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lieslab · 3 days ago

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Merry Christmas, please don't call

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Summary: When you struggle with the holidays for different reasons, the guys are right there to cheer you up.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 7K

Trigger warning: Loneliness, mentions of dead family members, grief, family issues, depression, insecurities, alcohol and drinking, and jokes about suicide as a coping mechanism.

If you or a loved one is struggling this holiday season, you can find some mental health resources here.

A/N: Some of these drabbles are rather lighthearted and others get a little dark. Whether you will be spending time with friends and family this holiday season, or spending the day alone, please take care of yourselves. Eat a good meal and drink some water. Let's survive this holiday season together and make the new year a good one <3

_ _ _

Chan:

The clock struck noon and the chimes began to sing again. Another wasted day, another sound of silence, and another meaningful day slipping through your fingers. Lately, most days seemed to end up that way, but you couldn’t find it within your seeping soul to care.

Most bodies were a temple, but yours was a walking grave. You were idle on the inside and just waiting for your time to go. Upside down on the leather couch, your arms dangled against the worn beige carpet. Your feet dangled over the back and on each side of the couch, two pillows sat in a place they called home.

Chan was out today and he’d be out for most of the day. The two of you were having an extended vacation in Sydney, so he could visit his parents for the holidays. You were offered a chance to go along with him, but you politely declined. You didn’t want to overstep and it had been so long since Chan saw his family, you didn’t want to barge in and make yourself at home for the dinner they were making.

It was a full spread with his father’s grilled lamb and some of his mother’s favorite recipes. His siblings were going to be there and you loved his family, but you hated the idea of sticking out like a sore thumb. Besides, you already had dinner with them a few times.

You tried to get your mind off of it by cleaning the airbnb. His parents wanted him to stay there, but he wanted you to be comfortable. Plus, his old bedroom had been taken over by storage. Staying there required buying a brand new mattress, a box spring, and bedding. It felt easier to rent an airbnb.

Your face grew darker and darker as the blood rushed towards your head. Your eyes shut and you let your hair dangle. While they were having dinner, you had to find your own dinner. Sydney was full of possibilities, but all you could think about was his father’s lamb.

How many times had he raved about it? Back in Korea, he talked about it all the time. Whenever he ordered lamb from somewhere, it was delicious, but it was never up to the same standards as his father’s. The thought of it made your mouth salivate.

“What are you doing down there?”

Your eyes widened in shock. Above you, dimples formed in the sides of Chan’s cheeks. “Look at you, my little cutie.” He bent down and gently poked the top of your nose. “You look like a little tomato.”

You huffed and lightly pushed his hand away. “Stop it, I’m just hanging out. Why are you here?”

“I got halfway there and then turned the car back around. It didn’t feel right showing up without you. I don’t like the idea of eating a Christmas dinner without you by my side. Not to mention, my parents would demand to know where you were.”

He grabbed one of your wrists, reached down to support your back, and supported you while you sat up. You allowed it, but when he tried to tug you off the couch, you hesitated. He raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“I don’t want to ruin your Christmas dinner with your family.”

“How will you ruin it?”

“Your parents don’t get to spend holidays with you often. You should see them by yourself. They don’t need me there to worry about. They called Christmas a family gathering for a reason.”

A soft sigh escaped his lips and he sat down beside you. “Sweetheart, you’re part of my family too. You don’t think my family considers you part of our family? Did you know that my siblings can’t wait for the day that we’re married? They’re excited to truly consider you a sibling.”

Your head shook, your own stubbornness refused to let you see it. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You tugged away, but his fingers didn’t let go of your wrist.

“Talk to me, what’s really going on? What’s causing you to feel like this?” His hand cupped the side of your cheek. The familiar warmth of his thumb slid across your eye socket. “Please just talk to me. Do you not like them?”

“Of course, I like them. I love your family, but I feel like an embarrassment. Shouldn’t I be celebrating my own holiday with my own family? I hate feeling like an intruder.”

“Well, you’re not.” He leaned forward, his nose nearly touched yours. “You’re going to come along and, even if I have to drag you there, we’re going. If you’re lucky, maybe my dad might give you his lamb recipe.”

The pitiful look in your eyes was more than enough. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. “What are you waiting for? Come on!”

You squealed as he stood up and grabbed you. His fingers lightly tickled your sides and he hauled you over his shoulder. Your giggles filled the air with each dramatic bouncing step he took.

No matter how much of an intruder you felt like, he’d never leave you alone. _ _ _

Minho:

The sudden shriek from across the room caused your eyes to widen. You glanced over and found Minho’s face returning to normal. Almost like he hadn’t just jerked his head back and let out the loudest wail known to mankind.

In his hands, a fresh ceramic mug of black tea sat. A steady stream of steam lazily twirled into the air. He ignored your look of concern, gently blew onto the drink, and took a sip. His lips smacked together and he let out a content sigh.

“What the hell was that?” You finally asked.

“What was what?” His eyes found yours. “Blowing on my tea? Can’t you see that it’s hot? Is your eyesight bad enough that we should take you to the eye doctor?”

A blank look of your unamusement caused him to chuckle. He took another loud sip, trying not to laugh at your annoyance. You shut the book you were holding and leaned back along the couch.

“So you’re just going to pretend like you didn’t scream?”

“Oh, that?” He shrugged and adjusted his grip on the sage green mug. “I was just thinking about how excited I am to go home for the holidays. I can’t wait to see my cats again. You know them?”

“How could I forget Soonie, Doongie, and Dori? Of course, I know them. Are you old enough that you have memory loss?”

“I’m older than you, learn some manners.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your book, and began to flip back to the page you were on. He headed in your direction, sat on the couch beside you, and placed his mug on the wooden coffee table.

“I’ve mentioned my holiday plans a few times, but you’ve never mentioned yours. What are you doing for yours?”

“I’ll be hanging out here in our apartment.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed. “Why? What about your family?”

“Pretty hard to celebrate when your family members are buried six feet down in the frozen ground.”

He slowly blinked, wondering if he heard you right. You didn’t explain yourself, instead, you just continued to flip until you found the right page again. Your body relaxed back up against the arm of the couch and you started at the top of the page.

When you didn’t clarify, he reached out, and he placed a sprawled out hand over the words, so you couldn’t read them. “What do you mean they’re dead?”

“My family was small and there was an accident. They’re dead and life goes on. I haven’t celebrated the holidays since they died. Now if you’ll excuse me-” You pulled your book from his hand. “You’re blocking my story.”

You acted like your words were normal. He wanted to know more, but you didn’t seem to be budging. He reached out, jerked the book away, and planted a finger in the page you were reading.

“Hey!” You cried out.

“We have to talk about this. You can’t just say that and expect me to be fine with that. No, no, no.” He brought up his free hand and wagged his finger in your face. “New holiday plans, you’re coming to my house to spend time with my family.”

“Minho, it’s fine, really. I’ve gotten used to it and I’m okay with being alone. I’m not going to ruin your family’s holiday just because-”

“Oh no, I’m not asking you.” He handed you your book back. You sighed and took it back. He pushed himself off the couch and began to pace while he pulled out his phone.

You tried to ignore him, but curiosity got the better of you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m texting my mom and telling her to make extra food. You’re going to meet my grandma and my parents. Your loneliness can be damned this holiday season. After this, I’m going to order matching Christmas sweaters for us and my cats.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t question me, my family is going to love it. I’m going to post the photos of my cats to Bubble afterwards. The fans are going to be mad. Not only do I have three cats, but they have matching sweaters, and they don’t.”

“Do you always plan to torment your fans?”

He finally glanced up from his phone. “Well, someone has to keep them humble. Nobody else is going to do it, so I will.”

For the next twenty minutes, he kept showing you cat Christmas sweaters on pet store websites and asking which one you thought was cuter. _ _ _

Changbin:

“Are you staying there? Baby, are your eyes closed? Are you peeking? Stop it!”

“I’m not peeking! My hands are over my eyes and I don’t know what more you want from me! I’m trying to be patient, but you’re freaking me out. What are you doing out there?”

“DON’T OPEN YOUR EYES!”

You were sitting with your legs crossed in the middle of the couch. Changbin came home from work wrapped in an oversized white blanket. Before you could even ask, he told you to stay put and close your eyes. So here you were, curled up, with your hands flat against your shut eyes.

For the past few minutes, Changbin had been out in the kitchen. Soft clatters floated from the room, but you didn’t know what he was exactly doing. Every time you tried to peek, he’d shriek at you like a mother defending her eggs from a predator.

There was more clattering and it was topped off with a giggle. In the kitchen, Changbin rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Baby, are you ready?”

“Can I look now?”

“One moment! I’m coming. Don’t look until I give you the okay!”

Giddiness coated the lining of your stomach and you waited. His footsteps came closer and closer until they stopped altogether. “Okay, you can look now.”

You opened your eyes with a smile on your face. It only grew wider when you saw what he was wearing. He was in a white button down long sleeve shirt. A black vest sat on top of it and a matching bow tie was secured around his neck. A white apron tied around his waist and gave the illusion of a long skirt.

On his hand, there was a silver platter adorned with three styrofoam cups. You gave him a funny look, but all he could do was give you a goofy grin. As he balanced the platter, his legs began to move.

“Hot! Hot! Ooh, we got it! Hot! Hot! Hey, we got it!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop the giggles from escaping. He moved and twirled around the living room with the platter. Unbeknownst to you, the empty cups were taped down and the tray was secured to the back of his hand with a strap.

“Hot! Hot! Say, we got it! Hot chocolate!”

His feet tapped against the floor and he spun around with the platter overhead. It took you a moment to find the fake mustache glued onto his face and when you saw it, you lost it.

He didn’t stop singing and dancing. Your eyes widened as he stepped onto the couch beside you. You had to look up at him. He winked as your eyes met and he spun off and back to the ground.

Just as you thought, he couldn’t do more, he moon-walked to the coffee table and jumped on top of it. Part of you was alarmed, but the other half of you was amused. He jumped off with ease and bowed in front of you with the platter held out to you.

Heavy breaths racked his chest and his heart beamed with pride. Your hands went together and you began to clap in delight. He got back up, hurried into the kitchen, and came back with a mug of steaming hot chocolate.

“For-” He sucked in a deep breath, “for you.”

“Thank you,” You uttered as you grabbed it. “How long did it take you to learn the dance?”

“About a week, but it was worth it to see that smile on your face. I know how much you like the Polar Express. I-I was trying to figure out a way to cheer you up, so I-”

“Changbin?”

He glanced down at you and you patted the space next to you. “I love you so much, you have no idea. This is the sweetest and most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. You look exactly like the waiters in the movie.”

His cheeks went red and he brushed your words away. “It was nothing, really. Maybe I can teach you the dance and put a fake mustache on you. Do you think I should grow a mustache?”

“I think if you ever find yourself out of a job, you should consider working on one of those trains that recreates the Polar Express. You’ve got the role in the bag.”

“Is the hot chocolate good?”

“Delicious.”

“Good. Did it work? Did I make you feel better? You’ve been glum lately and I hate to see you so miserable during this time of the year.”

You swallowed another sip before offering him the cup. He glanced over at you and giggled at the sight of the brown mustache sitting on your upper lip. His thumb reached out to wipe it away.

“Forget me growing a mustache baby, you would suit one perfectly.” _ _ _

Hyunjin:

“This is too hard and I’m dying. I know too many people. Why did I agree to go Christmas shopping with Felix and Jeongin?” Hyunjin’s hands wiped down his face and he groaned.

Perched on your shared bed, there were four rolls of wrapping paper in different holiday prints. A bag of premade colorful bows scattered everywhere. Scissors were half open and nearly digging into his leg. The wrapping paper that he cut too short was scrunched into balls and littered the carpet beneath the bed.

You were on your way to the bathroom when you glanced in to check on him. After coming home with multiple bags, he sauntered into the bedroom nearly an hour ago and he had been there ever since. He said he was going to wrap presents and you assumed he’d struggle, but you didn’t realize that it’d be this much.

“Hyunjin?” You called out softly as you poked your head into the room. “Are you okay in here?”

“Am I okay here?” He scoffed and gestured around. “Do I look like I’m okay? Look at this mess! How do you fold wrapping paper over a gift that’s not a square shape? I should have never let the guys talk me into buying so many gifts for people. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

You chuckled and stepped inside. “You’re very, very sweet. Do you want some help?”

“Please. Preferably before Santa himself comes in and boots me from his workshop.” His arms crossed over his chest and his lips stuck out in a pout. “Wrapping gifts is too hard. We should just be able to give people items without them expecting wrapping paper.”

“You don’t have to wrap them if you don’t want to,” you reminded him.

“I know, I know. I want to wrap them, I just-” He sighed. “I’m just annoyed by it all. It’s really not that difficult, but I’m struggling with the amount of paper to use.”

You headed over and grabbed the scissors. After searching for a few seconds, Hyunjin grabbed the tape and handed it to you. You glanced around at the gifts and nodded. “We can do this. Which wrapping paper and which gift?”

He grabbed the black and red plaid wrapping paper. He nearly fell off the bed in the process of stretching to grab one of the gifts. Once he handed them to you, you gestured for him to follow you.

You carefully averted yourself through the maze of gifts and headed out to the kitchen. He followed your steps and the moment his body broke free of the room, his stress melted away. You seemed so sure of your skills as you loaded up your tools onto the island.

The first gift was a smaller square box with cologne in it. You unraveled some of the paper and set it in the center. “You see this?” You took the edge of the paper and rolled it up over the side. “You want this side of the paper to cover half the box.”

“But it’s covering less than half?”

You nodded and unraveled more wrapping paper. He watched as you adjusted the box and taped the first half of the paper down. You took your time letting the scissors glide across the end of the role. You pulled the other half over and asked for tape.

He placed down a small piece, mimicking your previous motions. Once it was secured, you showed him how to bend and fold the ends. After you folded them, you let him tape them down. When you finished, you slid the box to him.

“You made that seem a lot easier than it should be.”

You chuckled at his words. “It’s really not that difficult to wrap a gift. My parents taught me that when I was younger. I’ve carried the skill around since then.”

“God bless your parents.”

You forced a smile at his words and watched as he disappeared to grab a bow from the bedroom. By the time he came back, you took your attention to the window above the sink. Painful memories adorned your brain at the mention of your parents.

“Are you going to help me with the next one? You know I struggle with seeing things just once and being expected to know what to do. It takes me a while to get things.”

You shut your eyes and nodded, still facing the window. “I’ll help you wrap the next one if you get it.”

He kept an eye on you, worried about the sudden distance. Something flickered in your eyes when he mentioned your parents. When you reached up and wiped your eyes, he knew something was wrong.

You weren’t expecting him to appear behind you. When his hand found your shoulder, you jumped slightly. Tears wet your eyes when you spun around to face him. Without a word, he tugged you to him.

You couldn’t fight it. The familiar lull of his heart caused your eyes to shut. Your hands wrapped around his waist. “Family issues?” He uttered softly.

“Something like that.”

“I’m sorry I made you wrap a gift. I didn’t mean to bring up memor-”

“Don’t apologize, I’ve missed wrapping gifts. Actually, I like wrapping gifts, but I’m not a fan of celebrating Christmas.”

“So would you like to be a dear and spend the next few hours teaching and helping me wrap gifts?”

“Obviously.”

You forced yourself to smile, but he knew deep down that you weren’t okay. A storm brewed in the silence of your soul. Maybe one day you’d talk about it, but for now, he was just happy to be in your presence.

He couldn’t heal the gaping wounds, but he could try to dull the ache. _ _ _

Han:

“Baby, please wake up.” Han reached over and shook your sleeping body. You had been asleep for a few hours and he was desperate for your feedback. “Please, get up.”

When your groggy eyes finally cracked open, he grinned. “Hi there. I’m sorry for waking you up, but look!” He held open a homemade card and pressed it to your nose. “Be honest with me, can you read this?”

“Kind of,” you mumbled. “Who is it going to?”

“My mom.”

“I’m sure she’ll be able to read it. Didn’t she grow up being able to read your handwriting?”

“Well, yeah, but I wanted to make cards for the guys too.” He pushed the card against the bed and sat down on the edge. “I’m feeling festive this holiday season and I want to let people know how much I care about them.”

“Mm-hmm. That’s nice.” Your eyes slipped shut again and you twisted. You nuzzled the pillow and wrapped the blanket around your body tighter.

“Baby?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want to get up and make Christmas cards with me?”

“And send them to who? I cut off my family members, remember? I don’t talk to any of them to save my mental sanity.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, baby, I totally forgot.” He laid down beside you and slithered his hands around your waist. You didn’t fight it as he pulled you against himself. “Is this why you’ve been sleeping so much lately?”

“Here I’ve been going on and on about the holidays and the people around me, but I haven’t even thought about you and your situation.”

“I’m not mad at you. I like listening to you talk about everything and everyone in your life. You’ve got a lot of love to give and creating homemade Christmas cards is cute. I’m sure they’re going to love them.”

“I hate that you think your family issues make you unlovable.”

“I-I don’t think-” Your voice cut off as a lump built in your throat. Tears began to build up and you blinked rapidly. Of course, you felt unlovable.

Holiday ads were smeared with family gatherings. Songs chirped about winter and connection. Even when the birds migrate for winter, they fly to warmer weather with all their friends and family. So many creatures, human or not, have connection, but not you.

You had Han, but everyone else? Everyone else seemed to be far away. Even when your parents’ compliments were backhanded. When your grandparents gabbed about your disappointing appearance and when your siblings reminded you that you were a loser, you were supposed to endure it for the holidays.

It didn’t matter if you were their own flesh and blood. It didn’t matter if it hurt your feelings, you were just supposed to sit through it. You were supposed to be grateful you knew them. You were supposed to be thankful that you even had family.

How many times have your holiday dinners been interrupted with a lump in your throat? When you excused yourself from the table, so you could let your tears fall in the privacy of the bathroom. How many times had you clung to the rope tethering your family together, despite no matter how much the rope burn rubbed your hands raw?

So you walked away from it all. You were deemed an ungrateful traitor by your family members. They were the victims of your selfishness in your eyes, but if selfishness was what you had to be called to pick and choose your own lonely path of happiness, so be it.

You shifted and curled into Han’s chest. He held you to him tighter. One of his hands began to gently rub your back. The other hand went to the back of your head.

“I can’t put into words how much I love you. I hope you get to hear it in some of my songs. I hope you’re able to pluck it out between the melody and the backing vocals. I hope you can feel it in my touch.”

“Thank you,” you finally managed to utter through tears.

“And for my next Christmas card, I’ll be sending it to your parents house. On the front, there’s a giant ‘fuck you’ written in glitter. Tis the season to tell them to fuck off.”

You couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up in your chest. _ _ _

Felix:

Jingling bells were mixed with sobs. The halls were decked with tissues. The snowy gray skies were dotted with misery and an impending doom that you just couldn’t shake.

The holidays were a continuous slow death. The lack of sunlight brought in depression and your brain was haunted with past memories. Everything seemed to be decorated for Christmas, including downtown.

A nearby business was having Christmas carols tonight and Felix wanted you to go with him, but you turned it down. It was an open invite by the business, anyone could come along and sing, but you didn’t have it in you to stand in front of a door of strangers and put on a smile.

Your apartment was dark and when Felix first arrived, he wasn’t sure if you were home. It was only around seven and your car was in the parking lot, but the rest of the house seemed dead. Every light was off and there wasn’t a sign that you were around.

He placed his basket over his arm and knocked but you didn’t answer the door. He frowned and knocked harder, but you still didn’t answer. Instead of leaving, he pulled off his glove, and pulled out his phone. He got to your number and hit the call button.

Inside your house, you were drowning your worries in eggnog. You normally stuck to the non-alcoholic version that was stored in the coolers, but this time, you picked up a bottle at room temperature that was mixed with a spiced rum. Outside, the streets were wrapped in a velvet green and bright red, but your soul was tainted black.

You thought about ignoring Felix’s call when his contact lit up your screen, but your hand moved before you could stop it. You answered the call and placed it on speakerphone. “What do you want? I told you I’m not singing tonight?”

“I’m not here to gather you for singing. I’m outside and I have something for you. I thought we could do something together inside and enjoy each other’s company.”

“Go away, I’m probably drunk.”

“If you were drunk, you would have hung up. You forget which way is left and right. Why not let me in and see what kind of treats I brought?”

You paused at the words and you glanced over at the front door from your spot in the kitchen. “Edible treats?”

“Of course.”

“Sweet treats?”

“You bet.”

“I’m coming, don’t leave.”

He listened to the sound of your footsteps and when you finally cracked the door open, you looked like a mess. You smelled like nutmeg and rum. You hung up the phone in your hand and stared at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“You poor, poor thing.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “Can I just come in? I think these things are cool by now and we can decorate them.”

You eyed the wicker basket he was holding suspiciously. It was covered in a red and white patterned cloth. You couldn’t see in it, but you had suspicions about it. After a moment, you finally stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

He followed and a blast of chilled air rushed after him. You didn’t turn around as you led him towards your kitchen. He shut the door, kicked off his shoes, and he followed you.

You flipped on the kitchen light, shielding your eyes in the process. The eggnog swirled in your stomach and with a small hiccup, you felt the alcohol crawl back up the back of your throat. You forced yourself to swallow it.

“Welcome to my kitchen, you can do whatever here. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take a nap.” You began to turn and leave, but he grabbed your arm to stop you.

“At least, look at what I brought with me first.”

You sighed and spun back around. He peeled back the cloth and pulled out a variety of colorful piping bags. Small packets of gummies and candies followed. He even pulled out a few miniature candy canes.

“What is this for?”

He smiled at you and held up an undecorated gingerbread man. “I was hoping you could help me decorate them, so they could come to life.”

“Why are you really here?”

“Because I love you and I’m worried about you.” He placed the gingerbread man back in the basket. “Because every time I mention the holidays, you turn away and you scowl. Because you get a far away look on your face when I mention family and you frown.”

That same frown that he had grown used to appeared on your face again. Just the sight of it broke his heart. His hand reached towards yours and he gently took your hand.

“You don’t have to explain it to me, but I just don’t want you to feel alone this holiday season. I think everyone should feel warmth in this cold and I think you deserve it too. I love you and I don’t want you to feel alone.”

The alcohol made you numb to your emotions. If you were fully sober, no doubt, you would have burst into tears. Instead, you just glanced over at his basket of gingerbread cookies. “And if they turn out ugly?”

“Ugly cookies are still cookies at the end of the day, aren’t they? No matter what they look like, they still taste delicious. Deep down, they’re still loved.”

When your lips met his, you finally felt the warmth you’d been lacking this holiday season. _ _ _

Seungmin:

“And for this holiday season, I might hang myself with the lights. Tell me, Kim Seungmin, would you kiss my corpse beneath the mistletoe?

“I’d let your corpse kiss my ass beneath the mistletoe.”

“I didn’t think you were into necrophilia, so I’ll have to note it.”

“Fucking freak,” he grumbled. He turned back to the side of the house and continued to string the lights along the edge. The two of you had been working for nearly an hour, but it still wasn’t enough.

You chuckled at his comment, but then you went quiet. Below him, you stood on the ladder with the raveled Christmas lights in your hand. They were wrapped around a piece of plastic and slowly, but surely, you were unstringing it as he hung the strands in clear clips. Your eyes finally found the ground and you held the lights steady.

When you didn’t make another comment, Seungmin glanced down with a sigh. You didn’t hear it, too busy distracted by your own thoughts in your head. It took a few moments of him calling your name until you glanced up. “Hmm?”

“Why are you making so many jokes about dying?”

You shrugged, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “It’s not like I haven’t made jokes like that before. What makes it different this time?”

“Well, usually you say you’re kidding afterwards, but this time, that never happened. You didn’t say you were kidding, you just pretended like you never said anything. I know you joke about it a lot, but it worries me that you’re doing it more than usual. Did something happen?”

His gaze lingered, but you stayed quiet. Your teeth sank into the velvet section of your bottom lip. He began to descend the ladder when you didn’t respond. He walked over to you, pulled the lights out of your hand, and gently placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that thing where you shut me out and you shut down. What happened?” He lightly shook you and caused your head to sway back and forth. “Just please tell me what happened.”

“Nothing specifically,” you finally uttered as your eyes found the ground. “Nothing specific happened, I’m just struggling, that’s all.”

“With what?”

“It’s the holiday season,” you shrugged. “Haven’t you noticed that everything goes bad during the holiday season? A light bulb blows and you don’t have a new one. An elderly family member passes away. You feel warm and cozy because of the holiday season and then you’re slammed with the heartbreaking realization that people don’t care about you the way that you care about them.”

His fingers gently dug tighter into your winter coat and you lightly shoved him away. “It’s nothing, really. I’m probably just being dramatic, but it feels like everything spirals during this time of the year, doesn’t it?”

“I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“I don’t want to ruin your holiday cheer.” You reached down and grabbed the lights from the ground. “At least, the house will look festive.” You tried to force a smile, but it came out as a grimace instead.

He pulled the lights from your hands and put them on the ground. You let him tug you inside and into the warmth of your shared house. The scent of the homemade apple cider you made earlier still lingered. The cinnamon sticks swirled with sugar and apples and spritzed the air.

Seungmin spun to face you and he reached for your coat. You stayed put as he began to unzip your coat and pull you out of it. The freezing temperatures caused the tip of his nose and the tops of his cheeks to turn red. He was working with gloves coating his fingers.

“What are you doing?” You finally whispered as he peeled off your hat. He didn’t respond and pulled off your scarf. You stayed quiet and watched him begin to peel off his own winter articles of clothing.

You blinked and tried to keep your focus away from his face. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but he looked rather determined. His eyebrow sat in a furrow and he threw his hat onto the couch behind you.

When he finished freeing himself, he gently cupped your face. You swallowed the lump in your throat as your eyes met him. He finally began to speak for once.

“You lost a family member this time last year.”

“So?” You hoarsely uttered, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“It’s your first holiday season without them.”

You pressed your lips together, desperate to keep the tears away. Decorating a grave isn’t nearly as fun as decorating the Christmas tree. Christmas lights lose their allure. Santa Claus sightings, Christmas cookies, and holiday songs can’t tune out the emptiness in your heart. No matter how many parties you go to, no matter how many presents you wrap, it’s never enough to heal your bleeding heart.

The moment tears appeared in your eyes, he leaned forward and pressed soft lips to the center of your forehead. Your eyes shut, savoring the flicker of attention, and seeping in his silent love. He didn’t utter another word as he pulled you into his arms because he knew that you knew what he was saying.

A strangled sob came out and his arms slipped beneath you. With snow encrusted snow boots, he took you to the nearby couch. He didn’t care that he sat on the mix of scarves, hats, and gloves. He rubbed your back as you let the holiday turmoil ooze out.

Not every season was meant to be jolly. Not every holiday would be full of laughter and smiles. Sometimes the lower branches of the Christmas trees would be empty underneath and hold nothing. Sometimes the people you wished to celebrate the season with the most would disappear.

Seungmin would hold you until the snow on your boots melted and soaked the carpet. He’d cling to you until the sobs stopped. He’d do this forever if you asked him to. He’d sit here until the next holiday season and do it all again.

Maybe next year, you’d feel better, but until then, you were entirely his. _ _ _

Jeongin:

“I hate the holidays. I hate this time of year. I hate people dressing like Santa. I hate red and green, they’re the worst colors.”

“Okay, Ebenezer Scrooge, we get it, you don’t like Christmas.”

You glared over at Jeongin, but he didn’t seem to see it. Instead, he continued to fold a piece of white construction paper. Your arms crossed over your chest and he continued.

“I think the Grinch might have more love in his heart than you and that says a lot. For someone who tore down Christmas trees and stole Who Hash-”

“I get it! I get it!” You threw your hands up in the air. “I’m the most miserable person to be around this time of year. I know!”

His eyes widened, he sighed, and shook his head. “Well, you’re not going to ruin my Christmas cheer. I’m making snowflakes from construction paper because I actually like this holiday, unlike some people.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and he pointed his scissors at you. There was a loud snip, but he didn’t dare try to injure you. The two of you were back to playfully being a pain in one another’s ass.

“How the hell do you make snowflakes from construction paper?”

“You fold the paper over and over and over and over again. I think you’re supposed to fold it in a certain way, but I just fold in whatever way I want to. I take these scissors-” He snipped them loudly a few times. “I cut snips into the paper and I open it back up.”

He carefully unfolded the paper and once it was back to its normal shape, there were multiple slits to create an uneven snowflake. “Look at it! A snowflake! Ta-dah!”

“Why does your snowflake have scoliosis?”

“Hey!” He cried and he tugged the paper to his chest. “Be nice to my snowflake. Haven’t you heard that each snowflake is unique? Bully my snowflake again and I’ll give you scoliosis.”

“You’re going to open up my spine, curve it, and stitch me back up?”

He held up the scissors again. “If you don’t stop it, I’m gonna scissor you with these scissors.”

Your cheeks sucked in as you tried not to laugh. Realizing what he just said, his eyes widened. “Hey, no! Stop it! Not like that! Ugh.” He tossed the scissors onto the kitchen table. “Let’s go back to the main topic. Why are you literally acting like this time of the year is the worst?”

“Because it’s cold outside and I’m miserable, Jeongin! Look at my feet!” You pushed your fuzzy-sock feet up in the air and wiggled them. “Look at them! I have two pairs of socks on and I’m still freezing!”

You got up to show off your hoodie and sweatpants combination. “Look at me!” You spun around and gestured to your clothes. “It’s the worst time of the year to celebrate when I’m freezing.”

“I can’t go swimming or to the beach. If I try to go outside on a walk, I nearly freeze to death. Don’t get me started about the glasses I wear. Going from the freezing cold outside to the warm inside and then being unable to see from condensation, it’s the worst!”

“Is that all you have in your defense?”

“Yes, Jeongin!”

“Wow.”

“Santa Claus would find more joy in the depths of hell during this time of the year.”

“Do you even know how hot hell is?”

“Hot enough that I wouldn’t be freezing my sweet cheeks off, catholic boy!”

He shoved a hand over his mouth and turned away, trying not to laugh. You scoffed and shook your head. “Laugh all you want, but when I turn into an icicle in this household, it won’t be funny then.”

“The heat is on.”

“And I’m ten degrees away from turning into a freezing cold corpse.”

“I forgot how sensitive you are to the cold.”

“Oh, you have no idea. Grocery shopping and entering the cooler and freezer section is the worst. It doesn’t matter if I have on a hoodie and a coat. Once I’m cold, I’m chilled to the bone and it ruins my day. I’m cold for the entire day and can’t get warm.”

He reached down and began to fold a paper. You settled back down on the couch after yanking the decorative blanket off the back end. You took your time tucking yourself in and leaned back. Your hands ran down the velvet and you sighed softly. “This is so much better.”

“You big baby.”

“Frozen corpse.”

He playfully rolled his eyes, stood up, and began to head towards you. Without asking, he leaned over and wormed his way on top of you. The moment he appeared, more warmth flooded your body.

“I’ve been blessed by Jesus himself this holiday season.” You basked in the relief as you shifted to get comfy. “Merry Christmas to me, you’re not allowed to leave.”

“Who says?”

“If you go anywhere, you’re getting a lump of coal for Christmas.”

“A harsh price to pay. I guess I should just be lucky that some part of me loves you. Thankfully, my catholicism blessed me with patience and gratefulness.”

You shot him an unamused glare. He responded with a dimple-showing grin. As much as he was annoying sometimes, you still loved him. When you shut your eyes, he shifted and placed his head against your chest.

The craft snowflakes would be there later, but if he didn’t warm you up now, he was secretly worried your heart would freeze over, just to spite him.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #bang chan #lee know #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz #skz fluff #skz comfort #skz angst

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svnluns · 1 day ago

Text

⋆ boarding school

It had been a week since my stepmom decided I would go to an all-girls boarding school. I hated everything about this place. But what I hated the most was my fucking roommate.

Billie would always tease me or make fun of me. What really bothered me was that I liked it. It would turn me on.

I was now sitting in the school library. It was around 12 p.m., and I was studying for my history test. No one was around, which was perfect.

I was almost done when I heard the door open. I raised my head to see Billie.

Obviously.

She walked toward one of the bookshelves and turned so she was standing behind me.

"Boo!" she said, sticking her head in front of mine.

"Wow, you scared the shit out of me," I replied sarcastically.

"Whatever. You're no fun. Did you miss me?" she asked, pulling up a chair to sit in front of me.

"No, actually, I was good on my own. So, if you could leave-"

"Yeah, right. Oh, by the way, I hear you in your dreams. So, if you could stop fantasizing about me and saying, ‘Hmm, Billie, every night, that would be fantastic," she said, grabbing my notebook to see what I was studying.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't do that," I said with a nervous chuckle, trying not to look obvious.

She stood up as I grabbed my notebook back, but instead of leaving, she got closer to me. Standing behind me, she rested her hands on my shoulders and slowly slid them down to my chest.

I felt my body betray me. I was becoming wetter with every move of her hands.

She tugged my necktie loose, letting it fall onto the table, and began unbuttoning my shirt until my bra was on full display. My breath hitched, but I didn't stop her.

She slipped the straps of my bra off my shoulders, one by one, her hand sliding down to cup my breast.

"C'mon," she whispered, grabbing my wrist and pulling me behind one of the bookshelves for privacy.

"You actually look pretty," she said softly, fully removing my shirt and sliding her hand under my plaid skirt, feeling how wet i already am. "If you wanted to get fucked that badly, you should've just told me. You didn't have to send weird signals in your sleep."

Her lips crashed onto mine, and I kissed her back instinctively, feeling my frustration and desire meld into one.

"You're so wet for me," she murmured with a smirk.

I was done with her teasing. "Billie, please stop talking. Just fuck me," I begged, struggling to catch my breath.

She wasted no time. She pulled my panties down and tossed them aside, then slid three fingers into me without warning.

"Fuck you," I groaned, my hands gripping the edge of the shelf for balance.

"That's what you get for telling me to shut up," she said, her tone sharp but laced with desire. "Now, be a good girl and stay quiet."

Her fingers moved faster, her other hand gripping my hip to hold me steady.

My legs trembled as the pleasure built, my moans growing louder despite my attempts to stay silent.

"C'mon, baby, cum for me," she coaxed, her voice softer now.

I couldn't hold back anymore. My body tensed as waves of pleasure crashed through me. I clung to the shelf, gasping as I finally let go.

When I opened my eyes, Billie was watching me with a smug smile.

"Look at the mess you made," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

"You've been waiting for this forever, haven't you? I didn't know you were this needy for me."

I glared at her, but the blush on my face gave me away.

She stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You're even prettier when you're like this," she said softly.

I didn't know what to say. All I knew was that l hated her. And I wanted her again.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x y/n #svnluns

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yuwuta · 3 days ago

Note

Your thing about katsuki losing his shit when u don’t answer his calls is hilarious to me bc he definitely would and since that’s just roommates that implies that when you’re actually like together he’d be so much worse (And eren does this too I can’t help but bring him up)

he takes it so so seriously it’s comical. ever since katsuki started at ua, he’s acted like he’s your government assigned bodyguard, too. and through all the attacks and shit that happened while he was in school, he really doesn’t take any chances, so he needs you to pick up the damn phone when he calls. you guys only became roommates because he was one missed call away from having a heart attack, please he does not play around when it comes to you. showing up to your place of employment at 2pm in full hero gear and dirt on his face because he called you thrice between 11am and 1:32pm and texted twice and you still didn’t answer so he’s coming to check up on you himself.

missing a call from him while you’re on way home from work bc you were underground on the subway, and not even realizing until you open the door and there’s katsuki standing in the entryway with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face and looks to your phone sticking out of your bag, taps on it, and dramatically goes “oh, so it does work!” to which you roll your eyes, and earn a poke to the nose and katsuki grumbling, “answer when i call, dummy,”’ before going back to the kitchen to finish dinner. he’s such a brat about it (and the only reason he didn’t go collect you from the train station out of panic is because you two have each other’s locations now—in an effort to stop dynamight from interrupting your work meetings).

when you two finally start dating, honestly it calms a bit. naturally, you’re spending more time together, and less virtual communication is needed. his panic really only sets in when there’s an attack or a villain on the run. he calls you before and after missions—sometimes he calls during them, he’s got to make sure that you’re okay, that you’re safe, that he can come back to you when it’s all said and done. all his friends say he’s whipped but katsuki really couldn’t care less, he needs you to be there. and let the record show, that when you call him first, he always comes running

#anonymous #eren answers all ur calls bc he’s a LOSERR!!!! doing nothing but waiting for you to text or call #and he’s kicking his feet when you finally do….. down terrible #you don’t answer when there’s an attack near where u work and katsuki has never moved faster in his life #when he gets to your job the building has already been evacuated and he’s combing through the rescue area #and his friends and other pros are shouting for him but he can’t hear them all he can hear is the sound of his heart in his throat #and when he finally does see you next to shoto he sighs. you’ve got a blanket around your shoulders to keep u warm and ur probably cold from #shoto having to rescue you and katsuki is grateful for that but rn he doesn’t care #he holds u so damn tight and he doesn’t cry but his voice is wobbly ‘you didn’t pick up’ and u just melt against him bc ‘u came anyway’#once again everybody give it up for the loverboy of all time….#katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader

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sirhamburrger · 3 days ago

Text

cookies burning on an oven fire (oliver aiku x gn!reader)

oliver aiku is a master on the football pitch. in the kitchen, though? not so much. it doesn't mean you don't want him there, though. although it's been said many times, many ways // merry christmas to you || wc: 530 || tags/cw: mostly fluff, oliver is a hopeless baker, hurt/comfort in a flashback, oliver is annoying about calling football 'soccer', is it obvious i have only baked once in my life and don't remember anything about it, temp is in celsius not fahrenheit if you were wondering series m.list

oliver smells like smoke. he doesn't smoke.

“right,” you sigh. “what happened?”

“i… put them in at 360 degrees for half the time.”

you raise an eyebrow. “okay, and what were my very specific instructions?”

your boyfriend flinches at your deceptively calm expression.

“180forfifteenminutes.”

you let out a huff, defeated. “just stick to football next time, please.”

“okay, firstly,” oliver grabs your arm as you walk past him to the oven, pulling you backwards into him, burying his nose in your hair. you roll your eyes, but let him cling to you like an oversized koala. “soccer. not football. and-” he clasps his arms around your waist, squeezing you tight - “i'm not that bad at baking!”

“explain that fiasco, then,” you retort, not unkindly. you shuffle forward slowly, hindered by the weight of him leaning on you.

“älskling, i can do other things too, y'know?”

“like boiling an egg or putting frozen bratwurst in the microwave?” you deadpan.

“touché,” oliver concedes.

with you, he does the walk of shame over to the kitchen, where the bitter tang of burnt gingerbread still lingers in the air; a testament to his failure. you stare into the oven. in just six and a half minutes, they've gone from tantalising cookie dough to charred lumps of sadness.

you make him clear the oven out, and he makes you coffee afterwards. you sip it slowly - he’s made it just how you like it - and decide he’s forgiven. just this once.

“mein schatz?”

“hm?”

“remember the first time we made cookies together?”

you feel the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

“yeah. it went pretty well, unlike today.”

even as you say the words, you feel your heart constrict ever so slightly. it's a fond memory, yes, but it wasn't all good.

you recall two christmases ago, when oliver had showed up at your door after the u20 match against blue lock. his then-girlfriend had just left him, and he was sitting silently in your kitchen not saying anything at all. after all, what is a young soccer prodigy to do after his first bad breakup, if not seek out his best friend?

that day, you baked cookies with him in this very kitchen, spiced with cinnamon and topped with lemon zest. he smiled, then, and you couldn't help but think that you'd never seen anything so beautiful.

it was a long time after that before you finally became what you are today. but you knew, from then on, that it would be the start of something new.

and now he's your boyfriend of almost a year who takes you to his games, buys you flowers and burns your christmas cookies.

it takes a few gentle taps on your hand before you finally register he's pushed something across the counter to you.

“i checked the oven just now,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, “and these two look a little more edible than the others.”

the two gingerbread people sit on a plate, fused together like they're holding hands. he breaks them apart, taps his cookie against yours. you giggle at his antics.

“to us.”

he smiles, taking your hand in his.

“to us.”

a/n: through the writing of this i have been forced to like oliver

taglist: @anglefish3008, @standcom (open, leave a comment on any post in this series to be added!)

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk drabble #oilver aiku #oliver aiku bllk #aiku x reader #oliver aiku x reader #aiku x you #oliver aiku drabble #kai writes #miniseries: jingle bell lock

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gullemec · 3 days ago

Text

Pandora's Box

Golden Cage - Chapter Two

ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: The Boys send you on your first mission and you end up with more than you bargained for.

Warnings: emotional abuse, daddy issues

WC: 4.5k

A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who liked/commented/reblogged chapter one, it genuinely means so much to me🥹 i've started a taglist as well so please let me know if you'd like to be added!

The Boys, as you’ve come to know them, waste absolutely no time.

After quick introductions to MM, a steady and level-headed founding member, and Kimiko, a silent but razor-sharp Supe liberated from captivity, Butcher starts laying out the plan with all the delicacy of a sledgehammer.

On the coffee table before you sits a small fortune in spy gear: bugs, GPS trackers, cameras, audio recorders, and a litany of tiny devices that look like they belong in a spy movie. The sheer quantity makes your head spin.

Hughie kneels by the table, carefully picking up each device and explaining its purpose. His earnestness almost makes the whole thing less intimidating. Almost. Truthfully, he could tell you just about anything and you'd continue to nod along. Seeing as you've never taken up cat burglary or espionage as a hobby, you barely understand anything he's telling you.

“This one here,” Hughie says, holding up a tiny black button-like device, “is a bug. A listening device. You stick it somewhere, and it picks up sound within about twenty feet. Pretty good range.” He hands it to you, and you turn it over in your fingers, pretending to understand.

Behind him, Butcher leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. He watches the two of you silently, his sharp eyes flicking between the gear and your increasingly overwhelmed expression.

“Right,” Butcher drawls, pushing off the wall and strolling over. He snatches the bug from your hand, holding it up between thumb and forefinger. “Here’s how this works: you stick this under your dad’s desk or somethin’ that gets a lot of traffic. We’ll be able to hear every dodgy little word that comes out of his mouth.”

You nod, eyes wide, shellshocked. You're taken back to the time your mother brought you to see Spy Kids and you spent an entire month afterward somersaulting around the house and peeking around corners pretending you, too, were a spy. You had even begged her to order you a spy kit through your school's Scholastic Book Fair. The real thing, as you've come to learn, involves much less gymnastics and invisible ink than you'd originally thought.

This is all so ridiculous. You woke up this morning prepared to face another day of monotonous lab reports, mind-numbing thinktank meetings, and unending feelings of inadequacy. Now you’re playing Inspector Gadget with a ragtag group of vigilantes to infiltrate a corrupt conglomerate that may or may not be responsible for your mother’s death.

If you don’t laugh, you’re pretty sure you might just cry.

Butcher doesn’t seem to notice your inner spiral. “Easy as pie,” he adds, smirking like it really is that simple.

“Sure,” you murmur, trying to sound more sure than you feel.

Hughie, sensing your nerves, holds up another device, a thick black disc about the size of a hockey puck. “This one’s a GPS tracker. While you’re planting the bug, Frenchie and I’ll slap these on your dad’s and Monica’s cars. That way, we’ll know where they go and when.”

Your stomach twists. This is all so surreal.

Hughie hesitates, his brow furrowing as he takes in your face. “Look, I get it. It’s a lot. First time I got roped into this, Butcher had me bug the Seven’s meeting room. Thought I was gonna throw up the whole time.”

You gape at him. “Wait—you bugged the Seven? How the hell did you pull that off?”

“I didn’t,” Hughie says with an awkward laugh. “Got caught.”

Your eyes widen. “You got caught?” The words come out more panicked than you intend, and your sweaty palms rub against the worn fabric of the couch. “Oh, God, I can’t—this is—what if I—”

Your mind explores every possibility, every unique way this can, will, go horribly wrong. Monica finds the bug and calls security. Your dad catches you red-handed, his disappointment turning into something darker.

Or, perhaps worst of all, you succeed and uncover the truth, and it will be worse than the weight of the uncertainty you've carried.

A heavy hand clamps down on your shoulder, stopping your thoughts cold.

Your head snaps up, and your eyes meet Butcher’s. His expression is calm but firm, and his grip feels strangely reassuring. For a moment, the world seems to steady itself. You grab his hand instinctively, your fingers brushing his. He notices, clears his throat, and pulls away, leaving you colder than you’d like to admit.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, his voice softer than you expect. “Smarter than Hughie, anyway. Low fuckin’ bar, I know, but still.”

“Hey!” Hughie protests from the floor. “What the hell?”

But Butcher’s already moved on, ignoring him. “Focus on the job. We’ll be outside in the van, listenin’ through the bug. If anything goes sideways, just leg it outta there.”

The authority in his voice is oddly comforting. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve misjudged him, if there’s more to him than the sarcastic, sharp-edged persona he’s so quick to project.

Hughie looks between the two of you, confusion playing on his face.

Butcher clears his throat. “‘Less of course you have a run in with Homelander. I ain't dealing with that cunt today.”

Ah, yes. There's the asshole who kidnapped you. You nod sagely, grimacing.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He grins, sharp and wolfish. “That’s the spirit.”

You roll your eyes, half-exasperated, half-amused.

Hughie glances between the two of you, his confusion obvious. “Wait, is Homelander actually a risk here? Or is he just—”

“Don’t overthink it, Hughie,” Butcher cuts in, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him wince. “She’ll be fine. Won’t ya?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

But as the plan starts to crystallize, the reality of what you’re about to do settles in your chest like a weight.

Fine is a relative term.

~~~

Frenchie deposits you back where he found you, the cloak of secrecy still intact. Sure enough, your heels and lab coat remain where you left them, an unremarkable crumple of fabric and leather in the shadows. It's somewhat comforting to know no one else has discovered your secret smoke spot, but disappointing all the same that not a single soul came looking for you.

Eight hours. The workday has long since ended, and it’s painfully clear that the wheels of CytoGenix churn on, unbothered by your lack of presence. You collect your things and swipe your badge, heels clicking sharply against the cold tile as the fluorescent lighting hums its dispassionate scrutiny above.

CytoGenix headquarters looms like a monument to ambition, nearly as ostentatious as Vought Tower. Fifty-five stories of cutting-edge labs, supercomputers, and glassy offices stretching high above Manhattan. Your father insisted that keeping most everything in-house kept CytoGenix self-sufficient, giving it an edge against the competition. You wondered if that same logic applied to the crown jewel of the building, his infamous combination office and bedroom in the penthouse. Your mother used to jokingly refer to the family home upstate as your father's vacation home, since he primarily lived out of the office. You couldn't deny that conducting an affair mere feet away from his work desk met the definition of efficient.

You step into the elevator now, the glass box offering a vertiginous view of the city below as it rises. The sight makes your stomach churn, so you focus on the reflective silver doors instead, breathing slowly in through your nose and out through your mouth.

The penthouse is as you remember it, coldly modern and sleek, with wide-open spaces and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the cityscape. Soft jazz hums from a turntable wedged between a pair of file cabinets, a strange touch of warmth in the otherwise sterile setting.

Your father’s mahogany desk is the only thing that breaks the space’s futuristic aesthetic. Stacks of papers teeter precariously, coffee mugs crowd the edges, and there he sits, hunched over a legal pad, scribbling furiously. He barely registers your presence as you approach, only flicking his eyes up briefly before returning to his work.

He says your name flatly, without warmth or curiosity, the same tone he might use for a colleague interrupting his train of thought.

Your heels click purposefully as you move closer, forcing yourself to breathe steadily, to keep your hands from trembling. You can’t afford to give yourself away. He can't suspect that you're here for any reason other than a friendly meeting between father and daughter.

Only, that in and of itself is suspect in your case.

When you look at him now you wonder if you see anything new, a different plane of his face you'd never noticed before, a nervous tic you'd ignored. Something, anything, that might suggest his culpability in your mother's death. Did he know? If so, what did he know? Had he been a passive player, vaguely aware that it was no accident? Or had he orchestrated the entire thing, feigning his grief all this time?

Who was the man sitting in front of you?

“Hi, Dad,” you begin, your voice carefully neutral.

“What is it?” he replies, not bothering to look up.

A flare of irritation rises, but you stamp it down. You’d expected this. “I was hoping we could talk.”

That finally gets his attention. He leans back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “About?”

“The internship,” you say, keeping your tone casual. “I just… I don’t think it’s working out. I’ve been thinking I might explore other opportunities instead.”

He stares at you for a moment, blinking slowly, as if waiting for the punchline of a joke he doesn’t find funny. Then he exhales sharply, tossing his pen onto the desk.

“Are you kidding me?” he says, his voice low but brimming with disdain. “You’re giving up already? How many times have Monica and I talked to you about seeing things through? About doing something useful with your life?”

The sting of his words is familiar, like a bruise you’ve stopped noticing. Still, it’s enough to spark a flicker of anger.

“I’m not giving up, Dad. I’m just saying this might not be the best fit—”

He cuts you off with a scoff, rising abruptly from his chair. “Fit? Jesus Christ, listen to yourself. The world isn’t about fit, it’s about work. Something you’ve clearly never understood.”

You grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself as he paces, one hand rubbing the crown of his balding head.

“I spent tens of thousands of dollars sending you to school overseas,” he continues, his voice rising. “You didn’t need a fancy education for this job but I agreed anyway, because you and your mother insisted on it. And for what? So you could come back here and whine about an internship? Biology isn’t going to help you run a company, sweetheart. Know your place.”

“I’m trying to tell you—”

“No! You don’t get to try,” he snaps, spinning to face you. “You do. You’re going to finish this internship, and then you’re going to take the seat on the board. Enough of this nonsense.”

You can see the veins in his temple pulsing, his voice growing louder with each syllable. It should scare you, the way his anger always boils over so quickly, but instead it just feels… predictable. Like muscle memory.

He's working himself into a frenzy, rising from his desk to pace around the room, reciting old adages about a hard day's work and bemoaning the laziness of today's youth, errant jabs directed toward your personal shortcomings scattered throughout.You absently consider making a bingo sheet with his favorite token phrases to bring to your next family dinner, barely concealing a chuckle at the thought of shouting BINGO! as Monica demurely chews her smoked salmon across from you.

Finally he turns to rest his head on the bookshelves that flank his desk, as though he were seeking refuge from your insolence among the leather-bound books you were certain he'd never read.

Perfect.

As he mutters to himself, your hand slips into your pocket, fingers closing around the small bug. His voice fades into a dull roar as you focus on the desk, feeling along its underside until you find the right spot. The adhesive sticks fast.

Done.

“You’re right,” you say robotically, standing and smoothing your skirt. “I’ve been stressed. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He exhales sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Stressed? Sweetie, you don’t even know the first thing about stress.”

Have you ever been kidnapped? You think.

Your teeth clench, but you force a smile, nodding as though you agree. Your eyes drift to a velvet painting of lilies above the turntable, the soft white flowers providing a point of focus as his voice fades into background noise.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” you say suddenly, cutting him off mid-sentence. You grab your purse and head for the elevator.

But something makes you stop, your hand hovering over the button. Something about his anger and the way you learned from your mother how to deal with it, how to defuse the bomb. You turn back to face him as he sits down to resume his work, the rage leaving his body as rapidly as it had arrived.

“You know, I really miss her. Mom, I mean.”

The words seem to strike him like a physical blow. He freezes, his face unreadable. After a moment, he clears his throat and forces a tight smile. “I miss her too.”

Liar. Thief. Asshole.

You say nothing. You leave. You hold your tears all the way down the elevator, all the way down the fluorescent hallway, all the way until ‒

Clickclickclick.

The sound of bitchy little heels, but not your bitchy little heels. The shrill echo of your name, all false sweetness and feigned excitement.

“Monica,” you say stiffly as she approaches, taking in her perfectly laid curls, pristine white blouse, and silk pencil skirt. The picture of elegance, the bane of your existence.

“Darling,” she coos, her saccharine voice grating. She places a hand on your shoulder, her grip just a little too firm. “What are you doing here so late? You’re usually long gone by now doing… Whatever it is you do.”

She says it like she's not quite sure what the hell you could possibly be doing with your time that doesn't involve being hunched over a desk, awash in the glowing blue light of a computer screen. You'd endured many a lecture from Monica about work ethic and potential, always with the implication that you were severely lacking in both departments. You desperately wanted to ask her if she'd ever familiarized herself with things like fidelity or morals, but reasoned it would be easier to just keep your mouth shut.

You force a smile, brushing her off. “Just stopped by to see my dad. Nothing exciting.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, you wonder if she sees through you. Can she clock your quickening heart rate, or the sheen of sweat on your face? Does she notice the frizz of your hair, the way you couldn't quite get it to sit the way it had before a hood had been thrown over it? She knows something is off, just not what exactly.

But then the plastic smile returns, all teeth and no sincerity.

“Lovely,” she says, squeezing your arm. “Well, don’t be a stranger. Cheers, darling.”

Monica loves to talk like a posh Londoner sometimes, like she wasn't born in Cheboygan, Michigan. You could vomit.

As she clicks away, you exhale and slip out into the alley. Across the street, the van waits, nondescript under the streetlights.

You’re vaguely aware of the bitter irony as you climb back into the van of the very men who kidnapped you hours earlier, but the relief is undeniable.

“I did it! And he didn’t even notice!” you announce, grinning despite the bizarre circumstances. Your heart thuds in your chest, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

The silence hits harder than expected. Butcher, Frenchie, and Hughie all avoid your eyes, their expressions ranging from uncomfortable to grim.

“Damn,” you say, trying to inject some levity. “Not even a ‘good job’? I was expecting at least one sarcastic thumbs-up from you guys.”

Nothing.

The tension in the van is thick and stifling, coiling in your chest like a lead weight.

It’s Hughie who finally speaks, his voice soft but pointed. “Wow, you, uh... weren’t kidding when you said your dad’s an asshole.”

The smile falls from your face. The weight doubles.

They heard.

They heard everything.

Every cutting word. Every ounce of disdain your father had casually thrown your way. All of it.

You feel like you’re standing naked under a spotlight. “Oh my God,” you stammer, your voice small and wavering. “I’m sorry you guys had to hear that. I—”

“It’s fine, ma poupette,” Frenchie interrupts gently, his voice warm. “Do not let it sit in your heart. It is... nothing.”

You nod, grateful for his kindness, but it doesn’t help. The sting of exposure lingers, burrowing deeper. Despite your rather brutal introduction, you can’t help but feel a sort of kinship with the Boys. These men have been through hell, you know that, but something about them hearing your father’s tirade, hearing things you secretly believe about yourself echoed by the man who raised you, feels suffocating.

Your eyes drift to Butcher, hoping for some sharp remark or offhanded quip to cut through the tension. Instead, he says nothing at all, his jaw tight as he avoids your gaze entirely.

Before the silence can grow unbearable, a crackle of static from the nearby receiver draws everyone’s attention. Hughie leans forward, fiddling with the dials as a voice filters through, thin and distorted.

Monica.

“I saw her in the hallway downstairs. What was she talking to you about?”

Your father's voice responds, crisp and biting. “Bitching and moaning.”

He laughs. Monica laughs. You wince.

Hughie plays with some dials, attempting to improve the sound, pretending like he didn't just hear that exchange.

When Monica's voice filters through again, it's clearer. “I come bearing good news,” she says, her tone syrupy and smug.

“Oh? Do tell,” your father replies.

“Quality Control will be testing the first batch of V2 in a couple weeks. Please tell me I can invite some of my Vought friends?”

Your stomach twists.

“Baby, you know exactly how to make a man happy,” your father drawls, his voice carrying an oily satisfaction. “Of course you can. Now, come here.”

Then, sounds. Sounds you'd rather not hear. Evidently, sounds the others would rather not hear as well, as Hughie quickly flips a switch, killing the audio.

The silence that follows is deafening.

“What the fuck is V2?” Hughie blurts out, breaking the tension. His voice is edged with unease, his wide eyes darting between you and the others.

You shake your head slowly, the knot in your stomach tightening. “I—I don’t know. CytoGenix and Vought have done joint projects before, but it’s usually just sponsorships or tech. Nothing like this.”

Butcher leans back with a sigh. His hand moves to his face, dragging down as if trying to physically scrape off his frustration. “I don’t know what it is,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, “but it sounds a bloody sight worse than V.”

Frenchie lights a cigarette, his hands shaking ever so slightly. “If it is anything like the first, then we are in very deep shit, mes amis.”

Your chest tightens further as the implications hit you. V2. A new generation of the drug that turned people into ticking time bombs of chaos and destruction. A knot of guilt begins to form in your chest, curling tighter with every second.

This was your father’s doing.

“Whatever it is,” Butcher says finally, his voice cold and hard, “we’re not letting it see the light of day.”

His eyes flick to you for the first time since you entered the van, sharp and assessing. It’s not pity, not anger. It’s expectation.

You realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s already decided you’re a part of this fight now. Whether you like it or not.

~~~

The van pulls up outside your apartment building on the Upper East Side. After the chaos of the day, the sight of the familiar facade feels almost surreal. A part of you wonders how you’re supposed to just... walk back into your life as if everything hasn’t been irrevocably altered.

You glance back at the men in the van, your kidnappers turned allies, and feel a pang of awkwardness. “Alright... goodbye, I guess?” you offer, your voice uncertain.

Butcher gives a dry, humorless smile. “In a week’s time, come back to the laundromat. Bring some clothes, do laundry like a good little citizen ‘til one of us shows up. If you’ve got a tail, they’ll think you’re just there to bleach your knickers.”

“Okay, I can do that,” you reply quickly, trying to sound more confident than you feel. Deep down, you want to prove yourself to them, to him. To show you’re not the helpless daughter your father paints you to be, in spite of what they heard today.

In spite of what you think of yourself every day.

You climb out, but before you can take more than a few steps toward the building, a hand grabs your elbow. You turn, startled, to find Butcher standing there.

“Let me walk you up,” he says, his tone gruff but somehow quieter than usual.

You blink. Butcher? Offering to walk you up to your apartment? You glance back at the van and catch Hughie and Frenchie craning their necks, their expressions mirroring your own disbelief.

“Uh... sure,” you say, fumbling for words. “I mean, I’m fine. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

He doesn’t respond, just nods toward the building. Reluctantly, you lead him inside.

The elevator ride is suffocatingly quiet, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but his expression is unreadable.

You feel a little silly leading the man into your lavish, paid-for-by-daddy apartment, knowing that he'll rest his head on a cot in the basement of a laundromat tonight. You wonder idly if he has an apartment to call home, or if, like your father, he too shits where he eats. You wonder why he feels the need to come in and see the apartment, but nothing about him being in your space feels intrusive.

When you open the door to your loft, you hesitate for a moment before stepping inside. “Well, this is it,” you say, your voice faltering.

He follows you in, his eyes scanning the space. The eclectic decor—a mix of warm woods, mismatched textiles, and knickknacks—feels so far removed from the sterile confines of CytoGenix. You can’t help but notice how out of place Butcher looks here, yet oddly... fitting.

You watch as he pokes around, taking in the details. The art prints on the walls. The stack of books on the coffee table. The half-empty cup of tea you’d abandoned this morning, now cold.

For a moment, you imagine him here. Standing in your kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. Slouched on the couch, the trench coat swapped for something softer. Following you up the stairs to the loft.

Your cheeks burn, and you shake the thought away violently. What the hell is wrong with you?

His voice cuts through your daydream.

His voice breaks through your spiraling thoughts. “I had a proper cunt for a dad too,” he says, his tone soft and almost hesitant.

You blink, caught completely off guard. “Oh?”

He doesn’t look at you, instead focusing on a small photo on the shelf—a candid shot of you and your mother from when you were small. He picks it up, his thumb brushing lightly over the glass. “Used to say the same shit to me and my brother. Called us lazy, useless... worse things, sometimes.”

His voice is flat, but there’s something raw beneath the surface, something unguarded.

You hesitate, unsure of what to say. “I’m... sorry,” you manage.

He sets the photo back down and finally looks at you. “Don’t be. He’s six feet under now. Good riddance.”

There’s no malice in his tone, just a hollow sort of finality. For a moment, the Butcher you’ve come to know, the sharp-edged, foul-mouthed enigma, feels human.

But as quickly as he let the walls down, they slam back into place. “You got your mum’s autopsy report here?” he asks, his voice clipped and businesslike.

You nod, the sudden shift catching you off balance. “Yeah. I’ll get it.”

You head upstairs to retrieve the manila envelope, your hands trembling slightly as you pull it from its hiding spot. When you return, he takes it from you without a word, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

The two of you stand there, the silence heavy. You want to say something, anything. To thank him for helping you, to ask about the man behind the trench coat, to yell at him for upending your life in the span of a single day. But the words stick in your throat.

It’s Butcher who finally speaks. “I’ll look into it,” he says, tucking the envelope under his arm. “See if it’s legit.”

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He nods, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. Then, without another word, he turns and heads for the door.

“Well,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder, “I’ll see you in a week.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels deafening in the quiet that follows.

You sink onto the couch, the events of the day crashing down on you all at once.

An eternity seems to have passed since that midnight phone call, since the sterile voice on the other end of the line informed you that your mother was gone. The grief had consumed you, left you hollow and detached, moving through life like a shadow of yourself. You had gone through the motions, not even making the slightest effort to force life into your flat affect. Every single day you met the world with a brave, numb face, waiting until the apartment door clicked shut before allowing the full-body, hyperventilating sobs to overtake you.

And then, in a single day, everything changed.

You glance at the photo Butcher had touched, your mother’s warm smile frozen in time. The guilt of betraying your father gnaws at you, tangled with the confusing comfort you felt among the Boys, and your inexplicable attraction toward the man who had both abducted and protected you.

Shaking your head, you retreat to your room, shedding your clothes and crawling beneath the covers. The too-big bed feels impossibly empty, and you lay there staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on you.

You stare half-lidded at the ceiling waiting for the familiar pull of your chest as the first sob claws its way out. When the tears finally come, they’re violent and unrelenting, wracking your body until it physically hurts.

Eventually, exhaustion claims you, and you dream of your mother.

Taglist: @mystic-writings

#billy butcher #fanfic #fanfiction #theboys #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher fanfic #william butcher #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #the boys #the boys tv #billy butcher x you #karl urban brainrot go brrr #billy butcher the boys

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a-killer-obsession · 22 hours ago

Text

Day 9 - Lump of Coal Wire + Punishment

Tags: afab she/her reader, depreciation, deepthroating, throatpie, throat fucking, rough, dacryphilia, subxdom relationship, masturbation

WC: 1.3k

“Breathe through your nose princess,” Wire commanded as he sank inside you, “there you go, see? I said you could take the whole thing. Stay still for me.”

You were sitting on the floor with your back against the bed, your head lolled back to rest on the mattress, as Wire loomed over you with a leg either side, his long cock deep down your throat, his balls against your chin. “Just like that,” he groaned as you choked on his cock and drool dripped from the corners of your mouth, “gag on it sweetheart, that feels so good.”

Wire's palms were flat against the bed, his legs straightened as he made shallow thrusts into your mouth, making sure to keep it as deep as possible before pulling out with a groan, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you gasped for breath. He pushed it back in, giving your face a few quick deep strokes, pulling away for you to breathe, and repeating. Every now and then he thrusted harder, making you gag as his length filled your throat, tears dripping down your face. Sometimes he stayed there, letting you choke on his length before pulling away.

Your wrists were bound over your chest, and all you could do was squeeze your hands together in comfort to yourself as Wire used your mouth as he pleased. Your cunt ached, unable to touch it, but this was all part of your punishment. He'd caught you red handed, masturbating when he'd specifically told you not to. You'd spent the last two days in a chastity belt, unable to touch yourself, Wire purposefully teasing you only to leave you unsatisfied. Finally, he'd taken the belt off, giving you hope that your torture was over, only to bind your wrists and stick his cock down your throat.

He let you breathe again, before settling into a hard fast pace that had you whimpering and choking, drool now dripping at a steady pace down the sides of your chin, his balls slapping against you with every deep thrust. “Such a pretty cocksleeve,” Wire cooed, wiping a tear from your cheek and licking it from his thumb, “that's it baby let me see those tears.”

You whined and squeezed your eyes shut as he held his cock in your mouth, waiting for you to choke around it several times before he let you breathe again. His hand wove under your head and gripped the back of your hair, holding your head steady as he fucked into your mouth. Space to breathe again, rinse, repeat. Every time he pulled away the string of spit that connected you to him would snap and drip down your chest, a stream of saliva running between your breasts and down your abdomen.

He gripped your head with both hands and moved it back and forth, using you like a fleshlight to jerk himself off, your throat contracting around him as you choked, making him groan at the added pressure. Your legs squirmed against the floor, you desperately wished it was your cunt he was fucking instead. “Stop moving or the belt goes back on,” he growled. You quickly obeyed, fearful of another two days without the opportunity to cum. You needed it so bad at this point, you would do anything he asked.

“Why couldn't you be this obedient for me before?” Wire tsk'd when you stilled, “it's like you wanted me to punish you.”

He fucked your throat hard and fast again, sometimes alternating back to moving your head instead of his hips, sometimes doing both for deeper, faster thrusts. Each time you gasped for air, he ran the head of his cock over your chin and cheeks, collecting your drool and tears and spreading them before resheathing himself in your throat.

“That's it, just like that,” Wire groaned, “I'm gonna give you my load and you're gonna be a good girl and swallow every drop.”

Wire's pace started to get erratic as he got close, making sloppy thrusts into your mouth, until he stilled with his cock right to the base, hot cum flooding your throat as he groaned. You choked and gagged on it, but he kept going in what seemed like an endless orgasm, making a few shallow thrusts to finish himself off before finally pulling out. He slapped your cheek appreciatively with his cock before leaving you gasping, your eyes still squeezed shut. He'd cum so deep down your throat that you'd had no choice but to swallow, barely even tasting it with how far down his long cock reached.

Something thudded on the carpet in front of you, and you opened your eyes as Wire made himself comfortable in an armchair facing you, a small towel over his cock that he'd used to wipe your spit off with. You looked at what he'd thrown, a cylindrical pillow with a silicone grinding pad strapped to it. You looked at him for clarification, or perhaps permission.

“You want to get off so bad?” Wire asked, “Go ahead and show me what a desperate little slut you are. Go on, show me.”

You quickly mounted the pillow, your cunt dripping with need and desperate for friction. The bumps on the grind pad felt so good against your pussy as you humped it like a bitch in heat, moaning unabashedly. Usually you might have felt a little more embarrassed about getting yourself off with Wire watching you so carefully with his sharp eyes, but you were so desperate to cum you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Your bound hands rested against the long pillow for support as you rolled your hips, putting as much weight into your grinding as possible.

“Look at you, desperate whore, still covered in your own spit after letting me use you,” Wire said cruelly, “I should have made you fuck the ship railing, let everyone see what a needy little bitch you are.”

You whined and felt yourself getting close, but you knew better than to do so without permission. You looked at Wire pleadingly, whimpering at the smug smile he gave you and the low chuckle he let out. “Need to cum already huh? Hmmm, I don't know if you deserve it. Maybe I should put the belt back on you.”

“Please, no!” You pleaded. You knew pandering to him would help your case, and right now you were certainly not above begging. “Please may I cum? Please? Please? I'll be such a good girl from now on, I promise!”

“Alright then,” Wire waved his hand dismissively, relaxing back into his chair and enjoying the show. “Since you make such a good cocksleeve, I'll let you cum.”

You let out a low wail as you shuddered against the grinding pad, pussy clenching around nothing as you came hard for the first time in days, calling out Wire's name, which pleased him greatly. You collapsed against the pillow, legs still quivering either side of it, before Wire carefully lifted you and placed you on the bed.

“Good girl, you did good,” he cooed. The mood had entirely shifted now, as it always did when a session was over. Wire was rough with you, but he always made sure to take good care of you afterwards. He unbound your wrists, pressing soft kisses to them, and handed you a glass of water from his side table. He cradled you to sit upright as you drank, taking the glass when you were done and running his hand through your sweat coated hair. “Catch your breath princess,” Wire said softly, “we'll have a bath in a minute but just breathe and relax for now, you did so well.”

You whimpered and nuzzled against his chest, his strong arms supporting you and rubbing your arm soothingly until he decided you were okay enough for him to leave to run the bath.

Like my stuff? Consider buying me a ko-fi

Oneshots Taglist: @daydreamer-in-training @chairmanraph @florcxo @luvnisstuff @nocturnalrorobin @fanaticsnail @h0n3y-l3m0n05

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #one piece x reader #kid pirates #kid pirates x reader #wire x reader #wire one piece

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letternotekisses · 1 day ago

Note

GAHHHHH THE LAST REAPER ONE HAD MY EYES PISSING FOR SOME REASON!? Love the nsfw slowburn and angst from that one. Can I kindly request for more?c:

Also cuz I don’t think I have seen that before on your blog could we get maybe a Bw!Gabe version with miss sunshine assistant this time?c: If u dont do the older timelines i would be also happy with grumpy reaps<3 love ur writing style btw u write all of the man so well wtf I’m addicted 😭

(18+mdni) anon u cutie<3 im hungover and gave my hand a try at bw reyes for the 1st time so im so sorry if its bad!

Reyes figured you were a plant, at first.

A little spy sent from Jack to gather up parts of intel that the golden boy of Overwatch could stick his nose into, to publicise the parts Reyes would rather stay hidden. And it was just like Morrison to send him someone so sweet and unassuming under the pretence of 'extra help', someone who'd bring him coffee with no complaints and organise his files with a smile. Someone to take some of that weight from his shoulders. It took a long time for Gabriel to even look in your direction at first, and even longer for him to start giving you any tasks.

(Although, that was partly your own doing. You'd stormed into his office one day when you were assured that he had no more meetings, jabbing a finger into the solid wall that was chest as you heatedly told him off over his flippant treatment towards you. Where Gabe then realised you were in fact not a honeypot, and rather just a very passionate young woman who wants to do her job. He let you chastise him until you were panting softly, where he then calmly asked you to make him a coffee, which had you thanking him in a tone almost too aggressive to be anything other than exasperatedly pleased. It was a slow start, but a start nonetheless.)

As much as he hated it, Gabriel soon came to rely on you for things. You knew every aspect of his schedule, knew how dark he took his coffee and even knew how to handle Genji and Cassidy when they started another stupid bet that had the vein in his forehead ready to burst. Gabe had become sickeningly attached to your presence at his side, clipboard in hand and an excited lilt in your voice for the day ahead. So bright eyed and bushy tailed it made him run hot with want and sick with guilt because he feared that Blackwatch would ruin you, and yet, he didn't want you to go.

And the threat of Jack plucking you back up and off to Overwatch still looms over him thickly like a storm cloud, has him drawn tight and stiff with uncharacteristic stress because he knows its something Jack can hold over his head, something he'd beg for like a dog, too.

You're too good for him and Reyes knows it. Too soft, sweet and kind compared to someone like him who runs with fire in his blood and stress hard wired in, and yet you're always there to pick up the pieces in a way that's well past professional. Letting him fuck your throat and use your mouth in in one of the many storage closets littering the hallways, in a slow stretch that makes pretty tears glitter in your eyes and has him whispering through grit teeth about how much of a good girl you are for helping him melt away some of that stress. Has him holding your hair back in a firm and tender grasp, thumbing your forehead like you were lovers.

In which, a part of him would like to be. He'd like to bring you back to his bed and tell you between breathy whispers that he loves you. To promise a ring around your finger between each slow thrust that has you gasping into his tan skin, scratching at his weathered back and whimpering his name. You're his in every way but that and it eats him from the inside out, tears his heart out his chest and eats it right in front of him because Gabriel knows he can't tether you to a man like him.

A man that isn't quite so human, something's hollow and missing and he plugs it with anger so white-hot that it fries him up inside. Time is running out and you know you're in danger by his side but you do it anyway. Gabriel knows that losing you means the world will have to burn and it makes something dark and smoky billow in his chest.

And after the Venice incident, he starts to feel that heat creep up behind him.

#asks #overwatch x reader #18+ mdni #cw mature #cw smut #angst #reaper overwatch #reaper x reader #reaper ow #gabriel reyes x reader #gabriel reyes #blackwatch #assistant!reader #blackwatch assistant reader #this is kinda buns tho #idk what this is i just wanted to post

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thollandsgirl2013 · 3 days ago

Text

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → fluff, morning breath?

Summary → Peter whines for a morning kiss, but you're not kissing him until he brushes his teeth.

You wake up to the faint sound of birds chirping outside and the warm morning light filtering through the curtains. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and you feel the soft sheets wrapped around you like a cocoon. Beside you, Peter shifts, his arm lazily draped over your waist, holding you close. His face is mere inches from yours, his hair messy from sleep, eyes barely open as he gives you the sleepiest smile you've ever seen.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice raspy from sleep. His eyes roam your face like he’s memorizing every little detail.

You return the smile, blinking slowly as you stretch a little. "Good morning, Pete."

He leans in closer, his lips just a breath away from yours. "I want my good morning kiss," he whispers, his lips curling into a soft grin.

But before he can close the gap, you place your finger firmly against his lips, stopping him mid-kiss. "Morning breath, babes."

Peter frowns, pouting immediately, his bottom lip sticking out like a little kid. "But… I’m your fiancé now!" He whines, his voice still groggy and a little slurred from sleep. "Doesn’t that mean I’m entitled to all kisses, morning breath or not?"

You shake your head, laughing softly at his adorably grumpy expression. "It doesn’t change the facts, Peter. Morning breath is morning breath."

He lets out an exaggerated groan, burying his face in the pillow. "Just one kiss, please? I promise it won’t be that bad," he pleads, his voice muffled in the pillow as he peeks up at you, his eyes wide and innocent.

You raise an eyebrow and shake your head firmly. "Brush your teeth first."

Peter groans even louder this time, throwing his head back dramatically like it’s the most inconvenient request ever. "Ugh, you’re so mean. I'm being denied love in the morning. I should have known what I was signing up for," he whines, squinting at you with that goofy, teasing smile.

"Brush. First. Go," you repeat, trying not to laugh as he grumpily sits up.

"Fine, fine," Peter grumbles, dragging himself out of bed like a kid forced to do chores. "But I’m doing this under protest!" He huffs as he trudges to the bathroom, throwing one last pouty glance over his shoulder before disappearing.

You hear the sound of the sink running and the faint noise of him brushing his teeth. You snuggle back into the covers, trying not to giggle as you picture him scowling in the mirror, probably making funny faces to himself.

A few minutes later, Peter comes back, his face lighting up with a triumphant smile as he jumps—literally jumps—back onto the bed, landing next to you with a soft thud. Before you can react, he practically pounces on you, his hands cupping your face as he presses a kiss to your lips, quick and eager.

"Mmmph—Peter!" You giggle, trying to push him away, but he’s relentless, kissing you over and over, peppering your face with playful pecks. "Peter! Okay, okay, you win!" You laugh, your heart swelling as his infectious energy pulls you fully out of sleep.

He finally pulls back, his face hovering over yours, eyes sparkling with that mischievous glow you love so much. "See, I brushed my teeth," he says proudly, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against yours. "And now, I’m gonna kiss you as much as I want."

You roll your eyes, still smiling as you run your fingers through his messy curls. "Yeah, yeah. And what about me? I haven’t brushed my teeth."

Peter grins, leaning in to kiss you again. "I don’t care," he says in that soft, endearing voice, his breath warm against your lips. "I love you. Morning breath, bed hair, everything." His hands gently cradle your face as he speaks, his touch warm and comforting.

You can’t help but melt a little as he continues, his lips brushing against your cheek. "In fact, I love that you stopped me earlier," he adds with a teasing smirk. "Gave me an excuse to show off how much I don’t care about morning breath. Because I love you soooo much," he stretches out the word, planting exaggerated kisses on your cheeks, forehead, and nose.

You’re laughing now, your heart fluttering as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close. "Alright, alright, you’ve made your point," you say, smiling up at him.

But Peter’s not done. He gives you the biggest, most exaggerated puppy dog eyes, his lip quivering dramatically as he whines, "But I didn’t get enough kisses yet."

You roll your eyes, but you can’t resist him. "Alright, you big baby," you say, pulling him down for another kiss.

Peter practically beams, his entire face lighting up as he leans in, kissing you softly, but this time it’s slower, sweeter. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes half-lidded, completely content.

"I’m never going to get tired of this," he whispers, his voice soft, the goofy energy replaced by something warmer, more intimate. "Waking up next to you, kissing you, just... being with you."

Your heart swells as you reach up, brushing your thumb gently across his cheek. "Me neither," you whisper back.

Peter grins again, a little less goofy but just as sweet. "Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me. Morning breath and all."

And just like that, he presses his lips to yours once more, the perfect start to another day with the man you love.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

#peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfic #tomholland2013 #tom holland #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker #peter parker spiderman #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #thollandsgirl2013 #tom holland spiderman #tom holland fanfiction #spider man

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quinloki · 5 months ago

Note

my immediate response was 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY MISSED', but it makes perfect sense. He sustains a minor injury and now he's going to spend the entire campaign season talking about his 'assassination attempt' and how it was clearly done by democrats and how he's the most wounded warrior in our country's history. fuck's sake.

I don't want to get into politics on main too much, but with two confirmed deaths, it makes it less of a possibility for being staged. I would, admittedly, not put it past him, but more than worry about the legitimacy, what I think we're going to have to brace for is a lot of rage and violence from his supporters.

Hate crimes against visible minorities are going to surge.

Stay safe out there my friends. Do what you need to, and please, if you can do so safely, be sure to vote. I know - I KNOW - you don't have to say it, because I KNOW.

But the alternative is beyond whatever suffering you might think we deserve.

#quin answers #captaintrio #us politics #please vote #please stay safe #please lets all stick around and make it through this

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yuckydraws · 1 year ago

Text

(Click for better quality)

Healing & Growth

(gif made by my friend @robanilla-arts is below - slight warning for flashing! Thanks again, Rob!)

#if you feel like reading it - I'm gonna ramble in the tags.#Don't really feel like having it attached to the post for forever... cause what if i just wanna reblog some fairysona art??#anyways #this year sucked a lot. in a lot of ways. but im grateful for it.#healing is stupidly hard and annoyingly enough? not linear in the slightest. Yet infuriatingly - it is worth it.#I am far from done with healing. I've barely scratched the surface.#but im learning and connecting with myself along the way.#The biggest step I've taken this year is working on my people pleasing ways. it's a bad habit birthed from a lot of different traumas.#but it no longer rules my life.#I am not passive anymore - and surprise! that doesn't make me a horrible or evil person.#my kindness is no longer a weakness. its still a part of me and always will be. i won't let go of it.#but it is no longer to a fault #there are people undeserving of my kindness... i realize that now. I know what i will and will not put up with in every kind of relationshi #im still learning and exploring - and i've said a lot of goodbyes this year. I'm sure i will say more.#but that's okay.#some relationships are forever - some serve you for a while and teach you a lesson when they end.#and some relationships stick around and don't *have* to have a deeper connection #and that's also okay.#I didn't think I'd make it through this year in all honesty. I was very close to ending it all on multiple occasions.#But. for what it's worth - as of now im glad im here.#i will continue to struggle and have my hard times. im not naive enough to think depression just goes away.#but im okay for now and im moving forward.#there will be pauses and abrupt stops and likely some good ol' rotting involved. but when i can - ill be moving forward.#i will not speak a word of 2024 because no matter what it will have it's ups and downs.#but i will continue to keep working on myself. and that's all anyone can do in this weird life.#if you made it through all of that... uhhhh wow you got a crush on me or smth? /j/j/j/j #but fr - if you read this far... thank you. i hope you're faring well and that you have a happy celebration tonight.#sleep well and dream well when it comes to you #yucky draws #my art

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screampied · 1 year ago

Text

❛ TOO SWEET! ❜

geto, toji, gojo, nanami, choso. jjk men who can’t get enough of your sweet taste ‘& becomes needy for your touch.

total wc. 3.0k

warnings. fem!reader, aphrodisiacs, whiney men, unprotected sex, mating press, cowgirl, doggystyle, nipple play, eating out through your panties, dry humping, praise

an. request thank yew aiii, using this req as an excuse to make the jjk men whiney.

CHOSO ☆ KAMO

“baby w-wait,” he swallows, and choso’s panting heavily. heaving practically…

he just couldn’t keep his hands off you — ever since he told you in that soft, shaky red-handed voice that he ‘accidentally’ swallowed and eaten your freshly new bought sugary-coated sweets. “i feel so…” he murmurs, spinning you around before planting a kiss on your neck, then another, then another. “i need you. y-you smell sweeter than usual.”

“oh..is it that bad?” you stare up at him, a single eyebrow of yours raises, and he whimpers. you’re teasing him. the pout that curls down his lip is just adorable.

choso doesn’t give you a answer. he’s so starved of your wanted touch, all he does is drag a few inelegant awkward steps towards you, bringing you into a deep kiss.

choso cups your face with his big hands, his tongue swipes against yours and he backs you up against the glass cold refrigerator door.

he lets off a delicious moan inside your mouth and you gasp, feeling him spread your legs apart with his knee and your own whimper slips out as he’s kissing you. his body heat against yours was so warm, and every few seconds he broke away to repeat your name underneath his breath his shaky needy whispers. oh… maybe..

it really was that bad…

“are you sure?” you faltered with a shy smile, massaging the nape of your neck with your fingers. choso sat on the bed, his face remained flustered and plastered which nothing but whole heartedly lust and thirst. “this’ll help you um..stop feeling all….you know.”

“baby, yes—please,” he whines, his eyes plead. choso’s entire body felt so hot-tempered, warm.

it was cute seeing him grow frustrated, yet he was still as whiney as always, pink lips of his pursing and pouting as you teasingly and slowly made your way to sit on his face. “t-thank you, thank y—mph..”

your panties were still on but choso could care less, as you plopped down gently on his face — he couldn’t take it.

one single stripe lick between the crevices of your underwear was enough to make you moan out his name, hovering over him while giving him that same timid gaze. “c’mon. i need this, need you,” he’d speak, his own breath was racing against itself, jittery.

he gives your thighs a quick pry with his right hand, spreading your legs and you moan as he’s literally eating you out through your laced panties.

“ride my nose, baby. pleasepleaseplease. wanna savor my pretty girl’s—” and he pauses to breathe, almost forgetting to before moaning out. “..pussy.”

“c-choso..” you panted, starting to ride against his nose. he looked so pretty and submissive underneath you, a smile never leaving his lips as you were continuously starting to cover the lower half of his chin with your sweet slick. “fuck, fuck.”

his tongue was sloppy, never ending with the way it slurps your folds up. teasing your puffy clit with numerous sucks, his head’s swiftly moving and jerking as your hips moved and moved against him. choso reaches down to rub against the brick hard bulge building up in his shorts and he whines.

“c-can i touch myself?” he whimpers, and your heart swoons at him even asking. “….god, i’m so hot for you, baby. you make me so dirty. your taste… ‘s doin' this to me. just.. wanna please you, all night long baby.”

SUGURU ☆ GETO

“m' serious, princess,” geto mutters, gripping onto your shoulders. he looked like he’d just came back from his hourly workout. he’s staring you dead in the eyes, some strands of long black hair sticking to his forehead, and it appears as if he’s nearly out of breath. “i…ate your uh candy. but it’s not like you labeled it or anyt-”

geto freezes for a moment. he grows dramatically stiff, before staring down at his pants then at you. “shit.”

“…sugu, are you hard?” you giggled.

and oh, he grows so embarrassed. geto’s facial expression turns into a cute scowl, his ears grows hot the more he stares at you—and indeed he is.

geto’s boner was sort of hard to ignore. him wearing grey sweats didn’t make things easier either.

“can..can you help me or not? y’don’t know how painful this…is,” he huffs out and seconds later after you comply with a sweet little ‘okay’ he’s got you sprawled out all pretty on the bed. “more hornier than u-usual..” he swallows, leaning in to plant kisses straight down your chest to your stomach before he slides your panties off.

you stared at geto, and he licks his lips, panting. his chest heaved back and forth and he’s sweating a bit, he’s so turned on he feels so hot once he’s easing his way inside your pussy with his dick.

“m-mhm,” he bites his lip, keeping one hand resting on your tummy. you never heard him this whiney before and it was so cute. he doesn’t wanna rush but he can’t help it but start to create a pace with his hips. you moaned once he leaned into you, whining in his low voice, “kiss me, please. kiss me, princess.”

he was so thick. you felt him everywhere, his thrusts were so sloppy against you. more sloppier than usual but he was so driven.

his mind raced and his heart heated ten times faster than it regularly does.

“come here, baby.” you playfully smiled, moving his long dancing hair strands from his face and he deeply kissed you with tongue. hearing you say ‘baby’ got him more turned on.

the candy, your taste, and just your smooth sweet voice alone was gonna be the death of him.

“okay, okay…” he pants, you wrap your arms around him as his body weight lightly lingers against your chest. he’s so sensitive, warm as he leans in to kiss you for a second time.

it’s more quick and steamy. your tongue collides against his and you taste the sweet tang of the intoxicated candy residing on his tongue. you moaned at his hips smacking against yours at such rhythm. geto lets off a soft whiney purr at the way you comb a hand through his hair.

his lips were connected to yours for what seemed like forever. his warmth radiates against your skin as his body rocks against you.

“so sweet,” he murmurs, breaking away for a brief moment, his cock taps against your most sensitive bits and you whine. geto’s gentle but can’t help but be a bit crazy with thrusts, his strokes that made you dizzy. “i-i need more,” he huffs out, kissing the side of your mouth, then your neck, then your chest.

geto’s still huffing and puffing as he’s inside of you—each stinging slap he creates with his hips, you run into him and he moans, raising your right leg up, the leg that was wrapped around his waist to lick a long stripe up it while keeping direct eye contact. “can’t get enough.. ‘n it’s all your damn fault, princess.”

NANAMI ☆ KENTO

“sweetheart..”

is all your boyfriend says. you’re bent over the counter, and he pauses, you slip off a moan as nanami’s pressed up against you. his voice sounds lower than usual, raspy and somewhat whiney..? he intakes a breath before lifting the fabric of your sundress up. “i don’t want you to..see me like this.”

“kento, baby,” you shyly smile, not even facing him. “i told you yesterday not to eat the candy. the side effects are um…strong.”

with one hand, nanami tugs on his tie back and forth, he’s hot. “i’m aware of that now,” he grunts and you let off a gasp, feeling his hard boner rub against your ass. he grabs onto your waist and starts to make you grind your ass against him and he swears underneath his breath.

“fuck me,” he mutters in frustration. “forgive me, s-sweetheart but i just…i really wanna take you right here over this counter. restrain your cute hands with my tie and..”

“what’s stopping you then?” you teased.

and that was all it took nanami couldn’t hold back anymore, the lust overtook him and it was too strong. your cloying fragrance alone had him so tipsy. you’re perfectly arched over the sleek shiny, granite kitchen counter. nanami’s ruthless with his hits against your core. “k-kento..”

you’d moan out, your own hands pinned against your back with the neatly tie restraining your wrists, not too tight but just enough. you’re just bent over with the most perfect arch.

he’s so warm as he sloppily thrusts against you, again and again. his tip brushes against between your folds and you whimper out from how good he’s hitting you from behind. he’s got an exquisite tempo of roughness but also very gentle.

nanami grunts with the way your ass kisses against him each time. he purposely grows quiet to hear the hard hits, yanking on your pretty sundress. “jus’ like that, baby,” he’d moan out, barely able to contain himself. “throw yourself back…against me, jus’ like that…goddamn, girl.”

you were hunched over, wrists still restrained with his striped tie, a good grip of you as you’re being pounded ruthlessly against the counter. he’s never felt this horny and aroused before, hot and cold describes his heat and he groans at the way you move against him.

his dick reached you in each crevice, each spot with such ease you’re whining. you covered his base with your slick, he gets so hard from the recoil the more he stares down. nanami eyes the way the pretty sundress you wore—the one he bought you for valentine’s day, was all wrinkled and lazily pulled up to your waist. “s-so good, kento. more..”

“good, want you to feel good,” he rasps, caressing your bare ass once more. once his fat tip reaches your g-spot with a single hit you choke out his name and it sounds so pretty. “arch that pretty back just a more for me, pretty.”

you do and he gives you a soft encouraging spank, just to hear you whimper out kentooo. it drives him crazy, you drive him crazy—he’s so obsessed with the way your ass jerks back against him.

one swift smack and you moan, he slides a tongue across his lip, grunting at the way the recoil just bounces against him. he’s so dizzy, holding on to your hips, a firm grip and making you move back and forth before he starts panting.

“a little more, sweet girl,” and you do, moaning once his hefty base smacks against your ass. he starts to get a bit whiney, despite his low pitched voice, he’s completely losing composure. “all the way down, bend for me….y-yeah,” he stutters, and you get shivers, feeling nanami teasingly run two fingers down your spine.

“fuck, you’re gonna milk me, honey. make a…damn mess out of me.” and you do—because not even moments later, nanami ends up spraying thin ropes of of his cum all over your pussy, painting it like a canvas. “got me all messy just for you, p-princess.”

FUSHIGURO ☆ TOJI

toji’s hungry ass genuinely doesn’t care.

the moment he spots a pocket-sized, untouched velvet box of tasty sweets with cute neat handwritten of a sharply that wrote ‘DO NOT EAT ME!!” he pays no mind.

eating it, savoring the rich taste of caramel and cinnamon. he’d probably eat in front of you just to spite you.

yet, the last thing you’d expect would be to return home to a needy whiny toji.

“hey…girl,” you hear from behind you. he sounds worn out, as if he’d run a marathon.

he greets you with an awkward hug, which is more so just him feeling on your ass, his boner poking against your leg and he intakes your sweet scent before grunting into your neck.

“i…i ate the fucking candy. and all of a sudden you smell sweeter than..than usual and, shit.” he sighs, feeling your soft lips kiss the side of his mouth, his scar. “look. i just..i need you, bad,” and he sounds embarrassed, not even presenting you eye contact.

his eyes hide underneath his long uncut strands before he continues, picking you up while gripping down on your thighs. “but..maybe this’ll fuckin’ help..”

and by that…he means putting you in a simple mating press, toji’s stuffing you full of cock, he’s doing more moaning than you which is surprising.

his weight that lodges over your pussy just smacks against you each and everytime. he’s treating you like a rag doll basically. you’re just dumbly being stuffed full of inches, holding onto his beefy arms while he’s thrusting in and out, smack after smack it makes your ears ring.

“mhm yeah baby—girl,” he’d choke out, and you’re squeezing down on him so tight it makes his jaw clench. “so damn…hot, fuck i need more…gotta overflow this pussy s’good it’s drippin’ out.” and you whimper at him clamping down on you.

his thrusts became so nasty and sloppy, barely any rhythm.

toji looks so pretty when he’s needy. deranged, but pretty. he’s sweating a bit, beads race down the sides of his forehead, toned muscles were tense, including his back muscles. yet he blinks twice again.

slowing his strokes just a bit before groaning. “f-fuck, nasty bitch y’er tryna milk m-me?” and he whines—a gasp wretching from his mouth before that’s when toji realizes.

he came early.

toji stares at you, panting heavily, bottom lip quivering as he’s still got you in a mean mating press. your legs were just dumbly in the air, twitching and you moaned at feeling his cum trickle down your slit, oozing out of you.

“toji baby, did you just whine?” you teased, heaving yourself. and toji showcases a glare, bringing a swift spank towards your pussy and you moan.

“say…say that shit again…” he murmurs, all out of breath. he sits up, still stuffed deep inside you, his thick sheeny triceps flexed as he had them pressed against the sides of you.

“say what?”

he’s so embarrassed—a sheepish expression washes over him, tips of his ears were fuming with hotness before he grumbles, pulling out just to avert his eyes towards your messy pussy. “fuckin’….call me…baby again...please.”

“call you baby, yeah?” you teased, and he glares, a cute scowl on his face

“…you heard me, whore.”

GOJO ☆ SATORU

“hey, you’re back,” he utters, hugging you from behind. he smells so good—peppering your neck with a variety of chaste kisses, he sounds a bit shaken up and he’s far more clingy than usual.

the minute you hug turn around to hug him, softly running a finger down his undercut he lets off a moan. “y-your touch. ‘s been so long since-”

“toru i was only gone for three hours,” you mumbled, and he stared at you.

his entire face was flushed, his usual fluffy and well was all in his face. messy, ruffled, and he was sweating just a bit.

“why-” then you pause, moving your eyes towards the night stand to see the empty wrappers of candy scattered everywhere. “you- did you eat those?”

“no,” he immediately says, with a swift head shake, before letting off an ashamed, “yes.. i couldn’t help it. i thought you were just joking about the um…horniness.. but baby, i-i need you on top of me.”

he was so desperate.

you decided to 'help' him, in his way he wanted you to ride him so the lust could wear off, hopefully.

gojo’s so loud, slouched back against the squashy pillows of the sofa.

his head goes back before gripping your waist, whining at the way your hips rollicked against him. “f-fuck me more, touch me more. kiss me..baby please, ‘m so hot, pussy’s making me burn up, fuck..”

“satoru,” you mumbled, bucking your hips against him and it makes you suck your teeth. he was so big, easily stretching you out, molding out your pussy with such grace.

“stop talking.” you moaned, rocking back and forth. his cock, the girth of it stretched inside of you and you bite down on your lip.

gojo’s hair nearly covers his eyes, and he’s panting and whining each second. the way you clamp and squeeze around him makes his head spin.

“m-make me, girl.” he pouts.

you rolled your eyes, leaning in to kiss him and gojo moans in your mouth. the slim tip of his tongue ran against yours and he was so sloppy, breathing out his nose. he squeezed your ass with his left hand before whimpering once he started to bottom out.

he pulls away, simultaneously grabbing one of your breasts to latch his lips onto your perky nipple, a sweet attempt to hide his moans but he was still loud.

“mph,” he muffled, blue eyes staring up at you as you rode him so good his eyes nearly starts to roll back and you moan from the stimulation. his orgasm came so hard that he’s almost seeing stars. he painted your insides white—so much came out, it’s like he’s been saving his old just for you, he couldn’t stop tottering while being beneath you.

that’s when he lets out a sharp breath—tapping you lightly with his bottom lip visibly poking out.

“can..can you praise me?” he pants, you slow down your rhythm and gojo’s pupils dilates a bit, he swallows before moaning once you lean in to kiss near his neck. “your voice gets me so..tingly.”

“you did so good, satoru,” you hummed, kissing his nose, then his neck, then his chin, he’s still buried inside and he can’t stop moaning from your touch.

you run a finger down his v-line and he whimpers, his eyes following your movement and he was indeed warm. “…good boy.”

“jus’ hearing you talk ‘s gonna make me cum again, baby.” he choked out.

his soft shaky moans go against your ear the minute you start to ride him again, a slow yet sensual pace and he’s about to lose his mind. “don’t s-stop fucking me please. ‘m your good boy. all yours...fuck.”

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makismei · 23 days ago

Text

in the same universe as this :,) cw: toy usage, hint of brat taming, hints of sadism & machoism, 18+ content, overstim, dubious consent, soft :(

“you’re doing it again,” he deadpans, knocking your thighs open, “keep. them. open.”

pearly slick oozes from your cunt, soiling the newly washed sheets and sticking to your inner thighs. toji sits in front of you, a blank look on his face but you know how he’s truly feeling from his eyes.

lidded and intently focused on your poor, leaky cunt, he mindlessly goes through a small box on the bed, feeling around for what feels interesting.

it’s your box of sex toys. the ones you used before you started dating the man in front of you. it’s been a while since you’ve reached for them, since it feels like toji knows your body wayyy more than you do, and also because he gets you there, he doesn’t let you escape until you’ve gone brainless from all the orgasms he’s blessed you with. why would you ever need to do the work again?

but toji isn’t all too familiar with adult toys. of course, he knows about the basics—dildos and vibrators, but when he accidentally stumbled upon this little treasure box of yours (his own words), curiosity took over him. he’s never seen pieces of silicone and plastic look so lewd, and the look on your face was so precious, he just had to try them.

“hmm,” lowly, he calls your name, “what’s this?”

heavy eyelids blink open, registering what’s in his hand before you shoot up, attempting to scurry away but your bed isn’t that big and his reflexes are out of this world—

“that’s a reaction,” he grins, eyeing the small red toy, shaped like a flower. “you used this one a lot?”

you shake your head, cheeks burning and eyes welling up with tears. crocodile tears, toji raises a brow, beckoning you to continue.

“‘s too much, it..” you trail off, breaking your gaze, but his hand guides you back, gently thumbing your cheek.

“you’re in control baby,” he whispers, “i won’t do anything you don’t want, you know that.”

of course you know, that’s why you let him do whatever the hell he wants with you. and frankly, him using that cursed little rose toy is making you more excited than you thought.

“it… made me squirt for the first time…” you squeak, speeding up with each word spoken, “i only used it a few times because the first setting was already too m—hold on, waitwaitwait—”

“this?” he drags you back, spreading your legs to make room for himself, “m’ gonna have fun with this.”

“toji,” you weep, anticipating, and he knows, a soothing hand caressing your thighs and waist, “m’ nervous.”

and toji knows he’s sick and utterly deplorable, because your reaction is turning him on. he’s excited, out of the few he’s tested already and the others yet to come, he has an inkling of a feeling that this one will be his favourite.

“s’ okay,” he coos, “what’s your word, gorgeous?”

“ginza…” the city you met him in. a little corny, but it works.

he hums, smiling. “you ready?”

you nod, shyly looking up before correcting yourself, “yes.. m’ ready.”

it doesn’t take him long at all to figure out the buttons. there’s only two after all, the power button and the other one that controls the settings.

the buzz makes you tense up, but you relax slightly under your boyfriend’s loving touch.

he spreads your lower lips with a thumb and pointer finger, whistling lowly. he lazily collects your juices, smearing it over your clit.

with bated breaths, you let out a quiet cry when the suction latches onto your swollen clit. back arching almost immediately, toji’s shocked by your reaction. he grins, amused. cute, he thinks, watching you drool and squeal.

you’re surprisingly still, muscles tense and lost hands trying to find purpose.

would it be too much if he started fingering you?

you let out a long wail, head jolting to look down at him. he’s smirking, pleased with your shocked expression.

but he’ll be nice, for now, only sliding in one finger as he eyes your reaction.

it hasn’t even been long, maybe just over two minutes, but by the telltale squeeze of your cunt on his finger he knows you’re cumming.

“already?” he laughs, crooking his finger just right, “no way.”

“i—i told yooouuuu!” you’re absolutely gone when he presses against that little spot inside of you, screeching as your body locks up. toji feels his finger being pushed out, a stream of liquid following, splashing lewdly from your cunt.

and god, just at the sight of you, the sounds you’re making—he’s about to lose it. but he grits his teeth, using a free hand to quickly hold himself off.

he takes the toy away, turning it off, but still stimulating you with his thumb. your body starts quivering from all the pleasure and it’s been a while since he’s seen you cum like that; he worries for a moment that he pushed you too hard.

but he lets you ride it out, quiet sobs of pleasure filling the room. your head is turned to the side, shaking hands covering your face. he praises you softly, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to the inner side of your knee.

when he sees you’ve calmed down, he gently moves your hands away, pressing a kiss to your tear soaked cheeks, both sides, before kissing you deeply. you moan, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

when he pulls away, he cradles your face in his hands. “how was that?”

it feels like a fire ignites beneath your skin, his stare rapt and focused only on you.

your eyes shift away, meek and ashamed, “i liked it…”

“don’t get all shy with me doll,” he grouses, “i gotta know how you feel.”

your hips are still twitchy, eyes glazed over. “toji,” you whine softly, tears pooling in your eyes yet again and this time he’s actually worried. “m’ not lying… it felt so good, but i’m really embarrassed.”

“baby,” he coos, chastely kissing your lips, “s’ okay, s’ nothing you need to be embarrassed about.”

he turns you both over, so you’re laying on his chest. you listen to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and true. the warmth of his body is soothing, his fingers tapping up and down your spine.

“toji,” you call, meek and unsure. he hums.

“i love you,” you mutter, raising your head, “i know we don’t say it a lot, b-but—”

he smiles, all the way from his lips to his eyes. his entire face lights up, “if i knew making you cum real hard makes you a softy—ow! okay! don’t bite me!”

he’s laughing, hand brushing the hair from your face. “i love you. more than you’ll never know, doll.”

it’s resolute, he’s so unashamed that it’s annoying.

you grumble, hiding your face in his chest. your breath stutters when you feel his cock poke your leg.

“sorry,” he chuckles, “he likes you.”

“shut up,” you mumble, hand reaching back. it’s searingly hot and heavy in your hand. you can feel one of his veins pulsing under your touch.

“sweets,” he panics, “s’ okay, jus’ leave it… holy shiitttt..”

you whine, thighs quivering at the feeling of his leaky tip pressing against your slit.

“tojiii,” you drool, looking up at him, “i want it.”

he rubs a hand over his reddening face, unsure. need is taking over him, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold back. “baby, can you handle it?”

you nod, “yes, yes please,” you call his name, drawn out and needy and fuck, he’d be a shit boyfriend if he doesn’t give his lady what she wants right?

#i need him BAD #this is my dream… a little deranged but still my dream nonetheless ….#jujutsu kaisen smut #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader

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dreaming-medium · 2 months ago

Text

Language Barrier

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 7K

Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers

Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.

———

A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.

‘How are you?’ - English

‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean

—————————————————————————

Luck was not on your side today.

It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?’, the universe takes it as a challenge.

Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.

Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.

Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.

“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”

You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.

It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!

Where is it? Where is it?

There!

You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.

A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.

The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.

It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.

Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.

After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.

Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.

Is that a 6 or an 8?

Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–

There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.

You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.

His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.

The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.

You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.

The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.

Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?

Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.

Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.

There’s a beat.

You try again, really putting your back into it this time.

“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.

“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”

You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”

The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”

You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.

Another series of blinks are exchanged.

“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.

You nod. “No… no Korean.”

A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.

“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.

“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.

“No.”

Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.

“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.

The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.

Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?

After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.

“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.

“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”

“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.

A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.

Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.

If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.

He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.

But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.

The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.

“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.

Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”

“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.

You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.

All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.

Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”

Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.

The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.

Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.

He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.

“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.

“A car accident?”

He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.

“Car accident,” he says in Korean.

“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.

Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.

“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.

The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.

You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.

The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.

He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!

Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.

The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.

After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.

‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.

The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.

“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.

“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.

Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.

‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’

Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.

‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’

A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.

‘Try learning Korean.’

Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.

‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’

Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”

He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.

‘You don’t have an umbrella.’

Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.

But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.

You type a message back to Minho.

‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’

He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.

“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.

Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.

Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.

You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”

A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?

No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.

Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.

Back to the app.

The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.

‘What do you do for work?’

Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.

So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.

‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’

Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.

‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’

A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.

‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’

Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.

Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.

He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.

Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.

You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.

Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.

‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’

His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.

“You are welcome,” he answers in English.

His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.

After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.

‘Your turn. What do you do?’

Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.

His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.

You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.

He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?

Eventually, he turns the phone around.

‘I’m an idol.’

“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”

Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”

The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.

You type in your phone.

‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’

With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.

‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’

Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’

“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.

‘When do you go back to America?’

‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’

A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.

You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.

‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’

Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.

‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’

Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.

‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’

Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.

‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’

‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’

Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.

Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.

Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.

It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.

The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.

In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.

You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.

“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.

Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.

A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.

“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.

Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.

“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.

An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.

Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.

A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.

“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”

He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.

“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.

“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?

A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”

“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.

Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.

He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.

“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”

“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.

“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”

“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”

A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.

“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.

“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.

Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”

A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.

Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.

He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.

Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.

Is this really happening?

A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.

He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–

He’s shrugging off his hoodie.

Oh, he thinks you're cold.

Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.

Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.

It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.

Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.

“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.

Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.

There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.

It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.

‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’

Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.

‘I’m usually not.’

You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.

‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’

The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.

You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.

A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.

Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.

You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.

There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.

Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,

“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.

Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.

But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.

How is this even possible?

You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.

Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.

His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.

Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.

Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.

Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.

The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.

He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.

His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.

A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.

Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.

Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.

Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.

His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.

Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.

The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.

“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.

“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.

More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.

Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.

His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.

“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”

Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”

His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.

There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.

Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.

Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.

Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.

His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.

Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.

Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.

Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.

Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.

In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.

Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.

“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.

“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.

“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.

“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.

You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.

“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”

“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.

Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.

‘Can I please buy you a drink?’

A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.

“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”

He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.

With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.

“Come,” he says confidently.

“Lead way.”

#Lee know x reader #Lee Minho x reader #Skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #Lee know x y/n #Lee Minho x y/n #lee know reader insert #Skz x y/n #Lee know fluff #Skz fluff

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kurooh · 6 months ago

Text

ROUGH N ROWDY ! — JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. when he’s rough with you, it only gets better and better.

⟡ feat. gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, kamo choso.

⟡ warnings: 18+ content (mdni), f! reader, various degrees of rough sex, spanking, face fucking, reader wears a skirt in choso’s, scratching, biting, one face slap, clit slapping, overstimulation.

⟡ xoxo, juno: my fav men <3 rbs are appreciated sososo much !!

— GOJO SATORU.

“fuck, so good..” satoru groans loudly, silencing your wails as he pushes your head deeper into the bed. he’s behind you, fucking your pussy with no regard for how rough he’s being.

he grips your hips so hard that his nails have left crescent moons indented into your skin, and it makes you cry into the sheets. satoru could always get a little rough, depending on the day and how you felt about it. but he’s always been really mean when he fucks you like this.

“toru, t-too rough!” you scream into the sheets, hole fluttering with delight when he slaps your clit.

“i don’t think so,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “seems like your pussy likes it, yeah? you’re always such a slut when i fuck you like this.”

your moans and cries are muffled when he slams your head further into the sheets, going so far as to rub your face in the puddle of drool you’ve created.

“aww, you’re sucking me in so greedily. i think i’ll keep slapping your slutty pussy, hm?”

he punctuates his statement with a stinging slap to your clit that has you sobbing, pushing back against him. satoru’s nails rake down your back, leaving puffy marks on your skin.

“satoru, harder!” you finally jerk your head to the side and stare at him, face messy with drool and tears.

his fingers thread through your hair as he adjusts your head and pushes you back down onto the sheets. “oh, but i might as well not touch you, huh? the agreement was to keep your face down, and your ass up.”

— GETO SUGURU.

“oh, come now, you can take it.” suguru’s voice is firm, and he accentuates his point with hard slaps to your ass. whiny, pathetic cries of his name leave your kiss-bruised and bitten lips as your head falls forward, eyes dazedly focusing on his cock pistoning in and out of you.

“s-sugu, please, it’s too much, i—” a slap to your ass, harder than the last, cuts you right off and has you moaning. your ass stings, the skin hot but still ready for more.

“hm, you wanted this, isn’t that right?” he groans, choking on pleasure as he tries to keep his voice still. the sound of his wet thrusts fill the car, the air heavy with sweat and the scent of sex. your fingers scrabble against the car door, nails biting into your palms when he thrusts particularly hard.

suguru’s cock slams into the deepest parts of you, punching moans from your throat every single time. he’s trying hard to be mean, keep his composure, but you’re squeezing him so tightly he can barely form a coherent thought.

“yes! yes, suguru, please go a l-little slower, it’s too much..” drool seeps from the corners of your lips, trickling down your chin as you pick your head up, craning your neck as much as possible.

behind you, suguru is smirking at you, the always loose piece of hair on the left side of his head sticking to his sweaty forehead. the rest of his lengthy tresses are pulled into a sloppy bun at the back of his head, strands escaping with the force of his thrusts.

“no can do, baby,” he whispers, fingers of one hand digging into the softness of your hip. “all that teasing earlier definitely calls for this.”

— NANAMI KENTO.

“i really hate having to work overtime, princess,” kento huffs, yanking your hair and making you arch, head turning towards him.

“i hate it too, kento!” you cry, nodding. more tears fall down your cheeks with the movement, and he lets your hair slip from his hands as he moves to wrap his hand around your neck.

“think i want to pound you so hard we both forget i was late to dinner, hm, angel?” kento’s voice is sweet and steady, although he’s fucking your overstimulated pussy so hard it’s squelching and dripping.

you’re bent over and entirely at his mercy, stuffed full of his cock, the pressure so tight inside you you want to almost run away from it. the large, strong arm wrapped around your entire midsection and his hand on your throat keeps you in place, causing you to press your hands into the wall for support.

you’ve gone dumb on his cock, words slow to form and confused at the amount of times you’ve cum. five? eight? every time you try to form a coherent thought he fucks it away quickly, so you’ve resulted to responding only to what he says and thinking about nothing besides kento. he hasn’t even let himself cum yet, he’s that dead set on making you forget about dinner..

“k-kento, i’m gonna cum again, ah!”

“mhm,” he mumbles into your shoulder, before biting down hard into your skin. with a whiny cry, you sob as you cum again on his thick cock, walls squeezing down on him.

he allows you mercy, staying still as he holds you tightly, hips pausing. the second you loosen up, hole still fluttering, he’s immediately fucking into you again.

“kento, it’s too fucking much, i—”

he stands straight, yanking your hair so you’ll look back at him with that pretty, teary face of yours.

“no,” kento says firmly, lightly slapping your cheek. “you can still cum a few more times.”

— FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“fuuuck, s’good,” toji tightens his grip on the back of your head, fingers twisting hard in your hair. he pounds your throat at an unforgiving face, his hips rough and demanding as his tip plows into the back of your throat.

“takin’ it like a damn champ.. good fuckin’ girl.” he groans, his voice raspy as he tosses his head back. tears pour down your cheeks as he completely stuffs your mouth full with his cock, and you rake your eyes up and down his shirtless chest before settling on his face.

a thin sheen of sweat gleams on his well-muscled chest, heaving while his abs clench. distracted by his attractive body, you slowly, unconsciously start to back off his cock.

“nuh uh,” toji grits, swiftly yanking you back into place and shoving his cock deeply down your throat, “i haven’t cum yet.”

you gag loudly, more tears falling from your pretty eyes. but, toji doesn’t really give a damn — he draws his hips back and shoves them forward before he’s back to the tempo he’d set before. you spread your knees, sliding a hand between your thighs and pressing at your clit through soaked panties.

he scoffs, caught between a laugh and a raspy moan, and smirks. “love it when you’re a slut for my fuckin’ cock. that’s real good..”

— KAMO CHOSO.

your back hits the wall, and a sharp crack of pain resonates through your body before choso’s pouncing on you, yanking your skirt up your thighs without hesitation.

“c-choso, slow down!” you gasp, but he just spreads your legs and slides his pants down. “my skirt’s not even off yet, wait—”

“mm mm, need this. need you.” choso leaves no room for discussion as he slots himself against you, hot and hard and pressing between your legs. “it’s been too damn long,” he states, tugging and rolling your shirt up to your shoulders.

his large palms smooth against your thighs, and he looks into your eyes and then shifts his gaze to your neck. “mhm, please..” is all you answer, voice soft as your hips buck into his own.

choso’s hand lands on your neck and he digs his fingers into the sides, not gripping yet, and tugs your soaked panties to the side. then he guides his cock between your folds, and shoves himself right inside you. your leg lifts, and he holds it tightly at his side, keeping you spread open.

as you gasp “choso!” he grips your neck hard, effectively choking you and making your eyes roll right back. with his lips pulled back and his teeth catching the low light of the room, he leans in towards your tits. teeth dig into your skin as he bites your nipple sharply, and your chest bounces as you reel back in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“oh, that hurts like hell,” you groan, slipping a hand into his messy hair and undoing his spiky buns; then you push him in. “bite me harder.”

choso’s grip on your neck tightens further, teeth baring down on your other tit in a flurry of bites, his hips slamming into you all the while.

you choke, garbling out some sort of expletive, and his thrusts are so fast and hard that you consider that they sting just a little. the thought of the little shocks of pain all over has you clenching on his cock like a vice, growing wetter and wetter.

his groan into your tits is whiny, and then he’s spasming and filling you with all his cum.

choso finally tugs himself off your tits, lips shining with drool. looking down, you see that your tits are bruised and fresh marks are blooming across your skin. cum starts to drip down his cock, and yet he still pushes himself into you with a whine. but he still stays hard inside of you — he loves to throw you around, mark you up, and use you like a fucking fleshlight, even though it means overstimulating himself too.

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