#of course the female characters will look worse

[echodrops]

If the "straight women are much more likely to write a spicy and well-written m|m romance with complex male characters because they're naturally attracted to men" claim is correct, then why do straight male authors have acquired the stereotype of writing one-dimensional female characters and lame romances if they're naturally attracted to the opposite gender? Why do they prefer to focus so extensively on the male characters and their bromances then?

First, I think we need to clarify: Absolutely nowhere did I say the spicy mlm fanfics were uniformly "well-written." 😂 There are beautiful gems among fanfiction that have moved me to tears like nobody's business, but there's also just a whole lot of... not very... philosophically deep works out there. I don't want to sound mean, but just being brutally honest, I'd wager if we considered all fanfiction across all fanfic sites, a pretty solid majority of it wouldn't meet most people's definitions of truly "well-written." (Which is completely fine! Fanfic writers aren't getting paid! They're usually amateur authors who are writing for fun and often include younger writers just learning the ropes of grammar and character building for the first time! A fic doesn't have to be perfect to be enjoyable for readers!)

On top of that, let's also just be real--a lot of the explicit-content-for-explicit-content's-sake fics out there aren't really trying to write the most realistic and three dimensional male characters ever. They're trying to write sexy fics; realistically depicting men with life-accurate emotional depth and nuance is often... not the goal. 😂

Of course there are standout fanfics and incredible fanfiction authors. But, if we're being 100% transparent, I think a solid majority of fanfic authors don't actually write male characters that well. A lot of them have limited development, unrealistic or unclear motivations, out-of-character behavior, or a lack of interiority to their thoughts and feelings. A lot of times male characters in mlm fics are even reduced to caricatures of what women want men to do and feel. (I'm not judging here though--if a woman author is writing for women and her women readers want to see men who meet women's expectations, then hey, give the audience what they crave!) Just like Disney princes, a lot of men in fanfiction would seem very unrealistic and flat if you compared them to actual men from the real world!

I think we fanfic readers are just a bit biased, you know. If you're an average fanfic reader, I'm sure you've had the experience many times of being willing to give fic writers the benefit of the doubt even if their works aren't perfect--far more than you would give an actual published author or TV showrunner.

We don't scrutinize fanworks to the same extent that we scrutinize published media. Most people aren't grabbing someone else's fic and writing a ten page essay on how their male love interest wasn't properly fleshed out. Fanfic is full of poorly written men too, we're just not looking for the writing flaws when we read fanfics, at least not to the extent that meta analysts notice flaws in published media.

Side note that I also think is worth thinking about here: Because most fanfiction readers are female (and statistics suggest that a majority are even cisgender women), I think we're already at a slight disadvantage. Do female readers really have the most accurate perspectives on what realistic and three dimensional men would feel or act like? People are people, of course, but my perspective as a cisgender woman is never going to be as "100% genuine" as the perspective of someone who actually identifies as a man.

Second, and sorry, I know this is already long, but I think it's actually a mistake to buy into the stereotype that a majority of male authors can't write believable and interesting female characters. I think this illusion comes because fanfic fandoms congregate around very specific types of media, and often (though of course not always) that media is geared toward younger audiences. The bulk of the fandom claims that "male authors suck at writing women" come out of the shounen anime and young adult genres which are so prevalent in fandom spaces.

The target audiences for both these types of media are teenagers, who (I'm going to be completely honest) are usually not that picky about the development of the characters in the stories they read. I don't mean that no teenagers care about well-written stories (obviously there are many who do!), but that the typical standard for philosophical depth and nuance to which media for young adults is held is, for better or worse, lower than the standard we hold media for adults to.

We don't expect Twilight to be as deep as Moby-Dick. We don't expect My Hero Academia to be Maus.

This isn't an insult to young adult media; we have different genres of content for different reasons, and I definitely would not have wanted every single manga I read as a teenager to be as mentally or spiritually challenging as Moby-Dick. Content for teenagers should be designed to resonate with teenagers, both intellectually and emotionally. Many works for teens can have excellent writing and punch above their target audience demographic too. But the bulk majority of teenage readers are not (yet) going to be experts in literary criticism and sociocultural theories, capable of pounding out advanced meta analyses of the gender dynamics of characters in their favorite stories. Some will, but most won't.

Stories for young adults just don't have to hold up to that level of scrutiny, at least among their target audience.

At its core, however, the issue with the lower standards for depth of character building in young adult media is that it corresponds with lower standards for becoming popular as an author in fields such as YA lit and shounen manga. You don't have to be Leo Tolstoy or Emily Brontë to gain recognition among younger audiences. Sometimes, you don't even have to be good. Twilight was a roaring success, even while people lambasted it for being poorly written.

You don't have to be a literary giant whose books will be short-listed for addition to the canon of classical literature to develop a massive online fandom; Voltron was insanely popular despite being terribly written. 😂 You don't have to be god's gift to storytellers to become a popular shounen mangaka; Naruto is still one of the most popular manga in history and I hope no one genuinely thinks its characters were masterfully developed.

I'm not saying it doesn't take talent! It absolutely does! What I believe is that there's just not a guaranteed correspondence between "this author is popular and has a huge fandom" and "this author is actually good," especially in genres where the target audience is younger and therefore a little less likely to deeply critique the media they consume. Even if your characters--male or female--aren't that well-written, you can still get very, very popular in internet fandoms, especially with younger and more forgiving audiences, where only the rare few in the fandom will dedicate hours of their lives to performing meta analysis of your work, picking apart the writing quality and development of your characters.

So, long story longer: It's not that male writers overall are incapable of writing women. It's that a lot of fandoms spring up around kind-of-poorly written stories in the first place, and male authors who are not great at writing in general are equally unlikely to be great at writing women.

In fact, I'd suggest that male writers who are poor at writing women are probably also not great at writing men. Like, come on, don't tell me you think Bakugou and Midoriya's writing was good by the end of My Hero Academia.

Many popular authors with big fandoms are just being given more of a pass when it comes to writing poor male characters than they are with their female characters, and I'd argue that's likely because of the same reason I highlighted before: Their fandoms are dominated by women who like men and are willing to do more work to flesh out/fix the male characters they're interested in.

(It also helps that, with an overwhelming number of fic writers being female, they have less insight into truly depicting the male experience in authentic ways in the first place; if you are a woman, you're more likely to recognize a poorly written female character on the spot, while having at least slightly less ability to identify the unrealistic or inaccurate elements of male characters.)

Essentially, it's confirmation bias in action: We think men don't understand women, so we scrutinize male writers' depictions of women very closely, all while giving a pass to the fact that a lot of these writers just kind of suck at writing men too.

The "lame romances" in stories written by men aren't exclusively lame because of flat female characters--if the female character is flat, half the time the male character is flat too, and the romance is lame because the writer overall is... kind of lame... 😂

But why all the bromances? I wrote about this in my big long essay before, and I think there's plenty of very complicated reasons that men write so many male-male friendships and relationships into their story (re: coming from genuinely misogynist cultures, deliberately baiting fans with hints of BL, an actual internalized desire for greater emotional connection with fellow men due to perceived male loneliness, self-projection into their own characters, having been told they aren't good at writing women so they've given up, etc. etc.), but I honestly think one of the simplest reasons is genre. The majority of these "bromances" are coming from shounen manga, and shounen manga has some very common recurring tropes, chief among them being the whole "me and my ~RIVAL~" dynamic.

A lot of mainstream shounen stories have had such enormous success with this "young male protagonist and his best bro/rival/arch-enemy" dynamic that, frankly, I think many modern manga are just piggy-backing on the trope. "Dudes who beat each other up and become besties" has worked for so many series now that it's just become a staple of the entire genre.

I also think the market for Japanese manga in particular is very unique, with male manga artists recognizing--and capitalizing--on the power of the "fujoshi" reader early on. It's easy for shounen manga artists to see the benefits of over-stocking their stories with male characters and queerbait, because hinting at mlm ships they have no intention of ever paying out on 1) rarely reduces their male readership and 2) actually broadens their readership dramatically by deliberately bringing in female readers.

Basically, so long as the endgame is a het ship (or at least no ship), male readers will still read a story even if it has mlm shiptease, while more women will be drawn to the story for the mlm shiptease when they otherwise might not be that interested. There's no way to lose.

In essence, on the topic of queerbait, the shounen manga artists were just really savvy and realized faster that "having your cake and eating it too" is possible by incorporating a higher number of male-male relationships in their stories in order to broaden their readership and sales. Comparatively, western media was just much slower to cotton on to this technique, and I'd say it wasn't until relatively recently that western series have begun hyper-emphasizing male-male relationships specifically to appeal to women readers and viewers (see Supernatural, Good Omens, probably Teen Wolf [I don't actually go there so I can't confirm but I feel like this is true lol], etc.).

And, one final sidenote: I think it's difficult to compare published media to fanfic in terms of "featuring what you're sexually attracted to" because in published media, people are at least supposed to pretend their own sexual preferences aren't entirely warping the story, especially in young adult series (which have the biggest fanfic fandoms). Like... Compare: If you're a shounen manga artist you can get away with some panty shots but you can't be a flat out gooner--conversely, if you're a fanfic writer, you can write hardcore porn without hesitation. If we want to make an actual comparison in how much sex appeal sways character gender ratios in fanfic versus published media, I'd say the only comparable match would be comparing the ratio of female characters in harem anime and straight up hentai to the ratio of men in fanfics. We can't be out here comparing like... the original story content of Harry Potter (made for children, cannot be overly sexual) to its AO3 content (where nearly 40% of all HP fics are labeled explicit/mature). You gotta compare 18+ apples to apples.😂

Phew, sorry, that was a lot.

tl;dr: Tons of factors--yes, including misogyny--affect how men write women, but the issue of male writers being bad at writing women is likely being exaggerated in fandom spaces because 1) Fandoms are overwhelmingly female and women are better able to identify and critique poorly written female characters than anyone else, 2) Most of the biggest fandoms on the internet center around stories for younger audiences who haven't had enough time to develop strong media literacy and literary criticism skills, allowing writers to become popular without necessarily needing to be of highest quality, 3) Female fans are more willing to forgive poorly written male characters because they're more likely to be interested in and attracted to those male characters, and 3) A lot of writers just suck in general; it's not localized to just being shitty at writing women.

[moeblob]

Rey, who is in my very biased opinion, one of the funniest "girls" I have because she's just a guy, truly. Like Rey is just short for Reynold because he was recruited by a a goddess to help the hero she selected and the hero is conveniently Reynold's younger brother. So he agrees to help under the condition that the goddess gives him a female body for the other world. She's like "really odd flex but whatever" and gives him a female form and he's like "you know. I can't really blame anyone but myself for not specifying 'please don't turn me into a Lisa Frank personification'."

[retiredteabag]

I believe Nanami has always been a gentleman.

Due to the climate that exists, it can be hard to assume the best of people, knowing this, its not impossible to understand that in your time being a classmate of the man, you had previously been led you to figure the opposite of Nanami Kento.

Of course, you simply could not avoid the blatant roll of eyes when Nanami would bend down to retrieve a fallen pencil for his female classmate. Or when he would place an intentional hand on firm objects to protect from the possibility of future harm. And it would be remiss to not add that you had seen the men in your shared classes sigh anytime Nanami would defend a predominantly feminist sentiment in classroom discussions.

By no fault of your own, you had started to believe the masses that would perpetuate the rumor of his “white knight" status.

This assumption that Nanami was simply trying to get into a girls pants. By being kind and gentle with them, and by being a patient, learned, listener.

This idea all came to a front one day while you were on the train ride home.

Overfilled and uncomfortable, you had never felt so unsafe on your commute home than you had in that moment.

Call it hyper vigilance, but you had the intuition to locate a problem before it occurred. And even before the man, now plastered to your side, had weaseled his way into your proximity, you could smell the poor intentions from a mile away.

Fear sprung through you as you felt his body press against your own, you had a million thoughts flood your brain.

Should you shout at him? Make a scene? Would he accuse you of overreacting? Or perhaps you should simply try to move… but where to? You felt so terribly trapped that you couldn’t withhold the gasp that left you at the sudden ripping loss of his unwanted touch.

A commanding voice, unafraid of accusation, rang through the train car.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

You recognized the tall blond man immediately. He was in your ethics and rhetoric classes, and was notorious for being a real gentleman.

The typical assumption was, that this was for his own personal gain.

And, of course, being nice and being kind are not the same. He, to your knowledge, was being nice, instead of the latter.

Back to the moment at hand though, Nanami’s grasp never faltered on the perpetrators wrist, in fact, your classmate seemed to tighten his fist.

“I said. What the hell. Do you think. You’re doing.”

Real anger resounded from his tone. And every negative emotion from the situation seemed to echo in your brain.

Time passed slowly, all too slowly, and yet, before you could really understand the situation, you had ushered yourself onto your platform after your transport had come to a stop. And somehow, your classmate was staring down at you, asking if you were alright.

“I’m fine.” You force out.

You shouldn’t have to feel grateful nothing worse happened, you shouldn’t feel glad you weren’t physically harmed.

“I’m sorry. This must have been awful…” Nanami runs a hand through his hair and in that moment, all of your vitriol forces itself onto him as he finishes, “May I walk you home?”

Fury at his character, at this act, at everything that had happened today boiled the words out of your mouth, “Oh, for heaven sake, I’m not going to fuck you.”

“W-what?”

To his credit, he looks properly appalled. Stepping a wide margin away from you.

“I’m-I’m sorry, no.” He stutters, clears his throat, “that’s not what I- of course not-“

And he looks genuine in his fear at the thought.

“Right.” You sigh, “Well, thanks for all that, but I need to get home.”

He seems to wage a war within himself, to offer to bring you home, or to leave this be.

After a moment of consideration, he decides on the latter of the options. Solely because he knows now that you must not think of him as a trustworthy or safe individual. And rather than angry at this thought, he is sad. Worried about your past, and determined to be a safe option for you.

“Please get home safe.” And later you will wonder how he remembered you when recalling how he spoke out your name before saying, “I really am sorry, about all of this.”

You had walked home that night jumpy and cold.

—

It wouldn’t take but a week for you to begin questioning his intentions again after you watch your classmate deliver bagged lunches for the homeless outside of campus when he thought nobody was around.

When you had witnessed his genuine argument with another “one of the bros” after disagreeing with them in class.

And when you saw him offer to tutor any and all classmates that felt they might need a little help.

And while you were analyzing his motives, he started to develop his understanding of where you were coming from- eventually deciding that his goal would be to prove to you that he never had any ill will, and instead, cares for you as a human. Not for what you could offer him.

You don’t know yet, but he always has been a gentleman.

[mini-ism]

thinking about lighter and his awfully cheesy romance movie fixation…

⭑ drabble; only slightly steamy (mentions of sex and porn), but he really likes romance movies tee hee… lighter is THE hopeless romantic. he’s got it worse than miss caesar king. maybe it’s contagious?

⭑ lighter lorenz x gn!reader, (mostly???) SFW.

it’s gotten quite late, but he can’t force himself to turn off the TV yet. it’s been hours, sitting in the same position on the couch, absolutely immersed in romance films. rom-coms, dramatic romances, forbidden loves, dying together… it’s all so alluring to watch. he can’t help but put himself in the leading character’s place, finding every chance they can get to impress or even capture their love interest.

of course, you whined with every embarrassing scene, covering your eyes when the leading actors kissed or did something “stupid.” you took every chance you could to dash away, maybe grab snacks or a comforter. but he never got up, not unless he needed to. lighter was utterly dazed, totally awestruck with each plot point, every twist, the passionate confessions, and even rejections — or worse. it made his heart race, the fantasy of being confessed to, or confessing his undying, torrid love to an interest. maybe that interest was laying in his lap now, sound asleep.

he forced his gaze down towards his lap, your face smooshed into his thigh as you laid there. if only you knew how cute you looked. you’d stir a few times, lighter’s hand instinctively coming to stroke your cheek or your upper arm, chastely caressing the skin with gentle movements. if you made a soft noise, lighter would give you a soft hush, smiling as you snored and sighed.

this movie, though, had really caught his attention. sure, it was under the romance genre, duh. he had made sure to keep enough movies playing for maybe an entire 24 hours. but, holy hell, his hands were trembling and sweaty…

the two lovers were entangled in a passionate embrace, their lips and bodies melding together. the room filled with the sounds of their love, but lighter couldn’t find it in him to take his eyes off the screen. his cheeks were stained a hue of red, eyes wide in shock. you rustled around a few more times under the thin blanket, “shh, shh, shh…”

with a quick hushing, lighter’s attention regrouped, the scene growing more steamy with each passing second. this was borderline porn, maybe with an artistic twist. he couldn’t deny he was excited, but it had him thinking, wondering if he could experience this type of love himself.

“are you watching porn?” a groggy voice spoke, you were sitting upright. oh shit, oh fuck.

“uh, no…” lighter froze, panicked, his face turned towards you as the scene played out. where was the remote? why couldn’t he grab it?! “it’s the movie, i’m not watching porn. i don’t do that. that’s weird, totally weird, i don’t look at porn. i swear.”

lighter was mortified, face tinted a deep crimson. you really couldn’t be bothered to nag him for watching porn, if he was. he quickly reached for the remote, pausing the movie. “see? it’s the movie, i’m not weird.” lighter’s voice was heavy with anxiety, though his tirade about how he ‘swears-he-is-not-a-pervert-who-looks-at-naked-people’ didn’t quite convince you. if he looked at naked people on the interknot or in magazines, that was his business.

“i think you already said that. i believe you.” your voice was raspy with sleep, vision still fuzzy as the movie was paused on a shot of the female love interest straddling the male protagonist, bust just out of frame. lighter’s breathing was heavy and frantic, though your lack of fussing and mockery calmed his nerves. before you settled in his lap again, you pressed the play button for him, the lewd encounter fading into obscurity as you drifted off once more.

what if he could put himself in those encounters with you? not just… this one, but all sorts of predicaments. he could buy you a bouquet, take you out somewhere, run along the beach with you with the hem of his pants rolled up as the sun sets. he could freely laugh, take all that weight and guilt off his chest as he holds you close.

his hand drifted down, thumb rubbing gentle circles on your arm again, the gesture bringing more comfort to him than you. would you fall for a sappy guy like him? he wouldn’t even have to be given the chance to fall for you a thousand more times.

he just can’t seem to understand why people hate romance movies, can he?

[cozage]

Could you write a short fic for Zoros reaction to his s/o falling down some stairs (but she is ok just bruised) please. BTW love your writing

Characters: Zoro x female reader CW: none :) Total word count: 1k

Slip and Fall

One second you were upright, walking down the stairs.The next moment, you were staring up at the ceiling. 

The pain caught up with you quickly, and you groaned from the aches that riddled your body. Judging by the pain in your back, you must’ve slid down the stairs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but you were certain you’d have a few bruises to show for your misstep. 

You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, trying to recenter yourself and minimize the pain.

“What the hell was-” Zoro’s irritated voice cut off abruptly, and you braced yourself for some kind of cheap joke at your expense. 

But nothing came. You were certain he hadn’t left, but he also made no move to get closer to you. Or do anything. 

“Y/N?” Zoro’s voice came out as a harsh whisper. 

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” You breathed out a laugh. The pain seemed to be getting worse the more you lay there. “Help me up, will you?”

“No!” Zoro finally moved, rushing over to you to keep you still. “You shouldn’t move. It could-you could-I don’t want you to-”

“Zoro,” you groaned, finally opening your eyes and instantly meeting his. 

His eyes were so full of worry. They raked over your body, searching for any sign of injury. And you realized that Zoro was truly scared. 

Naturally, his fear made you panic. 

“What?” you tried to lift your head, but Zoro refused to let you move. 

“Chopper needs to check for a spinal injury. If you landed wrong…” He shook his head, as if he were shaking a thought from his head. 

“Zoro, I’m fine.” Though your back was probably blossoming with bruises, you were sure you’d survive.

“Let me go get Chopper. Just stay here for a minute. Please.” His last word was barely a whisper. It was that word, that small act of begging, that kept you anchored to where you laid. 

“Alright, alright.” You closed your eyes. “You fuss too much.”

“I do not-” You could hear him clench his jaw in frustration. “Just stay still for a minute!”

His hurried footsteps receded, and you could hear distant shouts from off in the distance, followed by footsteps coming back to you quickly. 

“She slipped and fell,” Zoro said softly, and you could hear Chopper set down his medical kit and open it. 

“Can you open your eyes for me?” Chopper asked. You opened them. 

“Do you know your name?”

You laughed. “Of course I do!” 

Chopper and Zoro didn’t join your laughter, so you gave your full name to the doctor. 

The reindeer nodded. “And do you know where you are?”

You sighed. “The Sunny. The Grand Line. Don’t ask me where on the Grand Line, because I wouldn’t even know that on my best day.”

Chopper gave a slight smile at that answer, but Zoro was still watching you from a few feet away. He was tucked back in a corner, almost as if he was scared of you. 

“Did you hear me?” Chopper asked, waving a hand in front of your face. 

You blinked. You hadn’t heard his question. You hadn’t even realized he was speaking. 

“What is five plus five?” Chopper asked again. 

“Oh. Ten,” you answered quickly, taking your eyes off of Zoro for only a moment before finding him again. He looked so pale, and his mouth was pressed in such a tight line as he watched Chopper. You opened your mouth to speak, but Chopper spoke first. 

“Zoro, can you come help her sit up? I’d like to check her back for any signs of injury.”

“Chopper, I told you already! I’m fine!” Your words were accompanied with a groan as you tried to sit up on your own. 

Zoro was suddenly there, gently guiding you into a sitting position. You rolled back your shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness of your muscles. Zoro only watched you, his face still hard as stone. 

“Zoro.” Your fingers cupped his face, forcing his eyes to lock onto yours. “I’m here. I’m okay, really.”

“She’s right,” Chopper agreed, looking at you. “Some icky bruises for a few days, and you probably have a minor concussion, but you’re okay.”

“See?” You smiled. “I’m okay.”

Zoro nodded and pulled his face away from your grip. The panic in his eyes has subsided, but only slightly. 

“I probably need a lot of bedrest though, right Chopper?” You gave a slight nudge to the reindeer. 

“Huh? You don’t-” Chopper caught your wink and worried glance at Zoro. “Oh! Yes! She needs lots of rest. And she shouldn’t be alone…because of the concussion! Zoro, can you look after her?”

Zoro narrowed his eyes slightly, and you gave him a sheepish grin and you held out your hands. “Help me up?” you asked. 

He did you one better, gently picking you up off the ground. He was careful to avoid the sensitive spots on your back. How he knew exactly where they were, you weren’t sure, but you were thankful he was considerate. 

You were quick to pull him into bed and snuggle into his chest. Even if it wasn’t the most comfortable for your sore body, you were happy to be close to him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” His response was short, clipped. 

“Okay,” you hummed, curling in closer to him. 

A few minutes passed in comforting silence, and you were almost asleep when he kissed the top of your head. 

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered hoarsely. “I thought I lost you and I just…I couldn’t go through that again. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t. I’m right here,” you murmured softly into his chest, letting his warmth lull you into a deep sleep.

[shiggyscumrag]

To fuck or not to fuck?

Synopsis- After joining the x men you train with them one on one till you are inevitably forced to train with Logan. During a rough training session a heated argument arises and there’s only one way to break the tension.

Warnings- open wound mentioned, blood mentioned, cussing, penetrative sex (pnv), cum play if you squint, light slapping, oral (male and female receiving), choking, gagging, a bit of crying, over stimulation, nicknames babe and princess used frequently, no pronouns are used for (y/n), I’m sorry if I missed any!

AN- look I’ll be honest I just wanted to write a situation where you hate fuck Logan 🙌🏻 also this is probably not gonna be lore accurate but does it really matter when it’s smut with no plot? NO!! so enjoy fuckers ;) I did channel Deadpool energy for this character bc why not? Also the characters power involves using their voice to manipulate the people around them into doing what they want. ily pookies 💋

Look you didn’t want to be a stupid X Men. You made it very clear since day one you just wanted to continue living your “civilian” life and to keep blending in. Of course it didn’t work out that way. Professor X was the one who pulled you out of this almost normal day to day life and threw you into his rich ass mansion full of freaks. Ok you’re a freak too but you’re not trained like them. You should be out working your five to nine barely making ends meet in your shitty one bedroom apartment, but no. Now, you’re tasked to help “save the world” from worse mutants than you.

Reluctantly, you decide since you have no choice being here, why not make something interesting out of this new arrangement? After the tour of your fancy new “home” (really a school/headquarters), it’s time to meet your new coworkers. Friends? Eh too soon.

It was a little intimidating with them all lined up staring you down when you walked into the final room of Xavier’s tour. Storm standing to your far left, Cyclops beside her, Rogue, Beast and finally the Wolverine. One by one they gave a greeting, some more friendly than others. Until Logan (you later learned) just muttered a “whatever” and left. Pushing past you while staring you down. Jesus, what’s up with that guy?

You decided it wasn’t worth it to fight on your first day so you let it go. Then weeks passed, with week after week going slowly from one mutant to another teaching you new techniques. When eventually the mutant you dreaded training with the most was up. The one and only Wolverine, Mister Logan Howlett. Bit of an ironic name you couldn’t help but chuckle at when Xavier introduced him officially. Since Logan was avoiding you at all cost the whole time you’ve been here you weren’t exactly familiar with his anger issues.

“What’s so funny bub?” You could see his claws starting to peak from his knuckles and didn’t stop another chuckle.

“Knives for hands here doesn’t even know me and he wants to shred me already. You sure I’m safe here?” You say as sarcastically as you can, really emphasizing the safe part. Xavier gave a curt nod and turned to Logan.

“Don’t embarrass me.” Leaving the room right after, you and Logan were dumbfounded. You finally let out the cackle you were holding back hunching over when the door finally closed.

“Ha!! You got in trouble!!” You stood up straight clapping your hands together “You should really start playing nice.”

“You’re real fucking immature, you know that?” He said his claws slowly peaking out more after each comment you make. You start to smirk.

“Yeah? Well I am 100 years younger than you sweet heart, so who’s really the immature one?” You could be less cruel and not want to irk him on, but that wouldn’t be interesting. Plus we’re here to train. so might as well get it started.

“I’m going to kill you.” Logan stops holding back and releases claws in one swift motion.

“What happened to this being a safe space?” Before you could continue being a smart ass he lunges at you.

Dodging you stop talking and actually try to use the training you’ve gotten to kick this guys ass. I mean what’s his fucking problem? You haven’t said a fucking word to him and he thinks he can just treat you this way with no consequences? Well fine douchbag you can get exactly what you want.

“You’re really fast! I can’t believe you’re like a thousand years old!” You say giggling as you move right in time to avoid a punch to the nose. “Now that would’ve hurt!” You spin around him kicking him straight in the back knocking him down. A quick groan and he’s back up in a flash.

Dodging and weaving his swift lunges and jabs, with a yelp you fall to the floor after he kicks your feet from under you. After being quickly tackled and claws threatening to break the skin right above one of your major artery’s you let out a small whimper.

“Are you finally going to shut the fuck up?” Logan growled a top of you teeth beared chest heaving and forehead sweaty. That was kind of fucking hot actually.

“Let’s just stop and talk this out, yeah?” You say holding your hands up next to your head giving him a big toothy smile.

Logan was more than a bit confused when his body started to move and his claws retracted. In his mind he’s screaming at his body for stopping. Pissed off at the fact he’s isn’t in control. Standing you dust yourself off and start again before he could get his control back.

“Now before you try to attack me again, let’s just take a breath and calm down. You’re fine by the way. I just have control over your body temporarily.” Anger flashes across his face and it hits you that it probably wasn’t the best idea to start with that.

“Since you’ve been a major fuck face these past few weeks you know shit about me. So let me have the pleasure of introducing myself again. My names (y/n) and I can control people with my mouth.” You smile pointing to your lips. He just stares back with slight confusion and disgust. “I tell them an action and they do it. I could hypothetically kill you at anytime too, so let’s be chill.” You say winking at him.

“Well it’s good thing I can’t die.” He says smirking back at you. Funny enough you released him a while ago yet he hasn’t attacked you again.

“You seem to be calm now?” You question. “Is that lesson one?” You poke at him.

“Don’t push it.” He huffs rolling his eyes and walking away. Doors closing behind him you crumble to the ground adrenaline rushing out of you.

A week or so of training later you and Logan still dislike each other as much as the first day you met, but you could feel a tension beneath the hate. A deep seated craving consisting of mostly hate but also a little curiosity. Maybe, even a bit of sexual frustration?

After a particularly long day of training you were quite irritated at Logan. He was being even harsher than he usually is, it was pissing you off. He lunged at you when you weren’t expecting it leaving a deep cut running down the center of your back and you couldn’t hold back a growl.

“What’s your fucking problem today?” Turning to him you stop making him hesitate. “Was I too nice for your liking, Wolvie?” You mock starting to walk towards him, frustration evident on your face.

“It is explanation enough to say that I just don’t like you?” Logan spit as venom coated every word, all while that stupid smirk wore his face. That’s it.

“Down.” Without a second to waste his knees hit the rough floor hard causing a groan to break his smugness. He couldn’t move, only being able to look at you and the anger that filled your eyes. Rage would be a better description. Joining him down on the floor you kneel as you find his chin making him lean closer to your face.

“You don’t have to be cruel Logan.” You pause looking right into his hazel eyes finding that look again. This time there was something different. You couldn’t help but soften slightly as your anger slowly started to fade. Then a sting of pain from sweat seeping into the cut he just gave you reignited the fire. Grabbing his chin harder he winces as you pull him against your forehead, noses practically touching and lips inches apart.

“Don’t let this happen again.” You push his face back hard making him tip over as you release him. Staring him down you finally turn once he stays put and leave.

Half way down the hall you hear the doors burst open with a loud bang and angry footsteps starting to rush after you. Turning you’re suddenly face to face again with Logan. This time your chins being grabbed and pulled towards his face.

“Look I don’t have a problem with you.” He whispers softly while he stares you right in the eye. It’s really hard to stay mad at him when his kitty hair is all disheveled and he’s flushed like a school girl who just got kissed for the first time.

“I didn’t mean to go as hard as I did.” He muttered out. You chuckled.

“I didn’t peg you as the type to be gentle. Unfortunately for you, I haven’t had the pleasure to figure that out.” With a smirk still on your face Logan swiftly throws you over his shoulder and starts walking down the hall. You wince as your fresh wound gets tugged distracting you from the fact that you’re going opposite of the med bay. Once you pass your room you finally noticed this not so fun fact.

“Hey, the med bay is the other way big guy. I kinda need to be stitched up here.” You say as a nervous chuckle escapes.

“I’ll stitch you up myself. I don’t need the professor all up my ass about it.” He doesn’t even look at you, just keeps walking. You hold in the laugh you so desperately want to let out because you don’t want to fuck this up. This is the nicest he has ever been. That’s right, that’s the end of that sentence with no buts! Except his actual ass being right in your view and if you could add you’d love to be all up in it.

Finally making it to his room he gently sits you on his bed. Turning around without saying a word he digs in his desk pulling out a fairly impressive med kit. Not one of those small ones no, no, like an actual emergency med bag. Your jaw dropped a little and he chuckled. Dropping it on the bed beside you he lifts your chin making you look up at him.

“You gotta take your suit off and lay down so I can stitch you up.” He said pointing to the clean plaid sheets. Looking where he pointed you chuckled.

“Well that’s a bit forward.” He rolled his eyes but this time he had a smile? “Wow I finally made you almost laugh!”

“Shut up and lay down already. I’m getting impatient.” Logan said it as harshly as he could but it came out more light than originally intended.

“Fine but turn around. You’re not getting a free show.” You wink as you give your finger a twirl. Sighing and softly shaking his head he turns around. Taking a moment to scan over his juicy toned muscular ass you then move on to actually do what you had him turn around for. Taking your top off you cup your chest and lay down.

“Alright bubble butt, I’m all yours.” Looking over your shoulder you see him turning around with an eyebrow raised until he finally sees you. His silent judgement turned into something darker. He collects himself and walks over to the bag once again shaking his head.

“Don’t stare at my ass, and definitely don’t make comments about it.” He says firmly, but you can tell he’s not being stern.

“Oh come on, it was right in front of my face! Plus, your hips sway slightly when you walk so it looked extra good-“ a loud whine stopped your sentence short when a sharp needle entered your back.

“A warning next time would be delightful!” You say sarcastically jaw clenched.

“I warned you not to talk about my ass.” That’s all he has to say?

“And once again, your ass was in my face! What else am I supposed to talk about? That’s a hypothetical by the way, it will always be about your ass.” At this point the adrenaline makes the pain in your back go numb. Fortunately, feeling his warm hand on your back kneading the needle through your skin has your panties wet. Luckily he’s fast with his needle work because two minutes later he’s done.

“Alright you’re all fixed up now.” He stands from the bed returning the supplies to his bag.

“Really?” You could have sworn that cut was huge. “Well I guess I’ll get dressed then.”

“Did you need me to turn around or are you going to finally act like I’ve seen tits before? That’s a hypothetical of course.” Mocking you with a cheeky smirk and one brow raised he tosses the med bag off the bed and onto the floor. Arms crossed he stares down at you still lying on the bed.

“Is that your way of asking to see my tits? I’d love to test and see if you’re as harsh in bed as you are during training.” Turning around still holding your chest you give your shoulders a slight shrug. “What’s it gonna be Logan? Hate sex or awkward eye contact in the hallway?”

As quick as he is in training, he’s now right in front of you, your jaw gripped by his hand. He leans down getting right in your face. You can feel his warmth radiating from his skin, it made you shiver.

“Don’t get all shy now,” He mocked. “I don’t hate you.” He looks you up and down scanning every inch of your body, unclothed and clothed. “I will fuck you though.”

“I didn’t think that’d actually work but show me what you got baby!” You say hands falling from your chest and pulling his jaw into a kiss. He kisses you back grabbing your side slowly moving to kneel on the bed. Lowering into the bed you’re now lying down. The pressure not the best feeling on your back you let out a quiet hiss.

“What’s the matter? Is it your back?” He asked gently leaning your back off the bed relieving the pain shooting though out you.

“Yeah, usually I wouldn’t mind missionary but I think your love swipe is begging for us to do something kinkier.” You say winking. Before he can say a word you hook your legs around his waist using your momentum to flip him under you on to the bed. Kissing the shock off his face he pulls back suddenly.

“Who taught you that?” He questioned, jealousy slightly peaking through.

“That’s a personal trick. Consider it a mini lesson of my own to you.” You leave a little boop to his nose finding his lips again before he could ask any more questions. Starting to grind down on him, he grabs your hips rolling them at a slower pace. It was deeper though, way harder. Slow hard and precise. You didn’t stop the moan that fell into his mouth. Groaning in response he squeezed your hips even tighter causing you to pull back. Arching your back while dry humping him you let out a breathy moan. Reaching up you grab your tits rolling your nipples in between your fingers. Still guiding your hips a low rumble growls from Logan’s throat as his head rolled back. A pretty erotic site.

“You’re killing me here bub.” He groaned out as he sat up meeting face to face. He starts kissing your jaw moving down to your pressure point playfully nibbling. You moan embarrassingly loud, you could feel his grin against your neck. That made you want to stroke your ego a bit. Pulling his head back by the roots of his hair you grind down extra hard feeling his hip buck to meet yours. You quietly laugh and push him back down. Crawling up an inch or two to give him one more sloppy kiss before sitting back up.

“Don’t worry baby you don’t have to wait for this pretty pussy any longer.” You’re unbuckling his belt and pulling his boxers down to remove his- holy shit huge cock.

“Damn Logan! They weren’t lying when they said you were huge down unda!” You turn to wink to the fourth wall.

“Usually that would kill the mood but you’re really fucking hot.” He pants out “Now back to what you were doing.” He pulls his pants further down his hips and you begin to stroke him.

Eventually getting to impatient you say fuck it and decide to take him all in one go. Loudly he groans, his eyes meet yours, his pupils fully blown out. At the sight you couldn’t help but start bouncing on his cock. Letting go of your hips he lets you set the pace. Grinding down you curve your hips so he could run against your walls deliciously rough. Getting slightly cock drunk after just a few strides your pace begins to increase wanting more of that feeling. Growing desperate you let out a whimpering moan. Hands falling from your chest to Logan’s chest.

“Logan, please.” You beg desperately. Still riding him you plead with him. You looked so pitiful, he couldn’t help the way his twitched hard deep in you. You’re so fucking beautiful.

“What do you want baby? Use your words.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You whine out, you want him to take control and fuck the shit out of you. “Fuck me so hard I won’t be able to walk tomorrow!” You moan out loudly as he bucks his hips up suddenly. Grabbing your hand he intertwines with your fingers squeezing hard and steadying you. Bucking up into you fast he doesn’t feel he is deep enough.

Moving to grab you by your waist he flips you onto your knees face being pushed into his pillows. Drool starts to pool in your mouth form being engulfed by the scent of his sheets. He pushes himself back in quickly making you moan out his name.

“This better princess?” He said with a big smirk “I only want to hear my name come out your mouth. Got it?”

“Yes, daddy!” You were half joking about that nickname. Good thing you felt his cock twitch before you let out that nervous laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Fuck me.” He moans out.

“No fuck me-“ cut off once again by his cock pounding into you. Grabbing at the sheets you could feel his hands move from your hips to rest on either side of your head. Hitting even deeper inside you he then grabs your throat with one hand making you sit up on your hands and knees. Still fucking into you he pulls you all the way up to his chest, grabbing his arm for support you feel him tighten his grip on your neck. This euphoria wasn’t going to last much longer because you were gonna cum hard.

“Logan- I’m gonna cum!” You could barely speak between your pants and erotic moans.

“Cum on my cock princess.” His other hand finds your clit rubbing it at the same pace his cock is pounding inside of you. Letting out a loud moan you could feel the warmth building fast.

“Want me to cum inside you? I want to cum with you.” Panting to the pace of his hips he continues “Fill you up like the slut you are.” He growls into your ear. His voice full of lust and desperation.

“Fill me up baby!” You laugh out in between moans. He groans as he feels your walls spasm around him. You feel bliss and see black speckles fill your vision as your cum dribbles down his cock. Reaching back your hands find his hair and dig hard into his scalp. The pain causes Logan to fall over the edge and cum hard deep inside you.

“Oh fuck, can’t stop!” He practically whined out still fucking into you chasing his high. Still rubbing your clit you start to whine out from over stimulation. Before he can stop himself from rutting into you anymore you come again. Almost screaming out a moan you dig your nails into his shoulders. You feel so fucking warm, soaking wet and tight. Logan can’t pull himself away from you. You feel to good.

“Logan, you horny bitch!” Smirking while grinding back into him you slow his pace down. Moving his hand away from your clit his hands find the inner parts of your thigh. Picking you up slightly to meet his hips even closer than before he groans into the side of your neck. You start to feel the familiar cold metal of his claws poking into your thighs.

“Feel good pretty boy?” You turn towards his face and move one of your hands to his jaw. Before he could answer you start to make out with him while still grinding into him harder. Logan moans into your mouth before pulling away. Finally stopping with his cock still hard inside you he sighs into your shoulder kissing you.

“Feel real fucking good.” Starting to leave a hickey right behind your ear you begin to pull away.

“You trying to go another round or do you need more time to recover hot stuff? I don’t want to hurt that metal hip you know how to move just right.” Squeezing his sides you can feel his abs move under your hands. You moan quietly moving your hands down to his v line. Eventually making your way to his ass giving it a firm squeeze. Turning your head at the same time you find the side of his neck biting down a little rough on the lobe of his ear.

He growls out and you can feel his claws start to push against the flesh of your thighs. Retracting them he pulls out and flips you around sitting you up on your knees facing him on the edge of the bed.

“Bend down and suck my dick loud mouth.” Grabbing you by the base of your hair you slowly started crawling down onto your hands and knees. Ass arched in the air you find the tip of his cock in your face. Pre cum falling from his pinkish tip. You lick your lips looking up at him.

“It’d be my pleasure.” Not getting a chance to say anything else he starts fucking into your mouth. Breathing through your nose you start to lick against his length going opposite of his thrusts. Loud squelching filled the room. It was absolutely filthy, but so fucking HOT! You moaned into his cock, the vibrations sending a shiver through him. Moaning loud he starts going faster. Tears start to roll down your cheeks and you feel nothing but pure pleasure.

“I’m gonna cum soon. Keep sucking baby.” His eyes are shut tightly and you decide then you want to see him totally fucked out. Sucking extra hard and messy you lock eyes with him when he looks down at you. Moaning loudly he starts to pant.

“Good girl! Fuck you’re really good! Don’t stop!” Using both hands he starts pushing your head down faster and way deeper. His dick was starting to go down your throat. Deep throating him you hold yourself down on his cock moaning out his name. Barely audible for obvious reasons, he pulled you off his cock.

“What’s my name princess?” He smirks holding the base of his cock in his other hand.

“Logan!” Sounding hoarse considering this is the first time you could breathe in the last 5 minutes.

“But I prefer wolf daddy!” Always gotta keep the mood light! Gently slapping you on your cheek he pushes your head all the way down his cock. Gagging from the sudden intrusion you quickly begin to suck on him again.

Logan’s hips bucked into your mouth over and over while his balls slapped against your chin. Slobber running down your chin reaching your throat dribbling all over his balls and down his pelvis. His pubes leading to a happy trail is all you can focus on for the moment. Some of your juice still glistening on his mound. You moan against his dick again finally pushing him over causing him to grip your hair tight. Swallowing every last drop he has to give you. A low hum comes from you as the veins on his chest pop out from the pleasure. God this man was fucking hot. Rock hard abs, a sweat glistened chest with the sexiest chest hair, his perfectly cut arms and beautifully sculpted legs. The full package. And god knows you LOVE his package.

Popping off his cock once he was down you swallow the rest of his cum in your mouth. Licking your lips you sit up meeting his lips so he could taste himself on your tongue. One passionate steamy kiss later you pull back running a hand through his hair down to his cheek.

“I’m surprised you can use that mouth for more than just shit talk.” He chuckles kissing you quickly on the cheek.

“You always have to be able to ride the cock if you’re gonna talk the talk. Is that how that saying goes?” Tilting your head he puts his hand over your mouth.

“Enough of that.” Shaking his head he leaves you on the bed going to his closet. He pulls out a new pair of boxers pulling them on and then grabbing a pair for you. Moving over he grabs a wife beater for himself and an over sized flannel for you. Walking back over he sets your clothes on the bed.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Pointing to your cunt that’s still dripping his cum. “It’s not very gentlemanly to leave a mess.”

Kneeling down he sits between your legs. Without saying a word he starts licking between your folds lapping up all the cum in its wake. Rolling your head back you fall back on to your elbows. Moaning out his name his tongue dives into your hole making your flinch. Hand instinctively finding his hair pulling a little. Finding your eyes he starts to suck on your clit. Flicking his tongue fast up and down, then swirling around you he moans. The noise mixed with being over stimulated already had you cumming again but this time into his mouth.

“God Logan don’t stop!” Riding against his face you stop a minute later once your high has passed. With a groan you fall limp against his sheets. Not even caring about the slight ache that goes through your back.

“I finally got you to shut up.” And without saying a word you’re already out cold. Getting a cloth he washes you up and dresses you in his clothes. I guess he didn’t mind spending the night with you in his bed. You were surprisingly cute when you slept snoring softly and cuddled all into his side. You were warm and soft too. Logan can learn to like this quiet side of you.

I hope you guys enjoyed this one, I haven’t posted for a while so it’s hard not to second guess myself. Let me know if you want anymore Wolverine and possibly even Deadpool content?

[o-sachi]

Training Camp ‧₊˚ ⋅ Blue Lock Chars. (Request)

ଳ female football team enters blue lock for a joint training camp! ଳ characters; isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, nagi seishirou, reo mikage, rin itoshi, barou shoei, chigiri hyoma, shidou ryusei, kunigami rensuke ଳ tags; sfw, afab reader, no y/n

[🐟]: This took me such a long time because I found the prompt a bit hard tbh...

— With the rising popularity of blue lock and its potential for monetization, a local famous women's team was invited for a joint training camp. How would the chosen 11 react?

ᯓ Isagi Yoichi

The poor guy was so nervous at first. It only got worse when the other guys started joking about how "he should chill out" and that "he shouldn't scare the girls with his personality on the field."

He was so conscious in the first match that he kept messing up. Ego immediately noticed he was off his game. Of course, the cunning founder of Blue Lock knew why. But Isagi was benched anyway.

Isagi couldn't contain his frustrations and brewed in the bench while waiting for another chance to get back in.

Once he does get back in... he doesn't show mercy anymore. His familiar cutthroat personality resurfaces. He glares at you and tells you to get out of his way.

You were shocked, to say the least. But you kept playing anyway. Best believe that he approached you right after that game and apologized profusely for his behavior.

"I'm so so so so so sorry. I don't know what came over me." / "It's alright. I understa—please don't start kneeling...."

ᯓ Bachira Meguru

He's just happy to see some new faces at the joint training camp. He'd happily greet your team, shake hands with all of you, and would even offer to show you around the facility.

You were the only one who accepted his offer of a tour. He does show you around but... somehow he gets lost too. He laughs it off and decides to amuse you with his stories inside the facility instead.

His enthusiasm and friendliness gets you to lower your guard, thinking that you'd manage against him in a match.

"Hey, hey, go easy on us in the first match, alrighty?"

However... you quickly realize that you were bamboozled. All it took was one dribble past you and you were left in awe at his skils. Bachira made it look way too easy.

He noticed your expression in the game—how amazed you were with his dribbling and passing. So, he offered to teach you personally at night in one of the empty training rooms.

ᯓ Nagi Seishirou

Of course, he thinks that the joint training camp was a major hassle. That meant he'd be playing in more games. He was especially disgruntled when the coach of your team kindly requested if he could give some tips on trapping the ball.

He tries his best to teach, but to no avail. Nagi would stand there awkwardly and play around with ball without explaining anything.

"You just have to go swoosh, then the ball should go oop. That's how you trap." / "Um... how do you do the swoosh exactly?"

Yes, he's the type to use sound effects as if that helps you learn any of the things he is doing.

You see the annoyance on his face as your coach keeps pestering him to explain it better, so you intervene. You explain that it's more than enough for your team to see it in person. All that's left is for your team to practice it. Nagi never looked so relieved in his life.

You stay true to your promise and practice whatever that swoosh he was talking about. Eventually, you get the hang of it and Nagi was the first person you ran to. He gives you a thumbs up of approval.

ᯓ Reo Mikage

It was the Mikage corporation that sponsored this joint training camp. You knew because of the big bold letters that say "MIKAGE" written on the front of your new uniforms.

Being the grateful person that you are, you approach him on one of your off times and thank him for the sponsorship. He waves it off and tells you its his pleasure to have such a lovely team play with them.

"Hey, no need to thank me. I'm just looking forward to have a match with you."

He's actually one of the few people who's enthusiastic about sharing his football knowledge. Unlike Nagi, he can explain himself articulately.

He's so patient with you and your team even though he's like leagues better than all of you. Reo also makes an effort to befriend you—truly fulfilling the spirit of a training camp.

Reo encourages the other guys to do the same, but...

ᯓ Rin Itoshi

Rin was NOT amused by the idea of a joint training camp. He saw no point in fraternizing with a team that wouldn't bring him closer to defeating his brother.

Your whole team was intimidated by him. The way he glared at all of you and especially your coach was all too menacing.

When the joint training camp episode aired live on BL TV, Rin's behavior got mixed reactions.

"Rin should be nicer to the female team. They're also there to do their best." // "Omg Rin is so mean. He can step on me instead."

He had low expectations the first time he went up against your team. But you wanted to prove him wrong even by a little bit. So even if he didn't go easy on any of you—you tried to keep up with him through sheer determination and hope.

A tiny part of him was impressed that at least one person in your team didn't lose spirit and tried to keep up with him. He respects you a little more than the others, but would NEVER admit it in his life.

ᯓ Barou Shoei

He wasn't excited by the idea either. If he had a choice, he'd rather continue training as usual. Buttttt, he's stuck with the training camp no matter what, so he decides to just suck it up for the meantime.

Despite that, he was still observant as always. He could easily pick up the gaps in your strategy, your individual flaws, and so on. Even you could tell that he was the analytical type.

Obviously, you had to approach him. You sheepishly asked him about your points of improvement and how to get better. Oh boy... he breathes in deeply, preparing for the onslaught of mental notes he kept about your gameplay.

"Listen carefully. I won't repeat myself, okay?"

Your jaw was on the floor once he was done. There were things you were already aware of, but he listed so many other things that you were starting to doubt if football was for you.

He notices your downcast expression and sighs again. He tells you that with enough practice, you'll correct most of your flaws.

Somehow, you remind him of his little sisters. Big bro Barou mode activates and suddenly he's giving you some rigorous training in your off time.

ᯓ Chigiri Hyoma

Your team was excited to learn about football, but when your eyes were graced by his presence—you were awestruck with how beautiful his hair was. So now it was learning football and haircare.

You were a bit shy to ask him about his hair because you were there for football after all. But, to your surprise, he seemed quite happy that someone asked.

Chigiri was charming without trying. There were plenty of times you had to snap out of your thoughts because he was just too dreamyyyy.

To be fair, he also taught you a bit about his football knowledge. However, he mostly gave you tips on how to get faster; that was his specialty anyway.

While everyone else was engaging in some routine nighttime training, you and Chigiri were fussing over hair routine and products.

"You should let your hair down more. It looks nice on you." / "Yeah... that's a bit impossible when playing and training most of the time." / "Eh? I do it just fine though?"

ᯓ Shidou Ryusei

He was looking forward to the joint training camp... you could tell that much with how he greeted your team with the most menacing smile ever.

Unbeknownst to you, the boys were encouraged to give you some encouraging words. It was mostly for the ratings on BL TV, but it was necessary all the same. The thing is... you couldn't tell if he was encouraging you or threatening you...

Shidou did not hold back at all when your team first went against them. He wasn't scared of accidentally tackling any of you with his bigger build.

Maybe he got cocky or maybe it was a pure stroke of luck, but you managed to stop one of his goals. Time seemed to stop as his eyes narrowed in on you.

"Hey, you. Yeah, you. You'll keep me entertained while you're here, won't you?" / "Uhhhhhhh......"

He became so clingy with you after that game—following you, annoying you, and trying to get you to notice him. It wasn't his fault that you chose to stand out among the others, right?

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[mandosaur]

Morningstar (The Salesman / Reader)

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: The Salesman / Reader

Summary: Extreme graphic content warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Read at your own risk.

“My friends and I are about to play a game. One you know well, darling,” he explains. He uses the gun to push a strand of his hair back innocently.

The gun prompts your memory. You feel your hands begin to shake.

Russian roulette.

Of course. He is terribly fond of this one. You’ve played with him on a few occasions, and it doesn’t get easier. Each time he makes you play it with him, you feel the familiar squeeze in your chest of panic.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” your benefactor turns back to the men, “And one. I’m sure you’ve all heard of it, yes? Little star, will you demonstrate?”

Female reader is present during the first Russian Roulette scene.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, canon character death, explicit sexual content, gun play / gun violence, and gore. Dead dove; do not eat.

Word Count: 7,794

Estimated Reading Time: 28:20

At this point, it’s not much of a surprise just how low your threshold for what is normal and abnormal has fallen. Your walls have been forcibly brought down. What might have scared you years ago has become something mundane. You don’t even blink as you enter your apartment to find two people tied up and gagged.

The sound of the door opening makes everyone snap their heads towards you. You hesitate at the entrance, eyes taking in the scene before you.

Two men are tied up in your living room. One is young and covered in a sheen of sweat. He screams as he sees you and looks desperate. He seems to mouth, “Help,” over and over through the gag in his mouth. His hands reach out for you as if pleading with you to do something.

The second man sits opposite of him. He’s older, gruff, and his eyes are full of alarm. He moves his hands like he wants you to back off and he mouths at you to run. It seems he wants you to save yourself from whatever threat is in the room with them.

A low chuckle sounds from somewhere in the back of the room. Your attention is drawn to the man you missed upon your first entry. Understating floods you as he steps into the low light of the room.

“Ah, little star,” comes a cheery, bright voice, “you’re home early.”

In the low light of the living room, you can make him out. Your benefactor. He’s standing in his business suit in the middle of the two restrained men. He holds something up in his hand that glints in the lighting and sends a low shiver down your spine.

A gun.

You close the front door quickly behind you and latch it. A breath hitches in your throat and you drop your coat and bag by the hallway. You hope your neighbors haven’t seen anything yet because you’re not sure how you can explain this one.

The two men make a noise. The youngest is frantic, muffled words and pleas getting lost along the rubber gag, meanwhile his companion is straining against the rope that binds him trying to find a way out. You ignore the way the sight of them makes your stomach heave and instead focus on your benefactor.

He’s turned to you now with the gun still aimed at the ceiling. His smile is wide, too many white teeth, and his eyes have something glinting within their depths. You know that look well. He wears it every time he’s about to play one of his games.

You’ve known this man for years now. You met him when you were just a university student in your second year barely scraping by. He had met you on the subway and his too wide smile had shown razor sharp when he had offered you a red and blue piece of paper.

You’re not surprised at whatever scene you have just walked in on. Heaven knows he’s shown you worse.

“Friends of yours?” Your voice cracks on the last word and you awkwardly hang by the hallway unsure whether to approach or leave.

This happens sometimes. You’re not sure what shady business your benefactor is involved in, but sometimes it follows him home. You’ve grown used to him ordering you to leave when his friends in red show up or when a car pulls up front waiting silently for him to enter. Whenever that happens, he usually orders you to leave your apartment for a few hours until he sends you an all clear message. You’re not sure if your presence has inconvenienced him somehow, and, quite frankly, you don’t really want to know. Despite the way this man has twisted your perceptions of right from wrong, you aren’t too keen to watch whatever is about to happen with these men.

Your benefactor beckons you over with a single tilt of his head. He turns back to the men with a flourish. His voice is still bright, loud, and clear. He takes your interruption in stride as if it was insignificant.

“Come, little star, join me,” he orders.

Silently, you do.

The men grow quiet at the sight of you slotting yourself next to your benefactor. The youngest one sobs and squeezes his eyes shut at the realization that you are with him. The hope of escape evaporates as he sags and cries freely into his lap. The oldest clenches his fists tight and pins you down with an ice cold glare that sends a shiver down your spine.

You look away from them both and instead turn to your benefactor.

“My friends and I are about to play a game. One you know well, darling,” he explains. He uses the gun to push a strand of his hair back innocently.

The gun prompts your memory. You feel your hands begin to shake.

Russian roulette.

Of course. He is terribly fond of this one. You’ve played with him on a few occasions, and it doesn’t get easier. Each time he makes you play it with him, you feel the familiar squeeze in your chest of panic.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” your benefactor turns back to the men, “And one. I’m sure you’ve all heard of it, yes? Little star, will you demonstrate?”

He pushes you forward firmly with hand holding the gun. The cold metal stings as it presses against your back.

You swallow and extend your hands in front of yourself. You also know this one. You’ve played it with him on occasion although it’s usually when he’s feeling more playful in bed. It’s never really done with a weapon.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” he calls out. Your hands move at the beat. At the end, your right becomes paper and your left a rock. He extends his own hand and you see he’s chosen scissors, “Minus one.”

Your right hand falls away leaving your rock. You tap his scissors once and he drops it obediently.

“Well done, little star,” he praises. His voice drops to that low, seductive murmur you like. Despite the situation at hand, you feel a little flutter of excitement singe through your blood.

“When you lose a round, you play a round of Russian roulette. I’m sure both of you are familiar with it. You take a gun and load a single bullet in the revolver. Then you spin it around until you don’t know where the bullet is. The losing player takes the weapon, presses it to their head, and pulls the trigger. It’s a game of a chance. Your odds of surviving are 1 and 6. Those are good odds, yes?” He spins the revolver and presses the gun to his head.

Your mouth grows dry with worry as he pulls the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

A breath releases from your lips slowly in relief. He shoots you a wink with his lips curled up at the corner. He enjoys the moments he can make your heart skip a beat in fear.

“Again.”

This time he sets the gun down and extends both his hands towards you. You do the same.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

Your hands become two rocks. His left becomes a paper and his right another rock.

“Minus one.”

You jerk one hand behind your back and he beats you with his left. The revolver is spun again and he hands you the gun silently.

Fear clenches its cold fingers around your stomach. As always, your hand shakes when you take it from him. You’ve never been a fan of this game, but you don’t want to disappoint him. His eyes are watching your every movement, and you know he won’t tolerate disobedience. If there’s one thing he hates more than anything, it is when you cannot do as you are told.

You press the barrel of the weapon to your temple and pull the trigger before you can second guess yourself. Dying doesn’t scare you. Living without him is far more terrifying.

Click.

A breath of air passes through your lips. You don’t have time to register your relief before he takes the weapon back and gives it another mighty spin.

“See, gentlemen? 1 in 6. My darling and I have both survived,” he taps your shoulder indicating you to step back. You move behind him and press yourself to the wall.

The two men are still shaking. The youngest lets out a noise of pure terror as your benefactor hums and raises the gun. The eldest glares at you from beneath his dark eyebrows. Idly, you wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

Does he see another captor deriving sick amusement from the torture or perhaps just a bystander watching it all from behind his captor’s back? You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought.

The truth is, this dark and dangerous world evades you. You don’t really know what it all means. You’ve spent the last few years dancing across the edges of it but never truly venturing forth. Even now, you don’t really know what it is that is happening or who exactly your benefactor is besides a savior.

Two years ago, you were a college student in your second year with the weight of the world upon your shoulders. Your home life had always been poor, an indebted dead father and an absent, broke mother, but your studies were the area you excelled at. You had managed to win a full ride to one of the most prestigious universities in Korea. The world of poverty you were born in was slowly coloring into rose golds and glimmers at the prospect of more.

Then your world had ended.

In your second year, you lost your scholarship. The burden of all the expectations on your shoulders had broken you beneath their weight. You who had always had good grades had suddenly burned out. Your test scores began to slip and your marks lowered across the board. Emails began to flood your inbox from the academic board warning you that you were now on academic probation and your scholarship hung in the balance.

The stress of being unable to raise your grades made them drop lower. You were so scared to fail that you failed at a faster rate. Eventually, a single email had appeared warning you that you had lost your financial aid.

In a puff of smoke, everything was gone. Your university account was locked, you were dropped from your classes, and the university warned you’d have a month to pay for the tuition before you were permanently withdrawn from the registrar.

You hadn’t had the strength to tell your mother. She was always so fierce and stoic that you knew nothing but reproach would follow. She would berate you until you were in tears then disown you if she found out. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t have the funds to pay for it all off.

You were stuck. You had some savings but not nearly enough. Even the shitty part time jobs you had been able to find waitressing and working overnight hadn’t made a dent in the tuition. How could you possibly pay for a full degree with little to no savings?

The world had seemed so bleak then. You’d fallen into despair and waited until the moment it all came crashing down. When your mother called, you feigned still being a student all while rushing from place to place looking for a way to earn some cash.

And then your benefactor had found you.

Like the North Star, he’d shown the way for you. He had approached you after a long shift at work while you were dead tired. Your fingers had shook at the sight of your bank account still too low to make a dent on anything. Your rent, your loans, and everything else had eaten up what little you had managed to scrape by. The tuition was still too far away. You’d begun to sob quietly when he had cleared his throat and introduced himself.

To you then, you thought he cut a striking image. He was handsome, charming, and his too white teeth stretched into a smile. He had offered to play a game with you. Ddakji.

He offered you a choice. If you won, he’d pay you a sum. If you lost, you’d pay him back with your body.

While a part of you had grown weary, you were desperate enough to do it. The won he offered wasn’t a lot, but it could pay for a few textbooks or maybe a part of your loans to allow you more room to breathe. As for you paying him back, fine. He was handsome enough that you figured it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you ended up on your knees in some alleyway before him. The desperation had killed your pride a long time ago.

Without second guessing, you had taken the red slip of paper from him and played several rounds. During the game, it became apparent you were good. Really good. He never got a chance to win. You beat him at every round.

Every time you won, his charming gaze grew darker and darker. By the end, his eyes were pitch black and his smile was all sharp teeth and razor edges. Somehow, you had beat his challenge without even trying.

A card had emerged from his blazer pocket with an offer of a different game you could play. You had only glimpsed some shapes before he had suddenly snatched it back out of your hand. As if deciding otherwise, he took it back and offered you an alternative to the game. His pupils were blown wide and his fingers had snagged a strand of your hair to play with.

He had offered to be your benefactor. A star like you, he claimed, didn’t deserve to burn out. He had sat down then next to you and explained he knew who you were. Your name and information had left his mouth rapid fire.

He knew your name, what university you went to, and the exact amount needed to complete your studies. He knew you had lost your scholarship and how much your mother was banking on you graduating to elevate your socioeconomic standing. He also knew your rent was due soon and the window to enroll for classes for the next term was growing closer.

It was then he had presented a new offer. He’d be your benefactor. He’d pay for it all out of pocket. Your rent and bills would be paid, he’d pay for your tuition and even any further post grad studies if you wanted, and he’d give you the life of luxury a star like yourself deserved if only you agreed to be his. You were interesting, he claimed. No one had ever beaten his challenge before. He felt like you’d make a thrilling playmate.

Alarm bells had rung in your head then. Every nerve and neuron had fired all at once warning you of this man. No one offered all of the answers to your problems freely. His proposition was also chilly. You were not too dangerously naive. You knew just what kind of “playing” he meant just based off the way his eyes kept picking you apart-

But you were desperate. The weight of it all was suffocating. You didn’t know how to claw your way out of the hole you’d found yourself in, yet here was this handsome man offering you everything you could ever want.

You’d taken his offer. He had extended his hand and you had accepted it.

The very next day, your problems had all disappeared. An email had arrived from the university happily letting you know your tuition had been paid for in full and offering you to re-enroll in your previous courses. Your landlord had sent you a message thanking you for paying for the next year of rent in advance and been very shocked that you had even sent extra to cover utilities. Plus, a big delivery van had arrived in the afternoon bearing several packages. Textbooks for the new year, a new computer for homework assignments, and some nice clothes had been left on your doorstep all with a note from your benefactor.

By the time you had finished unpacking every gift, your doorbell had rung again and your benefactor was outside your doorstep waiting to collect on your end of the deal.

And you had paid him in full.

You’d welcomed him into your apartment with all it entailed. He was fascinating. A thrilling mystery and exciting to be with. It had started small. Little stolen moments here and there in your living room or bed. Then it had escalated.

He’d trained you to be his perfect companion. He decorated you in the clothing and jewelry he liked best. He taught you all the little games he liked to play. Games that made your eyes roll back in pleasure or teeth grit in pain.

Before you knew it, he owned you completely. You’d taken cruelty at his hand. Thanked him for the insults and kissed his hands after the beatings. You’d let him cut you with knives and lick the blood afterwords. You’d played Russian roulette until the gun clicked 5 times and he’d decided it was enough. All of it you’d done for him.

He was a drug. He took care of you at a time when you’d felt abandoned. A light in the darkness. The morning star burning bright.

In the time you’d been with him, he’d broken down your barriers. You’ve learned to take his cruelty and fashion it into love. A part of you yearns for him, aches at the very core of who you are to be his forever. He no longer scares you. You’ve take it all. Played Russian roulette until he’s grown bored, accepted the thought of dying by his hand, and learned to love his rough edges and manic phases as long as he lets you stay at his side.

Perhaps this is what this man sees now. A girl half his captor’s age standing pretty at his back somewhere between cowering and leaning forward into the abyss. Maybe that’s why his eyes grow full of hatred and he levels you with a glare that makes you shirk back into the shadows of the room.

Your benefactor continues after a brief pause.

“Your odds of dying are 1 in 6. Your odds of surviving are 5 and 6,” he calls out. He presses the barrel to his head and it clicks empty a third time. A shrill whistle leaves his lips.

The men cower.

“Shall we begin?” He motions for you to take a seat. You hop onto the table at the back where a record player sits. You turn it on and music floods the room adding a nice backdrop to the game.

Your benefactor shoots you a grin at the top of his shoulder before he takes his place between the two men.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

The men jump into action. The eldest raises his trembling hands. A rock and scissors. You raise an eyebrow as you see the youngest has been paralyzed with fear and hasn’t moved.

Your benefactor clicks his tongue disappointed. You wince. He hates when someone refuses to play.

“You didn’t play. You broke the rules for the first round,” he comments and raises his hand, “Disqualified.”

Muffled shrieks sound from the two men as the gun is pointed at the disqualified player. You bite the inside of your cheek and press your legs together in anticipation. A spark of arousal ignites within your blood. You like this side of him, you realize. It is terrible and twisted but oh so thrilling. Your arms prickle with gooseflesh and your fingers cinch around your clothing wishing desperately you could wrap them around him.

A click of the gun echoes followed by screams from within the gag. Empty.

A silence descends as the younger man hyperventilates. The older man sags against his chair in relief.

Your benefactor offers the gun for you to spin. His eyes are ablaze with excitement. He loves this and he knows you love that he loves it. He can see through you in a way no one can or ever will again.

You spin the barrel for him and the game continues.

The second round, the younger man wins. The eldest screams open mouthed as the barrel is pressed to his temple.

Another click.

You watch with mild interest as your benefactor dabs at the sweat gathering on the oldest man.

“Don’t be so nervous,” he reassures, “Like I said, your odds of survival are 5 in 6.”

You recognize those words. He’d said the same thing to you the first time you’d played the game with him.

He’d introduced you to it early on in your arrangement. You’d sobbed and screamed every time he’d pressed the gun to your forehead. You’d thought him crazy then, absolutely insane, and you’d begged him not to kill you.

He’d licked your tears and groaned at the sight of you so afraid. Danger excited him but fear drove him mad. He’d grown even more aroused with your terror. He’d pressed the gun to your head again and again ordering you to remain still and repeated the odds as if numbers had meant anything to you then.

You’d played ten rounds miraculously surviving each one. When he’d finally had his fill, he’d set the gun down and taken you again. That time, you couldn’t deny that the boneless feeling of the adrenaline crash after such a big fright wasn’t thrilling.

You hated the damn game. It scared you and made you want to faint. Every time you waited for that click felt like torture, but you liked the after. Liked the relief of survival and the way he grew even more excited at your reactions.

You bet he’s excited now. With his back to you, you can’t tell, but you suspect he’s straining against his pants.

It’s not the danger that gets him going, you know. It’s the fear.

And panic runs rampant in this room. It dances around the edges and leaves a hazy sheen. You clench your thighs together again and suppress the urge to make a sound. Perhaps you’re a little too much like him. You briefly wonder if you’ve always been this way, if maybe his presence unlocked some hidden recess of your mind you always buried beneath propriety and morality, or if he has corrupted you to the core and damned your soul through his proximity.

“Let’s play again,” he calls out. He spins the barrel again and his wrist snaps up. He moves like an announcer to a game show. Movements sharp and crisp.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

The men move.

“Minus one.”

Click

Another scream. The youngest squeezes his eyes shut as the gun is moved away from him.

A weary sigh leaves your benefactor’s lips. You recognize the boredom that descends over him. He’s a man of extremes that flicker faster than light. One moment he can be terribly excited and the next terribly bored.

Now, it seems he’s grown uninterested. He moves away and towards the table with the rest of the bullets lined neatly in a row.

“It’s a little boring, isn’t it?” He directs the question at you.

“Hm,” you make a noncommittal noise.

You know what’s coming. Your fingers snag the bullets one by one and extend them towards him.

This is the part of the game you absolutely hate. Russian roulette is terrifying enough with the odds of 1 and 6, but 5 in 6?

The one time he had ever wanted to play it with you, you had adamantly refused. You’d cried and begged him not to terrified at the thought of dying in such a twisted way. He’d watched you cry for over an hour amused as you’d pleaded with him on your knees not to make you.

In the end, he had relented. He’d taken your face in his hands and kissed you humming that he had changed his mind. His voice had been nonchalant as he had remarked that it was better if your pretty brains didn’t end up splattered on the wall after all, and that had been it. He’d abandoned the hope of the game and never brought it up again. You’d played Russian roulette normally from then on when he felt adventurous, sometimes without spinning the barrel every round, but that was the extent of it. He’d never pressed for a more extreme version.

Except now.

Whatever these men have done, he does not care if they live or die. This is purely for his entertainment. It’s all one big game.

“Let’s reverse the odds, shall we?” He takes the bullets from you and loads them one by one except for the last one.

The men beg and plead for mercy. Your benefactor ignores them as if they haven’t said anything.

“Your odds of death are now 5 and 6. Your odds of living are 1 and 6. Let’s continue,” He doesn’t wait for them to agree. He takes his place at the front and looks towards you expectantly, “Darling?”

With a jolt, you realize he’s giving you the honors. You clear your throat and straighten up.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” you call out. You’ve done it a thousand times before, “Minus one.”

A tie.

You blink and the game continues. Over and over, the men tie. Eventually, you get bored of referring the game.

And then the tie breaks.

The men choose different options. It’s a win-lose situation. You and your benefactor lock eyes just as the song on the record hits its crescendo.

The eldest is going to win. You’re certain of it. All he needs is to move his hand with the scissors back. The youngest could win too, but he looks too scared to piece together the fact that victory is so close.

Deciding to close out the game, you call out one final command.

“Minus one.”

The youngest screams and the eldest closes his eyes. You lean forward to see who’s won and then raise your eyebrows.

Your benefactor clicks his tongue in disappointment.

“Too bad, you didn’t take one away. Disqualified.”

It happens before you even have time to blink. The gun is raised forward and a tiny scream escapes your mouth.

Bang

Blood and viscera splash on your carpet and walls. The youngest lets out his loudest scream yet and descends into tinier little screams of pure terror. Your benefactor hums and straightens. Before him, you can see the eldest has died.

5 in 6.

The record ceases its playing and you pause waiting for any indication that someone has overheard. Thankfully, your walls are pretty thick and your neighbor moved out last week. You suspect this is why your home was chosen as the venue for this little game.

Your benefactor hums and removes the remaining bullets from the gun, all but one. He wipes the blood from the barrel and hums a song under his breath.

“Congratulations, you’ve won,” he remarks to the other man.

The man is bent over his chair in agony still screaming. Whoever this man is, he was important. You know he has sacrificed himself for him. Briefly, you wonder who they are.

Bile floods your mouth at the sight of his corpse and you force yourself to look away. Instead, you focus on your benefactor. His fingers trace down your face and you see there’s some blood that stains them. You suspect some of the blood is on your cheeks and hair likely from the splatter.

“Thank you for the assist, little star. You’ve always been very good at this game,” he murmurs. He leans towards you and you adjust yourself to accommodate him. Your legs open for him to slot himself between them and your hands go to the lapels of his jacket.

He presses his mouth firmly against yours. You meet his kiss with a burning intensity. Your fingers card through his hair and his hand goes to the back of your head to press you closer. His teeth snag on your bottom lip and copper fills your mouth. A pained squeak leaves you before he swallows it down and pushes you closer.

It’s a while before he draws back. Your lungs burn and you’re sure your mouth is swollen. This close to him, you can feel something press against your core. He’s hard. The game has given him an edge of excitement. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Good girl,” he praises. His fingers swipe at your bleeding bottom lip. He licks at the blood on his index finger and meets your eyes as it comes away clean. His pupils are blown wide with lust. You imagine you look the same.

He knows what that praise does to you. You hold him close as he leans forward. His hands grip your thighs and he yanks you until you are leaning over the edge of the table. Your legs hang limply before he helps wrap them around his waist.

He is hard. He’s straining against the front of his pants and you automatically tip your hips up in anticipation. A gasp leaves you just as a growl resounds from the back of his throat.

He presses his mouth against a pulse point in your neck and bites down just as hips roll again.

“Did my little star enjoy the game? Is that why you’re so eager now? Hm,” he murmurs it against your skin and his lips tickle.

It’s embarrassing to admit it out loud. You close your eyes as his fingers slip beneath your skirt. They slip underneath your panties and find your excitement already beginning to gather.

He chuckles underneath his breath and offers them to you.

“See that? Taste yourself,” he orders.

You take his fingers in your mouth and swipe your tongue along his digits. The taste of you is sharp and raw. You can feel your core clench against nothing in anticipation.

He forces his fingers back into your throat. You protest as he hits the very back and tries to get you to gag. Your hand goes to his wrist to try to shove him off and he smacks it away.

“Ah, ah, all the way.”

The feeling of your gag reflex being suppressed makes your eyes water. You squeeze your thumbs hoping that old wives tale works.

He likes teasing you like this. His favorite thing in the world is when you cry. He often does whatever he can to get tears to pool at the corner of your eyes. Nothing gets him off quite like it.

A sound registers behind you both. It’s the man from earlier. You’ve completely forgotten about his existence too drunk on the feeling of lust.

The man is bent over with pure repulsion and disgust written on his face. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s gagging. You don’t know whether it’s because of the gory sight of his friend in front of him or from your display.

Either way, your benefactor withdraws his fingers from your mouth giving you a chance to breathe. He tilts your head towards him and you meet his eyes. His eyes are pure black, lust clear as day, and he stares at the thin string of saliva that follows his fingers as he withdraws them.

“Ah, ah, don’t look at him. Look at me, little star. Eyes on me.”

You do.

Your heart is a humming bird in your chest and the way your core is clenching around nothing is uncomfortable. Desperately, you want him. Audience or not, you need him in that very moment or you feel like you will die.

“Please,” the plea leaves your lips before you can think. Your mouth moves to his neck to find a nice spot to sink your teeth into. His skin tastes like salty sweat and copper. He has blood specks all over him. You trace them with your tongue and the taste leaves you reeling.

He backs away a little and something cold presses to your mouth. The gun.

Your breath hitches in nervousness as he motions for you to open your mouth.

“Why don’t we show our guest how we play Russian roulette, hm? Teach him how it’s done?” He smirks and moves the gun further into your mouth.

Fear courses through your veins. The gun tastes of gunpowder and blood. You’d gag in revulsion if you weren’t already gagging from the feeling of it pressing against your throat.

“Put on a show, little star,” he urges, “Show our guest how we play our games.”

You know what he wants. You close your eyes and move your tongue around the barrel swirling and licking at the cold metal. You imagine your mouth wrapped around him and suck your cheeks in the way you would him. It’s vile and dirty and oh so tempting.

With him pressed so close, you swear you can feel him twitch against your core. Still, you continue. Obscene sounds fill the room as you lick and suck alternating between the two in a rhythm that you know would drive him crazy.

Click

The gun clicks empty. You realize with a flash of fear that he has pulled the trigger. So distracted by your actions, you had forgotten you were playing a deadly game.

He mistakes your momentary lapse in attention for fearlessness. He withdraws the gun and puts it in his own mouth tasting your saliva.

Click

It’s empty for him too. He pulls it out and uses it to trace down the front of your blouse. You feel your heart pound against your ribcage as it moves lower and lower.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. The gun traces down and underneath your shirt. The metal kisses the skin and he sinks his teeth right into your neck leaving an ugly mark you’ll see tomorrow in the mirror.

You sigh against him and move your fingers to his front. He lets out a pleased grunt as you slip your fingers into his pants and trace the shape of him. You want him so badly and aren’t above begging.

Still, he isn’t quite done.

He moves the gun down to in between your legs and the metal teases your entrance. He swipes it back and forth a few times teasing you. You moan against it and roll your hips expertly trying to get any sort of relief from the tension.

There’s a coil in your stomach ready to burst. The anxiety from the loaded weapon combines with your arousal creating a dizzying mixture. He’s gotten you hooked on the feeling of danger. He once promised he’d ruin you and by God has he. You’re too far from grace now. You’re so wrecked and damned that you doubt Satan would even want your soul now.

He’s absolutely ruined you for all men. How on earth could any man give you any sort of pleasure now? How could you want anyone else now that you have tasted him and found heaven in the stars he makes you see when he brings you over the edge?

You know what he likes. You want to bring him pleasure, so you move yourself against the damn weapon meeting his thrusts of it.

It isn’t enough, you want him not the damn thing. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and meet his eyes. Both of gazes burn with lust.

He’s panting against you, you realize. Both of your shallow breaths are mingling. He’s as turned on as you are. Still, he doesn’t give in. He wants to show you off, show off the control he has over you.

You won’t run. You won’t scream. You won’t cry or beg. You’ll take the scraps he gives you and obediently play his game. If he tells you to play with him, you will and you’ll thank him for it.

His hands shake as he moves the weapon against you. He’s reaching his limit. You groan out his name, his real name only you are allowed to use, and close your eyes.

“Please, please, please, I need you,” you beg. The weapon provides some friction but it’s not enough. You want more. You want him to take you. Nothing else compares to the feeling of him deep within you. No other man or your fingers could ever make you feel the way he does.

Click

The gun clicks empty again. With a shock, you realize he’s pulled the trigger while it’s inside you. Horror floods your system and you hide your face into the crook of his neck.

He’s pulled the trigger 3 times without spinning the barrel. That’s 3 times either of you could have died. Some more bile climbs up your throat and some of those alarm bells ring again. You had thought he’d gotten rid of your self preservation long ago but every once in a while those pesky instincts swim back to the surface.

For a brief second, you imagine saving yourself. You imagine shoving him off you and bolting. Maybe you’d make it to the door while he gathers his bearings. With the gun only loaded once, he might not be able to shoot you in time.

You could flee into the night and disappear. There’s enough cash in the jewelry you’re wearing to escape. Either you disappear from Korea entirely and forget all about this dangerous incubus in between your legs, or you go to the police station and reveal everything you know. Either choice would let you be free of him. You could run now and save what’s left of you-

But the thought disappears the moment you hear the sound of his zipper.

He’s set the gun down on the table beside you now and is freeing himself from his pants. Your mind goes blank with the promise of pleasure and all thoughts of salvation evaporate.

You widen your legs and move your garments to the side allowing him access. With how aroused you are, he slips in with ease.

The stretch of him makes you sigh. You dig your fingers into his coat and hook your legs together welcoming him in deeper. He wastes no time burying himself to the hilt.

The table rattles and bangs against the floor as he thrusts into you hard. He’s close to his own limit. His eyes are closing shut and the tempo he sets is brutal. You cry out and arch your back at the feeling of him pounding into you.

Whether it’s the game or you, he is close. He’s been close this entire time. You know neither of you will last long.

You meet his thrusts with a roll of your hips and your back arches. Pornographic sounds leave your mouth and you hear his own hisses and grunts in your ear. He’s so, so close. He’s unraveling with every deep, hard thrust.

“Yes, that’s it, little star, yes,” he bites into your ear and increases the force of his thrusts. The table bangs against the wall and you’re sure the damn thing will break from the force. Fuck, he’s going so hard. You can feel the tip of him kiss your cervix with every thrust. Tears well at the corner of your eyes and you squeak at the impact of his every move.

“Please,” you babble. Your vocabulary has been reduced to that one word. You move your leg just up a little and he hooks his hand around your thigh and bring it up higher. The new angle has him hitting a spot deep inside that no one but him has ever managed to find before. You feel yourself begin to shake as stars dance before your vision.

“I’m going to-so tight-“

He bites into your neck and you feel sharp pain. When he moves his head, you can see blood in his mouth. It stains the skin of his lips and runs down the side of your blouse. You know you’ll look ghastly by the time it’s all done. You’ll be covered in bruises and bite marks, but it will all have been worth it once you hit your peak.

“Fuck! You were fucking made for me, fuck,” he swears again. His hips begin to stutter. You know he’s close and your own mouth opens in a silent scream. He hits a spot in you that has your vision flashing white. Your mind blanks of all thought as you arch into him and dig your nails into the back of his neck.

“Daddy,” you gasp.

That word drives him mad. He grips you impossibly tighter and all but folds you over as he looms over you. His thrusts increase into a force that has the wood of the table creaking and splintering. You cry out in pain and pleasure as he begins to falter. His eyes roll back into his head and he groans.

“Fuck-darling-I’m going to,” he bruises your cervix as he begins to fall apart. He’s all but breaking down before you, “Call me that again-fuck.”

You’re about to hit your peak. He’s so deep inside you that he’s all you can think of. Unimaginable pleasure fills you and you babble.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy-“

In the end, that’s what does him in. With a final, guttural sound, he buries himself all the way in and falls apart. His eyes are rolled back and he spills into you. It’s burning hot and painful. You hit your own peak right after and your vision turns white. A burst of feedback fills your ears and you’re boneless.

He rides out his climax making you hiss at the overstimulation. Finally, he stills.

Quiet fills the room except for your shared breaths. The man behind you is shaking and looking away horrified by the display. You must look absolutely wrecked to him. A vile display of psychopaths covered in blood and feet away from a corpse.

You don’t care. No one could ever understand the pleasure that comes from damnation. You don’t mind being perceived as something hideous if only the man before you finds beauty in your darkness as you’ve been able to love the monstrous thing that lurks within him.

The cold barrel of the gun presses against the underside of your chin. A forceful kiss is pressed against your mouth and you meet its intensity and fervor with your own.

“Beg me,” he orders. His voice is gruff, husky with his release, but commanding all the same.

You don’t have to feign the fear in your voice.

“Please don’t,” you gasp, “We’ve played enough rounds.”

You tremble as he presses the gun deeper into your chin. His mouth is curled up in a lazy smirk satisfied and satiated. You’re not afraid as you regard him through the misty tears spilling from your eyes.

He leans forward and licks them one by one collecting the salt on his tongue. The sound that leaves his mouth at the taste is infernal.

He takes your offering of tears and accepts the sacrifice. A trade for your life.

Silently, he moves the gun away and aims at the ceiling.

Bang.

Plaster rains from the ceiling as the bullet goes flying. You scream in terror at the realization that he could have killed you. Some of the haze of pleasure dissipates leaving behind the terror that you feel every waking moment at his hand.

The man before you screams and begins to sob. Full blown hysteria follows and he begins to beg in earnest again pleading to be freed.

Your benefactor tosses the gun down at the ground bored and offers you one final kiss before he withdraws. He slips out of you and you make a sound at the feeling of emptiness. He’s left you feeling hollow and already you ache to have him again. You’re an insatiable thing ruined by his hand.

He zips himself back up and uses his hand to fix his hair. There’s sweat on his face and he moves away to gather himself again. You slide off the table on shaky legs and feel his spend run down your leg.

The table is broken now and you narrowly manage to move before it falls on one side and breaks. You both ignore the noise of the record player shattering as you take a moment to breathe.

In through your nose and out through your mouth. You ignore the scent of gun powder and the way your shoes squelch with the blood on the floor. Your hands adjust your skirt and blouse with shaky fingers.

“You should feel lucky,” your benefactor snaps his fingers, “You survived and you got a nice show out of it too. No one plays this game like my little star, but you managed to beat the odds.”

He’s speaking to the man. The man is still full body trembling and sobbing. He looks so pitiful with tears running down his face and snot dripping from his nose. You look away and make a face at the feeling of more spend running down. You’ll need to clean yourself up.

Your benefactor straightens up and you feel jealous at the way he can always look so put together. If it weren’t for the little specks of blood on his face, you would never be able to tell he was so ragged moments ago. You’re sure you must look like a mess with your clothing in disarray and the bruises already forming on your skin.

He scoops the gun again and offers it to your mouth. You know what he wants. It’s a ritual.

You kiss the barrel as a thanks for letting you live another day then his fingers for introducing you to something so wicked. The corners of his mouth twitch up in a smirk.

“Good girl.”

He slings the thing in his jacket pocket and scoops the bullets into his hand. Nodding his head, he dismisses you.

“Now go clean yourself up, little star. I’ve still got some business with our guest. I’m going to be out late tonight,” he calls out.

You don’t need to be told twice. You move on still shaky legs and whisper out a declaration of love. Like always, it goes unanswered. Shrieks sound from the man as he is hefted out of the chair as if weighing nothing and dragged off into the night.

You watch your benefactor disappear out the door carrying the man out into the chilly air.

You never see him again.

[norrisjpg]

motion sickness - ᴍᴠ¹

in which, max feels the affects of losing his best friend.

contains: unresolved conflict, implied depression, crying, swearing, mentions of jos verstappen (AH), max losing his home grand prix, social media, happy ending.

max verstappen x unnamed female character

...

...

it definitely wasn't for the better.

driving down a pretty hillside road with the windows rolled down, soft sobs left her lips as the familiar dutch scenery blurred past her peripheral vision.

daniel had persuaded her to attend the dutch grand prix, max's home race - at least she could see him happy here, right? she could tell herself he was better off without her and move on with her life. but, she couldn't help but be a little selfish and think about her wellbeing - it was safe to say she wasn't well at all.

she had met someone - tristan, his name was.

they'd met in a bar in monaco, when she'd been dragged out of her apartment by her friends to pull her out of her grumpy state - anyone would have thought that she had gone through a devastating break-up.

you know that greek myth about soulmates? how we were seperated into two humans from one with two heads, four arms, and four legs?

max never used to believe in soulmates - platonic or romantic - but he adamant that they were meant to be, so be it friends, or hopefully lovers - she was supposed to be his, he was supposed to be hers.

but he had ruined it.

she was currently on her way to the track - it was race day in zandvoort.

qualifying had gone well in her eyes, but she knew that max would be disappointed with himself. she couldn't bring herself to face him when he visited the RB garage to see daniel, so she spent some quality time with yuki and liam instead.

max missed her, so much. he missed her hugs, her smile, her laugh, just her in general. he missed their monday evenings together, now they were spend moping around in his monaco apartment - tortured by knowing that they were only a few blocks away from each other.

tristan was in monaco, daniel claiming he only had one paddock pass left when he'd asked for her to come to the race - he'd lied, of course.

you see, he had this master plan. well, it relied on one thing actually, that both wanted each other back - which he knew was very true for the (previously) best friends. daniel would get her to come to the red bull garage after the race - claiming to have some big news, forcing the pair to confront each other and finally realise how stupid they were.

she arrived at the track two hours before the race started, parking her hire car delicately into a space near the entrance.

"hey, where are you?" daniel asked her over the phone, as she walked through the entrance to the paddock and scanned her pass.

"just coming in now." she replied bluntly, nodding as if he could see her.

"okay, come to the garage, yeah?"

she hummed a quick response before hanging up, shoving her phone back into her bag. her cheeks were slightly tear-stained, her eyes were a little bloodshoot, and her lips were a tiny bit swollen.

max, on the other hand? he was a fucking wreck.

the past few weeks had been absolute hell for him - the car looked pretty shit, mclaren were super close to them in the constructors' championship, and lando was closing in on him in the drivers' championship too - essentiallly, his whole life had gone to crap now that she wasn't in it.

the weekend couldn't have gone worse, so he thought maybe this was the universe telling him to fix the worst mistake he'd ever made.

first of all, the car was a monster, and not in a good way. the tires dropped off so quickly, the grip was atrocious, and his balance was way off. the practice sessions had proved the new lack of pace on the car, it was just so difficult to drive. then, he had lost pole position to lando — why did it have to be him?

of course, max was happy for his good friend, but why him? lando was only a couple handfuls of points behind him, and he was closing in on max's fourth world championship hopes. why couldn't it have been perez or something? well, not that he was doing too well in the car either — in all honesty, max kind of just wanted daniel back as his teammate.

but either way, max wasn't starting first — so in his mind, he was a failure, and did his father let him know that too.

"what the fuck was that?" jos had yelled at him, inside the confinement of max's driver room. "you're three tenths behind lando!"

"i know, dad—"

"god, maybe you don't deserve the seat after all this."

you don't deserve the seat.

you don't deserve the seat.

you don't deserve the seat.

max didn't really hear anything his father was rambling on about after that — he sort of just zoned out, his mind becoming a blur of static noise and foggy disappointment.

he needed her.

he knew he needed her.

he hoped she needed him.

she needed him too, right?

they had been friends for what felt like forever — meeting at an awards ceremony when they were fifteen, exchanging numbers, and it sort of went from there.

and now there was just nothing.

max felt an emptiness he'd never imagined, like the other half of his heart had been strategically cut out and burnt at the stake. but there was nothing he could do about it — well that's what he thought, because max was completely unaware that daniel had invited her to the race weekend.

so, when he thought he watched her walk into the paddock, he told himself he was seeing things. and when he thought he heard her laughing with an RB mechanic, he told himself he was hearing things.

the race rolled around very quickly, and she decided to stay in the garage. headphones over her ears, she stood with heidi berger, watching intently as the formation lap occured.

she had the same old nervous feeling in her stomach, but this time it was a lot worse. the thought that something could happen to max always ate her alive during a race, but the fact that they were also on bad terms currently? she was being burnt at the stake.

...

+ 22.896s.

that was the gap to the lead.

max verstappen had finished a pit stop behind lando norris — in second place.

he got out of his car at parc ferme, trying his best to seem happy with second place, although not too happy because otherwise that would be another thing to add to the list of things his father would have a dig at him for.

max shook hands with a few red bull mechanics, and then headed off to do some post-race interview, lying about how he was okay with second place due to the car new and unimproved pace. the podium felt lonely, max's gaze searching for her in the swarm as he plastered on a fake smile and sprayed his home crowd with champagne - but she wasn't there.

it was on his way back that it happened.

his heart was already beating fast as it was, but the pace sky-rocketed when max's miserable gaze fell on a familiar figure.

there she was, in all her melancholy mood and misery. she was here. in zandvoort. she was real. it wasn't some delusion that he was experiencing, she was here, in front of him.

his feet gained a mind of their own, walking quickly toward her stilled figure, slightly wide-eyed and definitely staring at the dutchman. max might have well collapsed into her body.

his hands tentatively found her waist, holding it as his head fell to the crook of her neck. her hands instinctively went to the back of his head and body - it was almost an involuntary action.

"i'm sorry." max murmured. "so fucking sorry."

"i'm sorry." she replied quietly, ignoring the cameras snapping and clicking around him.

"missed you so much." his voice was at a mumble, scared of what her response would be.

"me too - too much."

then something came over him. he didn't know what it was, but he lifted his head quickly and pressed his lips to hers. it was the softest, most delicate thing max had ever done - he was so hesitant during the movements it was ridiculous.

her eyes widened briefly, before closing and melting into him. the kiss was reciprocated, of course, but it stayed pure and wholesome.

he broke away first, gazing down into her eyes with a mix of pure admiration and lust.

"we need to talk." she blurted quietly, receiving a nod from max, who hummed in response.

a minute or so later, max had discarded his media duties and had headed back to his driver room with her.

"i'm sorry." she began, but max abruptly cut her off.

"no, don't apologise, i pushed you away and i was horrible and i didn't mean any of it." he rambled. "i'm the one who needs to be sorry and i am, i am so fucking sorry. the past month has been fucking awful and i miss you so much and i need you back in my life and please i'm so sorry."

"max, max, max." she stopped the man from literally pacing up and down. "calm down, breathe."

"i'm so sorry." he repeated.

"i know, i know." she nodded softly, cupping his face. "and i forgive you. you were stressed and exhausted and i know you didn't mean it - okay?"

"really?" he furrowed his eyebrows gently.

"really." she responded with a small smile. "now, i'm sorry for letting you push me away, i'd usually stand my ground and make you talk to me, but... i didn't and i'm sorry for that."

"i was never mad at you anyway." he shrugged, a small smile appearing on his lips - a real smile, the first of the month. "i can't ever stay mad at you."

"good." she blinked up at him. "now, you kissed me."

"um. yeah. sorry about that- we can just forget it if you want?" he shrugged, a little nervous at what her response was going to be.

"i mean... if you want to forget it, we can." she replied quickly, nodding her head slowly. "but, well... forgive me, but i don't really... want to."

"thank god." he breathed out, leaning down to her and catching her lips in a delicate kiss.

"max." she murmured into his lips. "i like you."

"i love you too." he replied effortlessly, the words just rolled off of his tongue before he could even realise what he'd said.

"really?" she pulled away, hands resting on his jaw as she gazed up at him.

"um." he pursed his lips. "yeah, i do."

"i love you too." she softly responded, a small smile painted on her pretty features.

"again, thank god." he laughed slightly - the first real laugh he'd let out in a while.

and he kissed her again,

and again,

and again.

this was definitely for the better.

-

guess who's the big fat fuck back!

[dat-town]

wanna be yours

Characters: down bad!Taesan & female reader

Setting & genre: friends to lovers, college au

Summary: Just Taesan going through it with his crush on you.

Warnings: stage names used, alcohol consumption (beer), shooting-related words but in laser tagging context, light swearing

Words: 3.6k

Author’s note: title from the arctic monkeys’ song aka the ultimate down bad song

@restlessmaknae, the thing is i needed something lighter after all that angst and i wanted to wish you merry xmas with something light and happy because i wish you all the best for the next year as well! i am so so proud of you and i told you that this year's time apart would be a preparation for next year! you won't get rid of me this easy though. love you, always! <3

It’s pathetic, really, Taesan thinks, when he immediately perks up as the pizza place’s door opens and he hears your laughter. He makes sure to mask his expression and with conscious effort at least he manages to relax his posture, melting into the fake leather seat of the corner diner before you get to the table.

Jaehyun greets everybody at the table loudly like always, with enthusiasm and no shame that Taesan could never phantom. You follow in suit, much less conspicuous, a wave and an easy smile, sliding into the booth right next to Sungho’s girlfriend. Taesan pretends to check something on his phone but he couldn’t even recall the time read on his screen because when he looks back up, he catches Hyein whisper something into your ear and you look up, straight at him with a smile tugging on the corner of your rosy, shiny mouth. Taesan briefly wonders about the taste of your gloss and if your lips are as soft as they look. Then he blinks and snaps out of it.

Embarrassment makes him flush anyway because please god, let it not be about him, whatever shit Hyein shared. Still, he tries to play it cool and instead of looking away like a coward, like how his first instinct is, he makes a show of raising an eyebrow in question as if taunting, challenging you. Hopefully, he manages to preserve his cool image this way.

What, he mouths and you silently giggle, eyes turning into crescents.

I will tell you later, you whisper back and Taesan hopes relief doesn’t flood his features. It wasn’t about him then.

You order a banana shake with choco chip cookies, your usual, because of course Taesan knows that. He knows an embarrassing amount of your likes for someone who is ‘not interested’ as he has been trying to convince Leehan almost as long as you have known each other.

Taesan still remembers how you came into his life: how quick, with a smile, like a breeze on a scorching summer day. Jaehyun invited you to this house party at his and Sungho’s place because of course, you were one of those friends Jaehyun made along the way with his ridiculously extroverted personality. It was a small flat, too small for so many people and Taesan was starting to regret deciding on this particular gray tee because he could feel sweat dripping down his neck. He needed some fresh air, so he stepped out to the balcony but you were already there nursing your cheap beer.

“Hey,” you turned to him with a smile, bright and friendly, and he just awkwardly stood there not sure whether he should have gone back and left you alone or that would have made things worse. “Taesan, right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, still hovering by the door even though you didn’t seem bothered by his presence. He was just never really good at interacting with new people. Especially girls, more specifically pretty girls.

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself as if Jaehyun didn’t make sure previously to make it known like the loud nosy friend he was.

“I know,” Taesan nodded, having no idea what else to say. You didn't seem to mind as you just tilted your head with an amused smile and a quiet hum. Then you casually fixed your plaid shirt’s collar and Taesan, following your movements, noticed the graphic tee design underneath that overruled all his introvert tendencies.

“Oh. You like Nirvana too?” He blurted out, his music geek ass crawling out of his cave.

“Yeah, I grew up listening to my father’s LPs and CDs a lot,” you nodded and it broke the dam. You two still talked about favourite bands and songs, concerts you’ve been to and ones on your bucket lists when Sungho found you at 2AM and ushered you inside.

It could have been the start of something but Taesan isn’t delusional. You got along quickly with everybody, he isn’t anything special. You are easygoing and charming, of course everybody likes you and of course, you had a boyfriend. At least in the few months of your acquaintance you had. Taesan actually realized how screwed he was when he heard about your breakup and his first thought was how you deserved better, somebody who supported you and your interests unlike your snob ex. Maybe somebody like him.

The boy suddenly feels a light kick against his shin and it snaps him out of his thoughts. He’s ready to scowl at whoever thought it was funny to do that but then he catches the mischief in your eyes and his annoyance almost immediately disappears as he shares a look with you over the table, ignoring everybody else. Oh yeah, he’s so gone. He hopes he’s subtle enough though because he would sooner dig his own grave than have his friends tease him for his crush.

Taesan might be a masochist because he can’t make himself push you away. He’s generally good at keeping people an arm-length’s away. He’s reserved enough for people to think he’s not interested and they don’t bother to get to know him better. It has never seemed to be a problem for you, ever since that night you keep finding ways to him. You exchange music recommendations, complain about professors and assignments, laugh at Jaehyun’s scaredy cat ass during haunted house night. He listens to you talk about the pressure of being a good enough daughter for your high standard parents and how falling out of love felt; and you listen to his songs.

Maybe it’s your willing vulnerability that prompted Taesan to show you his music. He’s usually beyond cagey with his compositions, he doesn’t even show them to Jaehyun and Woonhak until they are perfect or well, good enough according to his own perfectionist taste which is almost the same and those two share the studio with him! He’s snappy whenever somebody disturbs him during his producing sessions but if that somebody is you? He pulls his claws back immediately, his rough edges softening.

His heartbeat goes haywire whenever you show up in the studio and playfully pull the headphones off his head, checking the music out for yourself, nodding along to the beats. At least then he can watch you closely for your expressions, using his curiosity as an excuse why he’s staring and it’s part of the reason too, so it’s not exactly a lie. He wonders whether you like it, whether you can guess that all his lovesick lyrics recently are about you. He hopes you don’t, he hopes you do.

It’s an uneventful Tuesday night when he’s deep in thought about rhymes that don’t make sense and metaphors that feel forced and just nothing sounds right. When the door to his studio opens quietly, for once he’s almost glad for the disturbance. He turns around in time to see you sneak into the studio, holding a convenience store plastic bag above your head as if it was a humble offering, a white flag.

“I brought ice cream,” you explain with a beaming smile and Taesan is not one to say no to a free late night snack. He doesn’t answer, too starstruck by sight of you in an oversized hoodie, all soft and cuddly, which you take as a good sign and slip further inside, closing the door behind you.

“You didn’t answer my texts, so I guessed you’re here,” you muse out loud as you sit down on the extra chair next to his, offering him a plastic-wrapped popsicle, then unwrapping another one yourself.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, unplugging his phone from the charger to check on the missed texts from his friends before picking on the colourful wrapper.

“It’s okay. I know how you get when you’re in the zone,” you smile sweetly and gosh, how can you be so perfect?

Taesan’s breath hitches when you inch closer, your shoulder pressing into his arm as you take a closer look at the computer screen, at the audio software he uses even though you probably don’t understand what’s going on there.

“New song?” You ask, genuine curiosity in your bright voice, so Taesan hums and tells you that he’s stuck on the chorus. You know nothing about music but he lets you listen anyway because at this point he’s desperate for any pointers and well, he’s weak for you, so it’s not like he could say no to those sparkling eyes.

He plays the half-finished song for you once, picking on the skin around his fingernails in the meantime from the nerves, the popsicle melting in his other hand.

The too big headphones are still on you when you turn to him with the most beautiful, beaming smile ever when the audio file ends in a hundred seconds that has never felt so long.

“It’s so good! Seriously, how can you come up with lyrics like this? And that melody in the beginning? So catchy!” You exclaim, taking the mouse out of his hand, fingers brushing, just to rewind the audio to the beginning and play it again. This time you’re humming along with it, eyes half closed, fingers drumming on the desk. You look so immersed and so enthusiastic that Taesan can feel his heart ache in a way he’s not sure is healthy.

“There could be more instruments in the chorus to make it stand out more but I like it a lot,” you say when you finish your second listen and give him back both the headphone and the control over the computer before you nudge his side playfully.  “You’re such a romantic.”

“Am not,” Taesan objects hurriedly, his ears already reddening. Gosh, if you knew that it’s you who’s making him sprout out all these lines about jittery nerves around a crush and wanting to watch the stars together.

It’s hard sitting still, so close that your knee brushes against his sometimes; it’s hard to concentrate on your questions when your floral scent envelops him; it’s hard not to lean closer, to close the gap and kiss the melting vanilla ice cream off your lips.

Shit, woah.

Taesan sucks in a breath and rolls his chair backwards, away from you. You look at him with furrowed brows in confusion, so cute and unaware of your effect on him that he swears you’ll be the death of him.

Summer days seem endless and Taesan makes some regrettable choices in the name of fashion. But as a proud believer of no weather being too hot for black clothes, he cannot back down.

“Aren’t you hot?” You lean closer to talk over the loud music and Taesan immediately feels warmer. If he was Jaehyun, he would make a joke out of it, asking if you found him hot with wiggled eyebrows but he’s not that shameless.

“Nah, I’m good,” instead he lies through his teeth. You shot him a look of disbelief and shrug, looking back to the stage, moving to the beat of music, jumping around, having fun.

“I’m back!” Woonhak raises the bag of drinks in the air like they were some kind of reward and honestly, Taesan has never been so relieved to get a cup of iced Americano.

“What took you so long?” He grumbles though as he tries to cool off with the cold drink.

“Yah, the line was crazy long. Next time you can go,” the younger complains and gets immediately babied by Hyein who definitely spoils him too much.

The next splash of water reaches their group and Sungho shrieks the loudest as he gets soaked while you giggle in your already see-through tee. You have a bikini underneath but still, Taesan has this urge to cover you up. He knows it’s silly, the entire purpose of this event is to get wet in the summer heat but he can’t help it, not when you sing along with some random kpop boy group on the stage. He doesn’t even know why he agreed to come, it’s really not his scene. Sure, he loves music but the water bomb festival isn’t exactly his typical concert experience.

Five minutes later he gives up and slides off his overshirt, tying it around his waist.

“You have moles here,” you point out suddenly and Taesan looks at you a little dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Moles. Here. It’s cute,” you say with an endeared smile and poke his bicep right above the birthmark which is revealed now that he’s only in his sleeveless tee.

Taesan can feel his ears burn and he wants to laugh. You did not just call his arms cute when he worked out in the gym to gain some muscle. But well, let’s look at the bright side: you seem to have meant it as a compliment and while he has never bothered with his moles, long accepting them as a part of him, now he starts to have a love-hate relationship with them because from then on you start poking his bicep just for the sake of it whenever he wears tank tops or t-shirts with shorter sleeves and it sends a flutter down his stomach every single time. He’s positively losing it.

On his birthday, the gang goes laser tagging. Unfortunately for him, you end up on a different team alongside Riwoo, Leehan and Woonhak. Honestly, with Sungho on his team, Taesan is pretty confident, the two of them tend to be the best in these kinds of games and he gets competitive anyway, so he swears he won’t go easy on you.

He even tries to shoot you in the back like a coward, so you wouldn’t get a chance to distract him but you duck at the last minute and avoid it. He starts chasing you then between the maze of neon-lit pillars but a sudden 180° turn of yours takes him by surprise and somehow it ends up with both of you on the ground with your body pressing against his. You push yourself up just enough to look down on him and lying on his back, momentarily breathless after the collision, Taesan swears he feels his soul leave his body because damn, you are beautiful. Your hair is messy, strands of it falling into your face, eyes dilated and shiny, burning with fierce passion.

He is distracted, he doesn’t even notice when you pick up your gun again, not until you shoot him in the chest, the echo of his vest’s switching off sound resonates off the walls. The hell.

“Cheater,” he mutters but with less bitterness than what he would have if it was anybody else.

“Says you,” you retort with a cheeky smile before getting ready to push yourself entirely up, ready to hunt down the rest of his group.

You don’t even make it to your feet though. Taesan pulls you down again with a grab on your wrist but this time he rolls the two of you around, so you are with your back on the floor and he’s the one hovering over you. He sneaks a hand under your head, protecting you from the impact as you look up at him with widened eyes. He feels breathless again and hopes he can blame it on the game.

“What on Earth are you guys doing?” Sungho’s sharp voice comes, seemingly oblivious to the tension around you and Taesan scrambles to his feet, offering you a hand which you take with a grin, the shadow of the previous look still present in your eyes. He doesn’t want to let go.

Later, there’s a cake and a cheesy toast from Jaehyun and you gift him an LP that he listens to over and over again.

Just before the summer ends, you all hang out together by the Han River, eating store-bought cheese tteokbokki and way too spicy ramen on the worn blankets. That’s when Taesan witnesses it: a guy asking you out just a few steps away within earshot when you are returning from your sweets errand.

It’s already been months since you broke up with your ex, so of course, you would want to move on, Taesan wouldn’t blame you nor does he blame the guy because you’re pretty and amazing, what’s not to like. But then you duck your head shyly, glance quickly towards the group that’s mostly unaware why you’re held back and for a moment your eyes meet.

Taesan quickly looks away, the loose threads of the blanket have never been so interesting.

“Ah, I’m flattered but actually, there’s someone I like.”

He hears your answer loud and clear and it breaks his brain. Do you like someone? Who and why didn’t he have no idea? Or maybe you just said that to nicely turn down the guy? Was he not your type? Wait, what kind of guys do you like? What…

He’s still thinking about it, his thoughts on overdrive, when you eventually leave, the group scattering across town after sunset, and he offers to walk you back to your place from the metro station. The air between you is heavy, not just from the humid summer air.

“Taesan?”

“Hm?” He whips his head your way, playing aloof.

“Tell me,” you prompt vaguely and he feels his heart drop. What if you know what has been plaguing his mind? What if you think he’s a weirdo?

“What?”

“You’re thinking too loud,” you explain with a shrug and a small smile playing on your lips. “What’s it about?”

Taesan doesn’t even think this time.

“You,” he blurts out without meaning to and he has half a mind to turn it into a joke, a teasing but you look so genuinely surprised that he can’t make himself.

“What about me?”

He can’t read you. Do you really not know?

“Everything.”

But mostly about how your bright personality and wide smile is like molten sunshine and that it’s unfair because he has always associated himself with the moon and there’s something tragic about being ill-fated from the beginning. About how crazy it is that you’re here asking that question as if there was any prolonged moment in your company when he was able to focus on something else that wasn’t you. About how much he would like to hold your hand and play with your more delicate fingers, pressing his lips to the pad of them, an action somehow more intimate than kissing itself.

But he doesn’t dare to even say that out loud, too afraid of messing up.

You chuckle at his nonsense answer anyways, flash him a shy smile and look away  and it’s in moments like this when Taesan lets himself wonder whether you feel differently about him too. Because he’s pretty sure friends don’t look at each other the way the two of you do. Or at least they’re not supposed to.

“Who is it?” He hisses as the question that has been scratching his throat stumbles out and he forces himself to act nonchalant about it, as if your words didn’t have the power to turn his world around. You look at him questioningly and Taesan takes a deep breath, refusing to back down like a total loser, so he clarifies: “The guy you like. Do I know him?”

“Oh,” you mumble, looking down, nerves acting up, and halt your steps. Taesan suddenly wants to take it back because you don’t have to tell him something like that, he’s being nosy and uncharacteristically clingy and… “Do you really want to know?”

Yes.

No.

He doesn’t even know. Because based on your reaction, you do like someone, it wasn’t just a white lie and he doesn’t know what to do with that. But he bites the bullet because it’s better to know than to wonder, he’s already driving himself crazy as is.

“Sure,” he shrugs and he’s being so fake he cringes at himself but at least your eyes are on him again. Shiny doe eyes he knows he will write into yet another song.

“What if it’s someone you don’t like?” You quirk a brow and Taesan has to consciously unclench his fingers. His throat feels tight, the summer air suffocating him.

“You don’t need my permission.”

“Not even if he’s very close to you?” You tilt your head, pouting.

“God, please tell me it’s not Leehan. He cares more about his fish than girls,” he exclaims dramatically, because he doesn’t really think that you would like his best friend since he hasn’t seen you hang out much and he needs to break this awkwardness somehow.

You laugh at his answer, harder than necessary because it wasn’t even that funny. You look at him like he should know already and it’s ridiculous because there’s still uncertainty and tension lingering in the space.

Then you step so close that you crowd into his space, push yourself to your tippy toes and peck him on the mouth. Brief and fleeting but so sweet Taesan feels the sugar rush go to his head. He almost forgets the topic you were on as his brain short circuits.

“Me?” He finds himself asking dumbly. “Really?”

It feels unreal, even with the soft pressure of your fingers curling in his shirt, you staying so close that your breathing fans against his chin.

“Really,” you nod, eyes full of wonder and amusement. Relief.

“Fuck,” Taesan swears under his breath as he slides a hand to your nape and leans down to kiss you properly. He feels your smile against his lips and he can already tell how your friends will get to know the news and that he wasn’t the one who confessed despite his year long crush but at that moment he doesn’t mind any future teasing. Because you like him and suddenly all the silly love songs about the firework-like kisses make sense.

[maluustrawberry]

Undesirable encounter

(Claude Frollo X Female reader)

Synopsis: You were the new seamstress in Paris and Frollo suspects that you were harboring Romani in your shop. It looks like your first start was more tense than you expected...

A/n: I confess that I am in love with the Hunchback of Notre-Dame and I especially love the book. I hope you readers like it, and if you want to give me tips I accept (you can correct me too) If you want other Disney characters, you can ask me💕.

Part.2 (Final)

(Guys, I don't know if you know, but the word "gypsy" is a slur and should not be used, the correct one is "Roma" Or "Romani people" I put "Gypsy" only in Frollo's lines since you know the type of person he is.)

It was just another ordinary day in Paris, you had arrived in the city a few months ago and worked as a dressmaker. You immediately became known for the beautiful dresses you produced for the girls and the beautiful clothes for the boys too. You had an excellent aesthetic sense.

But what you had in the way of talent, you also had in the way of kindness. When you heard about the persecution of the Romani people, you felt touched by the situation and decided to help them. It was very risky, but you weren't going to stand by and let it happen like the other citizens of Paris were doing, letting themselves be manipulated by Frollo and his hate speeches. There was a basement in your house that you used to store fabric and sewing materials. You took advantage of that room to help some Romani hide in case of emergency if they were being chased by the guards and if there was no time to run to the court of miracles.

And so it went on, you were extremely careful not to leave any traces, until one day or another these "rumors" ended up reaching the judge.

You were sewing up the sleeves of a client's dress, which had been placed in the moulage to make it easier for you to work, and your attention now turned to the bell that rang as soon as the door was opened. Immediately, the atmosphere of the place changed when you saw who had entered. You knew those clothes, the face worn by age and you couldn't forget that look of superiority and pride, because himself thought he was important and better than everyone because of his opposition and faith. Looking behind those glass windows, you could also see some of his men at the front of the store:

“Bonjour, madame.” Frollo said sternly, snapping you out of your thoughts. That thick, authoritative voice gave you the creeps. “I'd like to know who owns this establishment. Your husband is here?”

“A-Ah! Good morning...” You forced a smile and stuck the needle into the moulage so you wouldn't lose it. “Your Honor, I'm the owner, and no, I don't have a husband.”

As you said this, the judge looked you up and down with contempt. Of course, in the 16th century, a young woman like you not being married was a disgrace to society, and on top of that, being able to read and owning your own business was even worse. You weren't tense or nervous with him in your store, on the contrary, you were so calm... After all, you cleaned out the basement and removed any evidence as soon as a family of Romani's moved out recently:

“I've received information that you've been harboring gypsies in your house and I'm here to find out the facts, have you been harboring gypsies?” He got straight to the point.

“No, sir.” You pretended to be as honest as possible, fortunately you were good at lying.

“You know that if you lie, the sentence for insubordination is death...” He moved closer in an attempt to intimidate her.

“My conscience is clear. You have permission to investigate my store, since my words don't apply to you.”

“If I wasn't allowed to, seamstress, I'd still make a point of searching this place from top to bottom, whether you agree or not.”

The older man signaled for some of his men to enter the store before you could protest or complain. Since you were the only one who seemed to have enough courage to go against the judge's ideas when you were right. They went in and started rummaging around for clues, looking everywhere, even under the skirts of the dresses on the mannequins.

Frollo looked you up and down in an nothing unobtrusive way, you didn't notice the glances, but as soon as you did, it gave you the creeps and you avoided looking back at him. He had never noticed you in the city before and he noticed your accent, deducing that you might be a foreigner. The judge couldn't take his eyes off you, you were a very beautiful woman and seemed so delicate, and it seems that some feeling awakened in him when he saw that you were without gloves and your dress showed your shoulders. He came out of his thoughts when a guard approached:

"Sir, we've looked everywhere and found nothing..." Being a clever woman, an idea came to your mind: perhaps it would be better if they looked at everything to leave you alone.

"Have you looked in my basement, gentlemen?" you asked, kicking the rug that hid the small door in the wooden floor of your store.

Frollo was suspicious, but sent his men in to search every corner of the small cellar. Fortunately, they didn't find anything either, just sewing materials and expensive fabrics. After looking around in vain, the men left the store, leaving you and the judge alone:

“I apologize for this inconvenience.” He said as you went to the moulage to finish the dress.

“You shouldn't believe every rumor out there, Your Honor, not all of them can be true.” You said politely. “but apologies accepted, I know it was for the good of Paris and you care a lot about the city.”

Returning to work, you thought he would leave after all that had happened and notice you "busy" sewing, but no, he stayed in the store while walking slowly around analyzing his surroundings:

“This basement...” He pointed to the carpet above the small door. “Why was it hidden?”

“I don't see the need to show everyone that I have a basement here.” You replied nonchalantly. “and besides, I think that old door would spoil the pretty look of my store.”

Frollo didn't seem to believe in that very much, but you shrugged and continued sewing. There were a few seconds of silence, you could only hear his footsteps coming towards you and could feel that man's gaze on you all the time, causing you a certain nervousness or fear. What did he want anyway?

“Do you want anything else?” you asked in an attempt to break the silence and take your mind off the discomfort of feeling his gaze on you, stopping your sewing and looking at him now.

“I just want you to know.” He said, standing close and looking at her with disgust. “I'll keep an eye on you, I won't trust a literate, single woman so easily... I know women of your kind.”

“I don't think who I am or what I do has anything to do with helping... Ouch!” You interrupted yourself with pain when you felt the needle pierce your finger. It was normal for this to happen when were working with sewing, but it had never been this deep, Maybe it happened because of the anger you was feeling at that moment.

Immediately you dropped the needle out of sheer instinct, and in a quick and daring moment Frollo grabbed your hand with a certain amount of force, bringing it in front of his face, which had a small smile of satisfaction on it. The judge was a sadomasochist, he enjoyed seeing someone in pain, especially when it was someone he thought deserved such a punishment. You were shocked by his attitude, you weren't expecting it and didn't know how to react. What was he doing? Frollo continued to hold your hand, watching the small drop of blood ooze from your pricked finger, but his attention wasn't just there, it was on your fingers, your soft skin and the sensation it brought when you touched it with the contact of the warm hand and his, which was a little cold:

“What are you doing?” You asked, with a bit of hatred for such a vulgar and daring attitude, and he laughed a little.

“What would the church think of a woman exposing her bare hands in front of a high-ranking man like me?” You had no reaction for fear. Gradually his fingers entwined in yours and you saw that his eyes went to your small cleavage and your bare shoulders. “And it's not just your hands that are exposed...”

You quickly pulled your hand free and he looked at you incredulously:

“My hands are only exposed because I can't wear gloves when I sew, and you still don't have the right to do that. It's in the Bible; If your eye or your hand causes you to sin, throw it away!” A small smile came to Frollo's face when he heard that.

“So bold... It's typical of women like you to turn away from guilt in order to confuse men's minds with pagan thoughts, but that doesn't matter any more...”

He walked away, heading for the door to leave, but first his attention turned to you:

“It was a nice chat, seamstress... I want you to make me a cloak and sew me a pair of gloves, I'll be expecting you to deliver them tomorrow night.”

After saying that, he left, leaving you with no reaction to what had just happened. You were angry, but at the same time relieved that he hadn't found out. As soon as he left, you stared at your hand, which he touched and intertwined with his large, thin fingers. You'd have to be more careful now, he'd be stalking you and the reason wouldn't just be because he suspected you of helping the Romani people, it would be because of something else and you know exactly what it was and what his intentions were...

End...

[stheresya]

"I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight […]" (Sansa III, AGOT) “Wed?” Sansa was stunned. “You and my aunt?” “The Lord of Harrenhal and the Lady of the Eyrie.” You said it was my mother you loved. But of course Lady Catelyn was dead, so even if she had loved Petyr secretly and given him her maidenhood, it made no matter now. (Sansa VI, ASOS)

I find that these little passages reveal something interesting about sansa's personality. specially when you juxtapose how she's characterized in the text and her worldviews here, and how at first glance they may seem contradictory. but first, let's take two things into account:

the patriarchal society of westeros is very strict on women's sexuality. which means that not only is female virginity held in great value, but also female adultery is very firmly condemned by everyone, unlike men who are allowed to maintain public mistresses and flaunt their bastards everywhere.

sansa is characterized as the conformist, the one who internalizes her society's rules. she's very religious, she's a proper lady in every sense of the word and she often says and does exactly what she's told.

and yet, in these passages we can see that sansa does not care much about societal rules when it comes to intimate feelings. she often hails aemon and naerys' (supposed) forbidden love without a single care that queen naerys was bound by duty to a husband and aemon was meant to be loyal to his king. but most astonishing of all is her nonchalant response to petyr's (false) information that her mother was not a virgin when she married. on one hand it may speak on sansa's views towards women's sexuality, since her current friends (mya and randa) are girls who engage in sex out of wedlock, and she never judges them, just like she doesn't judge her mother for apparently doing the same, and catelyn continues to be the person she admires the most. sansa also doesn't view her parents' relationship any differently because of this, the marriage between ned and cat is still as happy as she remembers, because all that matters to her is that there was love in the home she grew up in. the thing about sansa's character is that she plays by the rules up until a certain point, but on the inside she always prioritizes emotion over societal norms, and that's why she looks more upset at petyr for marrying someone while claiming to love another, because in her mind he's being unfaithful to his heart by marrying out of practicality. we have examples that showcase sansa's prioritizing feelings in AGOT when she, the good daughter, disobeys her father for the first time because she thought she was in love with joffrey, and in ASOS where she never thinks she owes tyrion anything just because he's her husband. so it comes as no surprise that she's so infatuated with the love story of an adulterous and incestuous relationship like aemon and naerys'. one of the main themes in this series is that feelings don't care about honor. and if love is the death of duty then sansa seems more than happy to see duty killed for the sake of love.

of course this doesn't mean she'll stay that way, specially when she's already lost her so much of her innocence and is now tangled in petyr's schemes where she must set her own feelings aside in order to act on his plans. and despite her silent judgement of petyr marrying someone he didn't love, her current betrothal with harry is an entirely practical union on her part since she feels nothing for him and only sees him as a means to an end. there have been many instances since book 1 where she was able to turn off her feelings in order to withstand certain situations. so... what even is sansa's mind? an interesting universe on its own for sure.

I just think sansa's romanticism is one of her most interesting traits (for better and for worse), something that truly contributes to the distinctiveness of her character, and I really hope petyr or anyone else are unable to completely kill that in her.

[seraphdesire]

Regarding Donna Beneviento and her characterisation in the fandom, I think it's important to note that she really isn't the shy awkward adorable blushing mess that everyone depicts her as being.

This got long but I did a mildly extensive read on her character under the break! :)

Here are the notes I took a screencap of, written by Mother Miranda, which talks about the suitability of Donna being a vessel for Eva:

There's the evidence you need that she is severely mentally ill, so babying her just feels... wrong anyway, all things considered.

Note - "and has divided her Cadou among her dolls in order to control them from a distance." While I'm on my 3rd replay of re8 I still don't fully get how the Cadou works, but what I think is essentially happening is Donna is literally splitting off parts of herself and putting them in her dolls.

The main one being Angie, of course.

I always used to consider Angie a separate character entirely but she's linked deeply to Donna on a very personal level. Considering what she's like and what all the other dolls are like - loud, funny, sarcastic, rude, etc - and how Donna is literally the one directly controlling Angie (that's the only way she moves lol, because Donna is carrying her places. Which is also why, when you kill Angie, the illusion melts away to reveal that you've actually killed Donna), I think it's safe to say that's what her actual personality is like.

Also, her only spoken line of dialogue? Please listen to it. For those who are hard of hearing, like me, she says: "don't leave... I can't let you."

Bearing in mind the way she speaks? Her tone? She sounds confident imo. Determined. And perhaps even a little angry at Ethan for thinking he can escape her.

Just a last addition as well, can I say that her abilities as one of the Four Lourds is genuinely evil? Everyone else has physical intimidation - Alcina has her height and her claws and mutation, Heisenberg has his ability to control magnetic fields and metal, and Moreau can mutate into that huge fish-with-legs thing that vomits something akin to acid? Oh yeah and he can swallow you whole too.

Donna, on the other hand, doesn't have physical intimidation like that. She only has the threat of psychological damage (which makes sense considering she's severely mentally unwell). When Ethan goes through her gardens and has to solve the puzzles in the house, she makes him hallucinate about his wife whom he thinks is dead, and about his baby who is somewhere in this unknown country with a bunch of mutants who only have bad intentions.

It's even worse in the Shadows of Rose DLC imo. As Rose, Donna makes her hallucinate the bullies from back home, being called a freak and a weirdo, made to relive the worst moments of her life. And the puzzles too? Hell. Having to actually recreate the scenes of her bullying with wooden fucking dolls. I remember feeling really sorry for Rose while playing through that part.

And yet Donna is still "the uwu baby" because what? I don't know. People love to declaw female villains just because they're attractive (looking at Lady Dimitrescu here). They love to reduce the characters down to their looks and not consider their actual lore or background or the role they play in the franchise (looking at Leon especially...)

Which, ya know, of course people are allowed their headcanons for characters and Donna doesn't get enough screentime to really have her personality even thought of, let alone to be made canon. But I think it's fair to say that Angie and Donna are basically one and the same because they're literally the same Cadou.

This is a quick reminder that you are, of course, allowed to disagree with me. Everyone has their own opinions and that's fine. If you would like to politely debate about this in my comments or in my DMs, or even in my asks, then you're more than welcome to! Please remember debating and arguing are two different things though.

If it really irks you that bad then please scroll, it's not hard. If you don't want to do that then feel free to block me - the button is free of charge after all and should be used more to cultivate your feed to your liking.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

‘THE VALLEY, [hard kinks! hcs]

-GOTHAM!VILLAINS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, Edward Nygma, Jerome Valeska, Jervis Tetch

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; hard and unusual kinks hcs with the gotham villain men

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. PURE PORN like this is absolutely filthy and descriptive. Some of these are probably too creative and WAY out of character, but oh well. I need to practice my smut writing skills and what better way to do it then with some short scenarios of our boys ? HARD KINKS (all of them are too kinky for there own good) sadomasochistic sex warning for victor and jerome,,, and (sort of?) non-consensual hypnosis warning for jervis, somnophilia and bondage warning for ed. controlling and degrading behavior.

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “Obey, like I’m your master babe.” The Valley by Miguel

He has a habit of leaving in the mornings. He’s a gangster, a crime lord. He loves his job…you think. But it’s hard. Especially seeing him go. Which is why when the two of you fuck, he makes it worth your while.

Yes, he’s shy. He despises indecency. He doesn’t fuck, he makes love. At least, that’s what he likes to think, so you let him.

But you know better. Oswald can’t control anything about himself. The man is impulsive and spoiled. And when he wants you to feel something, you feel it. For better or for worse.

Which is why when he’s awfully pent up and sexually frustrated, you reap the benefits of the king of gotham’s cock pistoning into you. He needs to feel wanted. He needs the two of you to feel loved. He thinks the two of you are sweetly and slowly fucking in his mind. But in reality?

His thick length is hammering into you, selfishly ignoring your pleas. No, he gets drunk on them. Even if he doesn’t want to admit how obscene he’s being.

You’ll feel his sticky tip align with your pussy. He means to enter you slowly, but before you know it, he’s letting himself go. Every inch of his cock is filling you up, taking you in. His eyes are rolling back as he feels you clench around him, and he tries to push all the more unsavory thoughts out of his head.

Thoughts of you tied up. Worshipping him. Unable to resist him. Thoughts of you riding his thighs, while he gives the order to shoot someone dead. The idea of you bending to him, being a good servant. Kissing his shoes, groveling and kneeling. Degrading you.

His fingers sink into the fat of your thighs and ass, clawing at any part of you he can grasp.

His mother taught him better, he reprimands himself. But how can he stay composed and loving when you look at him like he’s the only man in the world?

Oh, he wants to make you feel good, loved, and have this be an act of intimacy. It’s what he was raised to believe sex was for. But he also wants you on your knees, choking on his length, collared like a dog.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “I wanna fuck like we're filming in the valley.” The Valley by Miguel

Victor is always upfront with what he wants. And he’s been around the block one too many times. He’s fucked around quite a bit. He’s a ladies man, what can he say?

Which is why vanilla sex is entirely boring to him. Well, maybe not entirely. Not with you.

But theres something so special about mixing physical pain, his sole desire, with you, his other sole desire. It’s his lifes work, meeting the love of his life. What’s not to like?

Which is why he blunty suggests the idea. And boy is he glad he did.

A phone camera is pushed into your face while he records everything. The sloppy noises of your pretty pink mouth slipping and sliding around his cock.

It’s not just any homemade porno either, no. It’s a borderline snuff film.

He films himself slotting his cock into your swollen lips, one hand recording, another hand on a pistol pressed firmly against your head while you choke on his cock. The gun isn’t loaded of course, at least, you don’t think it is.

If the gun is loaded, you’re sure he’s playing a dangerous game with himself. Testing his own capabilities. He’s the best of the best, and his fingers are placed firmly on the trigger. If he loses control or focus for even a moment, you could never see the light of day again. Each time he cums is like a self-made test for himself, an ego trip. He’s excercising the greatest control not to accidentally pull the trigger and pop your top.

You’re spitting wildly, tears and saliva and cum mixing on your face. You’ve been sucking him off for what feels like hours, playing this game, and it’s still not enough. No, the man could live his whole life with your face inbetween his thighs. You have no clue what round you’re on.

“There you go…sweetness. Uh-huh…take it.” He’ll press the gun further into your temple, talking down to you slowly. It’s awfully demeaning.

He never shuts the fuck up during sex. This is no exception. His dry humor persists in every word, even as his gun comes into contact with your fucked out wet face, or a blade slices through your sweet soft thighs.

He’s doing close-up shots of every cut he makes on your skin. He marks the both of you, respectively. He keeps the videos in his pocket for later. Y’know, just in case you aren’t there, and he needs something to jack off to. He’s a manwhore, and he can admit it.

He’ll ask to show the videos to Wendell. Just so he knows Victor wasn’t lying about his girl being a total catch.

𝐸𝐷𝑊𝐴𝑅𝐷 𝑁𝑌𝐺𝑀𝐴

♫ “I wanna taste your sweat, force my fingers in your mouth.” The Valley by Miguel

Oh, Eddy. Ever the show man. Oddly enough, I think he has the dirtiest mind and the highest sex drive out of everyone on this list. In the words of CMS, "He loves donuts and getting laid." You're no exception babe.

Similarly, he isn't the kinkiest when he's at the GCPD. The poor baby is so vanilla; so eager to please. If you want a man to put your needs above his own? Look no further. Eddy is your guy. But similar to Ozzy, the man grapples with control. How can he resist when your small sleeping body looks so innocent? So willing?

You wake up to him pumping his dick deep into your hole, groping your breasts and ass, hips plowing harshly into your stretched cunt. He wants to apologize, for waking you. He feels bad of taking advantage of you. But it's your fault. The man is a little bit of a creep and has gone his whole life without pussy. What did you expect?

That being said...when he undergoes his transformation of sorts? It's like he has something to prove, to you and himself. Riddler baby is tired of hiding in the shadows, no, it's show time. If you thought the somnophilia was kinky, you've seen nothing yet.

Season 3-4 Ed is desperate to dominate you. Claim you in every way. Prove to himself that you're not going anywhere. It's a deep seated need to exert control, with a touch of dramatic flair.

Which is why, from time to time, especially on special occasions, you'll wake up from being drugged, ball-gagged in a warehouse, tied to a chair, moaning around a vibrator overstimulated against your cunny. He'll watch the whole show, pleased with his handiwork.

Might even turn it into a game. How many riddles can you answer? Maybe if you get one right, he'll let you cum. And if you don't get one right, prepare to be in for a long, long night.

Ed's pushing his thick long fingers into your tight little pussy, watching your cream spread along his fingertips. He'll force his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself. Making you taste what he's doing to you.

He's giggling while he does so, smile wide while you gag around him. Oh, this will be fun.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝛰𝑀𝐸 𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐸𝑆𝐾𝐴

♫ “lips, tits, clit, sit.” The Valley by Miguel

Would it be too brave to go on record to say the mans a virgin? I'm sorry, but he didn't get any pussy in that carnival.

Which is why he's incredibly sex starved. The man is feral. Hungry. He fucks you like a dog in heat half the time. You're his own personal pocket pussy, who will love him no matter what.

So when he tells you to do something, you better do it.

For instance, when he tells you to sit on his face, he means sit. No hovering. No, he wants the entirety of your weight in his mouth so he can tongue fuck you into oblivion.

He's wildly gripping at you, laughing like a mad man as he keeps you in place firmly. He's digging into your cunt with his tongue like a man whose getting his first lick of pussy. He's slapping your ass, letting you ride his face like a cowgirl.

He'll slap your sopping cunt. He'll spit in your mouth, on your face, on your pussy. He loves everything feral and sloppy. And for his own good, the man can't shut up. He loves some good dirty talk.

"Hah! There you go, doll. You want it raw? You do, don'tcha? Naughty, naughty girl." Excuse his breeding kink. "Should just pump you right up with my cum. Get you all messy. Cream-pie you riiiiiiight here," He cackles, hand hovering over you're lower stomach.

He likes seeing your face contort in pleasure and pain when your thighs scratch the staples on his face.

Oh, he's a biter. Your thighs might be bleeding by the time he's done, biting hard enough to break skin. You'll yelp in pain and it will spur him on, like you're his own personal show to watch.

God, please hit him back. Slap him. Push him around. He adores it- the two of you fucking like wild animals, clawing and at each others throats, all the while his girthy length his pounding into your sweet tight hole.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝑉𝐼𝑆 𝑇𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻

♫ “Tell me that you love it darling." The Valley by Miguel

Jervis has a very deep seated need to have you close to him. To have you bonded with him. He's obsessive, clingy, stalkerish. And he loves a good old fashioned Victorian flirtation. But god, he gets tired of waiting.

He's a gentlemen through and through. But even gentlemen have needs. And when he sees you in that light blue dress he bought you, pussy peaking out through the short skirt? Or how you lick your lips when the tea he makes you dribbles down?

He'll have to take what he wants eventually.

He knows you'll say yes. Even though the two of you have never talked about sex. No, you're his Alice. His willing little girl. Why would you ever say no to him? And he's right. He could ask, and you would probably say yes.

But, just for a precaution...Can't have you running off like the white rabbit, can he?

It will be late night after the two of you have tea. And he'll pull out his pocket watch. And before you know it, you'll be pinned on top a table, dress pooling between your legs, pulling on his hair against your will.

It's a sight he will never sick of. His sticky ropes of cum dripping, tainting the dress he'd bought you. It trickles down from your spine. You'll be too fucked out to walk the next day, and you won't even remember why.

He takes you, ignoring your pleas and whines of overstimulation. He'll continue to stuff his cock inside you until he feels pity for you.

Hypnotizing you while he's balls-deep inside of you, messily thrusting as he tries to concentrate. "You love this. Tell me you love me. Tell me you love this." His words scramble as he comes undone himself, letting your mind wash over and speak the words against your will.

If somehow you piece two and two together, the cum stains on your dress- and the feeling of being stretched out the next morning...assure him he doesn't have to hypnotize you.

Or let him keep it up. It's more fun for him this way.

[fruittt-punchhh]

Pop My Cherry!

all parts

Synopsis: your dad's best friend is none other than Toji Fushiguro, and you can't help but wonder what he could do with his hands.

Characters: Toji Fushiguro x reader. Choso Kamo is mentioned, not a major part of the story.

Content: Minors Do Not Interact! smut, afab! reader, fem! reader, dad's best friend! Toji, suggestiveness, cursing, inexperienced (ish) reader, reader is a virgin but has done things ya know, female masturbation, male masturbation, getting caught in the act, reader smokes weed, alcohol usage, pet/ affectionate names, age gap (reader is 24, Toji is in his 30s), big dick! Toji. That’s about it.

Word count: 2k

Notes: hi friends!🫶👋 i hope you all enjoyed the last one, thank you guys for the love!!! part 2 is pretty steamy if I can say that, so enjoy!! part 3 is where the real fun begins so buckle up. I might post it tomorrow if y’all enjoy this one!! Kisses💋💖🫶🗣️❤️‍🔥

Toji hears the tv playing in the background, but his attention is anywhere but the screen. His mind is racing with thoughts of you. How had he never noticed you before? Sure, you had come over during vacations or family gatherings, but he always saw you as what you were: his best friend’s daughter. That was until tonight.

He heard you come into the kitchen, the smell of weed lingering on your see-through white tee. Since when did you smoke? Not that he cared enough to notice, of course. He looked at your hazy, red eyes as he attempted to follow your gaze. You were full on staring at him and your face was a deep cherry color as he managed to look away.

You looked too good standing in the kitchen next to him, with only the bulb above the kitchen sink providing enough light to admire you in. Your hard nipples poked through your shirt, and Toji tried his hardest to avert his eyes, really he did. You just looked so innocent and vulnerable once he grabbed your chin.

He had no intent on causing anything further after that little interaction. He couldn’t help but imagine what you’d look like underneath him, squirming with his cock inside of you and begging him for more. He wanted to intimidate you to gauge your reaction and maybe even scare you away from him, and he was feeling like it may have been a bad idea. It only made his problem worse.

You peered up at him, eyes flicking between his nose and lips, never once making eye contact with him. He could maybe understand why you were looking at his lips, as he was thinking about yours as well. But his nose? What was so special about it? Surely you didn’t want him in between your thighs, pushing that nose places it should never be, right?

He stands up from the couch with a huff as he goes to grab another beer. Although Toji loved drinking, his tolerance wasn’t as high as one might think. Maybe he could have another beer and it would make him tired enough that he wouldn’t have to deal with the tent in his pants slowly starting to rise. He all but chugs the beer as he stares mindlessly at the tv screen.

Time passes and yet, his problem has only literally grown larger. He was fully hard now as he glanced down the hallway, hoping just a little bit that you’d open your door and come help him. He knew it was bad, downright wrong, to lust for you. Even if Toji had no idea who your father was, you couldn’t be older than 25. He was in his thirties and while twenty years from now that type of age gap wouldn’t matter, it certainly does now.

For all he knew you might still be a virgin. He could tell you wanted him too, a little at least. He knew you were close to graduating so surely you had popped your cherry already. But he had no way of knowing for sure.

Thinking about taking your virginity was enough to have his pants pushed down just enough for his cock to spring out. The cold air hits him as he looks around, hoping no one else decides they need a late night snack. He contemplates pulling his pants back up from the sheer guilt of it all, until he pictures your cute little face squished in between his hands. He knew you’d look even cuter if you sat in front of his cock, rubbing your pretty lips up and down his shaft. He couldn’t stop his hand from moving to touch himself at this point.

He was furiously working over his length, coming closer to the edge with every stroke. He kept scanning his eyes down the hallway, hoping no one would catch him (unless it was you of course). It felt too good to be true as he imagined what you’d look like if he toyed with your nipples through your shirt. In all honesty, all he could think about was tasting you. Your lips, your pussy, anything. He came all over his stomach and chest as he imagined how cute you’d sound begging him to let you cum. He couldn’t help but whine your name as he did, which made him feel more embarrassed than you had at any point that night.

With a disgusted sigh, he grabs a tissue and cleans himself off. He had taken care of his problem for now, but he knew he had created a new one for himself already.

There were only three days left before he was back to Shibuya, and he’d be gone all day tomorrow anyway. Hopefully, for his sake, the days go by quickly.

He pulls his shirt back down as he lies down on the couch, shoving his face into his pillow as he tries not to freak the fuck out. He slows his breathing and thankfully, he fell asleep without any further difficulty.

————————————————————————

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Your ceiling fan hummed, barely audible over the sounds of Toji’s snores and the loud cheering on the TV. You’ve been tossing in your bed like this for the last hour, unable to clear your mind from the filth that occupied it. His lips. That scar. His body. His voice. Not to mention the nicknames? Since when does anyone refer to you as doll or pretty girl? And since when is that person your dad’s best friend?

You felt so guilty about the whole situation. What were you, some kind of slut? Thinking about having Toji’s a man’s fingers on your body? Running up and down your waist, grabbing your tits and pinching your swollen nipples. Or playing with your poor, neglected pussy.

What the fuck is wrong with you? All this over someone’s fingers? You decided your first priority when you get back to university is to get laid, pronto. You could always talk to that one guy, Choso, from your ethics class. You knew him through mutual friends and he would come by to smoke every now and then. You didn’t talk to him much, but he seemed nice enough, and he was a real looker. Maybe the next time you had a get-together, you could convince him to come back to your place. It couldn’t be that hard, right?

With your newfound plan in mind, you tried your hardest to fall asleep, but it was increasingly hard to ignore the aching in between your legs. You felt your wetness spilling onto your thighs and your clit was throbbing. It was getting unbearable but you knew you’d be too loud to take care of anything tonight.

Your dad, brother, and Toji had a fishing trip planned for tomorrow morning. Maybe you could smoke and rub one out like you usually do. There were only three days left of your break, so you figured that would be enough to help you cool it before you went back to campus. Before you knew it, sleep had taken you.

————————————————————————

You awoke to a light tapping at your door. The sun was barely peeking through the pastel purple curtains.

“Y/n, honey, me and the guys are headed out! I have my phone if you need me, we’ll probably be gone most of the day. There should be some leftovers in the fridge for dinner. Love you!”

You mumbled back a ‘love you too’ before drifting back to sleep. In the distance, you heard the door shut and your dad’s truck start. At least you had the rest of the day to chill, and you were finally caught up on school work. Today would be your day to finally unwind.

You woke up a few hours later, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You figured you might as well take an everything shower before you planned on lying out at the pool. You wanted to look like you had spent at least some time in the sun during your break, and your legs were getting much too hairy for your liking.

After your shower, you throw your hair in a towel while you look for your bikini. It was black and strappy, and a little too revealing for your liking. You only wore it when you went tanning since it wasn’t necessarily family friendly. The top consisted of tiny triangles, which were barely enough to cover your large chest. The bottoms were just as skimpy, with nothing but a string in the back. You grab yourself a seltzer, your book, and your speaker. You already had a preroll waiting for you, and all you had to do was find your lighter.

————————————————————————

As you hit the joint for the nth time, you feel your anxiety about your finals melt away. You knew you had the potential to pass all of your classes with flying colors, but you always had a doubtful voice nagging you along the way. But since all of your school work is done, and you managed to get a jump start on some upcoming assignments, you could finally unwind. You connect your phone to your speaker, shuffling your “summer ‘24” playlist. CHIHIRO by Billie Eilish started playing as you snuffed out your joint and left the rest on the ash tray. You were officially relaxed.

More time passed than you realized and before you knew it, clouds were covering the sky. You gathered your things and headed inside, opting to lay on your bed since you were still pretty high. You put on your headphones so you could continue to listen to music as you doom scrolled through your phone for a while. You were on twitter, shamelessly enjoying all the (insert fandom here) posts, when you came across something invigorating.

See, while you used regular porn sites like everyone else, you also knew that twitter usually had the best amateur porn. The video had an explicit content warning, with the caption “size kinks, iykyk”. The video showed a petite woman bent over a counter, with her skirt shoved up and two fingers were drilling into her poor pussy. The man behind her was big, huge even. He had his hard cock rutting against her ass as he whispered filthy things in her ear. His dick was honestly impressive. It looked like it would absolutely ruin her. With your headphones in, you could hear the lewd sounds her sloppy cunt was making all over his big hands. Those hands reminded you of someone else’s hands, and suddenly you were burning alive. You felt hot, all over, like your skin was on fire. You replayed the events of last night over and over again in your head. That’s when you heard him call her “pretty girl”. You nearly lost it.

You snaked your hand into your bikini bottom to try and get some relief. You ran your middle finger through your folds to be met with a wetness you hope came only from the video, and not from the vulgar thoughts you were plagued with. You slowly circled your finger around your bud, grinding your hips to increase the sensation. You loved masturbating after you smoked because it made everything feel that much more sensual. You were quick to increase your pace which had you whining and gasping for more. The video was over long ago, and you were now being fueled with images of Toji doing those same things to you. You bucked into your hand as you felt your orgasm fast approaching. You were grateful you were home alone, as you were being far too loud. The stress from school was becoming overwhelming, and you didn’t realize how bad you needed this until now. You were toying with your clit at an excruciating pace as you chased your high. You were mere moments from cumming, until you see light peering through your bedroom door.

“Hey, y/n, this package was on the porch, it’s got your name on-“

Toji?

pt. 3

[hazashiovo]

Oblivious, supportive fem Reader x Ayano Aisha, the reader really doesn't get that poor Ayano likes her. It would be nice if they are childhood friends and if Reader isn't a pushover or weak, just clueless as fuck when it comes to love.

After all, girls make shrines about each other all the time, right? And really, getting chocolate from your gal pal on valentines day is the best, good thing you got her home made chocolate too!

My first Yan sim request:D

Ayano Aishi x Female reader

Side note: this character is a yandere,wich means yandere themes might appear disturbing to some readers.

T/W: mentions of kidnaping,mentions of drugging, obsessive behavior,murder,blood, stalking, pshycothic behavior,mentions of self harm and suicide.

Ayano has known you ever since she started first grade. You being her only friend in school,and with time this friendship evolved.

Which made you and the dark haired girl grow closer.

Her behavior never made you uncomfortable around her, neither did her silence. Because in truth,you liked it better, the difference between you two matched perfectly.

Your out going and talkative personality tangling with Ayano's introverted and silent language.

Kids your age called her many names due to her lack of emotions,but every time you were there to send them on their way with a bruise or two, nobody talks to your best friend like that!

At first when she was little,the girl saw your behavior towards her unnecessary. Why were you trying to get close to her? She had nothing to offer back to you.

But as she grew, whenever you weren't around her there was this empty spot in her heart,and that dull feeling griping her soul.

Not long before starting highschool did she realize what this meant.

Her mother talked to Ayano about this,since she was a child.Of course you were her special person,the one who will fill her heart with joy and warmth.

You belong to her.

And nobody can convince her otherwise.

You noticed when she became more clingy to you during breaks,but what you didn't see was the way she was glaring down at any student who dared to look at you for more than one second.

You didn't ask questions when your things were 'Borrowed' and never given back,it's what friends do,right? They share things with each other.

There would be times when you felt followed,like a shadow was glooming over you, following your every move when she wasn't with you. Even if you turned around to ease your paranoia,not seeing anyone there made it worse for you.

People noticed how tight you were with Ayano,so they chose not to meet pats with you. After all the shorter girl was creepy,who would want to tangle in something so complicated, definitely not most of the students,that's for sure.

But some couldn't help but be curious, maybe the feeling of being with someone they shouldn't be excited them.

But it didn't matter to Ayano. How do I know? The student coincidentally died because of food poisoning.

Rat poison isn't a condiment,silly.

Nothing changed after the incident,you and Ayano were closer,yes, that's because she offered you more protection than before, promising something like this will never happen to you. Unless it has to

Oh and she was over the moon when you accepted her invitation for a sleepover over, barely waiting to see your beautiful sleeping face,maybe she could even steal a kiss.

It didn't strike you as weird when you accidentally found her little shrine.

Dedicated to you, you even found it cute.

It had some of the hair ties and pins Ayano 'borrowed' from you a long while ago, pictures with the two of you as little children,pre teens and one from the first day of school.

She even kept the doodles you drew for her couple of months ago. Awh,she really is a sentimentalist even if she doesn't show it.

When ayano saw you looking trough her prized possessions she swore she saw her life flash before her eyes.

Heart rate quickening and this panick taking place in her chest. What will you say now? You will definitely hate her and then you won't want to be her friend anymore. How will she see you if you won't be her friend? How will she confess her love to you?

Of course all those thoughts broke when she heard your chuckle. Mind suddenly clear from the anxious rambling in her head.

"Man, why didn't you tell me? If I knew you prized those moments so much I would have taken more photos!" Relief completely washes over her when she sees that grin on your sweet lips. Why was she over thinking in the first place? You never doubted her, you're her loyal friend.

Of course,if you ever were to be creeped out by her she would have to take you, she'd never allow you to leave. After all you two can have a wonderful life together, whether you like it or not.

But that's not the case now, fortunately she doesn't have to drug you and tie you to her bed. How fortunate !

She smiles, nodding and promising to ask you for more photos for her 'prized moments'.

More people started either going missing or end up dead. People who tried taking you away from her,can't they see? You belong with her, you belong to her.

Since people are so stupid,she has to make it obvious and spell it in their face.

Slowly, letters practically spawned in your shoe locker.

Love poems calling you the sweetest of names. You were intrigued who this anonymous fan was,you must say you even tried peeking to see who was leaving them,but failed each time.

Ayano on the other hand was overwhelmed by pride when she heard you rambling about your secret admirer, cutely giggling over one particular sentence or so.

But she also felt... jealous? It doesn't matter that she's the one who wrote them,but seeing you so enamored with this 'anonymous ' person annoyed her.

On occasions she started gifting you chocolate she knew you liked. Mostly doing it because she loved your happy little squeals and that hug that followed after. She loved the feeling of your chest pressed against hers so tightly. Often wondering how it would feel without the layers of clothes on top of it.

This was only a step further to her plan, this way it wouldn't be a shock when she confessed her undying love to you. You will realize she's the only one you deserve,and you'll accept her love,even return it!

By the end of the first school year you're ready for the final part of her plan.

Yeah the people in your class wonder how you two are not dating yet. Of course they can see how deep Ayano is in for you,but you simply can't.

Making you hers. After she worked so hard this whole year to please you and gain your affection (even if she already had it) she's finally ready to spill her feelings to you.

So here she is,hidden behind the Sakura flower tree, waiting for you to join her.

Your secret admirer called you here to tell you something important,right in the last day of school,in case something goes wrong.

She will leave with you in any case scenario, preferably hand in hand ,rather than taking you home in a box,oh well.

If all goes well,by this time next year you will be her beloved girlfriend,but if not, then you'll be in her basement accompanied by her. Easy.

"Ayano?" Your sweet voice calls out once you get a whiff of the dark ponytail behind the thick tree. It's now or never.

And there she goes, spilling her feelings to you hoping you will return them. Telling you how she wrote those letters meaning every single word that was written on the paper. How she spent her afternoons making the chocolate gifted to you.

This of course came off as a surprise to you, never really thinking Ayano would be able to fall for somebody , especially you. Her best friend since first grade. We're you just so obvious you never noticed the signs?

One look at her flushed face and hopeful eyes and you knew that you also liked her all along,you just chose to push those feelings aside due to your fear of them never being returned by the brunette.

Of course you accepted her confession,and returned it of course.

But if you truly knew the things she had to do to have you,never In a million years would you choose to be hers.

Bonus, slightly suggestive

Ayano didn't usually dream,but when she did ,you were the star of the dream.

Most of her dreams would end up with you on display for her. The next morning she would check you out and pout, thinking that it's a long way before she actually gets to see you and touch your naked body.

But a girl can dream,right?