jog past, the back of his shirt clinging to him just slightly, and felt her cheeks warm. He caught her eye and winked.

"God, you're pathetic," Jane muttered beside her. "You've got that face."

"What face?"

"The 'my super hot Australian boyfriend is about to lap the entire field and I'm sooo going to kiss him afterwards' face."

Harper smirked. "It's a good face."

"I'm revolted."

The PA system crackled again. "Year Eleven boys, to the starting line for the 400 metres, please. Starter, take your position."

Harper shuffled over to the line, earning a round of polite applause just for existing — or possibly because someone mistook her for a teacher.

"Is she blowing the whistle?" A parent whispered nearby.

"She's pregnant, darling. That doesn't make her a criminal," the other replied. "Besides, didn't your Francesca have her little boy when she was here? Fourteen, wasn't she?"

Oscar and the other boys lined up — all long legs, cocky grins, tracksuit bottoms in various stages of removal. One of them started doing the Mobot ironically.

Alfie was muttering what sounded like a prayer. Sam just looked like he was going to throw up.

Harper raised the whistle to her lips and gave Oscar one last lingering look. He gave her a thumbs up. She rolled her eyes, but smiled.

Then she blew the whistle as hard as she could.

And they were off.

Oscar tore down the lane like he'd been fired out of a cannon. Jane whooped. Someone else shouted, "Go on, Whitaker!" and Alfie immediately collapsed onto Harper's chair, dramatically fanning himself.

"G'won Piastri! Bloody run!" Jane screamed.

"Thank Christ I wasn't signed up for that," he said. "Look at your boyfriend's calves. They're like weapons. I'm not built for violence. Or physical exercise.

Harper didn't answer. She was too busy watching Oscar absolutely demolish the field.

He was three body-lengths ahead by the final curve. By the time he crossed the finish line, the next closest runner was still negotiating the last 50 metres.

Oscar skidded to a stop, hands on his head, chest heaving — and then pointed straight at her like a footballer scoring a goal.

Jane stopped cheering in order to gag. "He's so in love with you, it's disgusting," she said. "Please don't shag him behind the scoreboard. This is a family event."

"I'm pregnant," Harper said with a grin. "That makes us a family, doesn't it?"

Jane laughed.

Sam limped over, trailing after Oscar. "Did you see me trip?" He asked. "We're not talking about it. Okay? I'm just putting it out there that the field obviously wasn't flattened enough."

Oscar came jogging back over, red-faced and sweaty. He didn't even pause — just leaned in and kissed Harper full on the mouth like it was the finish line itself.

A few teachers grumbled unhappily. Parents whispered. Their mates hollered and whistled.

"You blew the whistle beautifully," he told her solemnly.

"I'm a natural," she replied, breathless with laughter.

"And I smoked all of them."

"You're a show-off."

"I'm a winner."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that, Piastri. I've seen your trophies."

"I'm gonna kiss you again."

"You're sweaty." She complained.

"Don't care."

And then he kissed her again.

Behind them, the sack race began with someone falling over immediately and landing in a cone. A boy from Year 9 started crying when he got hit by a flying beanbag. There was a faint chant building by the Year 8 tent involving someone's mum and the pony.

Harper just shook her head, leaned into Oscar, and thought, weirdly, that she might actually miss this place when they were gone.

—

The maths revision group (not to be confused with the Harper's Tutors group) had been Alfie's idea. Which was insane, really, because Alfie was objectively the worst at maths after Harper. But apparently he felt that gave him some sort of authority.

"It's all about teamwork," he'd said, dragging desks into a semi-circle like they were in some sort of low-budget TED Talk. "If we all suck, no one feels bad."

"That's not how GCSEs work," Jane said, already bored, perched on the edge of a desk with a highlighter in her mouth.

Oscar sat beside Harper, chewing the lid of his pen and pretending not to glance every three seconds at her workbook like he might be able to absorb her stress through osmosis.

Harper had her revision guide open but had spent the last ten minutes underlining the same heading: Foundation Paper — Non-Calculator Section.

The numbers swam a bit. They always did. Like they had a personal vendetta against her.

"Okay," Sam said, flipping a page in his own workbook. "Let's go over fractions again."

"I will literally walk into traffic," Harper muttered.

"No, you won't," Jane said without looking up. "You'd just miscalculate the angle and the car would miss you."

Alfie howled. "Oi. That's harsh."

Harper gave Jane a glare. Jane gave her a bored thumbs-up.

Oscar nudged her thigh with his knee. "Stop stressing."

"I'm not," she muttered. "My brains just broken."

"Mate," Sam cut in, "if your brain was broken, you'd be one of those people who claps when a plane lands. You're not. You're just maths-thick. It's a very specific kind of issue."

Harper stuck her middle finger up at him.

"This is supposed to be a supportive space." Oscar said, unimpressed.

Alfie was already drawing a diagram on the whiteboard someone had dragged in from the art room. "Right. Improper fractions. They're just fractions that think they're better than you. Like, calm down, you're literally top-heavy."

"I happen to like top-heavy." Jamie, one of the year 11's in her foundation maths class, said.

Sam threw a highlighter at him.

Matt, who'd somehow ended up being the quiet brains of the operation, raised his hand like they were in an actual classroom. "Can I please just explain it properly before Alfie confuses everyone again?"

Oscar nodded. "Please do."

Matt sighed. "Okay. Harper — look. You've got seven halves. That's just three wholes and a half. You already know that. You could do that in your sleep."

"Yeah, but ask me to write it down and I panic," she said. "It's like I know it in my head, but the second I see numbers on a page, it's like they're in a different language."

"That's 'cause school maths is designed by sadists," Sam said. "Don't let it get to you."

Jane reached into her bag and handed Harper a mini packet of Haribo. "Sugar for the brain," she said.

"Thanks," Harper said, taking it. She rested her head on Oscar's shoulder for a second, and he leaned into her just slightly. Just enough to be reassuring, not PDA.

Alfie pointed at the whiteboard. "Okay. Here's the deal. We go over ten problems tonight. If Harper gets through them all without throwing a chair or crying, we reward her with cake from the machine."

"I like that plan," Harper said. She'd perked up a bit at the mention of cake. Oscar laughed when he felt movement beneath his hand. Baby liked the idea of cake too.

"You get cake either way," Jane muttered. "So please throw a chair at him."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Can we just start?"

Later, they were on their way down to the astro for some fresh air. "You're doing better than you think," Oscar said.

Harper didn't say anything. Just unwrapped the cake, tore off a piece, and stuffed it in his mouth before he could keep talking.

"Shut up," she said.

He grinned. "Okay."

—

Oscar had been weird all day.

Not, like, noticeably weird to most people — but Harper could tell. He kept checking his phone and tapping his fingers like his body had extra electricity to burn.

At lunch, he barely touched his chips, which was criminal, and when she asked him if he was alright, he'd just muttered, "Yeah, fine," and went back to staring at his phone.

Now, in the common room, he was pacing.

Actually pacing. Back and forth across the threadbare carpet.

"Osc, what's up with you?" Harper asked finally, closing her science book and watching him with raised eyebrows. "You're making me dizzy." She sighed.

Oscar stopped pacing, spun around, then walked over and just—held his phone out to her.

She blinked at it. "What am I looking at?"

He shoved it closer.

It was an email. Official, professional, with a logo that looked like speed and money and adult careers.

Subject line: BRITISH FORMULA 4 – DRIVER PLACEMENT OFFER (CONFIDENTIAL)

She blinked again. Then looked up at him.

"No way."

Oscar ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "Mark wants me in for trials next month. If I do well, they'll sign me for the junior seat. Full kit. Sponsorship. Real team. Single seater."

Harper's eyes widened. "With TV coverage and contracts and all the posh helmets?"

"Yeah," he said, breathless. "Yeah."

She stood slowly, the email still glowing on his phone in her hand. "Oh my god. That's... huge."

"I know." He stared at her, eyes wild and overwhelmed. "It's insane. I didn't think they were even watching me this season. I thought they were going with the kid from Sheffield."

"Well, apparently not," she said, handing the phone back. "Osc..."

He let out a stunned, choked sort of laugh.

Sam, who had been half-asleep on the sofa under a textbook, sat up and said, "Wait, what? What's happening?"

"Oscar got scouted," Harper said. "British F4."

"No way," Sam said, eyes wide. "Holy shit, that's—wait, do you get free jackets? I want a jacket."

"Mate," Oscar said, sitting down on the arm of the chair like his legs had just remembered they were fifteen and overwhelmed, "I'm going to be a dad. In like... four months. And now I'm getting offered a chance to race across the country every other weekend."

Harper sat next to him. She was quiet for a second. "You want to do it?"

His eyes snapped to hers. "Of course I want to do it."

"Then you should."

"But what about—?"

"You're allowed to have something," she said, before he could even finish the sentence. "We knew that going into this, didn't we? That there'd have to be sacrifices. I want you to do this."

He stared at her like he didn't believe it. "Harper," he said quietly. "I'm not leaving you."

"I know," she replied. "This isn't leaving. This is just... adding something. You don't have to pick between the baby and racing. We'll figure it out. We always do."

Sam clapped dramatically. "Right, well, now that we've sorted your future — someone tell me what the actual fuck simultaneous equations are."

Oscar looked back at his phone. His hands were shaking slightly.

Harper nudged his shoulder. "You're going to be amazing," she said. "And I'm going to be there to watch you win, Osc. As often as I possibly can."

"No promises on the wins," he muttered, but he was smiling now, in that quiet, stunned way that said maybe—for a second—he actually believed he could do both. "But I'll try. For you."

—

There were five of them crammed onto the threadbare rug in front of the common room sofa, surrounded by empty crisp packets, half-finished smoothies, and someone's maths textbook that had been repurposed as a coaster.

"Okay," Jane said, flipping her notebook open like she was taking official minutes. "We've ruled out anything weird and American-sounding, and Alfie's last suggestion was 'Rogue,' so he's on name probation."

"Oi," Alfie muttered, mouth full of Pom-Bears. "It's gender neutral."

"It's also the name of an X-Man," Jane deadpanned. "Not happening."

Harper was lying on her side, head in Oscar's lap, one socked foot lazily nudging Matt's leg every time he got too lost in his book.

"We don't have to pick one today," she said, though she was smiling. "We've got plenty of time."

"No, because if you don't decide soon, Alfie's going to campaign for something unhinged like 'Peach' and convince you that it's cute," Matt said.

"'Peach' is adorable," Alfie said, utterly unbothered.

"Peach Whiatt-Piastri sounds like a cocktail you order by accident in Ibiza," Sam added.

Oscar was quiet. He was playing with the ends of Harper's hair, twisting the red strands absently around his fingers. He hadn't said much since they started this conversation — which, to be fair, had started because Jane had walked in and said, "Right, I've been thinking. If it's a boy, you can't call it anything that rhymes with 'fart.'"

Harper had gone pink and said, "We don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet," and then they'd all gone down a rabbit hole of neutral names, none of which had made it past the group vote.

Now, Sam said, "We could do something badass, like River. Or Ash. That sounds like someone who'd wear leather and be in a boy band."

"I veto both of those names," Jane said.

Oscar let out a soft, distracted, "Yeah. I don't like those either."

Harper shifted slightly and said, "What about something literary? Like a cool author name?"

"Like what?" Matt asked.

"I don't know... Eliot? Or Austen?"

"Isn't Austen a bit on-the-nose?" Sam said. "With you being fancy and everything."

Harper threw a crisp at him.

They went back and forth for another ten minutes. Names got weirder. At one point, Jane suggested 'Moss'. Alfie floated the idea of 'Jelly'. Someone genuinely said 'Cricket'.

Eventually, Harper sighed, turned over to lie on her back and looked up at Oscar.

"You haven't said anything. What do you like?"

Oscar blinked. "I... dunno."

"Well, do you want something traditional or weird?"

"Just something nice, I guess. Something that suits her."

Silence.

Complete, stunned silence.

Matt dropped his can of Pepsi on the floor.

Jane gasped. "Wait. Her?"

Oscar blinked. "Oh. Shit."

Harper slapped a hand over her eyes. "Oscar, oh my God."

"You know the gender?" Sam practically shouted, scrambling to sit up straighter.

"We just found out at the scan on Thursday," Harper said, her face now redder than the KitKat wrapper on the table.

"I can't believe you didn't tell us!" Jane shrieked, half-laughing, half-scandalised.

"You're all so dramatic," Oscar muttered, clearly trying not to laugh. "It's normal not to tell people. We just wanted it to be a secret between us for a while."

"Mate, you're going to have a daughter," Alfie said, eyes wide. "That's so crazy."

"It's not that crazy," Harper argued, sitting up now.

"Oh my God," Jane whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. "We're going to be aunties and uncles to a tiny little baby girl. We have to buy her tiny Converse. Pink ones!"

"Do babies even wear shoes?" Sam asked.

"I think so," Jane said.

Oscar wrapped an arm around Harper and pulled her in a bit closer, his cheeks still pink. "Sorry. I didn't mean to say it. It just came out."

"I'm not mad," she said softly. "They'd find out eventually. And... it's kind of nice."

Matt was still staring at them. "A girl," he said again.

—

It was a Friday. The sky was low and grey, and Haileybury's quad looked like it had been dunked in dishwater. A breeze kept snapping at the blazers of students crossing between buildings. Harper was halfway through a very dull lunch of jacket potato and beans when the message came down from reception.

Someone was here to see her.

Not her mother. That had been her first question when the note from the admin office arrived.

No — it was a man. Mid-sixties, they said. Said he was her uncle.

"Is he angry?" Harper asked, standing beside the reception desk in her cardigan and too-small school skirt, her satchel cutting into her shoulder. The woman behind the desk — Mrs. Keller, who always looked like she was two sneezes away from retirement — blinked at her.

"Seemed... posh," she said, like it might be a warning. "Said he was your father's brother. Waitin' in the front hall."

Oscar was already there when she arrived — clearly having run the whole way from the library. His tie was half-askew and his hair was sticking up.

"You okay?" He asked. She'd texted him and asked him to meet her there.

"I don't know," she said honestly.

Then they stepped inside.

He was waiting by the mantelpiece, spine straight as a gatepost, coat over one arm. His suit was cashmere. His shoes shone like piano keys. His face — older than she remembered, thinner — broke into a polite, somewhat startled smile when he saw her.

"Harper," he said, approaching.

She blinked. "Uncle Thomas?"

He took her hand, briefly. Warm palm, dry fingers. "It's been years. My God. You look so much like your father."

She swallowed.

"This is Oscar," she said stiffly, stepping aside.

Thomas gave a cordial nod, but didn't hold out his hand. "I know who he is. I've spoken to your mother once or twice recently."

Oscar flushed. Harper tensed.

"I haven't," she said flatly.

"Well," said Thomas. "Then I envy you."

"Why are you here?" She asked. "I haven't seen you in years. Since the funeral, probably."

He exhaled, then reached into his coat. Produced a leather folder, worn but clearly expensive. "I'm here," he said, "because there are some things you weren't told after your father passed away. Things your mother, I suspect, ensured stayed buried. But you're nearly sixteen now, and legally—well, let's just say, some things are coming due."

He opened the folder and pulled out a few pages, slid them into her hands. Old estate paperwork. Land registry documents. Bank account details. And her name — "Lady Harper Grace Whiatt" — right there, typed in thin, haughty letters.

She stared at it. "What is..."

"It is all yours," he said gently. "Left to you by your father. It was meant to become accessible upon your sixteenth birthday, barring any specific contest. Your mother..." He trailed off. "She was aware of your main trust-fund, but your father was worried that she might— well, I'm sure you understand."

Oscar leaned over to glance at the documents. His mouth opened, then shut again.

Harper still hadn't spoken. Her throat felt dry.

"She loved him," she said finally. "My mum. But she hated everything about his family."

Thomas gave a sharp little smile. "Yes, well. She made that abundantly clear. But hate does not negate legal reality."

There was a long pause. Outside, the wind rattled the old glass panes.

"And your, um, baby?" Thomas asked carefully, glancing at her belly, still small but no longer invisible. "Healthy?"

"Yes. Why?" Harper said, eyes narrowing.

"It could complicates things. The trust wasn't written with a... continuation clause. We may need to involve a solicitor."

Oscar stepped forward. "You don't get to use legal language to scare her."

"I'm not trying to scare anyone," Thomas said calmly. "I'm trying to be honest. Your child, Harper, will be entitled to things too. In time."

Harper looked down at the paper again. Her father's name. Her own. Words like "estate" and "trustee" and "inheritance".

Then, in a whisper, "Why didn't you come before now?"

Thomas blinked. His expression cracked slightly. "I was asked not to."

"By my mum?"

He nodded once.

Harper swallowed. Then she folded the paper back into the folder, held it tight to her chest like a shield. "I'm not a Lady. I'm just... I'm just a girl trying to get through her GCSEs. I live in a dorm with a bunch of boys who eat cereal out of mugs. I'm fifteen and pregnant. And now you're telling me that I've inherited... all of this?"

Thomas looked like he didn't quite know what to say.

Oscar put a hand on her back.

Harper looked up at him. She didn't say anything.

"I'll leave the documents with you," Thomas said finally. "And if you need help... I'm not your father, Harper. But I did love him. And I'd like to know you. If you'll let me."

He gave her a shallow bow, then turned and left — expensive shoes echoing off the flagstone floor.

Silence dropped in his wake.

"Did that actually just happen?" Oscar asked.

"I don't know," Harper said, staring down at the folder in her hands. "But I think I just inherited two million pounds and an estate."

Oscar blinked. "That's mental."

"Completely," she muttered. "Absolutely mental."

Then she looked at him and added, "It might... it might make things easier, though. Won't it? You won't have to rely on your parents to keep paying for you to race, Osc." She breathed.

He frowned at her. "It's your money."

"We're a family now. We made that decision together." She said, quietly. "I don't need that much money, Osc. We'll be smart with it. Invest it in your career. Doesn't that make sense?"

She was starting at him so earnestly.

He held her. Leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. "Think about it."

"I've thought about it." She said. "It's ours. We'll use it to make sure our baby gets the best of everything, and that you get the opportunity to get to the top. Yeah?"

"Yeah. Okay." He whispered. "Okay. This is insane, but... okay."

"We do this together, Osc. Everything." She told him. "The exams. The baby. Your career. My career. I'll be able to pay for a coding course and invest in my own projects." She said. Her eyes were sparkling. "I love you. And we're going to do this together, or not at all."

"Marry me." Was all he said.

She jerked away and laughed. "Shut up. We're fifteen!"

"Marry me." He said again.

She rolled her eyes. "We've got Chemistry in ten minutes, Piastri."

"Okay." He said. He was staring at her and smiling. "Okay, babe. Let's go to Chemistry."

NEXT CHAPTER

[kenniesf1]

what was that? | OP81

pairing: oscar piastri x leclerc!reader

summary: it's the 2025 monaco grand prix and yn leclerc finds out that oscar piastri is... an avid lorde fan???

yn.leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc, yourbff001, and 743,023 others

yn.leclerc she's in monaco ladies and gents! arthur can say he's not monegasque, but charlie and i know what's up :)

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user1 GUYS SHE'S GOING TO THE MONACO GRAND PRIX!!!!

user2 omg yn where have you been girl!

lando bro said she wasn't getting here 'til saturday smh

user3 LMAO she lied to lando 💀

yn.leclerc sybau and go kiss carlos or smth

carlossainz55 she's right lando, come home, the kids miss you

lando the meerkat?

charles_leclerc je ne veux pas que tu cries dans ma radio (i don't want you yelling in my radio)

yn.leclerc speak english 🤓

alexandrasaintmleux my favorite leclerc 💞 you look gorgeous

yn.leclerc ok stop talking to the mirror tf? ily

charles_leclerc share the love????

oscarpiastri photo creds???

user4 STOPPPP oscar sounds like a needy girlfriend

user5 have we ever even seen them speak

user1 no, she's taken (by me)

kimi.antonelli no, by me 🙃

yn.leclerc ANDREA KIMI GO DO YOUR HOMEWORK!

emmawatson beatiful!!!! liked by author

jackbenedwards lorde summer liked by author

charles_leclerc

liked by yn.leclerc, alexalbon, georgerussel63, and 1,203,923 others

charles_leclerc P2 in qualifiers. Not the result we wanted but we'll keep pushing. Forza Ferrari!

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yn.leclerc what was that? well, baby, what was that?

charles_leclerc don't call me baby creepo 😰

user6 i fear yn IS living lorde summer, jack edwards was so rights

oscarpiastri mdma in the back garden, blow our pupils up

yn.leclerc OSCAR JACK PIASTRI!!!! you're not coming to play, sir

user7 no way oscar is a lorde fan

user8 he def looked it up to impress yn 😭

arthur_leclerc i could've gotten p1 🤷

charles_leclerc the things i could say to you right now

pierregasly bro is lucky charles is pr trained

yn.leclerc pr? he hardly knows her

lando that made no sense

yn.leclerc your existence makes no sense kys

maxverstappen1 le curse is back

charles_leclerc BLOCKED ❌

oscarpiastri

liked by yn.leclerc, hattiepiastri, lando and 1,002,497 others

oscarpiastri Good start to the weekend. Excited for the race tomorrow. Thank you for the support!

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hattiepiastri you win at monaco or you're disowned

oscarpiastri only mum can do that?

nicolepiastri what hattie said

user9 HELPPPPPPPPP

charles_leclerc know your place tomorrow, son

oscarpiastri i can't lose my leo privileges

lando i look stupid

estebanocon tell us something new!!!

yn.leclerc wishing you luck! playing for a lot this weekend!

charles_leclerc 🤨

arthur_leclerc 🤨

user10 🤨

yukitsunoda 🤨

oscarpiastri You being here for Charles helped him last year. Maybe come to my garage and share that luck?

user11 oh he's good

charles_leclerc im boycotting you bitch

maxverstappen1 whole lot of lando...

deuxmoi posted a story!

deuxmoi Yn Leclerc has shown up to the 2025 Monaco Grand Prix wearing a McLaren dress and is currently in Oscar Piastri's garage

yn.leclerc

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, charlixcx, and 813,200,191 others

yn.leclerc CONGRATS TO MY BIG BROTHER ON P2 AT MONACO! it's always gonna be your city charlie!!! on a sadder note, i will never be speaking to lando norris again, evil bitch :) and i got this oceanic feeling visiting someone's garage (sorry, i'm still a scuderia ferrari girlie)

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ferrari we missed youuu liked by author

charles_leclerc monaco and my own sister betrayed me today

lewishamilton i'll be a shoulder to cry on mate

yn.leclerc hoes over bros

oscarpiastri excuse me

user12 IM FUCKING CRASHING OUT I CANT BREATH

user13 i can feel the hardlaunch, it's within reach

lando 😔

yn.leclerc pensive face emoji? hon, you should be WEEPING

user14 tell him, yn

oscarpiastri i caught that reference ms leclerc

yn.leclerc didn't throw it mr piastri

mclaren so glad to have you!

ferrari go away, your colors wash her out

francocolapinto um she should be in pink and blue and white and other alpine colors

alexalbon aesthetic!

yn.leclerc can you pay for my dinner as well as george's?

oscarpiastri yn

yn.leclerc RIGHT! never mind alex, take lily

alexalbon was planning on it 🫡

yn.leclerc posted a story!

yn.leclerc can we be boyfrien' girlfrien'?

oscarpiastri please

oscarpiastri i want more than a supercut, yn

[captainpriceslilwife]

little thing with John Price that goes from angst to smut to angst again and then fluff and back to smut....pretty much checked all the boxes here i think. okay yay <3 also ill be honest...idk if i like how this turned out, but.....here it is *serves up half-eaten charcuterie board made from lunchables*

Basically Price is using your daddy kink as a trojan horse to rewrite your neural pathways <3 but like...with love Shoutout @coco-killed-the-angels for implanting these worms (insecure girl x price) into my brain <333 CW: deep insecurities (bc i'm the one writing it, so...it's a given), daddy kink, crying, praise kink (?) - does it count if he's just praising you in a sexual setting and its not necessarily a kink idk, if you're allergic to true, deep love and you just want smut this is not the work for you, not DDLG but like...the cousin of it. Or sibling. DDLG adjacent.

Your day had started off rough.

Well, the whole week, really. With deadlines and headaches looming over your head, it's no wonder that you ended up in such a state this morning.

You were just barely fighting the childish urge to just whack the brush over your head, so you tried to move on to putting your makeup. Which only ended in you crying in frustration when it started to cake up, and then you began crying even harder when your tears started making the rest of it slide off of your face.

"So fucking stupid." You had whispered under your breath as your shaky hands wiped at your face in a sorry attempt to fix everything - only to make it worse.

That's how John found you in the bathroom, furiously scrubbing at your face with a towel to wipe everything off as you sobbed quietly to yourself.

"Woah, woah, woah...sweetheart." His hands are quick to wrap around yours to halt your movements, and you try to bow your head to avoid his gaze, but he tilts his head right alongside you. "What's all this, huh? What's wrong, sweet girl?"

And he tries his hardest to comfort you, he really does, but you're just so lost in your anguish that you blow up in his face the moment he suggests you be gentle with yourself.

"No! I have to wear makeup today because my face is breaking out and I look ugly, b-but I keep ruining it because I'm crying! God, I can't do anything without ruining it!"

Maybe you were just hormonal or about to get your period, but it didn't matter. Your insecurities sound the same no matter what chemical is bouncing around in your brain to cause it.

Which is how you ended up here - on your hands and knees on the bed, facing the mirror on the dresser with John's cock nestled deep inside of you.

He had already been working you up for hours, teasing and licking and fingering you until you could barely hold yourself up - which explains why he's got one hand curled at the base of your skull to hold your head up by your hair to force you to watch as he fucks you.

But he's not even fucking you. He's just...sitting inside of you. Not moving. Making you whine and whimper as he stares at you through the smudged reflection of the mirror. You plead with him quietly, fresh tears blooming to wash away the dried tracks from your earlier malaise, but he just shakes his head and pulls your hair back a bit more.

"I already told you what to do, sweetheart. Go on." But you just blink at him dumbly with those teary eyes, too far gone to remember how you got here, let alone what he just said five seconds ago. But that's alright - if war taught him anything, it was how to be patient. Especially with a soft thing like you.

"Daddy's not moving until you say something you like about yourself."

Oh, right. That.

You had kind of been hoping he would just fuck your brains out so you could ignore your little meltdown earlier and forget it ever happened - but clearly John had different plans.

"I don't want to."

Brat.

Even when you were trembling beneath him and begging him to fuck you, you still had the nerve to talk back to him. But John knows you well enough to know that you aren't acting out just for the fun of it. So, he isn't going to punish you now. You're upset, and insecure, and you just want him to take it all away so you don't have to think about it.

Which is exactly what he's doing - even if you can't see it from where you are mentally. He's just playing the long game.

"One thing, baby." He murmurs in your ear, locking eyes with you in the mirror as he curls himself over your back to press his hairy chest into you, making you mewl softly. "Just say one little thing you like about yourself, and Daddy will fuck you, just like you want. I promise."

And you poor thing - you're just so desperate. You're cunt is leaking around his cock and no matter how much you try to rock your hips back to get some kind of friction, he's holding you too tight to make any real progress.

So you give up. Or give in. Either way, you decide to just let go and think of something - if only just to get him to pound you into the mattress the way you wanted.

But when you looked at yourself in the mirror - all puffy eyes, splotchy cheeks, and tangled hair - all you could see is what you didn't like.

Every bump, every scar, every part that's too much, and every part that's not enough. Suddenly every mean voice in your head has a stage - telling you about all the times you failed and how you aren't worthy of anything good in this world. Ugly, stupid, worthless, annoying-

There's nothing you can think of, even to just throw out meaninglessly to get him to hop off your case. Nothing.

And all you can do is choke out a pathetic sob - lower lip trembling violently as you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the mean voices circling around in your head. "Daddy, I can't...I c-can't think of anything."

He had expected a bit of resistance from you, but the way your face crumpled so sadly at the prospect of complimenting yourself made his heart ache in his chest. Clearly your insecurities were running deeper than surface-level, and he'd have his fair share of work cut out for him if he wanted to make you feel better.

"Shh, hey, hey, hey. It's okay." He coos softly, removing his hand from your hair to curl it around you to rest it against your sternum. He sits back against the bed and takes you right along with him, planting you on his lap with your back pressed against his chest - with his cock still inside of you. You're grateful for it, since you know you'd just spiral even more if he took it out and left you feeling empty and cold while you were already on the verge of a complete breakdown. "Daddy can help. I'll help you out, sweetheart."

"We can think of things together, my love. It's okay." He murmurs quietly as he wraps his arms around you, rocking you back and forth slightly as he gently hushes your tears. His thumb comes up to wipe away the fresh tears that slip down your cheeks, and he can feel his heart cracking in two at every little heartbroken whimper and sob that manages to escape your lips.

"What about your pretty eyes, hm? The ones that help you read all of those books, even when it's a little dark? The same eyes Daddy loves to wake up to every morning?"

You blink owlishly through your tears, your hiccups coming to a halt for just a second as you begin to process his words. He's not talking about the color of your eyes or what shape they are, but what they can do. You've been so caught up on how every part of you looked...not what they were actually meant for.

Your eyes aren't supposed to be the prettiest color or the 'perfect' shape. They're job is to help you see. And you can read, and admire the sunset, and cry, and watch TV - and none of it has to do with how your eyes look. They're the same eyes that lock onto John's from across the room and tell him 'it's too much. can we go home?' without ever having to say a word. And he always knows how you're feeling, just from taking one look at your eyes.

"And what about your hair? Don't you like braiding it and putting it up in all those pretty hairstyles? Don't you like how Daddy can play with it when you get all sleepy?" You turn your head around to look at him through your tears, and you take in a shaky breath as you nod your head silently in agreement. "Yeah...I know I like it, sweet girl."

You let out a restrained whimper as his words settle over you, your heart cracking in a way that it never has before - like its rearranging itself to fit the beautiful image of his perception of you. You can feel his hand gently squeeze your arm to silently urge you to continue on your own, and it takes you a minute to think of something before you let out a trembling whisper.

"M-My nose..." You sound uncertain, blinking up at him for validation only to be met with a loving smile and an encouraging nod. "I like my nose."

Your nose was never meant to look like everyone else's. It's just there to help you breathe. To bring oxygen to your blood to keep you alive and healthy. And it helps you smell everything - the bread at the farmers market, John's cologne bottle whenever you missed him too much in his missions, even the gross candles at the store that you force John to smell too just so you can both suffer together. It even crinkles up whenever John presses a kiss to it when you aren't expecting it, which always makes him laugh and makes him press just one more to it to get you to giggle and swat him away.

"Yes...good girl." He praises softly as he presses a line of kisses along your shoulder, reverent in both his touch and stare as he tilts your chin back towards the mirror. "Keep looking at yourself, darling."

"And Daddy loves your beautiful smile...you know, that's the first thing I miss when I go away. I keep a little picture of you in my vest just so I can see it even when I'm on my missions. I love seeing my gorgeous girl look so happy." His words coax another watery sob from you, which he quickly soothes by running his hands gently up and down your arms. Eventually he trails them down and circles his hands around yours, using his thumbs to massage gentle circles into your palms as you cast your gaze down to watch. "And your hands...didn't you bake me those cookies last week with these hands?"

"Yes, Daddy." You nod once again, and he brings both of your hands up to wipe at the tears that are dripping off of your cheeks and down to your torso.

Your body let you express your love for him in all the ways you wanted - hugging, kissing, cuddling, crying, laughing, talking, listening, touching - you could go on forever now that you're really thinking about it.

Your body was a vessel for love - a home that could fit all the adoration and affection that John could possibly give you and you could give him - and instead you were using it to house all of the shame everyone else had burdened you with over the years. But John had all the patience in the world, and if he had to pick that shame out piece-by-piece in order to burrow his love inside of you, then that's what he'd do. Happily.

"Pretty, pretty, pretty...such a pretty little girl you are." He punctuates every one of his words with a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, your hair...all until he reaches your ear when he finally whispers, "I'm so lucky to have you, baby."

And you poor thing - now your blubbering in his lap as your brain tries to comprehend the sheer amount of love he's pouring into you, and he just continues to hold you patiently as you work through it. It's only when you finally calm down a bit that he speaks up.

"I think you're so beautiful, my love. Inside and out. But if you look in the mirror and you don't like what you're seeing, for whatever silly reason, I want you to remember that your worth comes from a lot more than how you look. Do you understand, baby?" He waits until you nod your head before he plants a kiss right to the crown of your hair. You can feel his hand settle on your thigh, thumbing the sensitive inner skin as he locks eyes with you in the mirror.

"Do you want to keep going?" And then you see it - settled underneath his love and admiration for you is a spark of concern. He doesn't want to push you too hard, especially in a delicate setting like this. His cock is still hard and nestled deep inside of you, but you know if you said the word right now he'd end this all in a heartbeat to make sure you were comfortable and taken care of.

But you don't want him to stop. It feels different this time around - like it's not just sex. It's something more ritualistic than that. So you nod your head once more, making sure to keep your eyes on him in the mirror so he can see how earnest you are.

And slowly, carefully, he readjusts you back into the position you were in before - on your hands and knees facing the mirror. And you can see him watching you closely for any sign of discomfort or regret, but all he's met with is trust in those teary eyes of yours.

"Keep telling me what you like, sweetheart."

And so you do. Clumsy compliments stumbling out of your mouth as he finally starts to rock his hips, granting you the relief you've been craving from him for what feels like forever now. And the more you praise yourself, the more intense his thrusts get - but he never turns rough. Not even for a second. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he whispers his own devotions into your ears, pushing himself as deep as he can as if he's trying to plant the words directly inside of you.

You're so overwhelmed by the love and the pleasure he's giving you that you barely even realize how fast your orgasm is sneaking up on you, but he notices. He can feel you clenching around him as your thighs begin to shake, and he doesn't waste a second in gently guiding your gaze to look at yourself in the mirror once more.

"Are you a pretty girl, baby?" He grunts softly, barely staving off his own release long enough to drive his message home. You begin to nod your head frantically, too caught up in your impending climax to form any coherent sentences as you begin to flutter around him - but he's not having any of it.

"Yeah? Go on, then. Daddy wants to hear you say it."

"I-I'm a..." Your stuttered words are cut off by a deep moan, and your eyes squeeze shut tightly as you clamp down around him. "I'm a p-pretty girl!"

And then you're sent into the most mind-shattering orgasm you've ever had in your life. You can feel yourself gush around him and you hear his restrained curses as you collapse into the bed, but even your own voice sounds muffled as you call out his name with a quivering cry. He fucks you right through it, leaving you trembling and crying from the intensity as he finally spills inside of you with a few tears of his own.

He just barely catches himself before he collapses on top of you, and it takes him a minute to catch his breath before he readjusts to, very carefully, pull himself out of your squelching cunt. He coos gently as you whine at the loss of contact, and he scoops you up like you're a porcelain doll that'll shatter if he's not careful.

You're still so fuzzy from the intensity of it all, but he places you in his lap to let you bury your face in his neck, and his arms quickly wrap around you the second that your trembling form curls up to him like a kitten in a storm.

"There she is." He whispers softly as he kisses your forehead, one hand trailing up and down your back as the other one circles tightly around your shoulders to ground you with his presence. "There you go, sweet girl. Take a deep breath, my love."

He can feel the little puffs of air hitting his neck as he continues to hold you, and it brings him back down to earth as well as he works you through your comedown. Soft whispers of praise graze your ear as he moves to clean you up, keeping his movements soft and careful when he sees your eyes begin to flutter shut.

And you look up at him with so much love and trust when he finally pulls you down to lay back against the pillows, he can't stop himself from taking a moment to brush at the soft skin of your cheek before he presses his lips against yours. It's not hungry or lustful - just pure love being poured into you as he pulls the covers up to cover your bare form.

He pulls back just enough to murmur quietly against your lips, eyes looking down at you with so much reverance it makes your head spin.

"I love you so much, baby."

And you can't help the little wobble in your lips or the glassiness in your eyes as you rest your head against the pillow, pulling him closer with your shaky hands as you plant a little kiss on his lips.

"I love you, too, Daddy."

[cherrychilli]

Absolutely have to know if you're doing a part two for the Eddie and virgin reader chastity cage bit, because ough! It's incredible stuff.

Either way, thank you for writing it!

Thanks for reading!

So, I wrote it intending for it to be a oneshot and I'm going to keep it that way

but

I woke up this morning with an idea for an extended ending. Just a short scene but I think that's all that's really needed. Hope you like it💛

Everything's so delightfully sticky and wet.

It's all sore between your legs from where his spend drips down onto your thighs. A wonderful feeling you doubt you'll ever tire of.

You're glad you waited too. He couldn't have been more perfect with how he took care of you. Stretching you out with his thick, dexterous fingers. Making you cum with his tongue first before he fit his cock inside you, his hand holding yours. So many sweet whispers of 'I've got you', 'you're doing so well', and 'fuck, you feel incredible.'

Then suddenly, the afterglow crumbles.

Someone's at the door. Someone persistent because they don't let up with their insistent knocking. Both Eddie and you groan, forced to unstick yourselves from one another so he can pull on his pair of sweats once more. Before he goes he makes sure to turn back and reach for you, placing a kiss on your lips that makes your body fill with butterflies.

Walking out of the bedroom, he's half ready to cuss out whoever's knocking on his door, swiftly pulling the thing open only for Eddie to nearly stagger back.

Danny Vaughn. Danny Vaughn is at his doorstep.

"Finally. Listen Munson, I've got a girl waiting", he gestures at his car parked nearby. Convertible. Ferrari red. Douchey. "And I don't have much time. Need some blow if you've got it. Dirty thing, I talked her into letting me do a couple of lines off her tits", he winks at Eddie in that sickening bravado heavy kind of way. "Aint she classy?"

Eddie's eyes turn sharp. "Fresh out", he lies, stony faced with his fist clenched at his side

Danny's face twists with annoyance but only for a moment, taking in Eddie's shirtless state, his body dewy and the smell of sex clinging to his skin.

The prick puts two and two together, clapping a hand against Eddie's shoulder with a thick grin. "You dog. Got someone over don't you? didn't take you for the lady killer type."

If it weren't for the fact that Eddie and you were together now he would have had Danny's beaten, pulpy body to deal with on his doorstep. He restrains himself though, not wanting your first date to be spent visiting him in jail.

"Eddie, I'm going to fix myself a drink. You want one?"

The sound of your voice has Danny immediately straightening up like a meerkat, craning his neck to see you over Eddie's shoulder, passing by in nothing but the tee Eddie had been dressed in a couple hours ago. So blissful, you don't even notice your dick ex at the door.

"Sure. Surprise me", Eddie calls out with his eyes cemented on Danny's face. God, it is so satisfying to see the crestfallen look taking over his stupid face.

"Yeah, so as you can see I'm pretty busy", Eddie goes to close the door, shit eating grin wide on his face. "Got a good thing going on here so I don't want to keep her waiting. It'd be pretty fucking stupid to take a girl like that for granted" he tells Danny pointedly.

Happily, Eddie closes the door on Danny's shattered face, calmly making his way to the kitchenette where he finds you going through the fridge, looking all kinds of amazing in his clothes.

"Who was at the door?", you ask him when he comes by to wrap his arms around your waist from behind. He hasn't been this happy in a long time, half wondering what he'd done to deserve someone as good as you. The other half not caring why, only vowing to become everything you deserve and more.

"No one, baby. No one important."

[ellyswsw]

⪩⪨ ── actor!Angel x actor!David headcanons ; no magic au, this is a pretty long one bear with me here, insomnia spoon-feeding me headcanon ideas and finally being helpful instead of being a son of a bitch and giving me eyebags, probably the longest post I've ever posted

☆ the couple. these two have acted together in so many films and shows and almost 90% of the time it blows up the charts. almost everyone you meet will probably know two or more movies where their star in. they're both iconic.

☆ david's really known for his villain roles in horror films, and he's basically just dwayne johnson at this point. every horror film he's ever acted in was the most suspenseful and terrifying shit you'll ever see, all because this guy is so good at playing the killer, it's actually kinda scary,,. he's also playing a guy that can turn into a wolf on a 'fantasy universe" a big company created.

☆ he's so thirsted over by so many people it's kinda insane, guarantee that your ears will be bleeding whenever he walks on red carpets cause of all the high pitched squealing.

☆ david practically grew up around cameras, and has achieved great roles as a child actor. gabe was a really well known iconic figure at the time and when he died, david definitely needed a break, and a long one. after 2 years of hiatus, he finally got active. he didn't land roles immediately, but he still got back and now he's one of the most awarded actors.

☆ angel has a big history on the comedy and drama side of the industry. their first ever successful job that can actually pay their rent was comedy, so they're pretty witty, and they're known for being witty at interviews and being pretty good at dodging some risky questions that can only be answered with risky responses.

☆ angel's digital footprint is so scattered and over the place, so there's a chance that you'll just randomly stumble upon their audition tape to be one of ariana grande's backup vocals on your youtube recommendations.

☆ angel's famous for improvising a lot throughout a film. ironically, half of their popular scenes probably have one or two improvising.

☆ the most popular film david and angel have ever acted in is the first ever film where they first met and worked with each other. it was an enemies-to-lovers romcom film, as cliche as it sounds. it got so many positive feedbacks, even twitter loved it. it was on top of the billboard. everyone was so taken aback by david and angel's chemistry with each other; every eye contact, every lingering touch, every snarky comment, every emotional scene, every kiss. it was phenomenal, these two were in their prime.

☆ during their first days of working together, david and angel had this.. playful flirting thing going in between them. angel would shamelessly flirt with david by complimenting him when a cameraman goes up to them for a behind-the-scenes like; "oh, david? I'm literally saying to you guys, that man knows how to act, if i didn't know any better i'd assume he actually means every 'i love yous' he said."

☆ days when david remembers gabe a little too much, angel would be probably the only one that's gonna notice. david's a professional actor so he knows how to suppress his actual emotions, and so is angel.

☆ lunch breaks where every other actor eats out but david and angel lingers and stays seated in front of a big flashy vanity mirror and talk about random things is what hits hard.

☆ angel knows how to distract david and turn his emotions upside down whenever he's feeling blue. david gives angel space to be more sincere and serious, angel knowing that they'll be free of judgement and expectancy to be funny and chaotic anytime that they're around david.

☆ a year and a half later of dating rumours, and fans and paparazzi spotting them coming out of hotels and mcdonalds; awooga, they both finally announced that they were dating by angel posting pictures of the both of them hugging and kissing each other in front of the same restaurant they got caught in numerous times, with a caption saying "idk guys all this acting shit makes me miss my boyfriend" (with a shrug emoji)

☆ definitely have won an mtv movie award for the best kiss

☆ if they weren't already successful in the acting industry, they definitely would've been models and are probably walking down on runways right now if they were. these two know how to serve face, they just suit each other so well.

☆ angel is that celebrity that either has a really goofy picture of them as their profile, or just a picture of them posing as if they're auditioning to be one of the models on the next victoria's secret show. they change profile pictures like twice a month, different profile pics for each social media account.

☆ angel reposts edits of them and david

☆ david has an official verified tiktok account with millions of followers but he only has like 7 videos and is following only one account (angel's)

☆ these two are just so addicted to looking at each other with the most love and adoration anybody has looked at anyone with the most love and adoration ever at interviews. the way angel tilts their head ever so slightly, and the way david gives out the most inconspicuous smile. ugh we love to see it

☆ you don't need to know anything about the two of them to know that they are the most devoted and loyal people each other will have in both of their lives.

[a-writer]

Invisible string - Chapter 2

The people ask and I deliver. Part 1 on my profile. Enjoy!

Warnings: angst, toxic relationship, some dirty talk

Sweat trickles down your back as you and Cassian circle each other. It’s not a hot day, but sparring with Cass always makes you sweaty. It’s good excercise and, since that stunt with Azriel and blondie last week at the bar, you’ve been feeling on edge, in need of blowing some steam off. You’d normally would look for Az to help with that, a hot session of rough fucking is more than enough to scratch it off. But you haven’t talked to him since Friday, and now it’s a Tuesday and you refuse to be the first one to give in.

Cass throws a punch at you that you dodge easily, bending down and straightening your leg to try and throw him to the ground. Cass is quick and he jumps, giving you time to get up and separate yourself just a tiny bit. You throw a right hook at him, knowing he’ll block your fist with his hand. You throw a left hook, and his other hand comes to meet your fist too. Perfect. You drive your knee into his stomach and when you have him doubled down, you get ready to deliver your last punch. But something dark in the corner catches your attention. Mist? No, not mist. Shadows.

Suddenly, strong hands grip your middle and the next thing you see is the sky, right above you. Your air leaves your lungs with a grunt and before you can respond, Cass has both your wrists pinned down and each knee at your sides, his right hand angled to give you the last punch. He drops it, instead, with a small smile on his face.

“Never get distracted in a middle of a fight, (Y/N).” He gets up and offers you a hand that you gladly take.

“I almost had you.”

“That’s the key, (Y/N), almost.” He ruffles your hair and you swat his hand away. “Azriel, brother, you came to also get your ass kicked?”

You look behind you and there he is. Him and his shadows that hover above his large shoulders. Azriel is in a black strapless shirt, black cargo pants and combat boots and as he walks to you, he looks as dangerous and delicious as always.

“Why do you want to spar with me Cass?” His smile is happy. “I always have to let you win or you’ll get mad and accuse me of cheating.”

You laugh at that and Cassian rolls his eyes. He is a sore loser, that’s for sure.

“Using your shadows is cheating and you know it.” Az shrugs at that.

If Cass is a sore loser, it’s hard to describe what Az is. He definitely is the most competitive out of everyone in the group and that’s why you’re not talking to him either. You’re not going to lose this weird game of who will give up first and search the other.

“Since you’re such a pain in the ass about the shadows, I’d rather spar with (Y/N), for a change.”

Both you and Cass look at him surprised. Az is looking at you, challenging you to say no. So you don’t give him that satisfaction.

“Sure, let’s do it. As long as you’re okay with me beating your ass.”

Azriel laughs at that and it only makes you want to show him up more.

“Well, as entertaining as this sounds, I’m gonna head out. Nes is waiting for me.” Cass looks at you and then at his brother, and something seems to pass through Cassian’s eyes. But before you can decipher it, he leaves, leaving you and Azriel alone.

“Let’s go.” He gestures you to position and you do just that.

Circling each other you throw the first punch, because you know Azriel would never go first, and from there a dance starts between you two. Punches, kicks, hooks, shoves are thrown until Azriel gets you in your back, in the same position Cassian had you just minutes ago. His grip on your wrists is firm and the cocky bastard smiles at you. “Do you surrender?”

“I don’t.” You wiggle to no use. “Besides, I enjoy having you on top of me.”

Azriel’s eyes go wide, so you drive your knee up and use his moment of weakness to turn you both. Now you’re straddling him, holding his hands above his head, and you’re starting to think that maybe this wasn’t the most intelligent move, because your faces are mere inches away from each other.

His breath tickles your lips, and you can see his eyes looking at your mouth. He feels so strong under you, so familiar. Your heart rate picks up, and he can hear it, because he gives you a cocky smirk.

“Do you surrender?” You ask him now in hopes of calming your stupid heart.

Azriel looks at you and his eyes seem like a well of endless stars. “I will always surrender to you.” It’s a whisper, but you hear it loud and clear.

Your mouth opens at his words, and you search his face for a hint that he’s just joking, but he is so serious.

“Why are you not talking to me?” Azriel’s eyes glint, and he almost seems sad.

“I haven’t had the chance.”

“Liar.” Azriel takes advantage of this soft moment and grabs your wrists, sitting up at the same time. He puts your hands behind your back, holding your thighs down with his arms. Now you’re straddling him and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Maybe you just need some water.

“Are you mad at me because I brought Fina over?”

“No.” Azriel looks at you sceptically.

“Liar.” You roll your eyes at him and try to wiggle yourself out of his grasp, which only makes him tighten his grip on you. Bad idea, because now you’re completely flushed to him, and the idea of asking him to undress and take you right here is starting to not sound so bad.

“You’re single, you can do whatever you want with your life.” Your voice is rougher than you would like.

“That’s not what I asked you, (Y/N).” Why does he have to say your name like that?

“Then no, I’m not mad.” You look him in the eye. “You haven’t talked to me either since Friday. What is with that? You’ve been busy?”

He gives you little laugh that sounds more like a scoff and looks away. You stay like that for a few seconds that feel like hours when he looks back at you.

“I’ve been busy.” His voice has lowered down an octave and you swallow. “Busy thinking about coming to your apartment and fucking you all through the night.”

His dirty words startle you and you shut your mouth, not letting any moan scape at what he just said. Azriel lets your hands go and you quickly stand up, turning your back to him, needing to breathe some air that’s not intoxicated by his smell. You hear him retreat, but before he disappears on the stairs, he stops.

“You shouldn’t be mad about the other girls.” He doesn’t say it quite loud, but he knows you can hear him even from across the ring. “No matter who I’m fucking, I’m always thinking about you, (Y/N).”

[sugurusladyknightt]

➺ suguru x reader

you chose to be honest with him — with yourself. your movements pause, frozen in place in hesitance. nerves on fire everywhere beneath your skin, and in a single breathe you reveal, "i've never done this before." the words cool, wearing a disguise of casualness.

suguru takes each of your wrists in either of his hands, holding them tenderly, guiding. guiding your movements and positioning them where he needs them to be.

"just like that. ill help you with it baby" he stretches the syllables out just a little, the words sound somewhere between comfortable and mocking; and you're not to sure you want to discern one from the other in his tone.

big warm fingers over your own, pressing into the soft oiled dough you're kneading together. focaccia dough. soft and fluffy, that has been resting since late last night shortly after the impulsivity hit.

you aren't often participating in the process of making it, making anything really — you think suguru likes it best that way. it comes from a place of need, his need. a need to care for his family, for you.

a strange (though not unwelcome) surge of motivation overcame you last night, encouraging the decision of baking alongside suguru, this just so happens to be your first time trying.

and suguru has a more hands on approach to helping you learn new things; baking bread of course, is no different to him. with sleeves rolled up and hair tied in a neat knot, he's there. only ever half a pace behind you while hovering over every step of the way.

he does try to be cool about it. tries not to be overwhelming or imposing too often . he tries not to take up too much of your space. the majority of his efforts remain in vain, simply unable to help himself most days.

your hands are slicked in olive oil as you spread the rested dough onto the baking tray, spreading over the cool metal of it, and leaving in your wake a trail of indents made by your fingers.

his and yours, and yours and his. nearly indistinguishable, melted together in the softness of the dough.

suguru watches when you cut into the crispy golden bread, straight out the oven. far too impatient to wait even just a moment to dig the sharp metal into it, cutting a piece, to share between you both.

you look so proud, hands on your hips, nodding to yourself in admiration of your work. pressing into the bread to feel it bounce back from the weight of your finger.

he takes the piece in his hand, breaking as smaller piece off the scorching thing, blowing softly on it to help it cool and bringing it up to your mouth.

"good?"

nodding in response, you break off a piece to feed him, "very"

[slavicnoodle]

Fem!reader x Werewolf!duke

Warning: slight description of injuries, violence, manipulation, coercion(?), gaslighting, power imbalance, mediaval times, slight sadism, just yandere being a yandere

My first post! <3

English is not my first language ^^

Werewolf!Duke who is a good aristocrat in his own not humble opinion. Exemplary even if you add the fact he is a werewolf and can still act better than most human aristocrats. He abides by the proper etiquette, doesn't extort his subjects, doesn't lash out on his servants and maids (even during full moon(!)) and is generally merciful. He doesn't even have trysts with other married aristocrats or uses his title to have secret relationships with lower class. He is a bit of a bachelor and doesn't mind at all.

He has one quirk though. A simple rule. No visits to his castle. Under no circumstances. The only person allowed to freely roam his land is his gardener. Other servants must strictly follow paths. You see, after he got turned, the new wolf instincs made him a territorial bastard. He patrols his property diligently every night. He enjoys those quiet walks and runs in wolf from with wind blowing through his fur, feeling the soft soil, tickly grass and smelling the nature. When he catches a whiff of a living being on it... he goes for the kill. Humans are no different.

Although lately their is an increase of humans. After a little investigation he scraped together that after people went missing on his land, his subjects ascribed it to the increase of wolves around. Heh. And a new trend emerged. If you stop liking your suitor or plainly want to get rid of them, promise to meet them at night at a location near his manor. Problem solved.

And he always diligently got rid of them. Not that he had to. He liked to. He liked the way they screamed and thrashed as they were torn to shreds. Not today tho. Today's victim was lying under him frozen in fear like a deer, not moving, just crying withnout any sound, not even a whimper as his claws pierced your arms and pinned you to the muddy ground. He hated to admit it but you looked adorable. He decided to play with his food a little.

"What is the reason you decided to cut your life short? Foolishness? Naivety? Dare?" He looks over the commoner human under him. Very pretty outfit for their status. He can see your top is not buttoned up all the way up. He feels his breath hitching for some reason. Must have been quite an occasion to be wearing one's best clothes in such a seductive manner. You even have your hair let down. And... is that a basket with... sweets?

He laughs dryly. Another undesired lover. Hmm... It would be a pity to kill you. He unstucks his claws from your flesh and reaches to twirl a strand of your hair. So pretty and soft... A long bath, better dress and some makeup and he would think twice about remaining a bachelor. His inner wolf agrees. You are very quiet. He likes that. But... If your voice is also acceptable, he'll help you. He tugged at the strand harshly and the bloodied woman squealed in shaky voice. He tugged again but less harshly. A whimper. His ears pinned down to his head. Now he got frozen. From arousal. That's it. No helping, he's going to take care of you for the of your life. If your suitor wants you gone, he'll take the beauty off of his hands.

"I apologize, dear, for my behaviour. I must have terribly scared you. Oh, I even accidentally hurt you. Let me make it up to you." He hauled you to your feet, dusting you off. His werewolf characteristics slowly dissapeared while he did that. "I'll replace them. Come with me." He offers his arm and smiles softly. When he sees you're still standing there with eyes full of terror, he simply scoops you up. "What are you waiting for, woman? A noble is offering you his goodwill." Hr smiles down at you.

In his castle he let his doctor clean your wounds and bandage you. Then maids changed you to a silky nightgown while you lost consciousness. Poor thing. His wolf form does that to people. When you woke up, he found any excuse in the book to keep you at his estate, ordering the doctor to play the charade with him. The tales of your love who sent you to your death were repeated every day, painting him in a great light as your saviour and admirer who wants you to reach his heights and status. When you still tried to go back home, he went cold.

"I house your for weeks, clothe you, feed you and you want to leave?" His voice is not loud but it feels like it is booming innyour eardrums. "No, Your Grace, I only-," you started but he talked over you, keeping on guilttripping you. Like he minded he was fussing over his mate.

"If you really want to leave, I'll let you." He let out a sigh, faking giving up.

"Thank you, I-"

"Under one condition." His eyes flicked. He pulled out one hand from his pocket and stood on one knee. "Marry me." Opened the little box, revealing a ring.

"I have went out of my way to find something that would suit you. It would be improper for you and me to be seen apart after you spent such a long time here. Rumour would start, tarnishing mine and your reputation. Don't you agree?" Your voice felt shaky when you said "Yes". Not because you didn't want it. He was more than good choice for a husband, aside from his lycantrophy. But because even after alll, part of you still loved your old love that lured you to the deadly embrace of the werewolf duke.

And the duke knows it.

[bragginball-z]

Hi guys, this is an excerpt from one of my current WIPs! The basic premise of this fic is that Cas was given a journal by the Winchesters in order to have something to help him keep busy while they sleep. Each one of his entries gives a deeper look into his views on some of my favorite destiel scenes. This entry in particular takes place after the events of “Goodbye Stranger” in which Castiel nearly kills Dean due to Naomi’s mind control. I had so much fun writing this, I hope you enjoy reading it! >:D

A Love Letter to Humanity

———————————————————————

March 27th, 2013

I almost killed Dean. I felt his flesh tensing and giving as my knuckles met his supple skin. I felt the fibers of his body I so tenderly knitted back together split and ooze blood beneath my hands. In my mind I heard Naomi’s words, frantic and demanding as she ordered for me to just do it. I felt the cold metal of my blade rest securely in my palm as I readied myself to deliver the finishing blow. And then I heard him. Dean. I heard his voice. Not the crude imitation Naomi conjured thousands of times. She never could get his cadence right. The deep timbre in his voice overly done or completely vacant. No, the moment I heard him I knew it was actually him

Dean asked me what broke the connection, what snapped me out of my Naomi induced mind control. At the time I said I didn't know. I alluded to the possibility of the angel tablet being responsible for my mental clarity. But now, as I channel my thoughts and I write, reliving every second of that moment, I know exactly what broke the connection. Dean did. The upset in his voice as he stubbornly encouraged my violence turned into a somber tone at his realization that I wasn’t in control of what I was doing. The helplessness, the fear in his voice grounding me and yanking Naomi's hooks from where they had been deeply implanted into my mind. “This isn't you, Cas,” he had said so confidently. So saddened and sure that the Castiel he knows would never hurt him like this. That I would never cause him so much pain and suffering. Even after all the times I have wronged him, disappointed and lied to him, he still believed with the utmost certainty that I would never kill him of my own volition. That I would never betray myself him in such a way. Not if I was of a sound mind. As I hurt him I felt at war with myself. I was aware of what my vessel was doing but I had no say in the matter. Each time I tried to resist Naomi pulled the reins tighter, my control over my vessel slipping from my grasp at each rough yank. Through this entire struggle Dean spoke to me. He called me part of his family, said they all needed me. The way my name sounded coming from his bloodied and broken mouth haunts me. Like a vengeful spirit it surrounds me and makes me feel cold and on-edge. It reminds me of how many times he said it, how each time he sounded more fearful and defeated. I was not in control, no matter how much I wanted to be. Then he said he needed me. Not Sam, not Kevin, Not the world. Just him. Dean. And just as quickly as those words penetrated my ears I was back in control. As simply as that.

“I need you, Cas.”

I need you. In all my billions upon billions of years alive I have never felt things- emotions, as strongly as when those words pierced my true ears. I need you. Suddenly, terrifyingly, I was aware. It was as if a haze had been lifted from my mind. I could see again with painful clarity. I could see Dean before me, on his knees and pleading, one arm raised in a look of surrender or acceptance. He has never been a man of faith, not like Sam, but seeing him like that reminded me of a most pious man helplessly praying to a cruel god. I have never seen Dean like that. Yes, I've seen him beaten, bloody, defeated, and helpless, but I’ve never seen him so desperate.

His father molded him into a thing to be wielded, an instrument only meant to cause harm; (something I vehemently disagree with but I digress) so why didn't he try and kill me? Yes, I am stronger than him, there is no question about that, but time and time again I have watched Dean fight beings far more powerful than me and walk away victorious. I do believe we have a more profound bond but I feel it’s probably one sided. He has changed me, just in the few years I’ve known him. But I don’t believe I have changed him. Even as I did something as foreignly intimate as rebuilding him and mending his soul, I took care to not change a single thing about him. My higher ups instructed me to do some “minor tweaking” as I rebuilt him. Originally, I had planned to. Truly, I had. But then I touched his soul and I saw him in all his glory. The righteous man. Dean Winchester. My grace swelled and surged all around me, within me, through Dean, and the result was my handprint forever seared into the very essence of his soul. Perhaps I did change him. Physically, without meaning to. I never intended to brand him, to leave a mark of proof that it was me who saved him. But I did. My finely honed powers that never once acted erratically were instantly and overwhelmingly out of my control the moment I laid a hand on him. And from there I only spun more out of control. The worst thing that could happen to an angel started happening to me so gently and unobtrusively that I didn’t notice until it was far too late. I started to feel.

I felt when he said it. I felt so much.

I need you.

Never in my existence have I ever been made so keenly aware of someone's longing. Dean always has a constant feeling of yearning to his soul. Even as I write this I can sense it. A quiet and aching pining that brushes against my grace like a gentle hum of a motor or the purr of a cat. In that moment, however, it was utterly overwhelming. It felt like my grace was aflame. The moment those words fell from his bloodied mouth it was like a dam broke. An eruption of even more emotions and feelings, some I can recognize and others I can’t seem to place engulfed me whole. It was like I was submerged in water and roughly breaching the surface simultaneously. I felt my blade slip from my fingers as the weight of the situation, of Dean’s words, of Naomi’s tampering, finally dawned on me.

Naomi asked me, “Us, or them?” but I know what she was implying. It was the same question countless of my other brothers and sisters asked; “Are we worth giving up for him?”

Yes, you are. Anything is.

Perhaps if I was braver, or maybe slightly more stupid, that’s what I would have said. I act as if saying it is what makes it true. My actions speak loudly enough, they confirm every suspicion and accusation my siblings have about me. It has been proven time and time again, no matter the circumstances, I will always choose him. I know it will be my downfall but I just can't seem to stop myself. No other being matters when I know he’s there. He will always be my priority.

As I sit here and write this I realize Meg is gone. I was too caught up in my selfish musings to take a moment to reflect on that fact. I was quite fond of the demon, for some reason. Maybe it was her charm; sharp tongued and quick witted like someone else that’s disastrously dear to me. Her vessel was attractive as well, from an aesthetics viewpoint. She had nice hair, a vindictive and cocky smile, and a presence that was uniquely her. I think my memories of her will always remain mostly fond. Although, when I think of her an odd feeling settles in my stomach sometimes. I think of the way she indulged me, let me kiss her on a whim, and always had suggestive remarks that made me feel oddly flattered. But when I think of her death… It doesn't sadden me nearly as much as it should. I enjoyed her company, in a nontraditional sort of way, but I don’t grieve her. It is odd knowing I will never see her again, but her death won’t haunt me. I’ll be able to go on with my life, the world will keep turning, more people will die. I just can’t seem to bring myself to miss her. Selfishly, when I think back to that night, when memories surface and I’m overtaken by reliving the past I only see one thing; Dean. I feel cruel and biased but it’s the truth. He is on my mind constantly often. I hope that by writing this out it will help me “work through my feelings” as Sam once put it. Though what there is to “work through” I’m not entirely sure. What I did was unforgivable. What I almost did to the man I Dean, is a sin of no equal. Yes, I was able to heal him with my grace. His contusions taken away and broken bones mended as if he was never hurt to begin with. But I know the truth. Dean knows the truth. Even though he has no physical blemishes or wounds to remind him of what happened, the true damage I’ve done rests far below the surface. Bone deep and embedded into his very being, the hurt I inflicted resides within him. Fractured, shaken, and betrayed. An open wound far beyond what I’m capable of healing. All I can hope for is that even if it lingers it doesn’t fester. That it doesn’t feed on the familial feelings of friendship Dean holds for me. That the wound doesn’t gape so wide open that it swallows whole all of the care I have for him. Now that I know Dean, consider him my friend, my family, it’s hard to imagine what I would do with my time if he wasn’t in my life. I rebelled for him, died for him, killed my own kin just to ensure his well being. In these past years my actions have been reliant on the effect they’d have on Dean. This isn’t to say all of these actions have worked out in the ways I've wanted. No, most of them have failed quite terribly. Regardless, a selfish part of me still hopes Dean can see the reasons behind my actions, see that my intentions are always well meaning.

“I need you, Cas.” Dean had said so earnestly, so full of meaninging, so achingly human. Through his humanity he gave me a gift I never knew I wanted; purpose. I feel like my existence has meaning when I’m around him, when I’m able to help his cause. Slowly, through observing Dean’s actions and hearing his opinions, I feel more for the world around me than I ever have before. Feelings that make me gaze more appreciatively at the humans that live on this little planet. With him, I feel what I imagine it is like to be human. Now that I know what feeling is like, I’m afraid I’ll never be the same. I’m afraid of what I’d feel if I knew Dean hated me.

I don’t know what else to say, I have too much on my mind and I can’t pick out any more cohesive sentences from my jumbled thoughts. When Sam and Dean first gave me this journal they told me that when I ran out of things to say, that was the signal it was time to stop writing. I guess the fact I’m an ancient being with an insurmountable amount of knowledge and experiences doesn't quite register with them. Either way, these journal entries have to end somewhere, lest I run out of space, and an inability to articulate my countless thoughts is probably my “cue” to “wrap things up”. The last thing I’ll say is what has been repeating in my mind, silencing my other thoughts with the sheer amount of feeling behind it ever since the words failed to escape my lips:

I need you too, Dean.

[thecr0w]

Chapter One; Fear, Festering.

Ambivalence

chap. 1, ~4.9k words

dexter morgan/reader, in which reader accidentally witnesses her unwitting savior in the act

[tags/cw; see masterlist for full list. noncon, threats of violence, graphic depictions of violence and death, threats, mental health mentions, mentions of cannibalism, reader is in an established toxic relationship with a man (ew)]

series masterlist

i’ve thought about this for SO long i want him so bad. at the time of posting this, i haven't slept in almost 12 hours. i apologize if it's not good :( i'll double check it later!

The air inside felt dry, stale and cold, a stark contrast with the hot and humid atmosphere outside the four walls of your workplace. A lousy, tiring part-time job only accepted from desperation. Miami was two-sided like that. A beautiful city, tropical and beaming with life, with a dark underbelly. It felt so weird not being out and enjoying it all. It was hard to, hard to focus on the positives when it felt so suffocating under the negatives. The shitty job, the lame apartment shared with your mediocre boyfriend. Life, this far, was boring. Like you were stuck in traffic with a nice view. Time went slow, rush hour speeding it only barely. By the time your shift ended, it felt like you had run a marathon. The walk home felt equally as draining, your clothes sticking to your damp skin like static-charged paper.

Your boyfriend sat on the front steps of your small apartment, cigarette dangling from his lips as he flicked his thumb across the small, bright screen in his hands. His smile faded, however, when he noticed you approaching. He threw his cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with a stomp.

“Hell have you been? Didn’t call me.”

Your stomach dropped, hands clenching nervously as he looked on.

“I forgot. I’m sorry.” You say, shifting your weight onto one leg.

He scoffed, sliding his phone into his pocket. He sat up, striding to you and pulling you into a loose hug.

“It’s a rough neighborhood out here,” he says, leading you up the stairs and into the house, “You should call me so I can make sure you’re not dead or dying.”

The night was just the same as always. Slow, boring, tiring. A shower, dinner, doomscrolling, then falling asleep in the mattress that never seemed to feel comfortable. An unsatisfying fuck every now and again. God, when had things gotten so dull? When had you allowed yourself to fall into such a miserable cycle? Despite the repetitiveness, it was, in a way, comfortable. It was comforting to know what would happen the next day, easy to prepare for and deal with. Something stable, something reliant.

Work was more of the same, a slow start, busy afternoon, and a slow night. The walk, however, was different. It was cold, a strong breeze blew through, swaying the trees lining the unkempt sidewalk. It passed through your hair, blowing strands in your eyes. With a ragged huff, you shoved your hands into your pockets and trudged onwards. The city was oddly quiet, save for a siren or a honking car every few minutes. Strange. The quietest you had ever had the city, in fact-

Footsteps.

The sound was faint, echoing off the row of houses to the left of you, and it ceased when you stopped to listen. You whipped your head around, chills running up your spine. It was silent, save for the barking of a dog heard in the distance. Nothing. Moths swarming the buzzing streetlight above, cars passing on the opposite road, but nothing to explain the footsteps. The phone felt cold in your hands as you pulled it from your pockets, your boyfriend's name lighting up the screen as you tapped the ‘call’ button. You sauntered forward slowly as the phone rang, and rang, and rang, until it eventually went to voicemail. Calling again now, you’re met with the same dialtone. Your breath quickened, as did your pace, as you walked at a steady speed towards your home.

“Call me next time, babe. I have to protect you, babe. Why didn’t you call first, and babe?”

You repeated his words in your mind and huffed, trying to push back the ever-present fear of paranoia. The wind blew again, stronger, stinging your eyes and immediately welling them with tears. In the silence, through the wind, you heard them again. The faint, pattering noise of someone treading lightly behind you. You shout, this time, snapping your head around again in a vain attempt to identify the owner of the footfall. Darkness, again. This time, you didn’t doubt yourself. You ran, hair blowing wildly as the air rushed past your ears. You ran, and you didn’t stop until you plowed right into your front door. The door swung open just as you thumped against it, tumbling you forward into the wobbly arms of your lover.

“Woah, the fuck? What happened?” He asks loudly, sounding more accusatory than concerned.

You panted, gripping onto his forearms as you looked at him.

“I- I don’t know, I don’t know, I heard footsteps- I got really scared! There was-”

“What are you saying? Nobody would try anything here.” He grunts, dropping your shoulders and slamming the door shut. “Just call me next time.” He adds, reaching for his pant’s zipper as he turns from you. Your stomach drops as you stare at his back, watching him slip past the kitchen archway.

“I did. I called twice, and you told me this was a ‘rough neighborhood’. So yeah, I was freaked out.” You rebuddled, careening towards the bedroom. You begin to peel off your work clothes, kicking your shoes off. He responds, unintelligibly, and you wouldn’t have cared to hear it anyway. The thought of leaving him occurred daily, something you felt an intense guilt for. It felt meaningless to continue being here, with him, but the same would be argued the other way around. What's the point in leaving? You would be doing the same things, just without someone to see every day. Still, you felt an attachment to him. Sure, he may be a dick, but he’s not a dick when he’s telling you he loves you. Not when he slings an arm around your waist at night in bed, not when he makes you laugh and tickles your sides when you’re lying in the bed you share. Your heart flutters when you think about it, but it dies when he slings open the door and stares harshly at you.

“Seriously? You’re just going to ignore me?” He spits, eyebrows furrowing.

“I didn’t hear you.” You pull one of his shirts down over your head.

He snorts. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever.” There’s a damp spot on the hem of his shirt, you notice. He sees you glance at the spot, and covers it with his hand.

“Spilled soap.” He swallows and looks at the one you’re wearing. One of his favourite shirts, an oversized one he bought during a daytrip at the beach. “You look good in that.”

You hum in acknowledgement, sitting on the bed. “Thanks.” The amalgamation of feeling when you think about him is too much, and you fall back on the bed in exasperation. Your eyes sting when he flicks off the light.

“Night. ‘M gonna go eat dinner, love you.” The door makes a soft thump as he closes it, and the sting in your eyes subsides as a warm tear glides down your cheek and into the dip of your ear. Sleep took you quickly, so quickly that by the next morning you couldn’t remember falling asleep. Everything went by in a blur, thoughts of the implications from your boyfriend, the paranoia of being followed, the disbelief that he wouldn’t believe you. Through the next few days, the same thing happened. You’d walk home, from anywhere, and hear the disembodied footsteps behind. Never a body to match them with, and the only times they weren’t there were the two night your boyfriend picked you up from work. He understood, he said to you, he understood why you were afraid. What he couldn’t understand, however, is why someone would be following you of all people.

It was about a month after the initial incident when a man came into the store, narrow, unfeeling eyes locking with yours. He strided forward, towards the counter you attended, and smiled. He felt around at products on the shelves for a while, casting the odd glance to you every once in a while. It was weird, yes, but he seemed well-meaning enough. Maybe he thought you were pretty. The thought was enough to make you smile to yourself. It vanished, though, when you heard him stride toward you.

“Hello there.” He began, glancing at your nametag. He read your name slowly, and you swear you saw a shudder roll down his back. He looked normal, middle-aged and greying. Still, you doubted he meant any real harm. Maybe he was just a little awkward. You were awkward, too. He was tall, lanky in a way that made you think he was active. He started saying something about how he needed to find a specific park nearby, but you could barely focus on what he was saying as he reached a hand forward, fingertips brushing over your skin like sandpaper catching onto carpet. It sent a wave of unsettling panic through you, and you winced.

“Bayfront Park?” You repeated the words.

“Yes.” The confirmation sounded more like a hiss than an actual word.

“It’s just a few blocks down.” You pointed out the window, finger shaking slightly. He remained fixated on you, smile fading slightly, then spreading widely. His teeth were stained with age, and you quickly looked away. He felt wrong all of the sudden, like how it feels to see a warped picture of yourself. It's you, but different. Altered. It made you feel nauseous.

“I see,” He took a deep, shuddering breath before starting again. “You have pretty eyes, did you know that?” His voice felt like having eyes on the back of your head. The complement came from nowhere, causing your eyebrows to raise in surprise. You laughed nervously, looking away and accidentally locking eyes with the impatient woman behind him. He seemed to notice this too, and mumbled an apology to the woman before turning back to you.

“I’ll be seeing you. Thanks for your help.” He turns quickly, striding out the door and never once turning back. It left a sour taste in your mouth, resonating anxiety burning your throat.

What an odd, odd interaction. What kind of weirdo does that? The woman in line seemed to share the same sentiment, tilting her head to the side and letting her eyes speak before placing her items on the counter.

After closing, when the doors were finally locked and you were standing outside the dark establishment, your phone pinged with a half-assed apology text from your boyfriend.

‘Hey, I’m too tired to come out and get you. Walk a different route and I’ll watch your location. I love you!’

‘really?’

‘I worked today. I'm too tired to deal with this, man.’

The artificial light illuminated your face as you read it. Too tired? What kind of boyfriend is too tired to escort his partner home, at night no less, in a neighborhood he deems unsafe? You groan in frustration, shoving the phone back in your pockets and fumbling for your housekey. The metal felt cold as you pushed it between your knuckles, deciding to use it as some sort of lame defense. It barely made a difference in the way you felt, a mix of frustration, anxiety, and betrayal at the fact that he wouldn’t even drag himself out of bed to make sure you got home safe. You clutched it tight in your hand, staring between your normal route and an alley that cuts through the neighborhood. The only option seemed to be the alley, which would throw off the normality in case someone was waiting for you on the other path. You speed-walk to it, glancing over both your shoulders before entering the darkness. Normally, there would be people gathered around areas like this. There weren’t, although a part of you felt off at the fact. About halfway down the alley, just before it ended and opened up into a city-block, the familiar sound of thumping echoed through. The key suddenly felt hot in your knuckles. You whipped around, body turning entirely to face the cause of the sound, the cause of all the fear and paranoia you’ve felt these last weeks.

Your body felt cold, suddenly. There it was. There he was. The footsteps. He went rigid, foot raised as if he froze mid-step. No more disembodied footsteps, no more looking and seeing darkness, he was here now. You couldn’t breathe, air stuck in your lungs with a sharp, sudden inhale that cut its way down your windpipe. His foot lowered slowly, and you could barely make out the lanky figure imposing on you. It was him, it had to be, your stalker and the cause of it all. Realization hits you like a car hits a deer when you realize that nothing stands between you. The alley walls feel too close, and your lungs scream for air. A truck drives by, and you see his unfeeling face in the headlights light refraction. The weird man from work.

You run, dizzy and lightheaded from depriving yourself of air. It burned when you began panting, and you almost wet yourself when you heard his heavy footsteps gaining on you. You let out a noise, something between a yell and a whimper. The wind rushed past your ears, stinging your eyes and temporarily blinding you. The fear of being chased overtook all, and you could barely make out the silhouettes surrounding you in the narrow alley. The end seemed so far, and just when you were about to breach the darkness, you slipped. Tripped over something small and blurry, something you really didn’t care for identifying as you tumbled to the concrete below. Your chin smashed against the ground, teeth clattering. A loud ‘oomph’ and a groan pushed it’s way out of you, and couldn’t help but yell out a “NO!” as you turned to face him from the ground, bleary eyed and wild. At first, you didn’t know what you were looking at. You saw a blur of struggle, someone being thrown to the ground, a large figure pining the other to the ground. The one on top punched the one on the bottom, and then plunged what looked like a pen, maybe a stick into his neck. You jerked at the crack of the man’s skull hitting the ground. The figure raised its head, and you went numb at the sight of something wrapped around his head. His broad shoulders lifted and fell slowly, sweat beginning to darken the v- shaped neckline of what looked to be a henley. You kicked your legs, scooting yourself back rapidly and shooting up. He rose with you, and you watched as he lifted his hand to his face. Another car drove past, lighting the alley for a final time.

He pressed his finger to his lips, and you could see that he had wrapped his entire head with plastic wrap. Blood from his finger smeared over his mouth, and the sight caused a noise you’d never made before to squeeze out of your throat. Before he could move, you took off, legs wobbly and searing with pain from the brutal fall. A trail of something wet and hot glided from your face to your chest, but you didn’t stop to check. You didn’t stop until you reached your door, banging loudly on the painted metal. Sobs shook your shoulders, and you watched your neighbors porch lights turn off as you screamed your boyfriend’s name. You twisted and turned the knob, but to no avail. You pleaded, screamed for him to open the door, and searched your pockets shakily for your housekey.

Finally, the door swung inward, just as you realized that you couldn’t find your key. His face fell from angry, to shocked and confused, then to concern before settling into a mix of the two.

“What the hell?! What happened?! Are you okay?” He yells, snatching you inside the house roughly, pulling you into his chest. You collapse into him, crying loudly. When he finally pulled you off, you saw that you left a mix of blood, snot and tears over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice, however.

“What happened? Do I need to call the cops? What happened to your face?”

He shuts the door and pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you on the toilet and leaving briefly. He returns with a towel, a damp and crinkled one you assume was used for the dishes. You can’t understand what he says next, words jumbling together in blurry phrases. Your head hurts, your jaw feels like it’s been stepped on and your knees throb with a pain not felt since you learned how to ride a bike. He runs the wet towel over your chin, and it feels like an open blister. You hiss, a sob releasing from your lips. It’s blurry, after that. You remember begging for no police involvement, remembering how a simple finger to the lips felt like a threat, like a morbid promise. You feel too exhausted and sore, ready to sleep and forget it happened. To forget being chased, hunted. To forget the murder you witnessed.

The subsequent morning felt like a punishment for a crime in your past-life. Memories melded together, all rushing back too quickly to process. You hoped it was just a horrible, realistic dream. It felt like a dream, and you might have tricked yourself into believing it if it weren't for the smear of dried blood smudged across your pillow. Your hand flew to your chin, where you felt the beginning of a large, rough scab. When you finally crawled over your boyfriend’s sleeping form and into the bathroom, the mirror showed the giant scrape going from the middle of your chin to your collarbone.

You winced as you ran a finger over it, noticing the way an ugly purple and red bruise begins to bloom across the delicate skin of your throat. It was ugly, but nothing serious. You recalled how you tripped and fell violently to the ground, chin skidding across rough pavement. The scrape throbbed at the memory. Calling out of work felt somehow worse than everything else, and your boss’ mildly inconvenienced tone while wishing you a ‘get better’ barely consoled your shaky breathing. Almost immediately afterwards, you heard the familiar sound of the bed springs shifting emanating from the bedroom. Out of the doorway comes your boyfriend, sleep surrounding his dark-pitted eyes. He kisses you on the center of your forehead, breath hot and heavy against your skin. He allows you to slip past him, and follows you into the living room.

“I’m sorry about what happened. I should have been there, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He sounds surprisingly genuine. He looks into your eyes, and you feel like you should have never blamed him in the first place. He doesn’t consider the massive bruise on your neck when he hugs you, pressing into it with his shoulder as he pulls you tightly into him. He asks again for you to recall the events of the previous night, and questions if you’d consider going to the police. It goes like that into the night, him asking you to re-state your memories, not even considering the possibility that you don’t want to remember it. It would be easier to pretend it never happened than to deal with the lasting effects of such an event. When you were laying in bed together that night, he kissed you softly and allowed you to fall asleep against his chest. You decided then that you’d stay.

He dropped you off at work the next morning, and kissed your cheek when took his departure. You’d spent at least an hour beforehand attempting to cover the bruise with makeup, but your attempt was obviously not enough. You’d seen your coworker’s brow raise with surprise as you walked in, and you pretend not to notice. You explain it away as a bad fall, claiming to have tripped on your own shoelaces.

“I’m way too clumsy.” You’d said, laughing slightly. She didn’t believe you, but didn’t care enough to push it further. She waved goodbye as you clocked in, and you returned it with more fervor than you had meant to. It was incredibly slow that day, and normally you’d have plucked all your hair out from boredom. Today, you were happy it was slow. You didn’t have to deal with anyone, mainly regulars who knew what they wanted already, and took leave without much of anything else.

You found yourself in the same position a week later, and the incident in the alley felt more like a suppressed memory you weren't sure happened. You were crouched behind your counter, trying your best to scrape off an old sticker from the worn tile below. You cringed at the residue it left under your index fingernail, wiping it on your pants. The door chimed as it opened, and someone stepped in silently. You cleared your throat, knees popping as you stood up.

“Hey, welcome-”

The words died in your throat as you laid your eyes upon the man standing at the door. He said nothing, giving you a slight nod as he scanned his eyes over the store interior. You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling exposed. You couldn’t explain why he shook you so much, why he was so unsettling, or why you were so nervous. You brushed it off on the simple fact that he was an attractive man. His hands were buried casually in his khaki pants, messenger bag slung over his wide shoulders. His dark-red hair blew slightly under the air conditioner mantled to the wall, shiny with sweat. Thick biceps flexed under the bright-blue button up clinging to his skin, and there was a noticeable wet patch of sweat under his collar. He seemed to feel your eyes on him, because he turned his head and caught your eye. You looked down quickly, pretending to look at the informational pamphlet taped to the countertop. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, and your throat throbbed when you tried to swallow the feeling down. You busied yourself by trying to scrape and peel off the sticky residue on your fingers, not looking up even as another customer wandered in.

The tip of someone’s foot thumped on the counter, and you let out a hesitant breath as you raised your head to greet the man standing in front of you. His hands remained in his pockets, giving you the same curt nod he did when he entered.

You opened your mouth to speak, cleared your throat instead. His lips spread into a tight smile, and he looked over your face quickly, not saying anything. He felt.. familiar. Like you’d seen him before, like you’d spoken with him many times over. You blink up at him, lips parted slightly in thought as you try to recall any reason why you’d know him. It was his turn to clear his throat now, and it embarrassingly startled you.

“Hi.” He said simply, never once breaking eye contact.

“H-hi.” You stammered over your response, a feeling of unease spreading across your stomach.

“Could you help me find something? I’m looking for tape.” His voice is soft, raspy in a way that scratches a part of your brain.

You nod, looking from his imposing gaze to his stubbled jaw. You tripped slightly as you rounded the corner of the counter, cursing yourself quietly. He pretends not to notice. He follows you down the crafting aisle, and you point to the array of tapes lining the hooked stands. You turn to face him, and you’d never felt more uncomfortable to be in the presence of a customer. He stares at your face as if he was trying to memorize every detail, savoring every nervous tremble of your lip and twitch of your nose. You clap your hands together, and he doesn’t react to the noise.

“Got anything stronger? Little project I’m working on.” His voice sounds closer than he is.

“Like.. like duct tape?” You answer, looking away from him and pretending to fix something on the shelf.

“Yeah, like duct tape.” He repeats, smiling in a way that his teeth are visible. It makes you feel warm.

The aisle feels like it’s stretching on when you walk down it, and the man stays entirely silent as he practically glides behind you. A roll of duct tape catches your eye immediately, and you bend down to pick it up. When you stand back up, he’s right in front of you. You bump into his chest and gasp, tape falling out of your grip as you bring your hands to cover your mouth.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were behind me-”

He cuts you off with a hearty laugh, quickly snatching the tape from the floor as he pops up with a sudden energy. Like a switch has been flipped, and suddenly you’re a close friend he’s known for ages.

“Don’t sweat it, I have a habit of not paying attention to the things I do. Hey, I bumped into my coworker this morning and spilled coffee all over him.” He chortles, and tosses the roll of tape into the air like it’s a ball he’s playing catch with. It puts you at ease slightly, and you laugh with him. Still, his eyes see you in a way you’re not sure you want to be seen. He tells you some story of how the coworker almost choked him for it on the way to checkout, but you barely listen to what he’s saying. Instead, you think of the way he looked at you earlier. Present, but distant. Like a mask. He stops on the outside of the countertop, and you shoot him a quick smile while you scan the barcode on the tape.

“Whoa.” He muttered, and his hand suddenly shot forward to your neck. His brow falls as his fingertips trace the faded outline of the bruise and the scrape gently, and a small noise catches in your throat at the burning feeling. He notices, pulling his hand away. You can feel the invisible trail he left, the feeling resonating deeply.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just- I mean, I didn’t notice. What happened?”

He sounds concerned, genuinely, but it sounds uncanny. Too concerned for someone you’ve just met.

“Um..” You begin, quickly regaining your already crumbling composure. “..fell.” You muttered.

He clicks his tongue, cocking his head to the side, looking intently at the area before flickering his gaze to your face.

“I’m a detective. Or, well, Forensics, but a bruise like that is more consistent with serious trauma not caused by a little fall.”

Detective? Forensics? You stare at his hands as he talks.

His hands.

His hands.

Deep, foreboding dread opens a pit in your stomach. You know those hands. You know the pink-tinted fingernails and freckled flesh. The hands that belonged to the man killed the one who chased you, the one who lifted a finger to his lips. The ones you tried so hard to forget.

“Were you pushed?” His tone is different.

You shake your head.

“You know, you can tell me if you need help.” He leans in close. “I can help.” You can smell the aftershave on his skin.

You shake your head again, pushing the tape into his hands.

“My name is Dexter. What’s yours?”

You whisper your name, never once looking up from the tape, now clutched in his hands.

“You can tell me what happened. Do you remember?”

Your head shot up, nearly knocking into his. Remember?

He smiles at that, corners of his lips fliting up in a small smirk.

“Somebody went missing a week ago, last seen in the area. You know anything about that?”

Your eyes go wide, and you almost want to say yes.

“Did you see anything?”

It sounds like a threat. Like he’s asking a rhetorical question, one he knows the answer to and doesn’t want a response for. His voice is deep, resonating in your ears like a bassline in a song. You shake your head again, lips parted and breathing faltered. Your heart beats out of rhythm, and he leans in closer than before. His forehead almost brushes yours, and the proximity made you want to vomit. If it were any other circumstance, maybe you would’ve felt flattered. Seen, flustered. Presently, you felt like he wanted to peel the skin off your bones. Does a rabbit feel like this when it knows it's being hunted?

“Good.”

Your knees felt like gelatine. He pulls a crumbled piece of paper from a pocket on the outside of his messenger bag, grabbing your arm and placing it in your palm. His fingers meet around your forearm. The squeeze is gentle, but it leaves your skin feeling like it’s on fire. Goosebumps erupt up your arm, raising all the little hairs along the way. He doesn’t look at you when he places a neatly folded bill on the register, swiping the tape from the counter. You watch as he leaves, turning to face you one last time, bringing his hand up in an open-palmed wave as the doors swung open for him.

“Call me if you remember anything. It’s a special case, afterall.”

With that, the door chimes as it closes. You take a minute to breathe before you unfold the paper, and written in neat writing are a series of digits, with Dexter written neatly under them. You barely get to the trashcan before bile erupts from your stomach.

[istillhaveyourheart]

𝕴’𝖒 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖆 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑 (Punk bodyguard!Miguel O’Hara x Popstar!Reader)

Cursing, nfsw actions implied, nudity (?),implied voyeurism, (playful) mentions of panty sniffing, some fluff, some sass, this is very self indulgent, , readers a brat, minors DNI

Word count: 1.8k

A/n: Yay reupload Cuz I love these two :3 I added like an extra little bit at the end of I wanted to Hehe, enjoy 😊

Masterlist

—

“Thank you Neuva York!”

Cheers filled the arena as you waved to the crowd one last time, blowing kisses while soaking in the attention. Adrenaline still filling your veins as you walked backstage, hands shaking slightly from the fact you’d had been dancing and singing for the last past two hours.

The second your head set was off and handed back to one of the sound techs, your second and third shadow had decided to join you right away, the latter of which already had his hand on the small of your back as you began walking to your dressing room. Your own hand immediately going to push it off.

“Ugh, you know I don’t like it when you grab at me after a concert.” You immediately groaned, the sweet pop girl act dropping the second you stepped off stage.

“Touching you is a part of my job, Princess.” Unfazed by your attitude, his hand immediately returns to its spot on your back. You were sure if your manager wasn’t right next to you, Miguel’s tone would be very different saying that sentence.

“You would get a job where all you get to do is touch pretty girls-“

“Alright, alright both of you, stop.” Your manager finally interpreted your bickering, lifting his nose up from his phone to glare at the both of you. Resulting in you just rolling your eyes at him when his gaze turned to meet yours. “Can you please behave yourself until we get to the tour bus sweetheart?”

“Whatever.” You mumbled, pushing Miguel’s hand away from your back once again. “Did you make sure to get the bus ready or am I going to have to wait in my dressing room?”

“We’re almost done, but I suggest you shower in your room before we leave. We have limited water and the one on the bus is smaller.” Your manager responded as he looked back down at his phone. “It’ll be another half hour or so.”

“Guess I’ll shower then.” You sighed before parting ways, you and Miguel turning a corner to head back to your room.

“‘Touching you is a part of my job, princess.’ God do you not think before speaking or do you just enjoy making things sound dirty.” You mocked the second the door was closed and locked behind you both. Making Miguel let out a scoff as he leaned against it, eyes following you as you paced around to grab your toiletries.

“You're the only person who thinks that Princess.” He responded, raising his hands up in defense.

“Sure.” Sarcasm dripped from your lips as you stepped into the bathroom attached to the dressing room, setting your items on the marble counter before turning the water on.

—

“Guess what I heard (Y/N)’s bodyguard say to her after she gave me her mic while she was leaving?” A young twenty-something sound girl whispered to one of her stagehand friends.

“Omg what?”

“She told him, and I shit you not: ‘touching you is a part of my job princess’.” She revealed in a whisper shout as her and her friend continued to shut down and pack up their equipment. Making her friend gasp in surprise.

“No way!”

“Yes way!”

“They’re totally fucking.”

“You guys are reading too much into it.” A third, male stagehand joined in on the conversation. “They probably just joke around like that.”

“I don’t believe that.” The second girl shook her head at the male’s claim. “Did you see the way he was looking at her last night during rehearsal? He looked like he wanted to pounce her.”

“He looked like he was irritated, he always looks like that around her.” He retorted at the explanation, “I have no idea why she’s a sweetheart.”

“Didn’t seem like one when she was talking to him or her manager.” The first girl piped in.

“She’s probably stressed and tired, I would be too if I had to sing and dance for two hours straight.” The male defended as the three finished up, and began making their way to the break room. “I’d be so overwhelmed-“

“Wait shush.” The second girl quickly interrupted him as they turned down where your dressing room was, and despite the walls being nowhere near paper thin, the muffled sound of their voices would surely leak through.

They had almost fully passed by the door when they heard a thud, followed by a groan, making the three stagehands stop in their tracks.

“Do you think one of them got hurt?” The male asked in a low whisper as the three glanced at each other, but none had a chance to answer before they heard-

“Just get this dress off of me already!”

“Hold still princess, you're so impatient.”

“No fucking way…” One of the girls whispered in disbelief, her ears turning pink at the implication of the words they had heard.

“Your hands are too big!”

“Stop squirming, you're only making this harder for yourself.”

“Wait wait, don't pull on my hair like that.”

“Sorry princess, it’s not my fault.”

The two girls had to cover their mouths to stop themselves from gasping, meanwhile all their male friend/coworker could do was stare at the door as his brain blue screened. Not even noticing when your manager came around the corner, about to enter your dressing room but stopped when he noticed the door was locked.

“Miguel!”

“Don’t whine like that sweetheart. Someone’s gonna hear you.”

“Don’t forget, you three signed NDAs.” He whispered the reminder with an unphased look, as he turned to the three young adults, pointing at the threm before shooing them away.

—

“Be careful, don’t rip it.” You bit on your lips as your eyes wandered to the ceiling, one of your now bare feet impatiently tapped away on the fluffy dressing room carpet.

“This is the fourth time since the tour started that your zipper has broken, I think it’s time you either switch to your other outfit or you get a new wardrobe department.” Miguel mumbled as he continued to tugged on the malfunctioning zipper with furrowed brows, yet to no avail.

“I love this dress though, my back up one is ugly.” You whined, head tilting backwards making your hair fall back from your shoulders. Making Miguel immediately brush it back to rest on your shoulder so it didn’t get caught on the zipper again. “Can’t you just go get Lyla?” You asked in irritation, knowing your stylist and head of wardrobe would have had you out of this dress five minutes ago.

“Most of the staff had left on the other bus already.” He told you, dropping his hand to stretch his fingers out a bit. “We’ve got twenty minutes.”

“Well they can’t leave without me.” You reminded him harshly, turning to face him, grabbing at the bottom of the dress as you began pulling it up from your thighs. “Fuck it…I’m just gonna pull it off, I don’t care if Lyla gets mad.”

“You didn’t have to turn around, if you just want an excuse to strip in front of me just say so princess.” Miguel teased with a smirk, eyes shamelessly roaming your now semi naked body from behind his sunglasses, eyes immediately falling to your small heart tattoo on your hip that was peaking out from your panties. Knowing if he ever saw someone look at you the way he was right now, he’d make sure they’d never see ever again.

“Stop being a perv and help me pull this over my head.” You bit back.

“You gonna ask me to join you in the shower too?” He joked teasing, but did as told. Fixing the dress once it was off your body to pack as you took off your bra and panties, dropping them to the floor as you rushed into the restroom.

“You wished.” You scoffed, immediately stepping into the shower. “Don’t spend too much time sniffing my panties while you finish packing my shit!”

—

After the rushed shower, you both finally made your way to the second tour bus a little bit after midnight, luckily the paparazzi had already left believing you were on the first bus. Giving you the privilege of wearing your pjs and your crocs to the bus rather than something more photo acceptable.

Exhaustion has finally begun to settle in as you wrapped your pink fuzzy blanket around yourself to prevent the cold Neuva York air from nipping at your skin too much, but despite your blankets best efforts, you still shook slightly as you crossed the mostly empty parking lot. Tired eyes grew heavier with each passing second.

“Hey.” Miguel mumbled as he noticed your eyes closing for a few seconds too long for his liking, nudging you slightly with his elbow before removing his hand from his jacket pocket to wrap it around your shaking shoulders. “Don’t fall asleep on me now, we’re almost there.”

You just let out a hum as you rested your head on his side, closing your eyes as you let him lead you to the bus.

“I’m not gonna carry you, so don’t stop walking.” He lied, his own voice a bit rougher than normal.

“You always say that.” You mumbled, voice meek compared to its usual feisty tone you always gave him.

“I know.” He agreed, pausing in front of the bus steps to help you up, standing behind you in case you misstepped. Greeting the driver and your manager with a nod as he trailed behind you. Dropping your duffle bag on the bus’s little couch, before turning to you. “I’m going to go change, go to your bunk bed and go to sleep.”

“No, ” You immediately shook your head, wrapping your blanket tighter around your figure. “I wanna cuddle.” You mumbled, big tired eyes looking up at Miguel almost expectantly. Making the bodyguard let out a sigh, as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Princess you know we can’t fit on the beds together.” He lowered his voice to a soft whisper as he leaned in a bit closer. “And I’m not going to sleep on the couch, my back will hurt in the morning.” He explained gently, as if explaining to a crying child, and by the whine that left your throat, it surely left like it too.

“Please. Just tonight.” You begged, and if it weren’t for the fact your exhausted state making you so much of an actual sweetheart to him compared to your usual attitude, he would have said no.

“Okay, okay fine.” He sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face, heart swelling when your pout turned into a smile . “Let me get changed first, okay?”

“Okay.” You replied, going to sit on the couch as you waited, thankful it only took him a few seconds. Returning in a pair of grey sweats and a black tank top.

“You owe me a back rub in the morning.” He muttered, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you into his chest as you spread your blanket over yourselves.

“You two are going to get me in a hell of a media circus one day…” Your manager mumbled under his breath as soon as he was sure you both were asleep. Not missing the way you inched a bit closer to lay on Miguel’s chest better, or the way Miguel’s hand twitched to hold your waist a bit more snug.

[sweetromanova]

More To Lose: Part Two🖤

Summary: You thought your life with Steve Rogers was what love looked like. But love isn’t quiet disappointment or fading into the background. It’s soft hands when you’re breaking. It’s someone who sees you, even when you don’t see yourself. And just maybe, it’s Natasha Romanoff, waiting for you to see her too

A/N: part three hopefully up a little later since this one is only 1.6k! also want to add steve isn’t really a villain or intentionally abusive, he’s just down bad for peggy and bucky… thanks for reading🤍

Chapter Two

You’re late.

You’re always late lately.

It’s not that you mean to be. Margot had a tantrum over the wrong shoes, Fanny wouldn’t wear his harness and then you spilled milk down the front of your only clean t-shirt. You’d barely tied your hair back when you noticed the clock and muttered shit shit shit under your breath.

So now you’re half-walking, half-jogging down the shaded path along the edge of the compound gardens, stroller rattling slightly over the uneven stones, one hand on the handle while the other loosely wraps around Fanny’s leash.

You spot Natasha leaning against the same tree you always meet under, sunglasses on, arms crossed. Her hair is tied up in a messy braid that should look she’s about to walk into battle but somehow just looks effortless. Of course she’s early. Of course she looks good doing absolutely nothing.

Fanny barks once as you approach and tries to sprint the last few feet. You tighten your grip, breath catching.

Nat glances down at her watch, then back up at you. “Only ten minutes late. That’s almost early for you.”

You blow a strand of hair out of your face. “I was going for fashionably flustered.”

“You nailed it.” She speaks, straight-faced. “Very high-stakes motherhood chic.”

You exhale a laugh and come to a halt under the tree, chest rising and falling a little too fast. Margot is half-dozing in the stroller, her cheek pressed against a soft toy that’s seen better days.

“I didn’t think she’d go down that fast.” You say, voice low. “She screamed like I was murdering her over socks.”

Natasha reaches down, crouching beside the stroller. Her fingers are gentle as she adjusts the blanket draped across Margot’s legs like it’s instinct. Like she’s done it a hundred times. She probably had. “She’s okay now?”

You nod. “Sleeping through her rage, like a true role model.”

Nat chuckles quietly. “Sounds familiar.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen you after a rough debrief.” She shrugs, standing. “Same look, different size.”

You smile in spite of yourself. The sun filters through the branches above, casting threads of light across the path, across Nat’s shoulders, your arms, the stroller’s handle. It’s the first truly warm day in a while. The kind that makes your skin feel like it’s breathing.

You start walking slowly and she falls into step beside you, without needing to be asked. Fanny trots between you both, leash now held in Natasha’s hand. It’s become a quiet routine, something unspoken and comfortable.

You push the stroller, she takes the dog. You don’t even think about it anymore.

The silence is easy and companionable. Birds chirp somewhere in the trees. The occasional hum of Tower machinery in the distance reminds you that you’re still technically inside the most secure compound in the world, even if it smells like grass and freedom.

You glance over at her. “You could be doing literally anything else right now. You don’t have to keep coming with me.”

“I know, you tell me every week.” She replies, eyes forward. “But I like this. Also if you lose my sister’s dog, she will murder you and I’d rather not Margot become an orphan.”

You let out a laugh, rolling your eyes. The thing is you believe her, that she liked joining you on your morning walk. That’s the strange thing. Natasha doesn’t say things to fill air. If she says she likes something, she means it. You don’t know when that started mattering to you so much.

You both slow near the small clearing where the path opens out beneath a larger tree. It’s quiet here, with a little bit of space for Margot to wander and Fanny to laze in the sun.

You pause. “Want to stop for a bit?”

Nat nods once, already unclipping the leash. Fanny immediately flops into the grass like she’s been training all her life for this moment.

You scoop Margot out of the stroller carefully as she’s starting to stir. She’s heavier now, solid toddler weight but still small enough to curl against your shoulder as you settle on the grass letting her come back to consciousness slowly. Nat sits next to you, knees up, one arm resting casually across them.

After a few minutes, Margot fully wakes, rubbing her eyes against your neck before wriggling free and toddling unsteadily towards a patch of clover. You let her go, eyes tracking her every step.

Nat’s voice breaks the quiet. “She’s fast now.”

“She’s trouble now.” You correct.

There’s a beat. And then “You look better today.”

You blink. “What?”

Natasha looks over at you, properly. “Than a few months ago. You were kind of hollow. You’re still tired but you’re coming back.”

You look down at your hands. “Some days. Not all.”

“That’s okay.”

The breeze picks up slightly, brushing strands of hair across your face. You don’t move to fix them. For a long time, neither of you speak.

Margot toddles over to Natasha, pudgy fists clenched, little tufts of grass sticking out between her fingers. She wobbles with determination, eyes bright and curious. Natasha crawls froward, steadying her just in time to stop her from shoving a handful of green into her mouth.

“Note to self…” Natasha murmurs, catching your eye with a small smirk. “Don’t turn your back. She’s one existential crisis away from becoming Margot the Cow.”

You huff a tired laugh, grateful for it.

Then, almost without meaning to like the truth just slips past your guard, you say. “He named her after Peggy.”

Natasha doesn’t flinch.

“I didn’t want to fight him. Not in that moment. So we compromised. I compromised. Margot, not Margaret.” Your voice is thin. “Different but still her.” The sentence haunts you to this day.

“You’re not Peggy.”

You let out a dry laugh. “You think I don’t know that? I was never trying to be her. But sometimes I think he wished I would.”

Nat doesn’t rush in with comfort. She doesn’t say ‘of course not’ or ‘he loves you for you’. She just sits there. Letting it be said.

You keep going, like the dam’s cracked and you can’t quite stop now. “Bucky’s the other ghost.” You add, quietly. “Except he’s not dead. He’s here. He’s around. He calls, he visits. He trains with Steve like nothing ever changed. He’s the uncle to my- our daughter.”

Nat tilts her head. “And that bothers you.”

You pick a blade of grass, twisting it between your fingers. “It bothers me that there’s no space left for me. Not really. I loved him, Nat. I thought he made room for me in his life. I didn’t realise it was just the spare room.”

The quiet between you thickens. Margot giggles from a few feet away as she discovers a ladybug. You blink away the wetness in your eyes before it can fall.

Natasha shifts slightly, her voice low. “I see you, you know.”

You finally look at her.

She meets your gaze, without blinking. “I saw you before all of this. Before the baby. Before Steve. I see you now.”

Your throat tightens. “Then why does it still feel like I disappeared?”

“Because you haven’t said that out loud until now.”

It’s not cruel or it’s not even stern. It’s just the truth.

You take a breath. Then another. “I don’t know who I am if I’m not with him anymore.” You admit, voice barely above a whisper. “He made me fall in love with him. He decided we should have kids. He decided we’d live here. He decided he’d still work all the damn time.”

Your throat tightens. “And all I got to decide was whether or not I brushed my hair that day. Whether I had enough time to shower before Margot woke up or if I should just use those twenty minutes to catch up on some sleep.”

You shake your head, blinking hard. “That’s not me. That’s never been me. I don’t know when I became this.”

A beat passes. You feel the words before you even fully believe them. “I didn’t even want children. I didn’t want to be married. I don’t think I do want to be married.”

You exhale, like letting go of a weight you've been carrying too long. “And I don’t think I’m in love with him anymore.”

There it is. The truth, dropped between you like a stone.

Nat doesn’t look away. Instead, she reaches out, fingers brushing yours where your hand rests in the grass.

Her touch is light and steady.

“You don’t have to be in love with him,” she says. “You just have to be honest with yourself.”

You don’t pull away. Her hand is warm. Safe.

You want to hold on. So you do.

⋆⋆⋆

The walk back is quiet but not heavy.

You almost feel embarrassed, you’ve just trauma-dumped on a former child assassin who splits her time between saving the world and carrying your sleeping toddler through the gardens of the compound.

Margot’s fallen asleep again, her small body was draped across Natasha’s lap. You tried gently, to lift her back into the stroller but she stirred and protested with that sharp, unmistakable baby wail.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. She just looked at you, soft-eyed, steady and reached out. You handed Margot over, and she melted into Natasha’s chest like she belonged there.

Fanny trots contentedly beside them, like she’s decided she belongs to Natasha now, too.

You walk a little slower than you need to, not because you’re tired but because something about the moment feels fragile. Like peace, just for a minute and you don’t want to be the one to end it.

When you reach the Tower steps, you glance up at them and sigh. There are twelve, uneven, slightly chipped from years of being trodden by combat boots and ego.

You hesitate. Nat’s already offering her hand.

You slide yours into hers and she pulls you up, effortless with a dog at her feet and a baby in her arms. She doesn’t let go at the top and neither do you.

[zayn-210]

SKY HIGH - lee felix "shh, we don't your brother to hear, do we?"

a secret relationship with your older brother's best friend brings out the worst in both of you.

warnings: afab!reader, felix being a little shit (affectionate), slight smut, sneaking around behind chris's back, swearing, slight angst towards the end, but it's a happy ending!

"Stay away from him."

That was the only thing your older brother, Chris, had told you about his best friend before you met him.

"What? Why?" you ask.

"Just, stay away."

The day you met Felix, you knew you had it bad. He was slightly shorter than Chris, and he had dyed black hair that fell perfectly around his face. He had several ear piercings and a couple of tattoos on his arms.

"Hey," Felix says as you let him in to your house.

"Hi," you reply.

Felix's gaze rakes up and down your body, taking in the oversized AC/DC shirt and the ridiculously short Nike Pros you were wearing. Chris grabs Felix, who's eyes are still on you, and tugs him upstairs.

Felix, like your brother, became a constant presence in your life. Chris even let Felix take you to your senior prom after your dickhead of a boyfriend cheated on you with one of your closest friends.

"I don't want you going alone," was Chris's excuse.

Your brother was definitely a raging pain in your ass, but you knew he meant well.

Fast forward three years, and you've still got it bad for Felix.

Once you announced you decided to attend the same university as Chris and all of his friends, Felix started to slowly involve himself in your life more and more until he was all you could think about.

"You should just move into the frat house with us," Felix said one night over dinner with all eight of them.

"What? No, I couldn't do that to you guys!" you defend.

"He's got a point," Hyunjiin points out.

"It would save a shit ton of money," Changbin adds before Chris can protest.

Chris hated that both of you had to take on student loans to afford college, and any time he could help lighten that load, he did. "It's not a terrible idea," he mumbles.

"We could have game nights every night," Jeongin adds.

You look around at their expectant faces before you sigh. "Alright, I'll move in with you guys."

You've been living with the guys for over a year now, and it still blows your mind how Chris has no idea about you fucking his best friend.

Most times when he needs you, Felix borrows Minho's car and the two of you drive until he can't take it anymore.

However, there are rare occasions when the frat is empty, and Felix can have his way with you.

Days like today.

Right now, Felix had you pinned under him, one hand holding yours while the other fisted in the sheets beside your head. “Fuck, I wish the others could hear how good I make you feel,” he groans, fucking into you faster—if that was even possible. 

“Lix,” you mewl out, your arms wrapping around his back.

“I know, baby, I know.” He groans as you tighten around him, your new nails (that he paid for) digging into his back. 

“Felix! We’re back!” 

Your eyes go wide at your brother’s voice as you try to supress a whimper. His hand moves from yours to press over your mouth. 

“Shh, we don’t want your brother to hear, do we?” 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as the tip of his dick hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. 

“Felix, you good?” Chris calls from outside his door.

“Yeah, just working on something,” Felix replies.

“Alright. We’re gonna order pizza, that good?”

“Sounds awesome. I’m starved.”

Your brother finally goes away, and your body releases a bit of tension. 

“Thought he’d never leave,” Felix groans. He moves his hand and leans down to kiss you, swallowing every little noise you let out. 

About a half an hour later, you slip out of Felix’s room and attempt to make it to your room without any of the others seeing. 

“What were you and Felix up to?” 

You freeze at Seungmin’s voice, slowly turning around to see him. “Oh, hey, Seungmin. Didn’t know you were home,” you say, hands tugging down the hem of Felix’s hoodie. 

“Relax, your secret’s safe with me. Go to your room before your brother witnesses your walk of shame.” 

You give him a tight-lipped smile before ducking into your room. You stash Felix’s hoodie in your closet before changing into clean clothes. “Shit!” you whisper as you look in the mirror. There are a few bright red hickeys that aren’t quite hidden by your shirt. 

‘y/n <3 - take it easy on me next time, you human vacuum >:( *image attached*’ 

‘lix <3 - i’ll leave more next time’

You roll your eyes and start covering them up. 

“MY BEAUTIFUL QUEEN!” you hear Jisung yell as he pounds on your door. 

“Come in,” you call, dabbing more concealer on to your neck. 

“What’s go- oh my God, who got a hold of you?” he asks, shutting the door behind him as he observes your neck. 

“No one,” you mutter. 

“Ah, so “No one” is Felix’s new name?” 

You choke on your air, spinning around to face him. “What are you talking about!?” you hiss at him.

“The frat wasn’t empty this morning, sunshine. Minho and I never left.”

Your face goes pale, your beauty blender stilling against your neck. “Don’t tell Chris. Please.”

Jisung laughs at your expression as he flops onto your bed. “Relax, it’s not our place to say anything. Besides, Chris would have all of our asses if he found out we knew.”

You nod as you finish the cover up. “Did I cover them good enough?” 

Jisung tilts your jaw gently, inspecting your work. “Yeah, it looks good. If Chris asks, tell him you were making out with Min and me.”

You smack his chest as you laugh. “You really think he’d believe that?” you ask Jisung as you leave your room. 

“Believe what?” 

Jisung stumbles into you as you freeze. “Hey, Chris!” you say, a little too cheerfully. 

“Hey,” he says, giving you a look. 

“Jisung was telling me this crazy ass dream he had, and he was wondering if you’d believe it!” 

Jisung nods, smiling at his friend. “Yeah! It was insane!” 

Chris nods. “Sure, okay. Anyways, Mom wanted to make sure you’re still doing okay.”

You laugh softly. “I’ve been living with you guys for over a year, I think I’d know if I wasn’t okay,” you tell him. 

“True.” 

Felix’s door opens, and he walks out shirtless while carrying a t-shirt to put on. There are several hickeys littering his neck, and his hair is still tousled from your fingers pulling on it. 

“Damn, man. Who got a hold of you?” Chris asks as Felix walks over.

“Just a friend of mine.” Felix winks at you as he brushes past. There are bright red lines running down his back from your nails. 

“I wish I got laid like that,” Jisung says. 

“Isn’t Minho enough for you?” you ask, patting his shoulder. 

You leave Jisung there with his jaw dropped as Chris follows behind you with a laugh. 

Downstairs, Minho’s out on the patio grilling something and talking to Jeongin while Hyunjin and Seungmin chop up various vegetables and ingredients. You jump right in, taking a cutting board and knife, and start chopping up the carrots as Chris heads out to talk to Minho and Jeongin. 

Felix is leaning against the counter as he drinks from a can of soda. As he moves to go sit in the living room with Changbin, he brushes his hand gently across your lower back.

You smile softly as he walks out, your chopping never slipping.

Once all of the ingredients are cut up, you grab a seltzer from the fridge and pop it open, relishing at the slight sting of the alcohol.

"Aren't you underage?" Seungmin asks as he grabs his own.

"Aren't you underage, too?" you retort, nudging him with your shoulder as you walk into the living room.

Changbin is lounging in the armchair and Felix, fully dressed again, is spread out on the end of the couch.

"Hey, gorgeous," Felix says as you walk in.

"Hey," you reply, sitting beside him.

It wasn't uncommon for you to be physically affectionate with your brother's friends, it was more like routine at this point. Whoever sat next to you in the car became your personal pillow, and whoever ended up next to you in the hot tub did, too.

Felix opens his arm, and you lean into him, your head on his shoulder. His fingers trace absently up and down your arm as he talks to Changbin. You're half awake when Minho calls for everyone to come eat.

"Can we eat outside?" Hyunjin asks, already wandering towards the door to the patio.

"Sure."

Everyone grabs a plate and chopsticks before walking outside. The ten-person table was a gift from Felix's parents last Christmas. You end up with Felix on your right and Seungmin on your left, and your brother is on the other end of the table.

During the meal, everyone chats and catches up. As you talk to Jeongin, who happens to be the same age as you, Felix's hand wanders over and rests on your thigh. The touch is innocent enough, but his hand slowly creeps up underneath the hem of your skirt.

You tense beneath him, and you can see Felix's smirk as he keeps going. His fingertips barely brush your slit before he's pulling away and acting like nothing's happening.

You give him a look, and Felix just smiles at you. Shaking your head, you resume your conversation with Jeongin.

After you've finished eating, you set your chopsticks down and thank Minho for the meal again.

Felix is engaged in a heated conversation with Jisung, so he doesn't notice the way your hand slides off the table and into your lap. Slowly, you reach over and decide to do what he did to you. Your hand slides up his thigh, making him shoot a glance at you.

Your innocent smile nearly makes him roll his eyes as he turns back to Jisung. You keep going, resting your hand gently over the slightly obvious bulge in his sweats. You grind your hand into him once, twice, and then you pull away.

With an obviously very fake yawn, you excuse yourself for the night. You set your dishes in the sink and head upstairs. You're so overjoyed in your victory of messing with Felix that you miss the footsteps following you upstairs.

You let out a small yelp as Felix drags you into his room, pulling your body flush against his. He kisses you with so much heat and passion that you almost fall over.

"Felix, what-"

Felix leaves no room for questions as he backs you up to his bed and lays you down, hovering over you.

"You drive me fucking insane," he nearly whispers as he kisses you again.

You giggle as Felix pins your wrists above your head, the other hand sliding down your body.

"I bet if I check under this tiny skirt, you're gonna be-"

"What the fuck!?"

Felix shoots up, turning around to meet your brother's furious gaze.

"Chris, I can explain-" you try to say as you sit up.

"Don't!" Chris turns around and walks out.

You sit there on Felix's bed, your lip between your teeth. "Fuck!" you mutter, burying your face in your hands.

"Do you want me to try to talk to him?" Felix asks, brushing your hair back.

"Will it make a difference?" you ask.

The absolute defeat in your voice nearly breaks Felix's heart. He knows you love him, but he knows how much your brother means to you.

"It better make a difference." Felix kisses the top of your head before disappearing to find Chris.

Seungmin walks in and sits next to you. "If it helps, Jisung tried to tackle Chris into the pool when he tried to come find you. Chris threw Jisung in instead. I have the video if you want to see it later."

You smile softly at Seungmin as tears fill your eyes, and he wastes not time pulling you into a hug.

"Chris!" Felix yells as he jogs down the street after his best friend.

"What, Felix!? What could you possibly have to say to me?"

Felix stops a few feet away from Chris. "Do you really want to hear what I have to say?" he asks.

"I don't know because I don't know if I should trust a word that comes out of your mouth! You went behind my back and tried to fuck my little sister, who I've told you was off-limits from the day you met her!"

"I only went behind your back because I fucking love her, Chris!" Felix exclaims.

Chris stops walking and turns around. "What?"

"I love her, Chris. I love her so much, it fucking kills me to keep it from you. I trust you more than anyone on this planet, but I love her so much more. I didn't tell you because she didn't want you to know! I only did what she asked because I'm a fucking fool who's head over heels in love with her. I would never hurt her. I know how much she means to you, and I know how much you mean to her. She's sitting in my room, crying, because she thinks you're mad at her. I know I'm the one you're mad at, so don't fuck up your relationship with her because you're mad at me. I'm not going to hide my love for her anymore, I can't."

Chris is speechless. "Are you serious?" he asks as he walks towards Felix.

Felix nods. "Deadly."

"For the record, I'm still slightly mad at you," Chris says, pulling Felix into a hug.

Back at the house, Seungmin is doing everything he can to reassure you that Felix will handle Chris.

"It's going to be fine, I promise. Felix will handle it."

There's a knock on the door, and Chris walks in with Felix in tow.

Seungmin stands up, reluctantly removing you from his embrace. "If anything happens, just yell, okay?"

You nod as Seungmin walks out, giving both your brother and your boyfriend a pointed glare.

"I'm sorry," Chris says, kneeling in front of you. "I'm sorry for getting upset, but I wish you would've told me. I know I told you and Felix to stay away from each other, but I would've been so much more supportive of you. It's not my favorite idea, but if you love him, I can't stop you. I love you so much, Y/n. You're my little sister, and I just want what's best for you."

You sniffle and smile softly, hugging your brother tightly. "You just had me so scared because I didn't want to lose either of you," you confess.

"You're not losing me or Felix any time soon. If you lose Felix, he's losing a testicle."

You nearly cackle as you hug your brother tighter. "You're insane," you tell Chris.

Chris stands up, smiling. "Are we good now?" he asks, holding out his fist.

"We're good," you reply, fist-bumping him.

"Good. Now, I can do this." Felix walks over and kisses you, elicting a groan from Chris.

"Gross, my eyes!" he exclaims dramatically, covering his eyes as he walks out of the room.

You giggle against Felix's lips.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you more."

[dreamy-crow]

Gonggi Pebbles

[Couple: Kang Dae-ho(player 388) × fem!reader]

[ Reader is Gi-hun(player 456) daughter!]

[Size: 5141 words, 28,953 characters]

[English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes. Sorry for that. This idea came to me in the middle of the night and I couldn't help but write it. Enjoy reading.]

Gi-hun drew in a heavy breath as he dialed a number he knew by heart.

Just moments ago, he had tried calling his younger daughter, who was now living abroad with her mother. Her surprised and emotional “Dad?” struck something deep within him. Yet, despite having the chance, he couldn’t say a single word. He hadn’t gotten on the plane to see her — hadn’t given her the unforgettable gift he had dreamed of. Now, he was calling his older daughter. She had lived in the United States with her mother’s new family for some time, but later returned to Korea on her own terms, choosing to enroll in a university in Seoul. Gi-hun had supported her financially whenever she needed it — though she always tried to refuse. She still remembered his past money problems, and accepting help from him made her feel uncomfortable. She had no idea how much everything had changed. And convincing her otherwise… wasn’t easy. Especially since they hadn’t seen each other in over three years, and the last time they spoke felt like a lifetime ago.

The ringing stopped. A sleepy voice answered:

"Hello?"

His fingers tightened around the phone.

That familiar voice… it had grown more mature over the years.

Gi-hun opened his mouth — but no words came out.

“Hello? Who is this?”

she repeated.

Gi-hun, a man a little past middle age, covered his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle any sound that might escape.

There was silence for a moment, and then she sighed tiredly:

“If you’re not going to say anything, I’ll hang up.”

After another short pause, she did just that.

The line went dead. He slowly lowered the phone from his ear and placed it down on the old table with a dull thud. Doubt crept in again. Had he done the right thing? He had made a firm decision — to return to the deadly games. That meant risking his life all over again. But even so… he hadn’t been able to speak to his daughters. Soon after, they came for him. And now he stood once more, dressed in the familiar green tracksuit.

The hum of conversations stirred you from sleep. You placed a hand on your head, still aching from the blow. Last night, while returning from university, someone attacked you. The strike to your head rendered you momentarily unconscious, and then a cloth soaked in some substance was pressed to your mouth, sending you into a deep sleep.

Panic rose in your chest. This place was unfamiliar, and strangers surrounded you—each appearing just as anxious and frightened. The thought of asking someone what was happening quickly faded. You carefully stepped down from the bed, not wanting to draw attention.

The door opened, and individuals in pink suits with black masks bearing geometric shapes entered. Their voices were unnatural, distorted, as if coming from afar. Identifying them was impossible. Your unease was shared by others in green tracksuits, who began voicing their concerns about the situation.

Suddenly, a video played, showing people being struck in the face for losing a game. An explanation followed: these individuals were in debt and desperately needed money. You pressed your lips together, analyzing the situation.

《Are these creditors? Is everyone here in debt? But I have none... My tuition is paid, and I can afford more than just rice for dinner.》

The people in pink said nothing more, only instructing everyone to follow them for the first game. Before you lay a vast sandy field, with a giant doll at the far end—reminiscent of those in children's books. The game was simple; you'd played it often as a child with friends during school breaks.

The game began. The doll sang about a hibiscus flower, then called out "green light" or "red light." You moved cautiously, staying amidst the crowd. A scream caught your attention. Your body froze, and your head turned toward the source. Eyes widened in shock—it was your father. He stood ahead of everyone, warning them of the deadly danger and urging them not to move.

You blinked, struggling to believe this was real. Could someone truly intend to kill so many people? You chose not to take risks and followed your father's instructions. However, a girl didn't heed the warning and collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

Chaos erupted. People began to flee, pushing and shoving. Internally, you prayed not to be knocked over. Gunshots rang out; more people fell, crimson pooling beneath them. Eventually, everything halted, and the doll announced "green light." Hesitantly, you moved forward.

"Form lines! Shorter ones, hide behind taller ones. The doll won't see you."

Again, "red light." To prove his point, your father clenched his hand behind his back several times and remained unharmed. Relieved, you followed his advice, staying in the middle. Time was limited, so your group moved faster than others. Finally, you crossed the finish line.

Now, standing behind some people, you watched events unfold on the field. Time dwindled, and your father, along with a woman, assisted a man in completing the game. Anxiety tightened your chest, the ticking digital clock fraying your nerves. Eventually, three people crossed the finish line, allowing you to breathe easier. But the man your father helped fell to the ground—shot.

All surviving players returned to the starting area. Each lost in thought, you sat quietly on your bed, contemplating the situation. It was hard to grasp that this was reality. It felt like a nightmare after watching an action movie. Your eyes found your father, conversing with a familiar face you couldn't quite place.

Guards entered, weapons in hand. They no longer hid the fact that this was a dangerous place where anyone could die. You hugged the pole supporting the upper bunk, eyes drawn to the large piggy bank on the ceiling filled with money.

《I's this just a prop?》

You weren't sure if the money was real.

The voting began—whether the games would continue or come to an end.

Your father was the first to vote. He pressed the button marked with an X and attached a red patch to his jacket.

Your gaze dropped to your own card—number 228. Probably somewhere near the middle. It was hard to say for sure; so many participants had already been eliminated, and the numbers seemed completely random.

From time to time, you glanced thoughtfully toward your father, observing his every move. You noticed that his hair was much shorter than you remembered, and back to its natural black. Years ago, he had dyed it a bold crimson red—an impulsive experiment—but that had long grown out. You still remembered how he had laughed at your stunned reaction to the transformation. A flicker of warmth bloomed in your chest. Something familiar and comforting. Your heart skipped a gentle beat.

Player 296 approached the voting station and confidently pressed the circle, siding with those who wanted the game to continue. You let go of the bedframe and climbed down. Your turn was coming soon, so you pushed your way a bit closer through the crowd. Your hunch was right—another player voted, and then your number was called.

"Player 228, please vote."

Your white shoes made soft tapping sounds against the floor as you walked to the podium. You felt a gaze piercing through the crowd—one you could recognize without even looking. But you resisted the urge to turn your head.

You stopped before the two buttons. Reaching into your pocket, your fingers found the red button marked with an X.

You pressed it.

You didn’t need the money. You didn’t want to die here. And most of all—you didn’t want your father to die either.

One of the pink-suited guards handed you a red patch, which you carefully attached to your jacket. Then you slowly turned toward where your father stood, and your eyes met his. Your heart pounded once, hard. Your eyelashes trembled slightly.

Another player was called, so you quickly stepped over to the X side.

With every step, your earlier certainty began to fade. You stopped just a little distance from Gi-hun, hesitant to get closer. Two pairs of eyes stared at each other. Tension, quiet but heavy, hung in the air between you. You clenched your hand in your pocket, nervous.

Gi-hun stepped toward you and spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

"I... I was about to ask you the same thing. Did you lie? Did you lie when you said everything was fine with the money?"

Your hands trembled slightly.

It felt like a needle had pierced your chest—sharp and sudden. Guilt curled tightly in your stomach like a ball of tangled thread.

"No, no—it’s not like that."

He stepped closer, but the words caught in his throat. Seeing his daughter up close stirred a storm of emotions in him—too complex to name with a single word.

The noise in the hall snapped you both back to reality. On the screen, more players had voted for the circle. Gi-hun whispered quietly:

"Wait—just wait a little longer..."

He couldn’t help but speak up. He begged the others to stop, to think—because otherwise, no one would even make it home. But some lashed out at him, accusing him of weakness.

The hall fell into argument once more.

You saw your father’s shoulders rise and fall with strain.

"I’ve already played these games!"

The confession made your blood freeze.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

When had he played before?

The guards shouted at him to stop interfering immediately.

Your hand reached out and tugged at his sleeve. Gi-hun looked into your eyes—full of silent pleading.He stepped back, returning to your side. Then, Player 001 stepped forward. He pressed the blue circle. The hope that this nightmare would end shattered in an instant. You felt your father’s hand grasp yours, tightly. You closed your eyes. There was nothing left to say.

***

You sat beside your father, but neither of you had an appetite. You watched him in silence, and inside, everything twisted with a mix of anger and fear. He had been alive this entire time—yet not once had he come to see you or your younger sister, Seong Ga-yeong. And now, he didn’t even offer an explanation.

Not once during all those years had he shown up for your first day at university.

He hadn’t called for your birthday.

He hadn’t dropped by just to talk or sit with you—like he used to. You bit your lip, your expression darkening as the weight of it all sank in. Still, he had sent money. And now you understood where it had come from.

The fear of the unknown future clawed at you. This wasn’t a joke. It was all real—and the risk of dying here was far too high.

The silence finally broke as Gi-hun spoke.

"Why are you here? Did they give you a card?"

You lifted your eyes to him, your jaw tight with all the resentment you were holding back.

"What card? I didn’t want to be here. I was walking home from university when they grabbed me. And now… I’m here."

Without thinking, you touched the spot on your head where it still hurt.

Gi-hun's eyes followed your hand, checking to see if you were okay.

He processed what you said. You didn’t look like you were lying.

A terrifying thought crept into his mind:

They had taken you because of him.

They’d dragged you into this as leverage—to control him.

He pressed his hand to his forehead.

The guilt hit like a wave.

"And what about you?" you asked, voice strained.

"If you won the money, then why did you come back?"

Your voice cracked slightly.

Your eyes shimmered with unspoken emotion—questions you had carried for years.

"Why didn’t you ever reach out? Not to me, not to Ga-yeong?"

Gi-hun leaned closer, but again—no answers. You looked at him, holding on to a fragile hope. Anything. Just… something. But nothing came. You exhaled sharply, bitterly. Then stood up, tray in hand, and walked off to find another seat.

Gi-hun made a motion to get up, but a familiar voice interrupted him.

"Hey, wanna trade for some of my food?"

It was Jung-bae , his old friend.

Gi-hun replied without taking his eyes off you:

"I’m not hungry."

Jung-bae followed his gaze—and then his eyes widened in recognition.

"Wait… is that Seong Y/N?"

Gi-hun nodded.

"Wow. She’s grown so much. I remember when you used to walk her to school. We were late for work because of that."

"That wasn’t my fault. You insisted on coming with us."

"Ah well. Other people’s kids grow up so fast, huh?"

They kept chatting quietly—until a group approached, asking Gi-hun about the previous games. Even from your distance, you could clearly hear what they said. The next game was going to be Dalgona. You put your hand to your lower jaw, remembering what kind of game it was. A guy with a top part of his hair tied up and the numbers 388 on his back came to your aid. He asked Gi-hun.

“That’s the one where you have to cut out a shape from a sugar cookie.”

“Yes.”

That’s when you finally remembered the game. You had never played it yourself, but you had seen others play it for some time. Eventually, the game disappeared from your memory.

You had remembered everything the players around number 456 said to each other. That way, you were able to get answers to some of your questions.

There was a slight bitterness in your heart—that he hadn’t answered you directly. The bitter tone and the troubled expression on his face made you think that he had been through a lot, and talking about it was difficult for him.

So, when evening came, you quietly approached your dad, who at the time was looking for you in the crowd.

The moment his eyes met yours, he finally relaxed.

You saw him already sitting on his bed, and you wanted to lie on the one next to it—

—but a quiet cough stopped you.

“Sorry, I was going to lie here.”

It was number 388. There was no hostility in his tone, nothing threatening.

He spoke kindly, without scaring you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright, I can let you have it.”

You quickly waved your hands in protest, but the man didn’t listen. He simply climbed up to the top bunk.

So you lay down on the lower one.

A soft whisper distracted you.

“I’m sorry.”

That whisper came from your father, and it was directed at you. You froze, not knowing what to say. Your head nodded on its own. Then you lay down—and the lights went out. You were so tired, you fell asleep quickly. Now all the players stood in a large room, with big rainbow-colored circles painted on the floor beneath them.

A voice came from the speakers:

“Form teams of five people.”

You paused to think.

“Doesn’t seem like Dalgona.”

Park Jung-bae walked up to Gi-hun and started asking questions about the game.

Your father confirmed your theory—that this didn’t seem like Dalgona.

That made his old friend angry, and he started to argue. Gi-hun began apologizing. In that moment, you realized how similar you were. Both of you apologized quietly and sincerely when you felt guilty.

001 interrupted their quarrel.

“These really are childhood games. The ones we used to play. Don’t worry—we’ll win them for sure.”

Jung-bae calmed down, understanding the logic of his words.

You stepped closer.

“Can I be on your team?”

Jung Bae’s lips stretched into a warm smile.

“Of course you can. I bet you’re as brave as Gi-hun, right? She takes after you, doesn’t she?”

You nodded.

“People often say I look like him.”

Player 001 turned to Gi-hun.

“Is this your daughter?”

“Yes.”

The man’s lips formed a surprised “Oh,” and he smiled kindly at you.

“My name is Oh Young-il. Welcome to the team.”

You smiled back.

“I’m Seong Y/N. Thank you for letting me join the team!”

“Do you remember me? I’m Park Jung-bae”

And now, your eyes lit up.

You finally remembered why he had seemed so familiar. He was the same friend your mother used to scold your father about— the one who would sometimes give you candy when he could. You didn’t need words to show that you remembered. Your eyes met the man who had offered you his bed the night before.

You exchanged kind smiles.

It seemed your team already had five members, so there was no need to go looking for anyone else. Your team quietly discussed what the game might be— But a soft voice interrupted you.

“Excuse me… can I join your team?”

You turned your head toward the girl.

She looked a little older than you, and her eyes were full of nervousness and fear. Jung-Bae opened his mouth to say that your team already had enough people—

but the girl spoke first.

“I’m pregnant.”

Her hand rested on her swollen belly, hidden beneath the green tracksuit.

Everyone in your team looked down.

It was clear she wasn’t lying to gain an advantage.

You spoke up.

“Alright… you can join the team instead of me.”

Your father interrupted.

“No, let me leave the team.”

He stepped toward you, trying to change your mind, but you were firm.

You smiled gently.

“It’s alright. I’ll find someone. I’ll be fine.”

You carefully nudged the pregnant girl closer to the group.

“Good luck to all of you.”

Gi-hun opened his mouth to object, but you quickly ran off before he had the chance. Your father had no choice but to accept what had just happened. His team calmly welcomed the girl, not wanting to cause her any additional stress.

Meanwhile, you wandered around the room in search of a team. Most were already formed or didn’t want to accept a woman. It was unfair in terms of gender, but you could understand their reasoning.

This game might very well be physical, so many people were trying to gather the strongest members they could find.

Eventually, you stopped in one corner, your hands nervously clasped together, and your eyes searched for anyone—someone.

"You don't have a team yet?"

A man spoke to you. His chest bore the number 246. You nodded in confirmation.

"Would you like to join us? We're missing a few people."

"Yes, of course."

The words escaped you in relief—you had managed to find a team after all.

All the formed teams sat on the floor. You sat next to your father and the pregnant woman. Gi-hun didn’t hide his relief upon seeing that you were alright. A sound distracted you. A mechanical voice began explaining the mini-games you all would have to play. The discussion began about who would choose which game.

"Does anyone here know how to play gonggi?"

Asked one of your teammates. You and another girl could only shyly shake your heads. None of you had ever played that game—only heard stories about it from your mothers and grandmothers.

That’s when player 246 suddenly spoke up:

"I do. I have a little daughter, so I know how it’s played."

Salvation came from where no one expected it. Everyone picked a game. You chose the spinning top, thinking you could handle it.

Luckily, you weren’t going first, which gave you time to observe and memorize others’ mistakes. Together, you made plans for how to move while your legs were tied, and what to do if someone from the team failed. Your father shared the assumptions and strategies his team had come up with—and you did the same.

You all cheered for your teammates’ success, genuinely wishing for them to survive. At one point, while celebrating someone’s victory, you leaned too far back and fell near the knees of player 388, hitting your head.

"Careful. Does it hurt badly?"

Player 388 instinctively helped you up.

His strong hands gently grabbed your elbows to support you.

Your clear eyes met his worried ones as he quickly glanced at the top of your head, checking to see if everything was okay.

"No, no, I’m fine. Thank you for helping me."

"Don’t mention it."

He smiled, showing his upper teeth—and the sincerity of that smile made you smile back without even realizing.

You returned to your team, who had just crossed the finish line.

Then your name was called next.

Your whole body tensed in an instant.

You exchanged glances with your father—worry reflected clearly in his eyes.

"Good luck," his team told you, and their support gave you renewed strength to push through and win.

Everything was going well—your team was managing stress and games with skill, giving you hope for a happy ending.

You held your breath when player 246 successfully caught all the stones.

The spinning top you launched twirled quickly across the floor.

You shouted a joyful "Yes!"

Nearby, player 001 nudged player 456 with his shoulder.

"She did it."

And Gi-hun grinned wide, showing all his teeth—proud of you.

You felt fear during the fifth game when one of your teammates failed to hit five times on his first try. Time was ticking. You stayed beside him, trying to calm him down so he could keep going.

Gi-hun stood in place, clenching his hand—fear for your life gripped him. Meanwhile, player 001 watched his reaction intently. He needed to see that—for his own private reasons, which no one noticed at the time.

In the end, you made it.

You crossed the finish line.

Your team nearly collapsed in relief, realizing that—for now—their lives were no longer in danger. A guard with a circle mask untied your legs, setting you free. Your eyes found where your father was sitting. He was smiling at you—and you smiled back. That was the last thing you saw before walking through the door.

You sat tiredly on your bed.

There was a quiet buzz in the room. Many were discussing the games they had just played. Each time the door opened, your head turned instantly.

You were waiting—hoping your father would finally walk in.

It took a long time. You started to grow anxious, even though you tried to calm yourself.

“His team will make it.”

But you weren’t sure how true that really was. Aside from Jung-Bae, you had never seen any of them before—you didn’t know who they were. Time passed slowly, and your finger tapped nervously on the thin mattress.

Finally, the door opened.

Your father’s team walked in quietly, and you couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief.

They all looked exhausted—their steps were slow and steady. They came toward you.

"I’m so glad all of you are okay."

"Yeah, we did pretty well."

Gi-hun replied, sitting beside you.

He gently wrapped one arm around you. Your eyes stung slightly from the unexpected warmth of the embrace.

It had been years since you felt something that familiar, that safe. You wanted to stay like that for a while—so you wrapped your arm around his back in return.

You were pulled from the moment by the voice of player 001.

"We saw how quickly you spun the top. That was incredible."

You lowered your head, embarrassed by the compliment.

"Thank you."

The player looked a bit awkward. During the conversation, you learned that he had had some trouble with the spinning top, which he felt ashamed of, but he managed to pull himself together. You also found out that he helped Gi-hun finish the last game of Jegi. So you looked up at him, your eyes full of gratitude, and player 001 answered you with a gentle smile. Out of the corner of your ear, you heard some players murmuring their disappointment that so many people had survived. Jung-bae asked everyone to introduce themselves by name since they were now a team.

Player 222 introduced herself as Jun-hee. You smiled at her, “What a lovely name.” She responded with a grateful nod. Player 388 introduced himself as Dae-ho, which meant "tiger." You glanced him over from head to toe — he was athletically built. A thought came to your mind:

《That name suits him.》

You quickly looked away before anyone noticed. Player 001 had already introduced himself earlier, and now he simply explained the meaning of his name. Then he asked whether your father’s surname was “Seong.” Upon your affirmative answer, he laughed and said that both of you having “Seong” literally meant “Surname.” Until now, you had never thought about that.

It was very dark now, with only one source of light. You were sleeping until it was your turn for the night watch. Seong Gi-hun spoke about how, in this place, people became especially cruel — worse than cornered animals. You frowned. Your father had gone through all of that and was still alive — a thought that brought you comfort. Gi-hun had taken it upon himself to guard your group while they slept.

Player 222 gently moved your hand off her and lay down beside you and player 388, so the three of you could protect one another in case anything happened. Jun-hee watched for a while to make sure you didn’t wake up, and when she was certain, she left for the restroom. Jung-bae, now awake, sat next to Gi-hun. They reminisced about the past that deeply connected them. Your father’s friend finally laughed.

"Now you're acting like the Seong Gi-hun I know."

Something shifted in your father at that. Both men subconsciously glanced toward you. Your hands were now resting in the space Jun-hee had just left, and they brushed against Dae-ho’s shoulder. Both your chests rose and fell in slow rhythm. Gi-hun looked thoughtfully at the scene, and Jung-Bae, noticing this, quickly changed the topic to keep talking with his old friend.

Meanwhile, Jun-hee returned from the restroom. She tried to carefully slip back into her spot but accidentally woke both of you.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to."

"It’s okay. Go to sleep."

Jun-hee didn’t argue and just did as you said. You rubbed your eyes and noticed the two men still sitting and talking. You walked over to your father and his old friend.

"I’ve had enough rest. You can go lie down. I’ll keep watch."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, it’s fine."

Jung-bae tugged Gi-hun back to their sleeping spots, and you sat where they had been. The only sounds in the hall were quiet snores and the occasional rustle of someone shifting in their sleep. You had no idea what time it was, but based on your body’s rhythm, you guessed it was around one or two in the morning. You hugged your knees, rested your chin on them, and just waited to see if anything would happen that night.

Thankfully, nothing did. Everything was calm, with no signs of conflict or violence. That was, until a hand suddenly touched your back — startled, you jumped away in fear.

"I thought you were asleep. I didn’t mean to scare you."

Your blurred vision gradually cleared — standing in front of you was Dae-Ho. He raised both hands in the air, palms forward, signaling he had no ill intent. Your heart was still racing, but the panic slowly gave way to relief. You exhaled quietly and returned to your spot, trying to steady your breath.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"No, you can sit."

He sat down gently, careful not to disturb the stillness around you. For a while, you both just stared into the dim surroundings. The silence began to press down on you — thick, heavy — making the air feel almost too dense to breathe. Summoning your courage, you decided to break it.

"What game did you play during the Five Brotherhood round?"

"Konggi."

Your eyes widened in genuine surprise, the expression quickly flashing across your face. Dae-Ho let out a restrained chuckle — your reaction was simply too pure, too funny in the best way. You looked adorably puzzled, and he couldn’t help but smile.

"I have four older sisters, so I know how to play it really well."

His tone softened. His gaze drifted forward, but he wasn’t seeing the room anymore. He was somewhere far back in time — in a memory filled with noise, laughter, and friendly arguments over who would win next. Every round brought a small victory, every win a lesson. And somehow, it had helped prepare him for this brutal present.

"Wow. I’ve never played it, but my grandma used to tell me about it. How do you play it properly?"

Something lit up in Dae-Ho’s eyes — a warm spark of enthusiasm. You both shifted to face each other as if ready to play for real. There were no pebbles around, but that didn’t matter. His hands became the game. He gestured through the steps with practiced ease, explaining each move, each little trick. You leaned in, watching carefully, trying to memorize it all. Then you started repeating the gestures.

He followed your movements closely, checking your form — but then his gaze drifted. Not to your hands. You were frowning in focus, brows knit together, your eyes jumping between his hands and yours, lips slightly parted as you mouthed the steps again. Your concentration made your features glow with something soft and earnest.

《She’s so cute.》

The thought hit him like an arrow. Sudden, sharp, inescapable. He froze, breath shallow, just watching you.

"Am I doing it right?"

"What?"

"The technique — am I doing it right?"

Your voice brought him back. He blinked, as if waking from a dream, and looked at your hands again. You repeated the gesture.

"Y-yeah, it’s perfect. You’re doing great."

You clapped softly, your lips curling into a bright, delighted smile. It was the kind of smile that made others smile without realizing — and he did. His grin was a little crooked, maybe even a bit goofy, but full of genuine joy. He was truly happy for you.

"When we get out of this place, let’s definitely play konggi together?"

The idea made something warm spark in him.

"Absolutely, we will."

"Let’s make it a competition — see who does it better?"

He squinted playfully, lips tugging into a confident smirk.

"Definitely. I’m totally going to win."

"You know, I have a very skilled teacher… I think I have a real shot."

Your quiet laugh mingled with his. You both knew — the teacher was him. That shared understanding added a special note to the moment, a warmth that wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stayed there, side by side, keeping watch over your sleeping teammates. Danger still lurked in the shadows… but right now, for a little while, you felt safe. Because you weren’t alone.

[witchinatree]

making a list of my favorite quote/ones that stuck with me from each season 1 episode because i feel like it

(i'm starting this after episode 4 but it will be a WHILE before i post it)

episode 1: "bones are a lie peddled by Big Milk" - alice

i love this one because it's a great introduction to alice i think. also it radiates spiral so i hope we get avatar alice not dead alice (isnt there a podcast called alice isnt dead?)

episode 2: "If I wanted to clear the canvas, I would have used turpentine." - statement

this one was just fucking powerful and caught me so off guard like 😶

episode 3: "What would I do without her?" - statement

the norris statement <3 it feels like martin asking what he would do without jon which makes mag200 a lot sadder and i love them

episode 4: "Perhaps you shall prove a stronger will than I, and will yet find it within yourself to destroy this hungry thing of wood and cat-gut." - statement

augustus sighting #1 and we immediately get jonah magnus expressing that it may be possible for gwen bouchard unknown family member to overcome the eye's hunger spooky violin

episode 5: "Voyeur needs to be seen to be believed." - statement

i feel like this one is pretty reflective of how the seasons gonna go? like if you explain the events of tma (mag200 specifically) no one's gonna believe you, it must be seen to be believed!! and also seen!! like the eye!!!

episode 6: "Not sca- This isn’t some poxy blood test, some little pinprick, this is hundreds, thousands of razor sharp points pushing into your flesh." - needles

i love needles so much and i thought this was really funny because it was like "you dont find me scary!! what the fuck!!!" just kind of toddler michael energy

episode 7: "It’s not like we’re wrestling with tape recorders and manila folders." - celia

STOP IT. celia you can't say that you just cannot!!!!!! you Know™ too much maam i cant with you

episode 8: "Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Gerry!"

RAGHHHHH OH MY GOD GERRY!!!! i love him so much and idk how to handle him being alive in the tmagp universe!! gertrude too but idk we got so much of her in tma and not nearly enough of gerry

episode 9: "And honestly, it’s kind of compelling by this point." - sam

they got him 😔😔 the horrors got sam 😔😔 also i found this to be an interesting contrast to jon's heavy resistance in season 1 like he was being compelled but he wasn't going to let anyone know that vs sam "its kinda compelling to trauma dump on this paperwork :]" how is he somehow even more victim material

episode 10: "Gosh you’re sexy, here’s a twenty for your trouble.” - alice

does this count as a quote if shes also quoting what she thinks sam should say? idk anyway i love her i would say that to her if given the chance and it was very silly. i will not be addressing bonzo i am scared.

episode 11: "...Thank you, Alice" - gwen

dyhard dyhard dyhard dyhard dyhard. okay also, the way she CRUMBLED at the idea of anyone doing anything nice for her please someone give her a hug and let it be ME. this series is tossing me back and forth between sam & alice (what is their ship name) and dyhard but this put me back to dyhard

episode 12: "You know it's rude to have absolutely no game?" - alice

she's so fucking funny i need her to be okay so badly!!!! i don't think even tim made me laugh as much as she makes me chuckle and this one really got me. it's hard to write such a comedic character in a podcast since you only have the voice but they really nailed it i adore her

episode 13: "Is it my fault?" - gwen

each of these episodes just reveal a little bit more about how loving and soft gwen is and idk i love her so unbelievably much so seeing that she felt guilt about the bonzo stuff just made her so much more real :(

episode 14: "Christ, they’re in the walls…" - statement

theyre in the walls!!! theyre in the goddamn walls!!!!! anyway that got me because i realized the hole before the statement said it. made more sad than scared tbh

episode 15: "Babies are cool!" - alice this entire interaction between her and sam & celia was so awkward, she is so obvious and i love her anyway

episode 16: "It’s not like I was holding doors open for Mr Bonzo or anything." - gwen my wife is so so so stupid but i adore her AND this gives room for character development. i wish she did not do that though. i love when characters are flawed and have depth but i struggled to get past THIS flaw of hers

episode 17: "Thanks, I guess. Not exactly the same, though, is it?" - celia shes talking TO JON IN THE COMPUTER. SHE KNOWS. i lost my damn mind i love her i love her. get the gay people out of the puter please queen

episode 18: "Why would I need to talk to you? Your work is satisfactory. Unless you have a work-related issue I could assist you with?" - lena solidified my opinion that lena is the best boss to ever have, i adore her and i would want to work for her if she wasn't the boss of Creepy Establishment #1

episode 19: "You’re going to throw it in the fishtank, aren’t you?" - alice colin's behavior is like really worrying BUT i'm glad he's back. i was not convinced he was still alive

episode 20: "I suppose it’s too late for remorse, isn’t it? And why should I be sorry? This is what I deserve!" - ink5oul/statement they reminded me of jon a lot, like especially his season 3/4 transformation when he doesn't quite know everything but he knows he isn't who he was in season 1 anymore, i hope we see more of their life and they can be helped :(

episode 21: [Tape Recorder Bites Ink5oul] - audio description i know it's not technically a quote but this is just so fucking funny. why does it have teeth. what does this mean for the lore. holy shit.

episode 22: "Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood" - celia. knawing at the walls of my enclosure i am so not okay. i'm not okay. wtf. wtf. wtf. they're real. wtf.

episode 23: "I had a favorite mug. It said “love you, bitch” and had a picture of a drunk dog on it." - alice. okay i just love this entire interaction because gwen got to open up a little bit and my dyhard heart is so full

episode 24: "I am told that children like me, and I’ve always held the opinion that the world would be a better place if everyone just thought more." - basira. once again this whole interaction was so fun but like idk i loved hearing basira somewhat happy and in a safe place :] my wife <3

episode 25: " I am trying to help, to save us from this goddamned fucking nightmare machine!" - colin. MAN I REALLY WAS ROOTING FOR YOU!!! I WAS SO CONFIDENT YOU WEREN'T GONNA DIE!!!! it's over

episode 26: "I was worrying for a moment that you were Magnussing." - alice. MAGNUSSING BEING CANON MADE ME SAY IT EVEN MORE I'VE SAID IT LIKE TWICE ALREADY

episode 27: "You didn’t tell me the room was labelled, “Archivist.”" - celia. oooooh somebody's got TRAUMAAAAA LMAO

episode 28: "So you’re telling me you know nothing about an OIAR external contract being found with the bodies of two tattooed thugs who met rather grisly ends?" - TREVOR HERBERT???? anyway. ink5oul mention!!!!! i hope they stop killing people it's really rude

episode 29: "Alice, er… we’ve got to talk. It’s important." - teddy. i knew it was over for him but i didn't think it was gonna be THIS bad??? bye babe i guess??? 😭

episode 30: how do i even pick. the whole fucking episode. i can't. i am in a state of shock. i need to lay down for 30 years.