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beloveds-embrace · 3 months ago

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Fuck it, we ball, I hope that disrespectful anon gets hemorrhoids and they can't get them removed until next year, AND that their insurance doesn't cover it. I'm here thinking about your Omega idea where omegas normally do the pursuing, but with a slight twist; the boys being the omegas. An alpha who is for sure down bad for the boys, but thinks "ah, theyre out of my league, I should be aiming lower, manage my expectations". Only 141 is just as down bad for them, and they're doing everything just short of screaming "PICK UP ON THE HINTS, COME INTO OUR HOUSE AND BEDS AND LIVES AND STAY FOREVER PLEASE"

Johnny is about to say fuck decorum and just show up in reader's house wearing nothing but a ribbon and a tag that says 'free to a good home' (your home is the good one, please keep him, there is no receipt so you can't return him).

Price has the brain cell normally in terms of trying to gently coax you into getting you to say you're into them, he has a 15 step plan that may or may not involve using his various contacts to get you spending more time in close proximity to them. Also he for some reason is always baking, he always comes over asking you for sugar? (He'll take any kind of 'sugar' you're willing to offer, he loves making a variety of cream pies)

Gaz is always gently inviting them to attend 'friend' things, things that could be a date but that he can excuse as 'well we're coworkers/friends/neighbors, we should get along :)'. It's just a coincidence that various other people seem to bail except for any of the other boys, now why don't you sit beside him so you guys can share popcorn at the movies (you both always seem to be reaching for it at the same time, if your fingers touched anymore you might as well be holding hands)

Simon is chasing off any omegas he thinks are a threat to them getting reader, that is THEIR alpha, paws OFF (rip to anyone reader was halfheartedly going on dates with, this man is gonna become those people's sleep paralysis demon)

Hope you enjoy!! :3 💕💕 i lovedddd writing this sm omg

See, the thing is, you’d always thought of yourself as a decent Alpha. Not overbearing, not egotistical, not a demanding freak- just capable and steady. But you weren’t extraordinary. Not the kind of Alpha Omegas like them would look at twice. And so, while you worked alongside the men of Task Force 141 you convinced yourself to be content with just admiring them from a distance.

You couldn’t help it. They were perfect, as far as you were concerned. Perfect, and fully out of your league.

Surely, Omegas like them would want someone better. Someone stronger. You’d told yourself that so many times it was practically your mantra, the only way you’d be able to stop yourself from pursuing them. They deserved someone more charismatic, more confident- an Alpha who could match their brilliance. Not someone like you, fumbling through conversations with them, struggling to keep your feelings in check.

But they’d already decided. They didn’t need a flashy Alpha or someone who tried too hard. What they wanted was you. The only problem? You didn’t seem to realize it, no matter how obvious they made it.

John took the lead, naturally. He knew you were cautious and perhaps a little insecure when it came to relationships (it was fucking visible in you, silly Alpha. He scoffs each time you draw back, frustrated), so he made it his mission to draw you in- slowly and subtly. His plan was meticulous: get you comfortable, build trust, and create opportunities for you to spend more time with them so you’d see that they only want you.

Maybe then you’d break out of that stupid shell you’ve put yourself in.

He’d started baking regularly, a habit you hadn’t even known he had. At least once a week, he’d show up at your place with a tin of cookies, a loaf of fresh bread, or a perfectly golden pie. “Thought I’d share,” he’d say casually, though the slight smirk tugging at his lips told a different story. He peers at you, letting his scent coil just a bit more. “I hope you don’t mind the amount of cream. I happen to like cream pies a lot.”

The way to an Alpha’s heart is through their stomach, and all that.

If he wasn’t offering you baked goods, he was asking for your help to make said baked goods. “Ran out of sugar again,” he’d sigh, handing you an empty container. “Mind sparing a bit?”

It was ridiculous, downright unbelievable how often he supposedly ran out of baking supplies. But his visits became a highlight of your week, and the lingering looks he gave you left your heart pounding long after he was gone.

The one time he’d handfed you, watching you lick the syrup from his fingers with half-lidded eyes, still lives in your mind rent-free.

Kyle took a softer, more personal approach. He wasn’t above using the pretense of friendship to spend time with you, often inviting you to casual dates- grabbing coffee, going to the movies, or just walking through town and shopping. Every invitation was framed innocently, but there was always a little extra effort behind it. He’d pick a movie he knew you’d like, suggest places he knew you’d find interesting, and ensure that others you unfortunately knew joined just enough to make it seem less like a date.

Somehow, though, those other people always mysteriously canceled. It was never anything dramatic- just a sudden cold, a scheduling conflict, or a “something came up, sorry.” Eventually, it would be just you and a very smug Kyle, sitting close enough that your knees brushed or reaching for popcorn at the same time. Once, right as the bowl emptied and you both reached for it, Kyle simply thought fuck it and held your hand.

On one occasion, you both shared a bowl of spaghetti and ended up with the scene from the Lady and the Tramp.

It was so painfully obvious to everyone.

Except you.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Kyle muttered to Johnny one evening after you left, both of them sitting in the spot you were in, bathing in the leftover warmth and scent. “How can they not notice?”

Speaking of Johnny; he’s barely keeping himself together. Subtlety in missions are a must sometimes, but he doesn’t want to that with you anymore. He was just so, so, so frustrated with your obliviousness. What more does he need to do to show you that he- that they- want you?

He’s been dropping so many hints; half-jokes about Omegas waiting begging to be swept off their feet, suggestive winks when you compliment him in that lovely, adoring tone of yours. Once, while watching a romantic tv show, he’d sighed loudly and very pointedly said: “If only someone would claim me.”

“If ye don’t figure it out soon,” he growled at the others one night, pacing back and forth like a wild beast and probably on his way to leave a dent in the carpet, “I’m showin’ up at their doorstep with nothin’ but a red bow, like some bloody Christmas prezzie, I swear to god.”

John sighs, rolling his eyes. “You do that, and I’m leaving you on their porch.”

“That’s exactly what I’m askin’ for!”

Simon took the quietest but most direct approach. Just not exactly direct towards you. While the others worked to get closer to you, Simon focused on eliminating what he saw as obstacles: other Omegas who thought you were free for the taking. It didn’t matter if they were serious or just someone you’d gone on a casual date with- Simon saw them all as threats.

He didn’t have to say much to scare them off. A single cold glare from across the room, sharp bursts of his scent, or a low, menacing comment was usually enough to send them packing. He didn’t care if it was excessive.

You were his Alpha. You were their Alpha, and no one else had a right to you.

But even Simon softened when it came to you. He couldn’t put all his thoughts, all his feelings into words, so he did them with his actions. Quiet protectiveness, gentle, careful touches. Moments of fleeting vulnerabilities shared between you and him.

He was always there for you. Even if you didn’t know you need him with you.

Still, despite all their efforts, you remained convinced that they weren’t interested.

In the end, to no one’s surprise, it’s Johnny who snaps. Johnny, so close to his heat, so absolutely done with your obliviousness and the Omegas that aren’t them talking with you when you should be only focused on them.

He doesn’t care; leaves the carefully made nest with your stolen shirts and none of the others stop him when he just. Drags your surprised self to the nest.

“Johnny! You-“

“I want you.” He hisses, bares his teeth all sharp and desperate. “We want you. And damn it, we will have you.”

And well, who are you to even say no when this is all you have wanted?

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peachessndreamss · 6 months ago

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Weirwood Tree

Summery : While in labour with their second child, Cregan and his wife take s short walk to the Weirwood tree to help get things moving.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Pregnancy and childbirth (nothing explicit)

Word count : 3k

A/N : Turns out you never shake being a Stark girl, Ily Cregan so much.

“I’m sorry t’say it, my lady, but your labours have slowed up,” the midwife said softly as she drew the sheets back over Lady Starks bent knees before dipping her hands in a bowl of water.

“Slowed up?” Lady Stark repeated incredulously, dropping her head back on the feather pillow, “but it's been hours already,” she added, tears burning her eyes.

The second child of Lord Cregan stark and his lady wife was in no rush to make their way into the world. Despite the frequency and strength of her earlier pains once the midwife and maester had been sent for, everything seemed to have come to an uncomfortable halt.

The midwife had brought her ancient grandmother along with her, known through Winterfell and the winter town as Auld Joan, she had been a midwife in her own time and had delivered Cregan's father and uncle. She was mostly blind and deaf now but still attended births but spent most of the time sitting as close to a heat source as possible and dispensing wisdom if necessary. She was currently sitting in a chair next to the roaring fire, her ancient hands clasped on her lap, knuckles bulging out of shape and fingers curled like claws.

“I know it's been a while,” the midwife said soothingly, placing a warm hand on Lady Stark's knee, “but sometimes it's just like this,”.

“The last one wasn't like this,” Lady Stark grumbled, her mood darkening as she tried to shift around into a more comfortable position.

“You mustn't compare one with another,” the midwife soothed before touching a cold cloth to the lady's forehead.

“A walk will geyit moving ,” the old woman wheezed from her seat by the fire, “no’ this lying about,”.

The maester, who had been mostly disinterested in proceedings up until this point shot the old woman a dark look, he was standing in the far corner of the room, a leather case of vicious metal tools clutched jealously to his chest. His grey robes matched his grey and sickly looking skin. He wasn't particularly interested in births or deaths or the everyday ailments of life and resented being summoned to the birthing room of any woman.

“This position is agreed upon as being the correct way for labouring mothers,” he said coldly in a clipped southern accent.

“Agreed by men who know nothing about it,” the crone grumbled.

“What does she mean?” Lady Stark asked the midwife who was now gently feeling the swell of the lady's belly.

“Baby's not quite in righ’ place, that's why things have slowed,” she explained as she pressed on the left side of the belly, Lady Stark winced, “but grandmother thinks a little walk might get things moving again,”.

The midwife glanced over at her grandmother who had closed her eyes and was now looking peaceful in the flickering light of the fire, she looked back at her lady and dabbed the cloth over her cheeks before putting it back beside the bowl of cold water.

“What do you think?”Lady Stark asked.

She shrugged, making a point not to look towards the maester before replying.

“It helped me with mine, and it wouldn't do you any harm,”.

The maester opened his mouth to disagree and lady stark held up her hand to silence him.

“Just walking through the keep, out into the godswood for the fresh air should do it,” the midwife continued.

The lady nodded and lifted herself up onto her elbows, she addressed the maester, privately enjoying ordering the sour faced man about.

“Lord Cregan is outside the door, fetch him in,” she said.

Cregan Stark had paced the halls outside of his wife's rooms since he'd been asked to leave them several hours before. While he wasn't accustomed to being removed from parts of his own castle he respected that father's, even lords, were not expected to be present at the births of their children,so he was surprised to hear the door opening when he was fairly certain nothing much had happened yet.

“My Lord?” The voice of the maester echoed off the walls as the lord strode into view, “your wife would like to see you,”.

He nodded, his face stern as he stepped past the man and into the warm, dark room.

“Seven Hells,” he murmured as he pulled at the collar of his shirt, instantly feeling the heat of the room rolling over him like a wave, sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip.

As he looked around the room he was surprised to see the midwife helping his wife into her fur boots, a long, heavy cloak already covering her shoulders.

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She turned her flushed face to him and smiled.

“Yes, we're going for a walk,”.

Cregan’s brows rose but he nodded without further comment, knowing better than to ask questions. He watched nervously as the midwife helped his wife to her feet, ready to spring forward at any moment if it looked like Lady Stark might lose her balance.

Once he was happy she was safely on her feet, Cregan stepped towards them, offering his arm to his wife, who took a small step and linked her arm through his.

“Twice around the godswood’ll do it,” Auld Joan spoke from the chair, she opened one ancient eye that could just be seen through the folds of skin that made up her face.

“Or as far as you need’t,” the midwife added, her eyes flicking towards the maester.

From the darkest corner of the room the maester muttered under his breath “foolishness” but no one else could hear him or pay him a moment's more attention.

As the Lord and Lady of Winterfell stepped out of the stifling room and into the cooler corridor of the keep they both gave a sigh of relief. As they walked they instinctively drew closer to one another. Finding comfort and strength in each other's presence.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Cregan said as they stepped through the door of the keep and into the much colder air of the inner bailey. The ground was a mess of mud, straw, snow and grey brown slush that cracked and crunched under their boots.

“Yes,” she agreed, her hand tightening on his arm as her foot slipped a little on a patch of hidden ice, “Auld Joan felt this would be the best way to get things moving again,”.

Cregan nodded, “She's seen a fair few babes born in her time, she knows what she's talking about,” he paused and took a deep breath of cold air, “I think she might have even delivered my grandfather,”.

“Surely not!” She exclaimed, looking up at her husband's handsome profile, “that would make her more than a hundred years old,”.

“I've heard of stranger things in these parts,” Cregan said with a shrug.

They walked quietly together, moving slowly and carefully through the slush.

“Not as easy as last time then?” He asked as they made their way past the archery butts where the young men of the household were practising and past the stables with their snorting horses and young boys shovelling straw.

“No, this one seems to have an obstinate Stark streak in them already,” she replied with a soft laugh that sounded like music to Cregan's ears.

“I seem to recall your own family are known for their stubbornness so I won't be taking all the responsibility for that,”.

“Pigheadedness, I believe my father called it,” she replied with a laugh, Cregan gave his own snort of laughter.

“Your father certainly has a way with words,” he agreed. Recalling a few choice phrases her father had used for him during their courtship.

As the pair crossed into the godswood the sounds of the keep and the town beyond the walls seemed to fade away and they became the only two people in the world. The ground was covered in a dusting of snow which had frozen overnight and now crunched under foot. From the dark canopy of the trees small birds sang between themselves and bounced from branch to branch, leaves rusting and falling to the ground in their wake.

“Aly is worried we won't have enough time for her when the baby arrives,” Lady Stark said as they passed under the first dark boughs, “she kept asking me if we were going to send her away when I was putting her to bed last night,”.

“She's a sensitive soul,” Cregan replied with a soft laugh, his mind wandering to the little girl who was at that moment playing in the same nursery he played in as a child, waiting for his own younger sibling to be born.

“I dread the day we do need to send her away,” she lamented, drawing her body even closer to his in the cold air. Her free hand resting low on the swell of her belly.

“We've many years before that day, my love,” he soothed, “and perhaps many more babes to fill our home,”.

Lady Stark laughed softly, feeling the dull ache of her labours growing in strength as they followed the well known path through the trees.

“You are insatiable, always wanting more,” she said softly and Cregan laughed.

They had been married 6 years and now were as comfortable with one another as any married couple could expect to be. Having been friends before they’re union had made things easier but the months after Cregan’s return from war had tested them to their limits. The time spent apart had been long and difficult for the both of them, when Cregan had left he was already old beyond his years but on his return he was darker and colder than the longest winter night. He’d forgotten laughter, softness and gentleness and his first few months back in Winterfell had been fraught as the two learned to live with one another again and find their way back to the happiness they’d briefly shared before the dragons tore the realm apart.

The followed a well trodden path through the woods, her arm wrapped tightly through his and his hand resting over hers, warm and solid. As they walked, Cregan listened to her breathing, noticing every change to her breath and hitch in her voice. He was ready to take her in his arms at any moment to rush her back to the midwife if was necessary.

They turned a corner in the path and were now on course to the weirwood tree, its ancient face seemed to watch their approach and its blood red leaves reflected in the black water at its roots.

Suddenly Lady Stark stopped, her free hand going to her belly with a sharp intake of breath, she groaned, her teeth biting into her top lip as a strong contraction wracked her body. Cregan tightened his hold on her, fear gripping at his heart and twisting his stomach.

After a few seconds of pain her face relaxed and her eyes opened, her cheeks were flushed with colour and despite the cold there was sweat at her hair line.

“I think this might be working,” she said with a small smile, “or perhaps the baby can feel the tree,” she added, glancing toward the weirwood.

“A good Stark then,” Cregan replied, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn’t feel.

She stepped toward the tree and he followed her closely, never letting her more than an arm's reach from him. Once close enough she placed her hands on the tree, feeling the rough bark rasp against her skin.

“Do you think the old kings of the north were born under this tree?” she asked, turning her face up as a shaft of wintery sunlight broke through the dense leaf cover, “snow and leaves for their midwife?”.

Cregan raised his eyebrow in thought for a moment before replying.

“They were certainly conceived under it,” he smiled.

“Yes, I remember the stories,” she agreed, turning to look at her husband and seeing the playful glimmer in his eyes.

During the long months of the war she’d found comfort in the thousands of books in the Winterfell library, starting with the histories of the North going all the way back to the first men and how those ancient kings of the North did everything important in their lives in sight of a weirwood tree, they were born, married, made oaths and died as close to the trees as they possibly could. The histories had included stories of rituals the ancient peoples had contrived to conceive their children under the boughs of the weirwood trees, they believed these children would have the gifts of prophecy or live impossibly long lives because the powers of the tree flowed through them.

“Perhaps, when you’re healed, we should try it ourselves,” Cregan teased.

“When this one is delivered I’ll let you know if you’ll be welcome in my bed again,” she replied with a sly smile, before adding “my lord,”.

Cregan gave a bark-like laugh, stepping closer to her and slipping his arm over her lower back and around her waist. She turned to face him, moving her hands from the ancient and cold bark of the tree to the living warmth of his shoulders, she studied his features before taking a deep breath and letting her forehead press against his. Another contraction wracked her body, she groaned and gripped tightly at the fur and wool of his cloak, taking strength from his body into her own.

“I think we need to go back,” she said softly, their foreheads still pressed together.

“I think so,” he agreed without hesitation.

Keeping his arm wrapped around her waist the two of them turned, she leaned heavily on Cregan as they completed the loop around the godswood and headed back through the castle courtyard. The space now almost completely empty as most of the household had been summoned for the midday meal.

The progress was slow but they soon made it back to Lady Stark’s chambers, the room was cooler now, the windows had been thrown open but the coverings drawn across them to keep the room dark. The two women were sitting by the fire, talking quietly while the maester was still standing in the corner of the room, glaring.

The midwife jumped to her feet and took Lady Stark’s arm, allowing her to slip from Cregan’s hold and move toward the bed.

“How are you feeling my lady?” the midwife asked softly.

“It helped, the pains are coming much more quickly now,” the lady replied.

“Baby will be here soon,” the midwife agreed, “perhaps before the noon meal is over,”

Lady Stark glanced over her shoulder at her husband pausing by the door. His broad shoulders blocked out almost all of the hallway behind him.

“I want you to stay,” she said softly as she was helped back onto the bed.

He smiled but shook his head.

“This is not my place” he said softly, as he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and in his eyes as he fought the sudden overwhelm of emotions.

“Thank you, my lord,” the old crone said from her seat, “we’ll take care of them,”.

Cregan nodded, knowing well enough when he was being asked to leave, he gave his wife a final look before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself and resuming his pacing. He wondered if his own father had paced nervously or if he had taken to the woods to hunt until the deed was over with and the child was cleaned and neatly wrapped in a blanket. He couldn’t imagine being any further than the castle gate while Lady Stark laboured.

As the midwife predicted the midday meal hadn’t finished before there was the high pitched, squalling cry of a newborn that caused Cregan to stop in his tracks and lean heavily against the wall of the hallway, his hand clutching at his heart that was beating fast enough to burst.

The door to the chambers opened and the midwife stepped out, a smile on her face as she saw her lord in a moment of unguarded emotion.

“A son, my lord, hale and hearty and with plenty to say for himself,” she said, the sounds of the crying child still coming clearly from the room behind her.

“God's be praised,” Cregan said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Come meet him,”.

Cregan felt his knees turn to water when he stepped into Lady Stark's rooms, the sight of his beloved wife cradling a squalling newborn was a joy that pierced his heart like an arrow.

“Your son, my lord” she said with a tired smile, turning the bundle just enough for Cregan to be able to see the child's face.

He stooped and took the child, cradling him close to his chest, for a few seconds the child stopped wailing, his blue eyes opening wide and taking in his first sight of his father. The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds, Cregan's own eyes filling with tears. One hot tear was about to track down Cregan's face when the baby in his arms screwed his eyes shut, opened his mouth and started to howl, his cries even more desperate than before.

Lady Stark laughed from her seat on the bed, holding her arms out to take the child back.

“Give him back, you're upsetting our son,” she said, grinning at Cregan who jealously clung onto the child, rocking him gently and trying to sooth the screaming babe.

“Sorry my boy,” Cregan said softly, “but you'll just have to get used to me,”.

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agirlwithglam · 4 months ago

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🌟 become your dream girl before 2025! 🌟

THIS WILL *ACTUALLY* CHANGE YOUR LIFE.

do you know how many people are waiting until next year to glow up and actually start to become their dream self? now just think, if you started now, before 2025, how far you would be. how much more skills and knowledge you would have. you're literally getting a head start. so what are you doing dilly-dallying until 2025? heres your guide to ending this year accomplishing everything you need to and starting 2025 with everything you need.

in this post i will include mindset shifts, how to become a better person, actionable advice, actually becoming a new person <3

👑know what you want.

who do you want to become at the end of this year? what does your dream girl look like? what kind of body does she have? her clothes? who are the people she hangs out with on a daily basis- friends?

create a very clear version in your head and use pinterest to show photos of what your goals are- for ex: girls at the gym, journalling, writing, studying, reading, learning, walking, with friends, spending time outside, going swimming, playing sports, doing a skill/ hobby.

you can also find an idol/ an inspiration- a youtuber, influencer, parent, anyone who you look up to and want to somewhat have a similar life like them. (for ex: thewizardliz, tam kaur) whatever is important to you this goes hand in hand with the next point:

👑goals.

any unfinished projects, any goals you said you'd do in the beginning of the year, get them all down on paper. if you've finished any of them, great!- tick them off. but if you haven't then its time to lock in. pick the ones that are most important to you. that you know that achieving these will 100% get you closer to your goal. doing this makes sure you get rid of the ones that you think are "productive" when in reality they just help you procrastinate.

finish any unfinished projects or books you have before the new year begins because 2025 is about bringing in new, fresh opportunities and things. for me personally, i have a few crochet projects that i want to finish before the end of this year so i can start the new year with nothing old from the year before!

👑cutting.

you are going to be becoming a new person- new mindset, new values, new perception on life, etc. the people in your life currently probably won't align with this new version of you. because if the people around you still only know the old you, your growth won't happen because it will feel extremely unnatural without the right people around you. this means you're going to have to decide whether you are letting any of your friends go. if they don't serve you or make you feel happier or bring in any value to your life, im sorry but its time to cut them off.

but of course if you actually have good, kind, loving friends who grow with you and support you all the way, keep them. the goal is to remove the people who don't serve your highest self. not remove the people who you know will be there for you.

but along with this, if you notice that those people are acting a bit more weirdly/ strangely now that you're improving- giving you backhanded compliments, talking about you behind your back, or just giving you a weird vibe in general, trust your gut. those people don't want to see you going to a higher place where you're thriving- keeping them in your life can be terrible for your highest good.

remember that doing this doesn't mean that you're not going to get better because BETTER ALWAYS COMES. god will give you more people who you couldn't have ever dreamed could be so amazing. so never keep toxic people in your life out of fear that you'll be alone forever. (remember: 8 billion people in the world.)

👑mindset.

dont wait to change your mindset only once you achieve the dream body or the best grade- start now. people can take away everything from you but they can't take away your mindset, skills, and knowledge. here are some mindset shifts to develop:

the abundance mindset. know that everything happens for your highest and greatest good only! everything will work out in the end for you because God hasn't put you on this earth to suffer. if you are religeous (God) or spiritual (the universe) or even believe theres a higher faith, why on earth would you willingly believe that your purpose here is to have a bad time? obstacles will come your way and you will make bad decisions and mistakes. but all these jsut contribute to the person you are today and the person who you'll be in the future!

i will make it. believe in your vision and yourself so fiercely that you know in your bones that you will achieve your goals. you will travel the world and discover new places, you will get to retire your parents, you will get to buy expensive bags for your mom, you will be that rich sister/daughter/ wife, you will help people around the whole world, you will have people around you who love and care for you, you will achieve whatever dream you had since you were a kid and whatever dream you have right now. you will you will you will! know this so strongly but also know that i will achieve there one day, but i also am so blessed and grateful for the life i have right now! i have so many privileges and such an amazing life that i would never trade away for anything.

growth mindset if you fail, IT IS NOT THE END OF THE WORLD. please stop being afraid of failing, be afraid of never trying!! you have no idea how freeing failing is because once you do, then you'll never have that "what if" in the back of your mind, never have that small voice asking what could have happened if you had done that thing. so if you do fail, perfect! that means that you won't waste any more time wondering what would have happened. having a growth mindset means that you know you're human and you'll make mistakes, but that doesnt make you a bad person and it doesn't take away your capability to still accomplish your goals. if you fail be able to brush it off, and keep trying again and again. Thomas Edison had 1000 failed attempts to make the light bulb. yet he learnt from what didn't work, took that into consideration, then tried again. and again. and again. and now? your probably sitting in a room with light that you have because he persisted in his goal!

stay positive always have a positive outlook and perspective of life. look at the beauty and what you have instead of what you lack. feel happy joyful energy vibrate through you everyday. do things that just make you a more positive person in general! feeling happier makes you look 100x more attractive and will change the way you interact with the world!!

👑be a better person.

new year new you right? so its time you up level the way you talk and treat others. because the goal isn't to be A b*tch, the goal is to be THAT b*tch! so going around being rude isn't going to do anything for you. being kind however- having manners, checking up on people, asking how their day was, being charismatic, etc- thats what can get you so much more opportunities! you're going to be kind, but not a people pleaser- ofc prioritise yourself always but also at the same time- if you have made a commitment to be somewhere for someone at a certain time, honor that commitment. be the friend you wish you had.

being mean to everyone just because you were hurt by someone else is not it. yes, so you were hurt. grow, evolve, heal. you're stronger than this. you're stronger than you think. you can overcome anything and you can become an even better person, capable of loving fully and wholly!

misc tips:

change what you consume. start watching thewizardliz, tam kaur on youtube. have an inspiration/ idol to look up to in life.

workout. i dont care if its not one of your goals to have a fit body, but don't workout for that. workout because you love yourself. because its actually proven to make you happier, because you deserve a healthy, fully functioning body.

DRINK WATER. do you know how many benefits something as simple as that has? clear skin, unchapped lips, better digestive health, weight management, better health, feel more alert and energized, better for immune system, increases brain power, eliminate toxins, ETC ETC!

have a morning routine that literally sets yourself up for success. stimulate your mind with reading self help, learn something, study, focus on a skill, do something that makes your mind active.

journal & check in with yourself.- document your progress! write about how you felt after everyday. did you feel esp happy during anything? do you feel satisfied at the end of the day? or do you find that your day made you feel tired and drained? do you feel regret and wished you did more at the end of the day?

diary- links with the earlier point. document the day. you can write about it, or what i also like to do is video myself yapping to the camera. talk about whatever you want and let your mind wander free!

you are that it girl! dress the part, smell good, make yourself feel so good that you just can't help but feel like you can conqure anything!!

make sure you're consistently reminded of your goals. what do you want? why do you want to achieve it? reminding yourself of your goals will actually motivate you and make you stop procrastinating. for me its that i don't want any old projects or books having to continue into the new year so i've made a plan that will definitely get it done before the next year!

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sparklingchim · 5 months ago

Text

game on 02 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.9k

genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: 18+

warnings: lots of smoochies !! 🤭, their first kiss <3, umm mentions of jk's infamous threesome again 😔, koo talks abt taking girls in missionary what can i say he is a man

summary: jungkook and you practice acting for the cameras. kissing him feels more right than you anticipated.

a/n: yayy chapter 2 is here!!!! <3 writing this was truly saur much fun n i hope u have fun reading too !!! 😋

read chappie one here

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"Just kiss me."

"Hold on a second."

"We really need to practise this."

"I know, just give me a minute."

You scoot away from Jungkook on the couch. You were sitting so close, almost about to kiss him actually, but his intense, doe-eyed gaze made you pause, needing a grounding breath.

You’ve never been this close to his face, and somehow, you can’t seem to cross the invisible line that keeps you from just pressing your mouth on his. Jungkook’s your friend, after all. You’ve known him since he was five and once saw him get his head stuck at school, so of course it’s weird.

You press your lips together in an attempt to focus, and lean in again, but once your eyes meet his, a smile urges on your mouth.

"Oh my god." Jungkook’s frustrated sigh cuts the air. "This can’t already be doomed to failure because of a simple kiss."

"It’s not! I just need to mentally prepare myself."

"I feel...offended? Kinda?" Jungkook weaves his fingers through his hair. "I’ve never had to convince someone to kiss me."

"It’s not you. I promise!" you say, reaching for his knee. "Under any other circumstance, if we weren’t friends, I’d love to kiss you. You’re hot and cute, but the situation we’re in makes me feel so stupid. It’s absurd."

Jungkook cringes when you call him cute and removes your hand off his knee.

Yesterday, when Jungkook showed up unannounced, it took him full ten minutes to convince you he wasn’t pulling a prank on you.

Who would believe their friend begging you to fake date them? It’s ridiculous. Only happens in the fictional world.

But then Jungkook showed you the pap picture that was circulating online. The comments and gossip were nasty and you knew he was caught up in a deep mess.

In the photo, Jungkook was surrounded by two girls, his arms draped casually around their waists as they stumbled out of the club, a half-full drink lazily held in his hand. His hair was a tousled mess, likely from the girls running their fingers through it, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a small peek into his defined chest. It was bold, provocative — definitely not the ideal image of a responsible twenty-year-old football rookie.

Probably the worst pap pic you’ve seen of him so far. And the worst timing too.

"You were wasted," you commented, staring at the article he was showing you on his phone.

"And I had so much fun last night." His voice was tinged with frustration, like a child whose favourite toy had just been snatched away. "But then I woke up to this picture, and a flood of missed calls and texts." He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaling sharply. "They just had to ruin it for me."

Noticing your raised eyebrow, Jungkook quickly backtracked. "No, I know it’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have done this right before the World Cup, especially after what I promised. I just hate how everything turns into such a big deal, just because... well, just because I’m me."

The idea of fake dating Jungkook had seemed absurd, something out of a rom-com rather than real life. But the more he explained the pressure he was under, the more you understood why he needed this.

Jungkook was your best friend, and if kissing him in public could save his career, why not help him?

While you got ready for meeting his manager, stepping out of your comfy, rotting-at-home clothes, which consisted of little shorts and an oversized t-shirt (you think it’s actually Jungkook’s, but you’re not quite sure since it’s been in your closet for years now), and slipping into a casual, more presentable outfit, Jungkook busied himself fixing your laundry machine.

Jungkook’s manager knows you well – his entire team does. You are known as Jungkook’s close friend and had been spotted with him on multiple occasions.

Taesung greeted you warmly, though surprise flickered across his face when Jungkook introduced you as the solution to the fake dating plan.

You felt Taesung’s gaze assessing you, weighing your suitability for the role. Jungkook’s PR agent mirrored his scepticism, tilting her head in doubt. They exchanged uncertain glances, which made you nervous, but Jungkook was determined. Jungkook wasn’t Jungkook if he didn’t get what he wanted. With a few persuasive words and his usual charm, he quickly won Taesung over, who sighed and leaned back in his chair, conceding defeat.

"We need to establish the narrative from the start," Taesung said seriously. "The media will dig into your background, and they’ll want to know if there’s anyone else in the picture. So, to be clear, you’re officially single. No boyfriend, no complicated past relationships that could surface. We don’t need any messy stories."

You assured them that there was none. Multiple times. No angry exes, no secret relationships – your personal life was as drama-free as it could get.

Taesung slid a document across the desk.

"This ensures that whatever happens, no details of this arrangement-"

Jungkook’s hand shot out, halting the paper. "No," he said firmly. "She doesn’t need to sign anything."

"Jungkook, it’s just a formality," Jiwoo began, but Jungkook insisted.

"I trust ___. She’s not just anybody. She’s my best friend. If she says she won’t talk, she won’t talk. The NDA isn’t necessary."

"It’s okay," you assured him gently.

Jungkook shook his head. "No, this is ridiculous. You’re not signing a stupid contract."

After more arguing, his manager eventually relented.

Jiwoo outlined the plan in more detail with Taesung – public appearances, social media posts, carefully orchestrated moments that would sell the story to the public. You felt a bit intimidated by the pressure, but you’d get used to it. After all, this arrangement is only for a few months – just until his management can announce that you’d mutually decided to break up on good terms.

But you both need to practise before stepping in front of the cameras.

Which leads you to this moment, a day later, sitting on your couch trying to practice how to act like a couple. And it’s not going well at all.

"Okay, let’s start from the basics then," Jungkook suggests. He rises to his feet, offering you his hand. "Hold my hand."

You gingerly accept his hand, standing up as well.

"See, don’t we look cute?" Jungkook drags you to the mirror. "Or maybe – let’s intertwine our fingers. I think that would look better." He holds your interlaced hands up between the two of you, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. "So cute, right?"

A giggle bubbles in your throat. "You act like you’ve never had a girlfriend."

"Well, it has been a while," he admits, the slightest sulk on his lips. "I’m too busy for relationships." He swings your hands. "The only times I ever hold a girl’s hand is in missionary, above their head when-"

"Jungkook," you interrupt quickly before he can delve any deeper into the story. You give him a mock glare, but there’s no hiding the amusement dancing in your eyes. "Didn’t we both agree on only talking about your bed stories after I’ve had at least one bottle of soju – preferably two, so I can mentally brace myself?"

You love him, you really do, but you don’t want to hear about his bed stories, unless you’re the slightest bit tipsy at first.

"Oh, yeah." He shakes his head apologetically. "Forgot about that."

"Wait, maybe that’s what we should do!" you exclaim as an idea pops into your mind. Your hand slips out of his, and you take a step toward the kitchen. "I think there are a few bottles of soju in the fridge."

"We’re not getting drunk to build up the courage to kiss," he insists. "We shouldn’t need alcohol to pretend we’re into each other."

Jungkook pulls you closer to him, and you stumble slightly, but his hand instinctively moves to the small of your back, steadying you.

"Fine," you sigh dramatically, hand on his chest. "Was just an idea to make this easier for us." The fabric of his shirt is extremely soft and your fingers glide over it.

"I mean, it’s not like we’re complete strangers. And they know it too. We’ve been through enough to pull this off without breaking a sweat."

He’s is right. The public knows you’re one of Jungkook’s closest friends. It wouldn’t be totally unbelievable that you two might have fallen in love.

After all, you’ve always been comfortable with each other —hugging, cuddling during movie nights, play-fight over silly things just to annoy each other. You’ve shared quiet moments, like when you’d fall asleep on his shoulder after a long day or when he’d run his fingers through your hair absentmindedly while you talked. There were times when Jungkook was exhausted and crashed at your place, your fingers gently scratching his head as he slept peacefully. You’ve kissed each other’s cheeks in thanks without hesitation.

Jungkook’s touch isn’t foreign to you.

And still, the thought of acting like you’re in love when you’re not feels strange. Sure, you’ve always been physically close, but this was different. This time, every gesture would be for an audience, every touch would carry a different meaning. It wasn’t just casual anymore.

"I guess," you reply, fiddling with the hem of his oversized t-shirt, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "I think it’s just weird to be this close for show."

Jungkook watches you for a moment, his eyes softening as he considers your words. "Yeah," he murmurs. "But it’s not like we’re faking the friendship part. The rest...we’ll figure out." His fingers clasp your hip, the pads of his fingers gently digging into your flesh. "Don’t think about it too much," he says. "When we have our first public appearance as a couple, pretend like the cameras aren’t there, act nonchalant. Just... y’know. You and me."

You pout, an involuntarily frustrated grumble leaving your lips as you drop your forehead on his chest.

"I hope I’ll do well under all the attention."

You’ve dealt with your fair share of noisy people trying to pry into your relationship with Jungkook, but so far, it’s been somewhat manageable.

"Just you and me," Jungkook repeats, his tone softer and more assured this time. "Nothing can happen to you when I’m there."

You glance up at him, taking in the gentle lines of his face.

"Maybe you should’ve hired a girl that can deal well with attention," you voice your thoughts.

"No." Jungkook’s immediate response rolls off harshly on his tongue. "You were my first thought. I wouldn’t have done this with anyone else but you."

"I was your first choice?" Giddiness makes your face shine.

"Yeah. I don’t think I would’ve felt comfortable with anyone but you."

"Be honest, you just really wanna kiss me."

You stand on your tippy toes, a silly smile spreading across your face.

Jungkook cocks his head to the side, a teasing glint buried in his eyes.

"I think you do."

With a surge of confidence, you take a small step closer, your heart beating a little faster as you close the gap between you and Jungkook. Your lips meet in a gentle, fleeting touch. The contact only lasts for a moment before you pull back, your eyes searching his for a reaction.

"That was a smooch. Not a kiss."

You frown upon hearing him complain.

"What, you want to make out with me in public?"

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. "No, but maybe a little more than how fifth graders kiss."

"You’re a kissing expert now?" you quip back, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jungkook leans in slightly. "I just know what I like."

The challenge in his voice sparks something in you. "Then show me how you like it."

His gaze drops to your lips, and a flutter of excitement spreads in your tummy. It’s unexpected and thrilling and it catches you off guard.

Jungkook’s hand, which had been resting on your back, slowly glides up, his fingers curling around the side of your face, his thumb brushing delicately against your cheekbone.

Your breath hitches as he leans in. His lips meet yours again, but this time there’s more weight behind the contact – still soft, but deeper, more intentional. His lips move slowly and there’s a warmth to it, a tenderness that makes your heart race even as the kiss remains gentle. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the connection just enough to make you melt into him.

The teasing atmosphere lingers in the back of your mind, but for now, it’s pushed aside by the gentle pressure of his lips on yours.

Kissing Jungkook doesn’t feel weird – which makes it a little weird.

When you both finally pull back, it’s gradual. You can feel his breath, warm and steady, mingling with your own.

"Like that," he whispers, his voice barely audible, yet it sends a shiver down your spine. "You’re a good kisser."

You pull back completely. "Excuse me?" you say. "You were doubting my kissing abilities?"

"No, not at all!" Jungkook shakes his head, amusement crinkling his eyes as he gazes at your sulky face. "You’re just a very good kisser. Like, super gentle and smooth."

Heat crawls up your cheeks. You ignore the flush of warmth and keep your composure. "Have you been using the lip balm I got you? Your lips are soft."

"I know, right? Not chapped at all anymore."

He traces two fingers along his bottom lip and your eyes follow the motion, finding yourself inexplicably drawn to his lips.

"Are we done practising?"

"Do you think we looked natural?" Jungkook’s hand slips into yours once more. While he is focused on the mirror, adjusting the way your bodies fit together �� tugging you closer, alternating between holding your hand and interlacing your fingers – your mind is still replaying the memory of the tender press of his lips. "For me, it felt pretty natural. Not awkward at all. What do you think?"

It’s the simplicity with which he says it that draws a short laugh out of you.

The sound grabs his attention. "What?"

"You’re just...extremely serious about this. I don’t think they’ll analyse the way we hold hands, Kook."

"But that’s their favourite thing to do," Jungkook replies. "The gossip mills love analysing every step you take, where your eyes wander, who you smile at." A note of bitterness threads through his words.

He’s been playing pro for just two years and has fallen victim to greedy people intruding on his life so many times already. Former friends who leaked private conversations, acquaintances who turned their brief interactions into tabloid fodder, even strangers who felt entitled to a piece of him just because he was in the public eye.

Jungkook searched for solace and silence at your place many times, trying to escape the madness. In the quiet of your dorm, breathing felt easier.

You never asked questions, never pried. In a world where everyone seemed out to get something from him, you just let him be, offering him the comfort of your presence without demanding anything in return.

"People were just criticising this dude – ah, who was it again?" Jungkook stares at the ceiling, raking through his thoughts. "I can’t remember his name, but this guy was getting called out for choosing the booth seat while making his girlfriend sit in the aisle seat."

"The aisle seat? Come on, it’s an unwritten rule that-" You fall silent once you catch Jungkook’s pointed expression. "I mean, yeah. It’s definitely wrong to make a big deal about it. Maybe she prefers sitting there," you shrug.

"But do you see what I mean?" he asks. "Whether you intend to or not, you’re always judging what others do. And that judgement only intensifies when it involves a celebrity."

"Ah, when did you become so famous Jeon Jungkook?" You sigh, looking down at your linked hands.

"I know, right? Two years ago, no one would’ve cared if I had a threesome." He shakes his head in disbelief. "And now I am being punished for it—kicked off the national team, and my best friend has to save me by fake dating me."

"I feel like this would make a good movie," you giggle.

“We have to practise hard, then," he says.

You pull your phone from your pocket. "What if we film ourselves kissing so we can monitor it better?" You set up your phone on a nearby shelf and position yourselves in front of the camera. "Don’t engaged couples do this? I feel like we’re practising for our wedding kiss."

"Oh, butterflies."

"Huh?" You stare at the way he holds his hand against his tummy.

"You just told me you want to marry me. That gave me butterflies."

You slap his arm. "Stop being silly, we have a whole nation to fool that we’re in love."

Hang outs with Jungkook often end with the two of you lounging on the couch, snacks scattered everywhere, and a movie playing on the TV.

"Next one?" Jungkook asks from his spot beside you, inching closer with his pleading doe eyes.

You try to push him away by the, but he doesn’t budge.

"I need to study. Like, for real." You had warned him before starting the movie, agreeing to watch only one, but he still tried his luck.

He holds up one finger. "Just one."

You push him off your body, and this time he allows it, his back slumping against the couch. The grumble of complaint in his throat gets muffled by his pursed lips.

"You’re smart. The material is probably set in your brain anyway. No need to revise anything."

You scoff at his bratty words.

"So you won’t ever need to ditch hangouts for football practice because you’re already so good at it?"

"Well, no." He drags the word out, brows furrowed as he considers your question, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. "But I know you don’t need to study as much as you do. You’re just naturally smart."

"I wish, but I ace my exams because I study as much as I do."

"Aish," Jungkook mutters, standing up from the couch and stretching his limbs. His toned tummy peeks out from under his lifted shirt.

"Karina will be home soon anyway," you say. "And I’m not ready to play pretend in front of her yet." The thought of confessing to your roommate that Jungkook is now your boyfriend makes you shudder.

It was one of the conditions that made you briefly reconsider if you could really pull this off or if Jungkook should find another girl. You didn’t just have to act in front of the cameras – everyone had to believe that you and Jungkook are a couple, including your friends and family. You dread the day you have to tell your parents.

You know they once secretly hoped Jungkook would become your boyfriend when you were older, but as he became famous and the public started scrutinising his every move, your parents grew wary of his wild, reckless side.

You follow Jungkook to the door.

"You think she’ll believe us?"

"I dunno," you shrug. "Not sure if she’ll buy it. She’ll probably be suspicious since I’ve never talked about you in that way when we gossip, but I think we’ve practised enough to at least make it look like we love each other."

Jungkook nods and hugs you briefly. "We’ll figure it out." He steps out of your apartment, typing on his phone. "My manager sent me details about our first public appearance." He scans the text, but quickly looks up at you again with an annoyed frown. "Ah, so many words. I’ll just forward you the messages." With a sweet smile and a quick wave, he starts to leave, but you tug at the back of his shirt.

You cup his face, pulling him down to you, and plant a kiss on his lips.

"You’re my boyfriend now. Act like it."

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mekakitsune · 3 months ago

Text

"you don't want me here? then why does your body say other wise?" jinx x fem piltover!reader - nsfw - minors dni

(requested by anon)

for as long as you can remember, your family did everything in their power to keep you from venturing into the undercity. topside was where you belonged, no doubts about it. you were polite, kindhearted and far too soft for that kind of lifestyle– or so you thought.

it wasnt until you met her, that your views changed. she showed you so much, taught things you never had the chance to know, all while being so incredibly...human?

did jinx use your piltover status against you? absolutely. when you first met, you could tell she hated you, just by seeing how you presented yourself. she made it her own personal mission to get as far under your skin as she possibly could.

"you really shouldn't be here jinx, my parents are sleeping downstairs..." you mutter as she pressed kisses along your neck, making sure she left bruises as she went. she ignored your plea, hands roaming under your shirt, making you shiver.

"then i guess you'll have to be quiet then, yeah?" she smiled deviously, hands tracing the underside of your breasts.

"jinx...im serious" you whined, voice low and slightly trembling. your parents would have both of your heads on a spike if they knew what was happening right now.

she slides herself off your hips and moves to dip her fingers into your pants, making you suck in a harsh breath of air. she smirks as her fingers trace over your underwear, relishing in the way you react to her touch.

"youre cute yknow? so sensitive..." she whispers, circling her finger around your clit through the fabric. you moan lowly, hips shifting as a silent plea for more, despite your better judgment. she seems to get the hint, and moves to slide your pants and underwear down– her eyes fixated on your now soaking cunt. feeling rather exposed, you attempt to close your legs, but shes inbetween them, and her hands grip the soft flesh as soon as she feels you hesitate.

"s'funny baby...you don't want me here? then why does your body say otherwise?"

she smirks as she runs her finger through your folds, bottom lip slipping between her teeth as she feels you soak her fingers. "practically dripping f'me" she purrs.

you whine as her fingers find your clit again, rubbing precisely where she knew would make you cry out.

"jinx.." you sigh, looking at her face to see a sinister smirk. she locks her eyes onto yours as she lowers her hand, easily slipping two fingers into you. you moan out, and before you can curse yourself her hand slaps over your mouth.

"shhh, youll wake em up, doll." she giggles, almost as if she didnt have her fingers deep inside of you. you whine against her hand as she thrusts her fingers in and out, curling them into that spot that makes your brain fuzzy. she can feel you getting close, with the way your practically dripping into her palm, and she decided she needed to make you cum, right here, right now.

her thrusts continue, the slick sound making your cheeks heat up as she works you closer to the edge. her chest is heaving softly, the sight of your like this always worked her up, not that she'd ever admit it.

"you close?" she whispers again, hand still over your mouth. you nod desperately, your sounds muffled by her palm. she picks up her pace, practically slamming her fingers into as you writhe beneath her. she groans quietly as she feels you tighten around her fingers like a vice grip, body stilling as you cum, hard.

she lets you ride it out, not stopping until your whine against her palm once more and your thighs are shaking. she removes her hand from your mouth and slams her lips onto yours, biting at your lower lip. your hands find her hips, and without warning, you flip her over so you are hovering over her form. her eyes widen at the sudden movement, a smirk growing on her lips.

"i think its only fair i get you back for that, yeah?" you lean down, face close to hers and you swear you feel her breath hitch in her lungs.

it was only fair, after all, she wanted you to cum? now its her turn.

"keep quiet, or i'll stop" you smirk as your fingers find the waist of her pants.

thank u for the req anon! more to come & feel free to leave me a prompt ;)

#wrote rhis with my pussy #also sorry its short </3 im tired and its 3am lol #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane smut #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx smut #nsfw.mp3 🫧

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elryuse · 11 days ago

Text

Miss Me Pt.2

Yandere Wonyoung X Male Reader

Tags : Yandere, Obsession, Posessive, Kissing, Edging, Creampies, Biting, Seduction, Marking, Non Consensual Sex (Reverse Rape) Words : 5,428 Words

A Continuation of Miss Me. A Commision By My Friend @Pizza_anon From Ko-fi. I Hoped You Liked it, Enjoy.

For a while, you thought you had finally escaped her.

Wonyoung was nothing more than a ghost in your past, a name you refused to utter, a memory you buried so deep it almost felt like she had never existed.

After that ill-fated date—after seeing her again across that dimly lit restaurant—you ran. Not just from her, but from everything. From the lingering pain, the suffocating paranoia, the scars she left on your body and mind.

You changed everything. Your name, your address, your entire life.

A quiet town far removed from everything you once knew became your sanctuary. Here, no one whispered rumors about her, no one looked at you with pity, no one asked about the girl who used to own you.

At last, you had peace.

Or so you thought.

The Devil Returns It had been a simple errand—just a quick trip to the store.

You carried the grocery bags up the steps of your home, the late afternoon sun casting golden hues against the walls. You exhaled slowly, reveling in the quiet, the stillness that you had fought so hard to find.

But the moment you stepped inside, something felt off.

The air was wrong.

Cold. Unsettling.

And then, you saw it.

Your window—open. The curtains swayed gently, the breeze chilling your skin.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage, and a sinking feeling settled in your gut. You set the groceries down, every nerve in your body screaming at you to turn around and run.

But then, you heard it.

The soft clink of a wine glass being placed on the table.

You turned your head slowly—

And there she was.

Wonyoung.

Sitting at your dinner table, legs elegantly crossed, a glass of red wine in her delicate fingers.

She looked the same, yet somehow different.

Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulder in effortless waves. The dim lighting of your home cast shadows across her perfect face, making her look almost ethereal.

She swirled the wine in her glass, her crimson lips curving into a wicked smile.

Then, she spoke.

"Miss me?"

Your blood turned to ice.

A year.

A whole fucking year of running, of rebuilding your life, and yet, here she was.

As if she had never left.

As if she had always known where you were.

And at that moment, as the weight of her presence suffocated you, something inside of you snapped.

If Wonyoung could never leave you alone in this world—

Then maybe it was time to fight back.

Your footsteps echoed against the dimly lit pavement, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as you moved through the empty streets.

Run. Just keep running.

The cold night air bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill that clawed at your spine—the phantom touch of a past that refused to die.

Wonyoung.

Her voice still clung to your ears, Miss me? slithering into your mind like a poison you couldn’t purge.

That date…

That fucking date.

It had never left you.

Not even for a second.

You thought you had been healing. Thought you had finally clawed your way out of the abyss she had thrown you into. But the second you saw her again—

The second you heard her voice—

It all came flooding back.

The pain. The betrayal. The torment she put you through.

It wasn’t just the physical scars she left behind. No, those were the least of your worries.

It was what she did to your mind.

How she twisted every thought, every emotion, until you doubted your own sanity.

How she made you feel like you were the problem.

How she smiled at you in one moment and tore you apart in the next.

It hurt.

It fucking hurt.

And as you ran through the dark, your heart pounding in your ears, you realized something.

You weren’t running from her.

You were running from yourself.

Because deep down, in the darkest part of your soul—

You were terrified that you would never escape her.

That no matter how far you went, no matter how hard you tried—

She would always find you.

And worse than that…

Some twisted part of you feared that when she did—

You wouldn’t have the strength to push her away.

The door clicked shut behind you as you stepped into your apartment, locking it instinctively. The dim glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. Everything was silent—too silent.

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as exhaustion weighed down on you.

Tired.

You were so fucking tired.

Tired of running.

Tired of looking over your shoulder.

Tired of feeling like no matter how far you went, she would always be there.

You leaned against the door, your fingers gripping the doorknob as you tried to steady yourself. But your mind wouldn't let you rest.

The memories clawed their way to the surface.

That night.

The way she had looked at you from across the table, her lips curling into that knowing smirk.

The way her voice dripped with honeyed venom as she whispered your name, making you feel like you were still hers.

And the way she—

Your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the images away.

No.

You had to move forward. You had to get away from her.

But how could you escape something that had already sunk its claws so deep into your soul?

You forced yourself to move, stepping further into the apartment.

Everything was as you left it. The couch, slightly disheveled from where you had sat the night before. The coffee table, still littered with an unfinished book and a cold cup of tea. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the background.

It was supposed to be your space.

Your safe haven.

And yet, it never felt like it.

Not when the ghosts of your past lingered in every shadow, in every breath you took.

You dragged yourself to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water with shaky hands. The cool liquid did nothing to settle the unease churning in your stomach.

As you set the glass down, you caught your reflection in the dark window.

The tired eyes. The weight of years of torment etched into your expression.

You wanted to fight back.

You really did.

But how could you fight against something that had already consumed you?

Because even now, even after everything she had done to you—

Some sick, twisted part of you still felt like you belonged to her.

And that terrified you more than anything.

The water in the pot bubbled furiously, steam rising in thick clouds as you dropped the instant ramen noodles into the boiling liquid. The scent of artificial broth filled the small apartment, a pathetic attempt at comfort after a night like this.

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you leaned against the counter. The exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. The weight of it bore down on your shoulders, suffocating and relentless.

How long do I have to keep living like this?

The sound of chopsticks clinking against the bowl filled the silence, but it did little to drown out the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

Wonyoung.

No matter how much you ran, no matter how many times you told yourself you were free—

She always found a way back in.

Your grip on the countertop tightened.

You needed to be stronger.

You needed to fight back.

But just as that thought formed, a sound pierced the silence.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your body froze.

It was late. Too late for anyone to be visiting.

And yet, the knocking came again. Slow, deliberate, taunting.

Your breath hitched. A cold shiver ran down your spine as you forced yourself to move toward the door, each step heavier than the last.

You already knew.

Somewhere deep inside, you already fucking knew.

But the moment you twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open—

Your entire body shattered.

Because there she was.

The door creaked softly as Wonyoung stepped inside, her presence filling the small space like a storm cloud ready to burst. Her eyes locked onto yours, unrelenting, as if daring you to look away. You couldn’t. Your body was rooted to the spot, your mind screaming at you to do something—anything—but your limbs refused to obey.

She closed the door behind her with a soft click, the sound echoing in the silence like a death knell. Her perfume—that same floral, intoxicating scent that still haunted your dreams—washed over you, sickeningly sweet and suffocating.

“You didn’t answer,” she said, her voice low and velvety, yet laced with a dangerous edge. She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that felt like a countdown to something inevitable. “Do you miss me?”

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell her to leave, to scream, to do anything but the words caught in your throat. All that came out was a strangled sound, barely audible. Her smirk widened, and she took another step forward, closing the distance between you until you could feel the heat radiating from her body.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. Her hand reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The touch was soft, almost tender, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “You look tired. Have you been thinking about me?”

You wanted to pull away, to slap her hand aside, to tell her to stop. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Her touch was like a drug, and despite everything, some part of you craved it. The realization made you sick to your stomach.

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “I’ve missed you. More than you know.” Her breath was warm against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “You belong to me. You always have.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but before you could react, her hands were on you, gripping your shoulders tightly as she pushed you back. You stumbled, your legs giving out as she forced you down onto the bed. She climbed on top of you in one fluid motion, her dress riding up her thighs as she straddled your hips.

“Wonyoung—” you started, but she cut you off with a harsh groan at the back of her throat.

“Don’t,” she hissed, her eyes blazing with a fire that made your blood run cold. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this. Don’t pretend you don’t want me.”

Her hands moved quickly, undoing your pants with practiced ease. You tried to protest, to push her away, but she caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head with a strength that left you breathless.

“You’re mine,” she growled, her voice low and filled with a possessiveness that sent a shudder through you. “You’ve always been mine. And you always will be.”

Her other hand dipped between your legs, fingers brushing against the fabric of your boxers, and you couldn’t suppress the involuntary gasp that escaped your lips. She smirked, her eyes boring into yours as she leaned down, her lips brushing against your neck.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice soft but commanding. “Just let go. Let me take care of you.”

Her lips moved lower, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of your neck as she bit down lightly, drawing a sharp gasp from you. Her hand slipped inside your boxers, fingers wrapping around your length, already hard despite the chaos raging in your mind.

“Wonyoung—” you tried again, but she cut you off with a harsh moan.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her grip tightening as she began to stroke you slowly, her fingers moving with a practiced precision that left you trembling. “You don’t get to talk. You don’t get to think. You just get to feel.”

She leaned back slightly, her eyes never leaving yours as she positioned herself over you. Her free hand lifted the hem of her dress, revealing the lace of her panties. She pulled them to the side, her breath hitching as she lowered herself onto you, taking you in one smooth motion.

You groaned, your head falling back against the pillow as she began to move, her hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that was both familiar and devastating. Her hands found your chest, nails digging into your skin as she leaned forward, her breath hot against your ear.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly with exertion. “Just like that. Just like old times.”

Her pace quickened, her movements becoming more urgent as she rode you with a ferocity that left you breathless. Her nails dragged across your chest, leaving red marks in their wake, and she bit down on your neck again, harder this time, drawing a sharp cry from you.

“Say it,” she demanded, her voice harsh and commanding. “Say you’re mine.”

You shook your head, your body betraying you as you arched into her, your hips meeting hers with a force that made her gasp.

“Say it!” she snarled, her nails digging into your skin as she leaned back, her eyes blazing with a wild, almost feral intensity.

You couldn’t fight it anymore. The words spilled from your lips, unbidden, trembling with a mixture of shame and need.

“I’m yours,” you choked out, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing.

She smiled, a cruel, victorious smile that sent a chill down your spine. “That’s right,” she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine. And you always will be.”

Her pace slowed, but her movements became more deliberate, more intense. She leaned down, her lips brushing against yours as she whispered, “Now come for me.”

The command was all it took. Your body tensed, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you gave in, completely and utterly. She followed soon after, her body shuddering against yours as she buried her face in your neck, her breathing ragged and uneven.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the sound of your labored breathing. Then, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn.

“Don’t forget,” she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine. And I’m not letting you go. Not ever again.”

The silk scarves slid around your wrists with a soft, almost imperceptible hiss, their texture cool against your skin. Wonyoung’s hands worked with practiced ease, tying intricate knots that were tight enough to hold you in place but not so tight that they hurt. Her movements were deliberate, her fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You wanted to pull away, to resist, but the look in her eyes—sharp, predatory, and utterly in control—made it impossible to move.

“There,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry as she finished the last knot. “Now you can’t run away. Not that you ever could, really.”

Her lips curved into a smile, one that was both alluring and dangerous. She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear as she whispered, “But I think you like it when I take control, don’t you? Admit it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say a word, her lips were on yours, silencing you with a kiss that was both demanding and sweet. Her tongue teased the seam of your lips, and when you finally relented, letting her in, she deepened the kiss with a moan that sent heat straight to your core. Her hands roamed over your chest, her nails scraping lightly against your skin as she explored every inch of you.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. She didn’t say a word as she slowly, deliberately, began to trace your body with her tongue. Her lips pressed against your neck, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. Her tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, and you couldn’t suppress the involuntary shiver that ran through you.

“You taste so good,” she murmured against your skin, her voice low and husky. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

She continued her slow descent, her tongue laving over your chest, her lips brushing against your nipples in a way that made you shudder. Her hands were everywhere, touching, teasing, exploring every inch of you as she worked her way down your body. When she finally reached your hips, she paused, her fingers curling around the waistband of your pants.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, her voice a whisper as she looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire.

You should have said yes. You knew you should have said yes. But the way she looked at you, the way her lips curved into that familiar, predatory smile, made it impossible to say anything but, “No.”

Her smile widened, and without another word, she pulled your pants down, freeing your already hard cock. Her eyes darkened with desire as she took you in her hand, her fingers wrapping around you in a firm grip. Her thumb brushed over the tip, spreading the precum that had already gathered there, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips.

“You’re so ready for me,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry as she stroked you slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. “And I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Before you could respond, she was on top of you, her body pressing against yours as she positioned herself over you. Her hips moved slowly, deliberately, as she lowered herself onto you, taking you in inch by inch. The feeling of her warmth enveloping you was almost too much to bear, and you couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped your lips.

“That’s it,” she murmured, her voice low and husky as she began to move, her hips rocking against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Let go. Just feel me.”

Her movements were slow at first, almost teasing, as she adjusted to the feel of you inside her. But as her pace quickened, her hips began to move in a way that drove you wild. She moaned your name, her voice low and sultry, as her hips rocked against yours, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“You feel so good inside me,” she murmured, her voice low and husky as she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. You wanted to resist, to push her away, but the pleasure she was giving you was too much to ignore. Her hips moved in a way that drove you wild, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“Come for me,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry as her hips moved against yours in a way that drove you wild. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

“Do it,” she commanded, her voice low and dangerous as her hips moved against yours in a way that drove you wild. “Come for me.”

The command was all it took. Your body tensed, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you gave in completely and utterly. She followed soon after, her body shuddering against yours as she buried her face in your neck, her breathing ragged and uneven.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the sound of your labored breathing. Then, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn.

“Don’t forget,” she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine. And I’m not letting you go. Not ever again.”

“Do it,” she commanded, her voice low and dangerous as her hips moved against yours in a way that drove you wild. “Come for me.”

The room felt suffocating, her perfume still clinging to the air like a ghost of the past. Wonyoung’s eyes bore into you, her lips curling into that same predatory smile that once sent shivers down your spine. But this time, the shivers felt different—less of fear, more of disgust.

”I’ve thought about it,” she began, her voice smooth and deliberate, like honey laced with poison. ”And I’ve decided. I’m ready. Ready to make you my husband.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and absurd. You blinked, your mind struggling to process what she had just said. Her husband? After everything she had done? After the lies, the manipulation, the infidelity? Your chest tightened, a wave of anger rising inside you like a tempest.

”You’re out of your damn mind,” you said, your voice low but firm.

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, tilting her head as if she were amused by your defiance. ”Oh, come on. You know this is what we’ve both wanted. We’re meant to be together.”

”No,” you snapped, your voice rising. ”We’re not. You destroyed whatever we had. You cheated on me, manipulated me, hurt me. And now you think you can just waltz back into my life and decide to marry me? Who the hell do you think you are?”

She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor with that same confidence that had always made her seem untouchable. But this time, you weren’t falling for it. You stood your ground, your fists clenched at your sides.

”I’m the one who knows you better than anyone,” she said, her voice soft but laced with a dangerous edge. ”The one who can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You’ll never find anyone else who understands you like I do.”

”You don’t understand me,” you shot back. ”You never did. You just wanted to control me, to own me. And I’m done with that. I’m done with you.”

Her smile faded completely now, replaced by a look of genuine confusion. She stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch your arm, but you jerked away. Her touch felt like fire, but not the kind you wanted.

”What are you saying?” she asked, her voice wavering for the first time. ”You can’t just leave me. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

”I’m not leaving you,” you said, your voice cold. ”I already left you. Three years ago. And I’m not going back.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked almost… vulnerable. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by that familiar intensity. She dropped to her knees, her hands clutching at your pants as she looked up at you with pleading eyes.

”Please,” she begged, her voice cracking. ”Just forgive me. I can change. I’ll be better. I’ll do anything. But I can’t lose you. You’re the only one who’s ever really mattered to me.”

Her words should have softened you, but they didn’t. Instead, they made you angrier. How dare she? How dare she act like she cared, like she loved you, when all she ever did was hurt you?

”You don’t love me,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. ”You just love the idea of owning me. But I’m not yours anymore. I’ll never be yours again.”

Her grip tightened on your pants, her nails digging into the fabric. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they didn’t make her any less dangerous. ”You don’t mean that,” she whispered. ”You’ll come back to me. You’ll see. There’s no one else out there who would want you. No one who would love you like I do.”

Her words cut deep, but they didn’t break you. Not this time. You looked down at her, your jaw clenched, and shook your head.

”You’re wrong,” you said, your voice quiet but filled with resolve. ”I deserve better than you. And I’m going to find it. But first, you need to get out of my life. For good.”

She stared up at you, her eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, she looked like she might argue, might try to manipulate you again. But then, slowly, she let go of your pants and stood up. She took a step back, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words had finally crushed her.

”You’ll regret this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ”You’ll see. You’ll come crawling back to me.”

”I won’t,” you said, your voice firm. ”Now get out.”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours for any sign of weakness. But there was none. You stood tall, unyielding, and for the first time, you were in control.

Finally, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the floor with a rhythm that felt oddly final. You watched her go, your heart pounding in your chest, but you didn’t stop her. Not this time.

As the door closed behind her, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The room felt lighter, the air easier to breathe. You sank into a chair, your hands trembling, but your mind was clear.

You had made the right choice. You were free.

But as you sat there, a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. That Wonyoung wasn’t the type to just walk away. She would be back.

And when she did, you’d be ready.

The air outside felt different now. Lighter. As if the weight you had carried for so long had finally begun to lift. It had been weeks since Wonyoung walked out of your apartment that night, and though the scars of the past still lingered, you were finally taking control of your life again.

You started working again, finding solace in the routine. The office buzzed with life, a world filled with people who didn’t know your past, who didn’t see you as the shattered person Wonyoung had left behind. It was refreshing. For the first time in years, you weren’t looking over your shoulder.

More than that, you were getting out more often—grabbing drinks with coworkers, going to the gym, even walking through the city without the constant paranoia that she was lurking in the shadows.

And, for once, you were enjoying life again.

But the past had a cruel way of finding you, even when you least expected it.

It started small.

An odd feeling. A fleeting sensation of being watched.

The first time it happened, you were leaving work late at night. The office building cast long shadows under the flickering streetlights as you stepped out onto the pavement. You had been scrolling through your phone, replying to a message from a friend who had invited you out for drinks.

And then—

That prickle at the back of your neck.

That familiar, sinking weight in your gut.

You turned, scanning the sidewalk, the alley across the street.

Nothing.

You shook your head, forcing a chuckle. Don’t be ridiculous. She’s gone.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

Days passed, and the unease only grew. You would notice the same car parked across from your apartment complex too many nights in a row. Or a familiar scent—her scent—lingering in the air when you entered your favorite café.

Still, you brushed it off. It had to be paranoia. After all, she had left.

Hadn’t she?

A Message From the Past Then, one evening, after a long day at work, your phone vibrated with a notification.

You barely glanced at it as you tossed your bag onto the couch, but something about it made you pause.

An unknown number.

"Thinking about you."

Your breath caught in your throat.

It couldn’t be.

You hesitated before opening the message fully, hoping—praying—it was some mistake. A wrong number. A coincidence.

But as soon as you opened the text, a second message came through.

"Did you miss me?"

A chill ran down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around your phone.

No.

No, no, no—

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you stared at the screen, the words burning into your mind like a scar reopening.

It had to be her.

It was always her.

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay calm. You wouldn’t let her shake you again.

You deleted the message without responding.

You blocked the number.

And then, gripping your phone like it was the last lifeline to reality, you told yourself—

It’s over. She can’t hurt me anymore.

But deep down, you knew—

Wonyoung wasn’t done with you yet.

The next time you saw her, something inside you snapped.

It was late—too late for visitors—when the knock came at your door. At first, you ignored it, pretending not to hear, pretending you weren’t home. But the knocking persisted, slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey.

Then, that voice.

"Miss me?"

The words sent a wave of exhaustion through you, but this time, there was no fear. No hesitation.

Just rage.

You swung the door open, and there she stood—Jang Wonyoung, draped in another black gown, her lips curled into that sickeningly sweet smile. Her beauty, once mesmerizing, now felt suffocating. Poisonous.

"You," you muttered, your voice low, heavy with something even you didn’t recognize.

She took a step forward, her hand reaching for you, but you didn’t let her.

For the first time, you didn’t freeze. You didn’t cower. You didn’t let her dictate how this night would go.

Your hand moved before you could think.

SMACK!

The sound echoed through the hallway, ringing in your ears.

Wonyoung staggered back, her head snapping to the side as her cheek turned a deep, angry red.

She didn’t speak.

For the first time, she was speechless.

Your chest heaved with heavy breaths as you clenched your fists, watching her carefully. If she expected you to regret it, she was dead wrong.

"I’ve had enough," you said, your voice raw, unshaken.

She blinked, slow and disbelieving, before her lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"You hit me," she murmured, as if testing out the words.

"Yeah. I did."

A quiet chuckle escaped her lips, but there was no amusement in it. She straightened, her fingers brushing the stinging mark on her cheek.

"Finally growing a spine?" she asked, tilting her head. "Took you long enough."

Your jaw tightened. "What the hell do you want, Wonyoung?"

She stared at you, eyes dark and unreadable. "You know what I want."

"No. I really don’t." You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I don’t want you. I don’t want whatever this is. I just want to be free."

Her expression flickered, just for a second, and for the first time, you saw something you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

Hurt.

But you didn’t care.

Not anymore.

"You don’t mean that," she whispered, but there was no confidence in her voice this time.

"I do." You stepped back, gripping the edge of the door. "I don’t care what you do anymore. Go ruin someone else’s life. I’m done being your plaything."

She didn’t move.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring at you, searching for something in your face.

Then, slowly, she straightened her posture, regaining that cold, unreadable mask.

"Fine," she said at last, voice detached, distant. "If that’s what you really want."

You nodded. "It is."

A pause.

Then, she turned on her heel, walking away without another word.

You stood frozen, listening to the click of her heels against the floor until the sound faded into silence.

And just like that—

She was gone.

You shut the door and locked it, leaning against the wood as a shaky breath escaped your lips.

For the first time in what felt like forever—

You were free.

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #kpop smut #yandere #yandere stories #wonyoung #ive wonyoung #ive jang wonyoung #obsession #dangerous love #dark romance #kiss #love

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onlygarden · 9 months ago

Text

[too much, baby?] - yang jungwon

genre: smut

description: dom jungwon, unprotected sex, rough sex, jungwon just can't stop himself, a bit of size kink, jungwon likes when you cry, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

a/n: to the anon who requested this, i hope it meets your expectations and i do apologize if you were expecting it to be shorter but i unfortunately cannot stop rambling when it comes to jungwon.

the tranquility of the afternoon floats throughout your home as jungwon enters the bedroom with the sole purpose of admiring you, his lovely girlfriend. he was always captivated by an overwhelming sensation of surreality whenever he took in everything that comprised you. the beauty that forcefully beamed out of you was so mesmerizing he couldn’t look away from you even if he wanted to. why would he ever want to to do that, though? your existence itself far surpassed the confines of realism. to jungwon, you just couldn’t be real.

astonishment shook him as he took notice of the clothing that relaxed around your body. the large white shirt that belonged to him (needless to say) complemented your body without even hugging any part of it. your tiny body always made his clothes look so big, and he was enraptured by that alluring contradiction. he notices your lack of clothing too; beneath his large shirt, you shamelessly donned no bra, and he only assumes you’re wearing panties since your legs stand completely bare.

if he pounced on your unsuspecting figure right now, you would willingly oblige to any manner he decided to mistreat your body in. he knew just how far to go with you, and you would always let him ring you out completely dry, anyway.

“what are you doing, noona?” jungwon suddenly questions you, his slim figure approaching you, shoulders broad as ever. your throat grows tight as you watch the way jungwon places his hand upon the dresser you’re currently folding clothes in. he was so close to you, and he loomed over you like he was trying to hold you captive.

“just folding clothes,” you answer simply, finally carrying your eyes to meet his. your hands freeze their actions as jungwon’s expression flings you into a state bordering on fright.

he stood above you, gazing down onto you with an unsettling gloom in his eyes. though dull, his eyes pierced into you like he was trying to tame an inner unwavering desire. what got him like this?

his finger casually lands upon your thigh, directly below the hem of your shirt. he drags it upwards with deliberate pacing, his eyes patiently attached to the skin his finger carefully reveals. he stops once he sees a trace of your lacy thong; his eyes fall shut as he exhales, and he opens them to return his sinister gaze to you.

“are you doing this on purpose y/n? do you want me to make you cry?”

your breath hitches, and you’re not sure if your body was surging with heat or chills. the words that tumbled from his lips hurled your mind into a complete frenzy. god he was so blatant, and he was always violently throwing you off track with his sudden tenacity.

“jungwon,” you start, only to be interrupted by his entire hand now moving underneath your shirt, gliding along the course of your waist as his relentless gaze returns to your body.

you remove your hands from the drawer, steadily inching it closed before jungwon slams it shut with impatience. your body flinches vaguely.

he glides his other hand underneath your shirt, both hands grabbing your waist as he forces you to face him completely.

“i’m gonna make sure you don’t ever think about teasing me like this again,” jungwon says, his low voice almost distracting you from his outlandish words. you weren’t getting him riled up on purpose, you would’ve never even guessed he’d make such a sudden switch when he joined you in the room.

his body presses directly against you as he guides you towards the bed, lifting you up to toss you onto it before you can even feel it behind you.

climbing on top of you, jungwon immediately moves to pull his shirt off of your body. he hurriedly tugs your panties down your legs, and you feel the lace scrape against your legs before they’re completely removed.

his hands return to your body with greed, pushing your thighs apart and shoving a finger inside of you. he sighs as his finger becomes drenched in your slippery essence, the intensity of your wetness leaving him astonished since he had only touched you a few times. he doesn’t flash a trace of pity as he shoves another finger inside of you, starting at a brutal pace.

“i barely touched you, aren’t you ashamed?” he asks, ridiculing you. you just couldn’t control the way your body reacted to him, your insides always melting just for him, all your sensible judgment readily surrendering to the mere idea of him touching you.

the feeling of jungwon’s long, slender fingers punishing your insides began to bury your senses in devastating pleasure. he’s sure to watch you intently, catching every twitch, moan, and sigh his fingers force out of you. he pushes the palm of his hand against you clit, enjoying the way you clamp onto his fingers, making it more difficult for him to pump them in and out of you.

your orgasm approaches quickly, demolishing your senses and overriding them with pleasure that truly seemed to be too much, but jungwon can’t bring himself to stop.

“jungwon, stop! please!” you beg pathetically, moaning through your words to the point of them almost becoming indecipherable.

“i don’t want to,” he says simply, his low voice still making your mouth water. jungwon admired your body underneath him, his expression somewhat brooding. the sight of you writhing beneath him further aggravated his urge to push your body into the mattress and fuck you to tears.

“give me another one, i know you can,” he says, wanting your mind to be nothing more than a cloud that swirled with thoughts of him.

after much denial and idle refusal, you came around his fingers one more time, your proper thinking drifting away from you as jungwon pulled his fingers out of your leaking pussy.

you looked absolutely delirious, just how jungwon wanted you to be. the only thing your mind could prompt you to do now was beg and plead for jungwon.

properly satisfied with your pitiful condition, jungwon strips himself of his clothes, beyond eager to plunge himself deep into your wetness. his hardened cock twitched in anticipation.

you spilled so generously that it flowed out of you, creating a puddle beneath you. jungwon adored the sight before him, loving the way you bloomed just for him.

“you made a huge mess, baby,” jungwon says softly. “aren’t you sorry?”

you whine as he pushes your thighs towards your chest, moving to line himself up with your entrance.

he sinks into you hastily, pounding you with ferocity and speed from the start. a low, breathy moan escapes him as he relishes the feeling and the sounds of your slick pussy latching onto him.

“i asked you a question,” jungwon reminds you, looking down at you with a stony expression decorating his face.

how were you ever supposed to even begin to formulate an answer to his question when jungwon’s long cock was stretching you open, plowing further inside of you than you could ever dream about, and absolutely abusing the most delicate part of your body with hunger.

“sorry! i’m sorry!” you manage to blurt out, moans entwined with your words and you can only hope he accepts it as an answer.

“i know you are,” jungwon says as he slips his length out of you. he flips your body over, negligent to any discomfort he might cause you; all he’s concerned with is forcing you open.

you’re laid on your stomach, and jungwon pushes one of your legs upwards, giving himself a clear entrance to the warmth that he can’t wait to bury himself in.

he rams back into you, his pace just as brutal as before, and the weight of his body against you pins you to the bed.

“did you think i’d let you walk around here in my shirt and not do anything about it?” jungwon asks with no real expectation of an answer this time. one of his hands grabs onto your hip, mercilessly squeezing as he thrusts into you with increased severity.

he bites onto your shoulder from behind you, furrowing his brows and groaning near your ear so delightfully as he savors every bit of your divine pussy.

“you’re so tiny baby, all you can do is lay here and take what i give you,” jungwon says, unable to contain himself at the way your body is trapped underneath his larger frame.

tears begin to pour out of your eyes as you become submerged by jungwon’s relentless pummeling, your clit grazing against the mattress below you. your orgasm was reaching you fast.

“jungwon, stop!” you suddenly cry, not actually wanting him to stop, your words purely emerging from your internal feud to wrangle (or simply process) the pleasure coursing through your body.

he would never move on from how breathtaking you looked in this moment.

“i told you i’d make you cry, baby. even if you think it’s too much, you deserve it,” his words are propelling you further into hysteria than you were ever prepared to reach.

he grabs one of your wrists, squeezing it and pinning it beside you, as his breath traces your ear in a deep moan. you breathing grows rapid, your legs beginning to quiver beneath him as you cum onto his length, moaning for him beyond your control. jungwon continues to forcefully grace you with his thrusts, unsparing in the way he pounded you through your orgasm.

“your little pussy can barely take it, baby,” jungwon grabs onto your thigh, letting out low, breathy moans as he floats closer to his high.

you feel overwhelmed as he continues his inhumane treatment of your body, barely recovering from your own orgasm.

as he reaches his high, he stammers out a groan, gripping your thigh to a painful degree, earning blaring moans from you.

jungwon collapses onto you, his full weight pressing you further into the mattress, his heavy breath stroking your face. he takes a few moments to caress the side of your body before lifting himself up, and sliding his length out of your exhausted figure.

“i’ll clean you up, baby,” jungwon gently mutters, leaving the bed to prepare a washcloth.

when jungwon returns, he carefully turns your body over, noticing just how drained he left you.

“i’m sorry for wearing you out, baby,” he laughs a bit, running the warm, wet towel along your body, massaging the parts of you he punished with his grip.

“no you’re not,” you jest tiredly, smiling up at your tender boyfriend.

jungwon chuckles. “you’re right, i’m not,” he pokes back, a wide smile stretching out his face when you reach out to slap his chest.

jungwon lifts your upper body to a sitting position in order to drape his shirt over your frame, gently laying you back onto the bed after you’re dressed. he chuckled at the way your tired muscles nearly gave out from simply sitting up, the blame lying in the rough way he preyed on your body.

jungwon dresses himself in lounge clothes before joining you on the bed, pulling your body directly against his until your back touched his chest. “you did well for me, baby,” jungwon says, running his hand across the dip of your waist in appreciation. “i’ll try to contain myself while you’re wearing my shirt this time,” jungwon laughs when you contribute to his teasing (much to his enjoyment), and gently elbow him where he lay behind you.

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saeist · 9 months ago

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a/n: alternate universe where touya didn't go insane and goes to UA :] dedicated to the loml @saerins cus we're on our touya brainrot + went a little insane with this instead...

"jesus doll, excited now are we?" touya muses, a smirk on his lips as he lets you push him inside your small and cramped bathroom.

rolling your eyes, you motioned him to sit down on the toilet lid while you prepare the shower. making sure the water is just the right temperature or else you might burn touya's head off when you rinse the hairdye off his hair

"is this the part where you remove your shirt and i suck on a titty?" touya says more of a statement rather than a cheeky question. you stop yourself from hitting the boy that has his signature lopsided smirk with the shower head you were currently holding

with an exasperated sigh and a pinch to your nose bridge, you answer him

"just shut up for once, touya. besides, won't your dad kill you if he found out you're dying your hair black? or did you forget that he almost kicked you out of the house when he saw your piercings for the first time?" you raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend who decided at the last minute to dye his hair as a sign of "rebellion against his "uptight, stick far up his ass dad" his words, not yours

"he can manage" touya huffs, scoffing at the memory of his dad yelling at him for acting and starting to look like a good for nothing delinquent or in endeavour's words, a villain. "it's not like it's my duty to keep our image of a "perfect family". if only the rest of the world knew what its like to have endeavor as your deadbeat dad!"

touya and endeavour never really got a long per say.. at least that's what touya tells you whenever he had a shit day training with endeavor. days where he would train with his dad were usually days where he'd opt to spend the night at your dorm. away from all the chaos inside the todoroki estate that he unfortunately refers to as his home

but to touya, at the end of the day, you are his home. his peace, his serenity, his anchor in this world where hell could break loose at any given moment

"don't give me that look, doll" touya sighs, shoulders dropping when he noticed you were staring at him.

"i just don't want to see you hurt all over again. you almost gave me a heart attack that one time when you showed up here unannounced" you pout, letting touya slowly wrap his arms around your waist.

touya’s arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. “i can handle the old man. it’s his problem if he can’t accept me for who i am,” he mutters, resting his forehead against your stomach

"i mean, he already stopped giving a shit when he realized i can't withstand my flames, so who am i to give a shit back after everything he did to me?" touya continues, his grip tightening

you run your fingers through his hair gently, feeling the warmth of his presence. “shhh, we already talked about this" you shush him, "all i'm saying is that i just want you to be safe, touya. i can’t stand seeing you hurt,” you whisper, your voice tinged with worry.

he looks up at you, his usual smirk replaced with a rare, sincere expression. “i know, doll. i know." touya presses light kisses on your stomach, "but I have to be true to myself, even if it means pissing off endeavor” he chuckles, the pads of his thumb rubbing circles on your exposed skin

you both stay in that position in silence for a bit. just finding comfort with each other's presence. just the way touya likes it. nice and quiet. a contrast to his daily hellish life back at his own home

that is until touya starts to feel his scalp burn a little

"okay fun time's over, doll. my scalp's startin' to kill me here" touya shudders, slowly unwrapping his arms around you as he reaches for the shower head in your hand.

you stifle in your laughter watching him make a fuss inside your cramped bathroom.

that is until, you remembered that your bathroom tiles were pearly white and if he's rinsing off black hairdye then–

"TOUYA MY TILES!" you let out a screech

"too late, doll" touya pokes his tongue out at you, hair dye getting all over your walls and cold tiles.

you were gonna pay one hefty fine if you don't clean this shit up as soon as possible.

now, touya sits on your bed. drying his freshly dyed jet black hair with a towel and you're not even gonna lie to yourself. he looked a little too good for your liking. touya has always been a looker himself but with this new hairdo.. oh lord

"why are you looking at me like you want to eat me?" touya chuckles, hanging the now stained towel around his neck as he leans back on your bed with his elbows propped. he was giving you bedroom eyes, quite literally and figuratively.

what a tease!

"nothing. just making sure that i'm still talking to touya and not his emo alter ego dabi" you mused, plopping down on your bed next to him.

touya laughs at your comment. eyes turning into crescent moons

“thanks for everything, y/n,” touya says softly, voice full of genuine love and appreciation.

your heart swells at the sight of touya like this. you would move mountains if you could just to see touya– your touya happy.

"i love you, touya" you lean in for a kiss. to which touya happily returns the favor.

"i love you more than life, doll." touya smiles lazily against the kiss, cranking his neck to the side for more access as he deepens the kiss.

moments like these with you is when touya feels like he's on top of the world and he hopes it will forever stay like this cause to touya, he can face anything the world throws at him when he knows you'll be there right by his side

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amomentsescape · 1 month ago

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Hi! I saw headcanons with slashers, with a pregnant reader that's clingy on ur account. Would it be possible to write about a pregnant reader that's irritated by their voice, or feels nauseous from their scent? (obv the reader didn't have problems like that before the pregnancy) Ty in advance! Love your headcanons and writing in general! 💞

Slashers with Sick & Pregnant! Reader

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, Bo & Hannibal

A/N: I saw your other message and made sure to include Hannibal with this!

Freddy Krueger

As mentioned so many times before, he can literally alter his world in any way, shape or form

A certain scent is throwing you off?

No problem, he'll just change it to something that relaxes you

His voice is irritating you?

Then why not make himself sound like that one singer you've been obsessed with recently

He can fully take away your discomfort if you ask

Which is why you've been sleeping so much recently

His world, for the time being, is much better than the real one

Michael Myers

Michael is Michael

He doesn't really care to be honest

He rarely goes out of his way to speak or get all touchy with you anyways

The couple of times he has so far is met with a quiet apology as you pull away

He just looks at you and continues on with whatever he was going to do next

He doesn't take it personally

But if he has a particularly rough night, then sadly for you, there is no denying him

If he wants to sit next to you then nothing is going to stop him

Jason Voorhees

He knows he probably doesn't smell the best, considering his current... state

But every time you make a face or scoot a few feet further away, Jason's head noticeably falls

You've apologized to him probably a million times by now, and you constantly reassure him that it's just the hormones

He believes you, but that bullied little boy is still in his mind sometimes

He's doing his best to be strong for the both of you, but it's tough on him

The only solace is at night when you're already asleep, and he can finally curl up beside you in peace

Thomas Hewitt

He's fairly understanding of it all, and he always waits by the door in the morning to see if you need help with anything

All it took was ONE time when you pulled away early from a hug, and he basically avoided you like the plague for the rest of the day

It's killing him not to be close to you, but he is not willing to over step your boundaries

He'll just act as your personal assistant for the next several months, fetching you anything and everything you could possibly need

He's happy to wait until things can finally go back to normal again

Bubba Sawyer

Poor guy has no idea

You can explain this to him in every way possible, but he still doesn't understand

It's worse too because he's been extra cuddly with you knowing that you have a little one growing inside you

But his giggles have been too pitchy, and no amount of showering seems to remove that bloody aroma off of him

Even his mother has tried to explain to him why you're reacting like this, but all he hears is that you don't want him around

He's quite literally going to be acting like a kicked puppy until your hormones get sorted out

Brahms Heelshire

Yeah, this isn't going to go well

You may be pregnant, but he still needs to be taken care of too

And he's so incredibly observant

So all it takes is one crinkle of the nose or a slight turn of the head, and he's immediately on you about "when you're going to leave him" and "who the other man is"

Even if you get him to listen to what's going on, it won't matter

Nothing will change, he won't let it

You better buy some nose and ear plugs, because Brahms is desperate for your attention

Norman Bates

He understands

He literally bought a dozen books about pregnancy and how to help out as best as one can

All you have to do is mention it once, and he's to work

The smallest sounds are bothering you? He's not uttering a single word and will sound proof the house

A certain scent is making your stomach turn? He will fill the area in anything you can tolerate, so much as to switching his soaps and detergents to better suit your needs

He fully understands everything you and your body are going through in order to carry his child; the least he can do is make you comfortable

Billy Loomis

He isn't exactly the best at empathizing, so he feels like you're probably exaggerating it a bit

These things never once bothered you before, so there's no way they could be now

Takes everything very personally

If you even slightly push him away, he'll make his exit out the door

He always comes back though with a pout and a murmured apology

He has a lot of abandonment issues he's still working out

He isn't too mature with his emotions, but he's trying his best to figure things out

Will eventually do research on his own and see that things are backed by science

Won't stop him from still pouting though

Stu Macher

Apologizes for just being in your presence

Once you explain how you're feeling and what's bothering you, he'll be your biggest supporter...

From the other room

You wake up to warm tea and snacks most mornings since he knows he can be in the same room when you're asleep

Will become a bit deprived of affection after a while though

So he'll sneak into bed with you once you're already asleep and will be out before you wake up the next morning

He explains that it's important for him to spend time with you both

May still give you the occasional hug out of nowhere

He just can't help it

Vincent Sinclair

He's going to 100% respect your wishes, but he's definitely sulking any time your back is turned

He gets it, he knows about the hormones and science of it all, but damn

It hurts him so much to know that something so natural about him can be making you sick like this

He's kept his tinkering to a minimum since the noises have been hurting your head

He's taken to showering multiple times a day too since it's the only thing keeping your nausea at bay

He knows you don't mean harm by it, but this phase is going to feel like an eternity for him

Bo Sinclair

Sympathy isn't exactly in his vocabulary

He won't really do or change anything at first

But if you complain about it for long enough, he'll finally give in

But he isn't really going to do anything that actually benefits you

He'll buy nose and ear plugs for you so that he doesn't have to change anything himself

He still expects you to watch and eat whatever he is feeling though

He's trying to be there for you the best he can, he just hasn't had many experiences of empathy in his life

Hannibal Lecter

He understands and will act ever so maturely about it (like always)

He'll stop wearing his usual cologne and aftershave if it bothers you

Will only cook certain foods around you that you can tolerate

The rest he'll cook privately

If his smooth and suave voice bothers you for some reason, he'll be happy to communicate through gestures and looks

He's willing to adapt to your needs since he knows the severity of pregnancy and hormone changes

He's truly the "ask and you shall receive" type partner

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sugarplumkneecaps · 2 months ago

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I may have an absolutely filthy smut request for shadow x reader where Shadow has heats and they’re worse since he’s with the reader (can be human or mobian whichever makes you comfortable) because it makes him wanna breed them and maybe one night they both wake up and realise during the night shadow was moved the reader into a mating press subconsciously and then the reader asks him about it and he admits he wants too but he’s worried he’ll actually get the reader pregnant so the reader suggests some mutual masturbation and he can’t help but bite and nip at the readers neck during it and maybe he accidentally finishes on the reader and he just thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen

A/N: OH. MY. GOD. YES. I love this ooo!! Okay, here you go <3(P.S. So sorry for the long wait! I hope you like it!)

Mutual Satisfaction

Pairing: Shadow x Reader C/W: !!! NSFW !!! MDNI !!! Genre: Smut

The summer air was hot, even at night, which made sleeping a rather bothersome chore. Normally, you and Shadow would curl up together, enjoying the intermingling of your fur as you drifted off. Sure, you hardly ever woke up in the same position, but his touch brought you a great deal of comfort. Well, normally it did anyway. The past few nights, Shadow kept his distance from you, climbing into bed and reaching over only to plant a kiss on your forehead before returning to the far end of the bed. You had chalked this up to the heat, as you couldn’t really blame him. Cuddling was nice, but sleeping in a puddle of your own sweat? Not so much.

Today had been especially hot, even with the window AC hard at work in the living room. Every year you had taken a mental note to buy another unit for the bedroom once summer was over and every year you had subsequently forgotten. So when it was time to leave your post in front of the AC, shirt pulled up to enjoy the cool air as it made its way to your skin, you debated sleeping on the tile in the kitchen. Surely it would be better than dying in the room, right?

Shadow made his way over to you, placing a gentle hand on your exposed hip. “I’m off to bed. You coming?”

You nodded, as reluctant as you were to enter the inevitable sauna that awaited you both, the idea of you and Shadow sleeping separately was simply unacceptable. Entering the room, Shadow was by the window, prying it open and placing the large box fan along the window sill at full power. You pealed each article of clothing off of you, a last ditch effort to be able to sleep through this heatwave. As Shadow turned to face you, something in him stirred at the sight of your naked body. His eyes met yours, questioning. You looked down at yourself, suddenly feeling a tad self conscious, “is this okay? It’s excruciatingly hot.”

He nodded, breaking eye contact and moving toward the bed, “of course.” His voice was stiff and the amount of time he took to remove his gloves gave you pause.

“Everything okay?”

Shadow nodded silently, climbing into bed onto his side with his back toward you as he had done every night in recent history. “G’night.”

The cold response from him nearly cut through the warm air between you two. Your eyebrows knitted together with concern as you lay down next to your partner. Not wanting to pry too much, your eyes focused on the ceiling above, hoping that sleep would come quickly.

---

Lucid dreams overtook your sleep, indiscernible shapes of color meshing together much like an overactive lava lamp swirling in your mind. You reached your hand out to touch them, the sensation unlike any you had felt before but still soft, still tender. Hints of lavender mixed with something iron. The next time you reached out, a force pushed back, your body being enveloped in the soft cloud you had found yourself upon. The colors shifted to warm hues of red, much like Shadow’s crimson eyes. What was once globs of color turned into sharp points that dug into your biceps, your thighs adding your own shade of red to the mix. You pondered the meaning of life, the world, and what realm you existed in this very moment.

The answer, to your surprise, woke you as you let out a small yelp, the pointed end of color finding a tender spot along your inner thighs. What was once a colorful dreamscape faded away to reveal Shadow staring down at you, shock plastered on his face. His claws were dug into your legs, holding you in place with your knees caressing either side of your face. Even more of a surprise was the realization of the wetness on your stomach as Shadow’s throbbing cock sat between your legs seeping precum into your fur.

As quickly as the realization hit, Shadow retreated, clambering off the bed and moving a hand to cover the tip of his growth. Your legs fell down onto the mattress as you were nearly too stunned to speak. Nearly.

“What- Shadow? What was that all about??” your fingers subconsciously moved to the puddle on your stomach, the wet strands glistening between your fingertips.

Shadow couldn’t face you as he muttered a long string of curses under his breath.

Sitting up, too impatient to wait for whatever the hell this was to be revealed on his time, you prompted once more with a bit more force behind your words, “Shadow!”

His body jerked slightly before he turned to you once more. Even in the dark you could see his cheeks darkened with blush. “I.. woke up like that.” An audible swallow came from him.

You sat in silence, raising your eyebrows as if to inquire more because while he had technically answered you, you felt you deserved more clarification than that. His cold response earlier, the distance between you two, and then suddenly being woken up in a mating press? None of it added up.

After a long period of silence, Shadow relented. “I’ve been feeling a bit... on edge as of recently. Something I could not quite place. But every time I’ve been near you, I’ve felt an almost primal urge to...” he hesitated, the awkwardness endearing even under these circumstances. “You know.”

“No, I don’t know Shadow.”

His eyes pleaded with you to not have to say it. Once again, you raised an eyebrow until he murmured, “breed... you.”

You had heard mention of rutting season for hedgehogs, but were surprised that Shadow was subject to it considering his conception. Although the infrequency of it added up with everything you knew about him.

“You couldn’t have just asked to fuck?” you asked, the nonchalance of your tone surprising even to you.

Shadow’s chuckle cut through the tension as he sat next to you, handing you a washrag for your stomach. “As I said, it has been a very primal feeling. I worry I would not be able to stop until I’m completely sated.” His low tone and the sexual desire dripping from each word stirred your stomach and made your heart race. He reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips. “Plus, I don’t think we are necessarily in a position to have a baby.”

He wasn’t wrong. The apartment you both lived in wasn’t the smallest, but the prospect of a child would mean needing more space in more ways than just living. You both worked incredibly odd hours and either of you could be called away for long missions within a moment’s notice. The idea of having a small child along for the ride was out of the question. You nodded in agreement, loving the feeling of Shadow’s lips on your knuckles. Just then, an idea came to you.

“What if we don’t fuck?”

Shadow looked up at you, his expression one of “no duh, what do you think I’ve been avoiding”. You took his other hand in yours and held them both in front of you.

“We can still cum without fucking. Might take the edge off.”

Your dark counterpart pondered this offer for awhile, the bulge between his legs twitching as it became erect once more.

“Okay... what did you have in mind?”

You released his hands and fell back onto the bed, spreading your legs as you traced circles on your own skin. “We could both get off? On our own? But, like, together.”

A low chuckle came from Shadow, “mutual masturbation?”

With a small nod, you watched as his eyes trained on your digits, mesmerized by their movements as they moved down your figure slowly.

“Ah, what the hell.” His own hand found its way to the base of his cock, gripping his fingers around its girth as he started working it up... and down.

Each movement of his encouraged your own as your hand found your own clit, your fingertips lightly flicking it between circular rubs. A soft moan escaped your lips, encouraging sounds of lust and desire to be released from Shadow’s throat. Both of your movements quickened, curses layered between pants and moans filling the air.

Shadow couldn’t bear it. “You’re so fucking beautiful-“ he gasped out, shifting his body on top of yours. “I need to feel you. Please. Fuck!”

His hot breath tickled your neck, sending shivers throughout your body, the sensation bringing you closer to your climax. You whispered his name in ecstasy as his shaft lay between your wet slit. Slowly, Shadow worked his hips to coat his length in your juices, the friction against your clit and the tip of his cock too much for either of you to bear. A growl worked its way through his body as he opened his mouth around your shoulder, his teeth making contact with your tough skin.

Chasing your orgasm, the sudden pressure on your shoulder and your pussy brought your climax to an explosive conclusion just as Shadow found his. Hot cum poured from him onto your stomach, both of you panting as you were both well spent. Getting his bearings, Shadow lifted himself up, admiring his work before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. You smiled against his, euphoria setting in.

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #sth #fanfic #writing requests #anon ask #smut #✧*̥˚ requests *̥˚✧

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bows4tyun · 2 months ago

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Can you write virgin reader and Soobin with bad corruption kink pleaseeee, I just read the 2 of your fics and I'm obsessed 🫶🏼

BROKEN ANGEL - ! ⸝⸝ 최수빈

୨ৎ: soobin was always fond of how innocent and pure you were, not having a single clue of all the twisted and dirty thoughts that went through his head, the subtle touches he would give you, or not even how rock hard you had him all the time. he never knew that your innocence would soon effect him like never before.

𓍼 paring ! - husband!soobin x virgin!reader (f)

𓍼 warnings ! - softdom!soobin, sub!reader, they're so in love, massive corruption kink, virginity loss, breast worship, nipple play, praise kink, size training, bulge kink, breeding kink (he really wants to get reader pregnant), lots of kisses, soobin referred as binnie by reader, soobin calls reader bun, bunny, angel, and good girl

𓍼 # lexi adds ! - heh i rlly like this one :3 I like this one so much I'll cry in the corner of my room and wish to have a love like this. "thank you anon!" we all say in unison!!

you loved your husband and he loved you too, always showing you how much he loved you with soft kisses everyday or baking you some sweet treats. it had never gone as far as anything sexual.

you don't know why, but it just never happened even after a 2 year marriage with him. of course, you were still a virgin, you had never had a sexual experience with any other man.

if soobin had wanted to then why didn't he just ask? well the answer was simple;

he loved how innocent you were.

soobin was always fond of how innocent and pure you were, not having a single clue of all the twisted and dirty thoughts that went through his head, the subtle touches he would give you, or not even how rock hard you had him all the time. he never knew that your innocence would soon effect him like never before until one fateful day...

it was a day just like any other, soobin was heading back home from work, smiling at the text message he had gotten from you, giving him a small heads up that there would be dinner ready for him as soon as he got back.

he absolutely adored the way you thought ahead for him, and only him. he wanted it to stay like this forever, just you and him, him and his sweet angel.

everything about you was just so perfect and angelic, how did soobin ever get so lucky to have his own real life angel all to himself?

he dreamed of starting a family with you, him working while you stayed home taking care of his babies, it was everything he wanted. but in order to make babies, you had to have sex.

soobin just couldn't get himself to ask for sex, not wanting to break your innocence in any shape or form. you guys were both adult, more than capable of making your own decisions, so maybe this time soobin would have a go at it.

⸝⸝

he felt nervous as he entered your cozy and loving home, being greeted by a warm embrace and small peck on the lips right as he stepped foot inside the house which dissolved all the nervousness in his body away.

soobin planted a soft kiss on your forehead before you helped him removed his jacket and place on a hook from the coat hanger.

"i made your favourite." your voice calm and collected yet heavy with love and adoration. soobin liked this feeling, being with you, a smile always painted on his face while having you close to him.

with a small nod, he allowed you to lead him to your small dining table of two, the table well organized and ready for the two of you to have a loving and home-cooked meal together.

a small yet gentle smile tugged at soobin's lips once he saw the prepped dinner. instead of sitting down, he hugged you once more, this time more tightly than before. he leaned down enough to whisper in your ear, "what did I do to deserve you?"

a giggle escaped past your lips,feeling ticklish from his whisper against your ear. "binnie, let's eat first."

he leaned back his cute dimple visible as his grinned affectionately, "oh right... yeah let's do that."

⸝⸝

after dinner, soobin had gone to your shared master bedroom to change while you cleaned up and washed the dishes, it was so calm in your house, only the sound of water running bouncing off the walls.

not paying much attention to your surroundings, you're startled when you felt soobin's hands creep up around your waist. "binnie, you scared me!" you say as you turn around to face him. he chuckles at your cute reaction, cupping your face with his hands and pecking you on the lips.

"sorry bun, I'll make it up to you." he says, "anything you want." and he pecks your lips again.

"I don't need anything from you, binnie, just having you here is enough." your words might have sounded cliche but you meant every single thing. he was the most important thing to you and nothing could ever change that.

soobin lets his hands fall to his sides, admiring your beauty for a few seconds, the moment is so sweet, just the two of you, so stupid in love with each other, it was something you'd both cherish forever.

suddenly, you're lifted into soobin's arms, startled once more and you yelp as he holds you, carrying you the same way he had on your wedding day.

"soobin!" you squeal.

nothing but a small snicker escapes past his lip as he stares into your eyes, "it's okay, I got you bunny" his voice reassuring as he leads you to your room.

you wrapped your arm around the back of his neck to ensure you don't fall even when you know soobin would never drop you, never in his life.

he took you in the direction of the bed, placing you down on the soft and comfy mattress, admiring your beauty as you laid under him, looking as pure as ever, his angelic wife.

you feel his eyes on you, his warm brown eyes enamoured by your content beauty. the nervousness gets to you, causing a warm feeling to rise to your cheeks, painting them a mellow pink hue and your hand moves to hover over your mouth.

soobin placed a comforting hand on yours, his touch warm. he moves your hand away from your face, keeping it close to your chest. "don't hide yourself from me bunny, I want to see your pretty face..."

your other hand envelopes his as you stare into his eyes. "what are you trying to do binnie...?" your question curious yet innocent as your eyes search his for an answer.

"you've had me worked up for way too long, bun. I can't take it. I want to make love to you, only if you're okay with it, of course. I know it's your first time and I don't want to hurt you," he says, "I'll accept any answer you give me."

his words make you feel an unusual sensation in your core, you're never felt this before.

finally, you nod you head meekly a small "mhm" leaving your mouth. "I've been waiting for you to ask, binnie..." you turn your head and gaze elsewhere, to shy to look him in the eyes.

his face instantly lights up from your response, not believing what he was hearing. his hand moves to your chin as he gently turns your head back and he kisses you, softly and lovingly, just so full of love.

"I'll start slow, don't worry, bun" one by one, pieces of your clothes are removed from your body, leaving you fully exposed and vulnerable in front of him, soobin leaving small kisses on every inch of newly exposed skin he saw, not wanting to miss out on anything. "fuck, can't believe I have you all to myself now, bunny. you're just like an angel, all for me..."

He kisses your lips once more before kneeling in front of your thighs, watching the way your cunt glistens with your slick.

you whine from the desperate need of his touch, you feel like an animal in heat, it felt pathetic.

he pushes a finger into your awaiting hole, watching how it clenched around it as if it's life depended on his contact

"b-binnie..." you stutter from the overwhelming feeling and he stops.

"are you okay? did I hurt you?" his tone of voice sounds alert and concerned for any of your discomfort.

you shake your head, and he leaves from inbetween your legs. "n-no I just..." you say, embarrassed "I want you to touch me... "

"is that what my angel wants, to be pleasured?" he coos softly , caressing your hair and moving his other hand to your breast, squeezing the soft squishy flesh and tweaking at your nipple, drawing mewls to fall from your lips.

"b-binnie...!" you whimper his name out again, not knowing what else to say accept feel the immense feeling of pleasure coursing through your body.

"yeah? you're doing so good, such a good girl..." you moan pathetically at the pet name, not knowing how much you'd actually like it. "you ready to take me in?"

his body moves up to hover over you again, his eyes scanning your face and reactions like a scientific study.

"not yet-!" you watch as soobin's head shoots down and his lips attach to your nipple, sucking lightly, hardening the sensitive bud. you squirm and whimper, you can feel soobin smirking at the sight infront of him, your face contorted in pleasure as your brows furrow and your eyes screw shut.

his lip detach themselves from your nipple, a small string of saliva connecting the two of you together before breaking, he licked his lips in hunger, wanting more. "it's okay, bunny, take your time."

his hands run down your sides in a soothing way, the dim light in the room letting you see all of his features just right. he was so handsome, he always had been. so cute too. you couldn't believe he was your husband. that's when you spoke up, your voice barely above a whisper, "soobin... I'm ready..."

his eyes widen, "a-are you sure...? like, completely sure?"

with a small nod as a gesture, he picks you up again, sitting himself on the bed and placing on on his lap, his head against the headboard.

your clothed core presses against his thigh, a slight whimper escaping from the feeling. you sit on his thigh, your clit pressing against him and you feel a huge burst of pleasure and your eyes close again.

soobin smirks and chuckles at the sight of you pleasuring yourself, his hands on your hips to keep to steady. "there you go, bun. you're getting the hand of it, aren't you?" he says, "now let's get this dick out, wanna do it for me?

you're a bit shocked by his question, your eyes opening only to see him signalling you to take his dick out his pants. you agree to his offer, you hands finding their way down to his bulge, pulling the waistband of his sweatpants down and you grab his hard dick, he hisses at the feeling as you pull it out.

it's huge, you never knew that they could be that big. you're startled a bit, and soobin notices, caressing your hair in a comforting manner. "don't be scared, bun. I'll take care of you, I would never hurt you."

he lifts you from his thigh, tugging your matching laced panties off of your body. throwing it into the pile of your long and forgotten clothes.

"tell me if it hurts and I'll stop, okay?" he says reassuringly, not wanting to scare you away.

"I got it binnie, I want to try."

"don't push yourself too hard." he kisses you softly before you align yourself with his cock.

"is this right?" you question innocently, not sure of what you're doing.

he smiles warmly, "perfect. you got this, bunny. just push yourself down of it, okay?"

with his words of affirmation, you're finally able to get yourself to push his cock inside of, it hurts, a lot. the sting pluses through your body but you keep going despite the pain, not wanting to disappoint soobin.

a small cry and hiss leave your lips and soobin stops you from going any further, "bunny don't hurt yourself, please."

"I'm fine binnie..." you whisper, trying to convince him but he doesn't believe you.

"bunny, if you can't handle it, don't keep going, please."

"I can do it..." and with those words you push yourself completely , bottoming yourself on his cock, feeling your skin finally touch his. he's so deep inside of you, his tip kissing your sweet spot just right.

you moan out and pull yourself off his cock, your hole stretched out like never before, but you push yourself back down without soobin's help. he watches as you repeat your actions and fuck yourself up and down on his dick, the pleasure only getting better.

"ah- binnie! f-feels so good...!" you cry out, soobin only admiring the way your tits bounce right in front of his face, his hands moving up to cup them.

"that's right, bunny. you're such a fast learner..." he says in admiration, groping your tits softly "fuck your tits are perfect." he admits, "I'm so glad that I'm the one taking your innocence, angel."

your soft whimpers and moans are absolute music to soobin's ears, he would listen to you all day if he could.

as you bounce on his dick, the sounds of wet and lewd slapping echoes and bounces off the walls. the sounds of your moans and soobin's groans filling the room that was now full of the scent of sex.

"hmph! binnie! I'm feel something in my stomach-!" you grip his shoulders as he grips onto your waist.

"that's a good thing bunny, a very good thing," he huffs out " you're taking me so well, such a good girl... " he can't help himself and begins to thrust up into you, hitting your cervix on repeat, causing your moans to grow louder and even more desperate than before.

"I can't take it...! binnie-!" you find yourself fucked dumb on his cock and soobin feels his balls tighten, knowing his release was soon, very soon.

you finally release on his cock, feeling as it was embarrassingly fast, but you continue to bounce on his dick despite your orgasm.

he suddenly stops you from bouncing, holding you in place and he thrusts up with so much power, leaving you only to whimper and moan out pathetic babbles, only fueling soobin to chase his high.

"fuck bunny, im going to fill you up so good! want me to fill you with our first child, hm? want me to get you round and pregnant?"

you can't understand what he's saying, your mind fucked dumb as you just agree and nod. "yes! yes please binnie...!"

he snickers " I'll give you exactly what you want, bun. you know I always do."

and fill you up he does, right to the brim.

he leaves the both of you breathless as he stays snug inside, not wanting to let his cum go to waste. you feel as some of his cum swivels down and wets the mattress under you.

"let's stay like this for a while, hm? I want to just hug you and cherish you in my arms. I love you, bunny."

𓍼 taglist ! - @hyunj00 (please lmk if you want to be tagged in any of my future works!)

reblogs are appreciated!

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please-destroy · 3 months ago

Text

Moments of Respite

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.1K

Your body aches with the fight you’ve barely survived.

The flight home from Sokovia is the longest of your life. Steve had practically thrown food rations at the team, but they are all long finished now. So is any conversation, sheer exhaustion flattening the atmosphere.

Wanda Maximoff sits on the far side of the Quinjet. The rest of the team are quiet, wordlessly favouring the other half of the aircraft.

Wanda seems uncaring of her surroundings. Her long, dark hair is matted with dirt and blood. It shrouds her figure strangely. Only Clint watches her as openly as you.

You can’t keep your eyes away from her. There is something about her stillness. It scares you and thrills you in the same breath. Wanda watches the blue sky outside the jet, as if she isn’t really here, as if nothing is real.

Her eyes burn with bitter life.

When you land, it is Clint who clears his throat and walks over to her. Wordlessly, he nods his head at the exit. Wanda follows him with the empty footsteps of grief.

You aren’t quite sure why you follow them too.

Sunshine slicks pleasantly over your skin as you hurry across the lawn toward the Avenger’s building. Already, Clint and Wanda are disappearing inside.

You wait for the elevator to the residents’ quarters. When the doors open at last, Clint is standing there alone.

He touches your arm.

‘We don’t know her.’ He reminds you calmly. You wonder what he can see on your face. You nod but don’t answer.

You enter the elevator as he walks out. Clint shakes his head and you worry that you really are making a big mistake. You try to ignore the thought, trusting the strong new instinct inside you that wants to follow her.

When do you ever listen to Clint anyway?

You press the elevator button for the floor with the largest guest rooms.

When the doors open, nerves strike you.

You press the ‘doors close’ button hurriedly and go to your own floor instead.

In your own living quarters, you go to your window, watching as the other Avengers disembark slowly from the Quinjet. Your fingers tap a nervous beat against the windowsill.

You watch as Pepper meets Tony in the middle of the grass, bringing him into a tight hug. You watch Natasha’s arm slink around Clint as she leans tiredly into him.

You think of Wanda and her dead brother and feel your gut twist with pity.

It’s why you go back to the elevator.

This time, you get as far as Wanda’s door. It’s already ajar. You clear your throat as you push it open.

Wanda doesn’t react. She sits stiffly at the edge of her bed. Her figure is silhouetted against a large window. She faces away from you, watching the same scenes play out on the grass.

Your feet walk you forward.

You look down at Wanda and the feeling of sympathy only doubles.

Her eyes slide over to regard you dully.

You offer out your hand, not sure if she’ll take it.

‘You need to wash your hair.’ You tell her quietly. You have never spoken to her directly before.

Wanda closes her eyes and you watch sudden, unbearable heaviness return to her shoulders. You hate yourself for bringing her back to reality.

‘I can’t.’ She whispers, voice rasping from lack of use.

You take her hand and squeeze it once. Wanda grips it tight as she gets to her feet, following you into the bathroom.

As her feet hit the tiles, Wanda begins to strip automatically out of her grimy clothes. Her eyes do not glance to you. You hold back your shock, realising with sudden clarity just how invisible you are to her. How meaningless everything is.

The thought bolsters you weirdly. You kick off your shoes, before removing every other piece of clothing, except your t-shirt and underwear. Wanda keeps a tight hold of your hand as you lead her into the shower.

She lets go obediently as she turns to face the jet of water. She washes herself numbly, as you work through the wet tangles in her hair, applying shampoo and conditioner in turn.

The steady thrum of water is comforting as you focus on your task.

A few minutes later, you turn the shower off and find Wanda a towel. It is a comically large and luxurious one. Wrapped in it, Wanda seems encompassed in a fluffy cloud of cotton.

You dry yourself efficiently then, removing your wet t-shirt and putting your dry sweats back on. Wet underwear seems like a ridiculous discomfort to worry about.

When you turn back to Wanda, she hasn’t yet moved. You say her name quietly.

Wanda’s stare turns to you with sudden intensity. Her mouth hangs open slightly as her breathing becomes more rapid.

Desperate emotions cross her face, but grief chokes them all. You touch her bare shoulder cautiously.

Wanda’s lungs desperately search for air. She curves slightly, as if her stomach cavity has been hollowed out.

She hurries past you, back to the room that is barely hers.

You follow her cautiously.

She is sitting again on the edge of the bed. This time, you sit next to her. Her shoulders are curved inwards.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ You admit, more to yourself than to her. The words feel blunt and honest. Part of you wishes immediately that you hadn’t spoken.

Wanda’s head tilts, moving slowly to rest against your shoulder. Your arm moves automatically around her shoulders. Her wet hair soaks through your sleeve. She cries tiredly.

You feel your heart beating steadily in your chest. You are glad that you followed her.

Minutes later, Wanda leans heavier against you as overwhelming exhaustion lulls her to sleep.

Your back aches unbearably, but you focus on the feeling of gladness.

Pietro’s funeral is barely a funeral.

Wanda wanted to bury him. But a superhuman’s body is valuable, dead or alive.

A twisted embarrassment runs over Wanda’s face as she scatters his ashes below the large tree.

You hate knowing that it feels so wrong to her.

Sokovia’s borders are not open to pilgrimages of grief. There wasn’t anywhere else special to do this.

‘Put me here too.’ Wanda murmurs as she walks back over to the small group of you, Clint and Steve. You nod silently. Clint seems entirely impassive. Steve touches Wanda’s shoulder supportively, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.

As you walk back to the Compound, her cold hand finds its way back into yours. You squeeze it tightly.

The full team is waiting inside. Tony and Pepper hadn’t been invited out to the tree, the Stark Industries connection being an unspoken barrier. They wait with the others, just inside the main door.

You are frustrated at their insistence in being involved at all. It is not the time to reopen old wounds.

Inside, several traditional Sokovian dishes have been provided by a catering company. The drinks bar on the other side features Sokovian vodka prominently. You watch a careful wall develop behind Wanda’s eyes. You understand why. The gesture feels jarringly intrusive. As if Tony has dug up pieces of Wanda’s past and put them on display.

Steve talks to Wanda earnestly, telling her that Pietro was a hero. You watch her jaw tighten slightly at his words. You squeeze her hand again, wishing you could do anything else.

Wanda slips her hand out of yours. She ignores the empty plates provided, instead going straight to the drinks bar.

The atmosphere settles familiarly with everyone else, especially with Wanda on the other side of the room. Rhodey starts talking to you about something mundane.

You watch Wanda pour herself a drink.

The awkwardness of the formal event makes every minute spent feel like an hour. After polite conversations with most people in the room, you watch Wanda slip away.

Barely five minutes later, you do the same. You pretend not to see the others commenting on your hurried exit.

Her room is empty. You step into it briefly, scanning for signs of occupation. You stop at her window, heart sinking as you realise Wanda looks directly onto the large tree with ashes scattered beneath it.

A tight claustrophobic feeling binds itself around your chest. You hurry from the room, down the emergency stairwell, intending to find some fresh air.

You nearly trip over Wanda, huddled on a stair.

Apologies fly from your mouth instantly. Wanda stands up, brushing her dress off. Her face is pale and you can see the tremble in her fingers.

Her attention is turned to you.

‘Are you okay?’ She asks.

‘Are you?’ You challenge unthinkingly. Wanda rolls her eyes. Her foot taps a large stolen bottle of Russian vodka, standing on the step below her.

‘No.’ She replies matter of factly. ‘I’m having a funeral.’

You nod, eyeing the vodka with a surge of envy.

‘Can I join?’ You ask bluntly.

Twenty minutes later, the world is getting hazy at the edges.

The door at the bottom of the stairwell thuds open and you both startle.

Together, you peer over the ledge. Wanda’s hand presses down on your inner thigh as she leans for a better view. You try not to think about how it feels.

For a moment, there is silence and no movement below. Then, Natasha appears, looking right up at you.

‘That is my vodka.’ She calls out.

‘Was.’ You correct her teasingly. Natasha’s expression crinkles with a half smile.

‘Toast him from me.’ She requests simply, gaze meeting Wanda’s.

Wanda nods and Natasha leaves, the door thudding again behind her.

You lift the vodka bottle in silent toast, taking a drink before passing to Wanda.

As she drinks, you notice a beauty mark on her cheek. Your eyes linger a little too long.

Wanda watches you thoughtfully, before she puts the bottle down.

She takes your hand carefully into her lap and lays it there gently, palm up. She traces the outline of your hand with her forefinger. Tingles shoot along your arm and down your spine.

Drunkenly, you decided that Wanda is in fact magic.

You watch as she carves a featherlight ‘P’ into your palm with her finger. You know the rest of the word to follow.

When she’s finished, Wanda begins again. You watch half hypnotised, overwhelmed by a feeling that you can’t name.

She writes her brother’s name again and again into your skin.

You don’t realise you are crying until the tears slide from your face.

‘He was your brother.’ You whisper with strange reverence, staring down at your palm. Wanda nods silently, pressing her thumb slowly into your palm. You curl your fingers gently around her and kiss the fist you make.

Weeks fly together after the funeral. Everyone seeks out a sense of routine, including Wanda.

Missions and training are the group focus of each day.

There is no use denying the way you feel about Wanda. But, you try anyway.

You are her only friend. You do your best not to mess it up.

Wanda trains far longer each day than you do. She is passed between different Avengers for specialised training. Natasha and Steve have sessions with her every day.

Each afternoon, Wanda seeks you out in your room. You lie together on your bed, watching old sitcoms on the TV in the corner. Wanda’s hair is always wet from her shower and you fight a feeling of deja vu when she leans against you.

You eat dinner together every evening. Sometimes afterward, Wanda’s head rests even heavier against your shoulder. You stay as still as you can, praying she might fall asleep. She never does.

You know that eventually something will disrupt the carefully balanced routine.

It is a Tuesday. You are talking with Sam in the kitchen.

A muffled explosion makes the building shudder.

You are both already on your way toward the noise, when Jarvis informs you that it is a training accident.

Sam slows down when Jarvis clarifies that nobody is hurt. You don’t.

As you approach the main training room, Steve is exiting it. He brushes past you like you’re not even there, shaking his head in preoccupation.

You enter the room cautiously. Natasha is standing just inside the door. Her voice is pitched low, intentionally calming.

You take in the scene.

Mangled fitness equipment lies scattered. Training weapons are embedded like makeshift javelins in the wooden floor.

Wanda stands at the heart of the explosion. There is no red aura around her, but it’s like you can taste the residue of it in the air.

Natasha gives you a cautionary look, as if she’s the zookeeper standing between you and a tiger.

‘Wanda.’ You call out anyway. The red pulse that marks your words is unmistakable.

‘Don’t come near me.’ Wanda spits at you. Her eyes train on Natasha again . “Either of you.’

Natasha’s jaw tightens as she nods.

‘Okay.’ She says calmly, keeping her front to Wanda as she backs out of the room. Through the glass pane in the door, Natasha waits for you to follow.

You shake your head imperceptibly. Concern floods Natasha’s face before she leaves.

You slide to sit on the ground, back against the wall.

You are alone together. There is the loudest silence. You can hear Wanda’s frustration in her breathing.

‘I told you to go.’ Wanda tells you in a tight voice. Minutes have passed. You wonder if she knows.

‘You’re not a monster.’ You tell her resolutely, stretching for one of the unopened water bottles left discarded along with some kit bags. ‘I’m not treating you like one.’

Another minute passes. You sip the water that you don’t really want, grateful to have anything to do.

‘I am.’ Wanda whispers finally. She falls slowly to her knees.

‘You’re not.’ You counter firmly, climbing back to your feet. You walk over in a quick few steps, refusing to acknowledge any danger in being here.

You feel Wanda tense worriedly as you get closer. So, you sit back down several feet away from her.

You slide the water bottle across the floor and Wanda takes it.

‘I’m not normal.’ She amends, fingers twisting the bottle cap.

‘Doesn’t mean you’re a monster.’ You insist, feeling a hot protectiveness in your chest.

‘You don’t know.’ Wanda tells you; and you see the echo of her mistakes written across her face.

‘I’d like to.’ You admit unthinkingly.

Wanda looks back up at you. Her eyes feel fiery but her expression is pained.

‘Don’t say things that you don’t mean.’ She warns, her accent curling harshly around the words.

‘Never.’ You promise immediately.

Realisation falls upon her face as you hold her stare. Wanda blows out a shaky breath.

‘Don’t say things that you don’t mean.’ She whispers again.

You crawl across the space between you. Your heart is in your mouth.

‘Never.’ You hear yourself repeat.

Wanda’s eyes are desperate, but she faces you with perfect stillness.

You brush her hair as you cup her jaw. Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation, her lips part slightly.

You kiss her gently. You think of how delicate she doesn’t know she is. Her lips feel soft and then they feel like home.

—-----

You find her alone in the kitchen. It has been four weeks since the kiss in the training room. A month since everything clicked into place.

‘Hey.’ You call, unable to wipe the immediate smile from your face.

Wanda tenses and then she swears in a language you don’t understand.

You hesitate in surprise.

‘I’m cooking you dinner.’ Wanda informs you tensely, a moment later.

You smell the air and hesitate at the strong but unfamiliar aroma. Wanda catches your unsure reaction.

‘Something you’ve never heard of.’ She tells you, looking down at the stove in an attempt to hide her smile.

‘Yum.’ You tell her enthusiastically, walking over to the island counter.

Wanda snorts, leaning familiarly back against you as your hands slide around her waist. You rest your head on her shoulder, sneaking a glance down at the mysterious dish. You are relieved to recognise chicken.

You revel in Wanda’s closeness, holding her tighter for a long moment.

‘I really do want to try it.’ You assure her. ‘It looks good.’

Wanda nods, but she doesn’t speak.

Your fingers slide under her top, resting at her hip. You rub circles with your thumb against her skin.

‘It’s my favourite meal.’ Wanda tells you quietly. You press your lips against her collarbone as you listen. ‘But it’s supposed to be something that you share.’

The echoes of her past feel weighted now. You stroke her cheek unthinkingly.

‘Let me set the table.’ You offer simply.

You take the first piece of chicken from your plate and go to try it. You pretend Wanda’s eyes aren’t glued to you in anticipation.

The spice kicks in at the back of your throat and you splutter a cough. Your eyes water and you hear yourself wheeze as you reach for your drink.

Wanda is already on her feet, panic radiating from her. Her hand is on your back.

There is an awful, embarrassing moment as you continue to splutter.

‘No.’ You finally force yourself to speak hoarsely, hitting yourself in the chest. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’ You give an awkward thumbs up as you finally swallow.

Wanda falls back in her seat. You watch her cover her face with her hands. A strange laugh bubbles out of her,

‘I thought I’d killed you.’ She admits suddenly.

You touch her shoulder unsurely. You can feel her start to shake, as her laughter descends into strange sobs. You taste the lump in your throat as you realise how very real her fear was.

You want to tell her it’s illogical, irrational to worry about something like that. That you won’t die so easily. That it would never be her fault.

You can’t lie.

You take her hand instead, pulling her wordlessly to your lap. Wanda buries her face against you, and you feel hot tears trickle down your neck.

She clings to you in a way that she never has before.

She has never seemed so vulnerable. You rub her back, hoping desperately that she doesn’t feel so vulnerable too.

Her cries slow and she takes a steadying breath. Wanda lifts her face to face the ceiling and wipes the tears from her pale cheeks. Your eyes catch automatically on her beauty mark.

She moves to leave your lap, but you keep her steady.

Wanda turns to face you, confused.

You offer her your fork, another piece of chicken on the end. You shrug.

‘It’s meant to be shared.’

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff imagine

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gay-dorito-dust · 10 months ago

Note

Batboys with reader who has a silly collection of stickers and puts them over their faces, their suits or their weapons (most of them with silly encouraging phrases to cheer them up lol)

Dick

He bought you a set of stickers once and ever since it’s been his ultimate downfall but in the most humorous way possible.

Dick has a sense of humour, he didn’t mind a couple of stickers here and there, even going so far as to keep the cute cartoon mushroom stickers that you’ve left on his escrema sticks as your personal touch on his belongings.

He even once woke up to a face full of them and when he asked your reasoning as to why, you only shrugged your shoulders and said ‘I thought it’d be funny to see how many stickers I can put on your face without waking you up.’

Dick takes the whole thing in stride and in good faith and loves the fact that you went out of your way to cheer him up through your cute but inspirational stickers. It was almost as though you knew that he needed a little pick me up that day and did so tenfold by coating his hands in stickers that reminded him of your deep care for him and his mental health.

So nowadays Dick doesn’t mind waking up just to see his face covered in stickers and instead smiles and goes about his daily routine as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

Jason removed his red helmet from his hand and could only stare at the stickers that littered across the sides and back either a blank stare as Roy practically pissed himself with laughter.

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, how did I not see this?’ Jason muttered under his breath, scratching at sticker of a cartoon Robin holding a stick in its beak.

‘Oh there’s nothing to be ashamed of in a little self expression Jason,’ Roy snickered, ‘but I didn’t peg you as the type to collect stickers and cute ones at that.’ He then points to a particular sticker on his helmet of a cat hanging from a branch followed by the saying; just hang in there.

‘piss off.’ Jason told him. He knew something was a miss but didn’t know what it was and now that he knew, everything was starting to make a bit more sense. For starters you didn’t kiss his helmet like you usually did before he left of patrol, almost as though you didn’t want to ruin something on his helmet that he didn’t see, at least not at that point in time.

He should’ve known because you’ve pulled this stint with his guns before in the past but what you didn’t know was that he kept a few that were now a little worn and faded. So while he appear a little peeved that you have took it upon yourself to decorate his helmet, he was a sentimental guy deep down who loved anything and everything you’ve given him and treasures it with his entire heart.

Jason’s a secret sap when it comes to you and knows that he’ll come to laugh at all this at a later date as he recalls all of it to you when he comes home, already envisioning your reaction when he’d inevitably calls you out on it, knowing that he could never stay mad at you for very long. He physically couldn’t and refuses to when all you were trying to do was lift his spirits.

You were too sweet for him but he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Damian

Wants you to take them off at first, how was he meant to be taken seriously if he was covered head to toe in stickers, ridiculous.

He thinks them childish unfortunately

However when you do stop putting your stickers across every one of his belongings for a brief stint, he begins to realise the true intended purpose behind them, and would begin to leave subtle hints that he wanted you to go back to coating everything he owned in stickers in his own way of apologising.

He’s stubborn but he cares for you and what you meant to him and if planting stickers on the sheath of his sword on the premise to uplift his spirits, then who was he to stop you from doing so. He wasn’t use to someone going out of their way to try and cheer him up and was more use to isolating himself from everyone in his room and just draw out his innermost feelings.

So you covering his face, suit and or weapons with stickers with cute and uplifting words was something he needed time to get use to, but once he does he tries to keep the stickers that had long served their purpose within the pages of his sketch pad as a keepsake of your thoughtfulness towards him.

This portion of his sketch pad is kept under a lot of secrecy on his part but you find it eventually because of course you do.

Damian wasn’t use to someone caring about him as much as you did and in a more unique way than littering the hilt of his sword in stickers made to make his day just that a little better. Damian, much like Jason, keeps a sticker or two on his weapons but in places where it would be harder for others to spot and would run his thumb over it whenever he felt that he needed your presence.

Tim doesn’t mind you putting stickers on his stuff, he’s pretty much unbothered by it and would just accept the fact that this was your way of saying that you’re thinking of him and his well-being. Tim knew you well enough to understand what you were trying to say through your stickers from the stickers you used consistently.

However due to his egregious sleep schedule lead to many instances where he would wake up to his face covered entirely in stickers, and at first he thought it was the lack of sleep that was making him see things but soon realised that his face was indeed covered in stickers, and would silently stare at you through the mirror as you tried hard not to laugh.

He threatens to plaster your face with stickers next time, he does follow up on his promise but that’s a story for another time.

To Tim it was almost as if you had just made up an entirely new way of communication through stickers, he’s even got them categorised based on their subliminal messages and what you were trying to tell him through them.

He appreciates the stickers and would even find himself smiling at them on the odd occasion and run his fingers over them gingerly as to not accidentally peel one of them off. He loved your unique way of cheering him up and would get a little sad when he sees that someone them were starting to fade or become worn, only to feel a warmth spread throughout his chest when he saw new stickers next to the places of the old ones.

Each and every sticker had it’s sentimental significance to him and if Tim were to ever find out that you didn’t have anymore stickers to spare, he would buy you more sets and act like he didn’t have any part in this despite the parcel having his name on it.

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standfucker · 9 months ago

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Post-Injury Hurt/Comfort Series - Law, Shanks, Mihawk, Rosinante, Blackbeard

Characters: Law, Shanks, Mihawk, Rosinante, Blackbeard

Reader: GN (afab in Rosi's)

Word Count: 5.7k

CW: blood, gore, graphic depictions of injury, stitches, sepsis

Summary: Continuing the series. Blackbeard's is more of a small bonus drabble that came to me, so his doesn't meet the 1k minimum I was shooting for in these. (And Rosi's went way over...)

Ao3 Link

Law

Your opponent is quicker than you're used to. As a cat mink, his reflexes are far better than yours. However, he fights unarmed while you use twin short swords, so you're able to keep some distance between you and even the playing field.

You tilt your head left to avoid his swipe, claws barely missing your face. Acting quickly, you return with a jab that pierces his armor and stabs into his shoulder. He hisses in pain and you grin–that's one arm he can't use anymore.

Your moment of confidence makes you slip up. Focused on the movement of his remaining arm, you're taken by surprise when he suddenly kicks one of your swords right out of your hand. He hasn’t used kicks at all until now, likely to catch you off-guard like this. Before you can recover, he follows up by thrusting his claws into your chest, digging in and unleashing electricity into your body.

Law looks over just in time to see you drop like a stone. “Y/n-ya!” he shouts–but you're unresponsive. He turns to Bepo, fighting by his side. “Bepo! Count to two, then kick as hard as you can where I am!”

Bepo, wisened to Law’s tactics, nods. “Aye-aye!”

Law flexes his fingers. “Room!”

The sphere of his power expands wide to cover the battlefield. He swaps places with the cat mink, hearing it yowl a moment later as Bepo’s foot connects with its gut. Grabbing your arm, he creates one more room from where he is and teleports you both to its perimeter, a safe distance from the fight. Aside from some bloody claw marks, he can't see major injuries.

“Scan!” Law calls, voice tinged with panic as his ability checks your vitals. To his horror, the scan of your body shows your heart has stopped entirely, and his own seems to follow suit. He quickly removes your heart from your body, holding it in his hand. Focusing, he runs his own electric current through your heart in a swift, measured jolt.

The muscle twitches once and remains still.

“No, no, come on.” Law tries again. Zap. No response. “Don’t you do this.” He tries again. Zap. And again, no response. “Come back.” Zap. Your heart is still.

This time, he uses both hands and runs a higher voltage, shouting, “Come back right now!” Your heart jumps–then, finally, starts to beat. The relief is almost nauseating.

Clutching your heart to his chest with one hand, Law tilts your jaw open with his other hand and seals his mouth over yours, delivering rescue breaths until he feels you start to breathe on your own.

Slowly, your eyes open, your breaths shallow but even. He's hovering right over your head, looking into your eyes. “Law?”

“Just stay still.” He runs another scan, making sure everything's running normally.

You try to get up, fighting the sluggishness of your body. “The fight–”

“It’s still going. Lie down.” Law pushes your shoulder, forcing you to recline.

“Then you need to go help them.”

“The rest of the crew has it handled. I'm not leaving you.”

You’re not sure what happened–everything went black while you were fighting–but whatever it was, it must have been bad if Law’s saying that. Still, you’re eager to rejoin the battle. “Am I going to die?” you ask stubbornly as you try to sit up again.

“Don't be ridiculous. I'd never let that happen. Lie down, Y/n-ya.”

Law doesn't let you fight. He doesn’t even let you get up, not until he's checked everything–blood pressure, oxygen level, potential blood clots, your ability to follow commands–and even then, he doesn't give you your heart back, stating he needs to keep an eye on it for a while “just in case.” The battle ends in victory, and you walk back to the crew with a square hole in your chest.

You don't know much about electric shock effects, but you suppose it's okay to make sure your heart hasn't been thrown out of rhythm. It is weird to go about your day with the hole in your body. And it’s weird to feel Law’s fingers around your heart. It’s difficult to describe–a sort of warm, sensitive, almost ticklish physical contact that you feel within your chest, despite it being outside your body. Every time Law picks up your heart, you’re aware. You don’t know where he keeps it, but it must be somewhere on his person; you feel it at random throughout the day or as you’re laying in bed at night. You can infer he stays up late, as you often fall asleep to the sensation of him holding it in his hand.

Throughout all those days, you’ve never felt more secure, never slept more soundly than when you do knowing he’s keeping your very heart safe by his side.

Every day Law does another exam, taking the time to run a scan on your body. It seems a bit excessive to you, but you’re not about to tell him that. You’re just grateful for the attention, truth be told. You and Law have been close for a while now, even exchanging some fond words in the rare moments you’re alone, but neither of you have the courage to risk damaging your friendship. But having him literally hold onto your heart makes you feel linked to him in a way you never have before, and it’s driving you insane.

“All clear?” you ask as Law finishes another scan.

“Yes, you look good,” he says, making your cheeks warm at the phrasing, “though, occasionally your heart rate picks up when you’re at a resting state. I haven’t figured out why yet, but I will.” He holds up your heart in front of his face, scratching his beard with his other hand as he thinks. “Like now.”

That answer is fairly obvious to you, and entirely his fault. Watching him inspect your heart so closely makes you oddly nervous. And he puts his hands on you during these exams, too, feeling lymph nodes on your neck and instructing you to breathe in and out while he listens to your lungs. What are you supposed to do? You can’t help it. It’s involuntary.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Well, there was a hole where your heart should be that only he could fill. But you don’t say that. You just mumble, “I feel fine.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” Aside from some fatigue in the beginning, you’ve otherwise been back to normal. “What do you think? Can I have it back?”

He thinks for a second. “Alright, one more day, then, just to be safe. Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t,” you say. “It’s weirdly comforting, to be honest.”

“How?” Law looks at you incredulously. “I could crush your heart in my hand right now.”

Of course that would be his perspective. The risk of trusting someone so intimately isn’t lost on him. But after all these years, you would easily trust Law with your life, so you simply shrug. “You wouldn’t break my heart, would you?”

He stiffens. Surely you didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but the way you say it–so earnestly, so innocently, looking at him with those big doe eyes of yours–he can’t help but feel a pang of longing. He desperately wants to protect you, to make right where he failed in the past. Law wants to reassure you, to bring you comfort that he hasn’t figured out how to give.

Instead, he says, “No.”

“Promise?” you ask softly.

“I promise, Y/n-ya.” Your heart beats faster in his hand. Law looks down at it, then at you, and there’s a flash of understanding in his eyes.

“Okay,” you say. If he’s finally figured it out, maybe…maybe this is your chance. “Prove it.”

“How?” He looks a bit shocked, and the way his eyes keep flitting between your heart and your face tells you that he knows exactly how.

You’re slow in your approach, and even slower when you put your arms around his neck, giving him plenty of time to back away. He’s uncertain, frozen in place, but if he wants you to stop, he isn’t saying so.

You lean in. Law closes his eyes. Your heart beats like crazy in his hand.

You kiss him. Just a brief, soft touch of your lips.

“Law,” you breathe. “Was that okay?”

Law responds by cupping your cheek and pulling you in for another.

Afterwards, he jokes that he doesn’t want to give your heart back. But that’s alright. Truth be told, he’d stolen it a long time ago.

Shanks

You return to consciousness through a cloud of black spots in your eyes, flashing in and out of your vision like raindrops on glass. It's immediately accompanied by the piercing whine of your ears ringing. You can’t hear anything else, nor can you tell where you are. A battle…you were pretty sure there was a battle.

The spots recede to the edges of your vision, and you can see a cloudy sky, filling with gray smoke. You’re on your back. Faintly, you can hear shouts, filtering in through the shrill whine. A few seconds later, your brain starts putting names to the voices. Yasopp, Benn, Shanks.

Your captain’s face fills your vision a moment later. Instantly, you know something is very, very wrong, because you’ve never seen Shanks look panicked before. It’s just not an emotion in his repertoire. Always cool, always collected, always joyful, until now. He’s shouting something–your name.

“–you hear me? Just hang on. Hongo’s on his way. Fuck, fuck!”

“...Shanks…” you rasp, dimly becoming aware of your body. “What happened…?”

“It’s my fault, I didn’t stop them in time, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

It’s distant, but pain starts trickling through your body. Dull, throbbing pain, everywhere. Well, almost everywhere.

“It’s okay,” you say, trying to raise your head to assess yourself.

“Don’t!” Shanks stops you with a hand on your forehead. “Don’t move.”

Gradually, you start remembering the battle. The chaos, the noise. Now, there’s no more sound except the ringing in your ears, so it must be over. You were fighting someone who specialized in explosives, that was it. That explained the hurt, and the confusion.

“I was hit,” you say slowly.

Shanks just nods, looking grim.

Benn appears on your other side, crouching next to you and frowning. You search his face for an idea of the damage, but he keeps it carefully still as he looks you up and down. Then his eyes meet Shanks’, and they exchange a look that gives you a bad feeling.

As the ringing dies down just a little and your vision clears, the pain grows. It’s distracting, more so than you’re used to, but what’s even more distracting is the particular lack of it where it should be.

“...Shanks?” you say. “I can’t feel my leg.”

His lower lip wobbles, and then his lips press together in a tight, thin line, and that’s when you know. You lift your head to try and see, but he stops you again. “Don’t look. It’s better if you don’t look.”

It’s funny–he looks like the one on the verge of falling apart. You hate to see him so distraught, so unlike himself, all his cheerful confidence vanished.

“It’s my left leg…” you say.

“Yeah...”

“That means we match.”

He smiles ruefully, tears breaking from his lash line and running free. “Yeah.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” you say, reaching for his hand.

He takes it gently. “That’s my line.”

Coping is a funny thing. You spend most of your energy post-surgery comforting Shanks. Not because he can’t handle it by himself, and not because he asks you too. It’s just easier to externalize the situation, to make it about his self-blame rather than address the gaping loss of your body.

Shanks tries to hide it from you, to not burden you, but you know him too well. Eventually, you get tired of how he drinks himself into a stupor most nights. You get tired of how your crutches irritate your armpits, tired of how you keep losing balance, tired of the phantom pains that shoot through nerves that aren’t there anymore. You snap at him. You shout. You cry that blaming himself won’t regrow your leg, so can’t he please just be there for you? You need him–you’ve always needed him–now more than ever before.

It’s an ugly, broken confession, but it finally reaches him.

Shanks pulls you in close and apologizes. His eyes are moist even though he’s not usually a crier, overwhelmed by what he’s put you through, overwhelmed that you’re finally admitting your feelings under such nightmarish conditions.

“I love you,” he whispers, over and over. “I love you.”

Healing is both easier after that, and yet harder. Now, with no distraction from your loss, you have to face it head on. It’s easier because he’s there. That he’s been through this before makes you cling to him more than you would have, surrounding yourself in the grim comforts of someone who understands. Shanks holds you tight on those nights when you scream “it’s gone,” over and over, lets you squeeze his hand when you have phantom pain, helps you shower when you can’t manage it by yourself, supports you on your first shaky steps using the prosthetic. The recovery journey is an arduous one, but you make it out the other side closer than ever before.

Years later, it’s something you can joke about without feeling that twinge of loss, especially when your crewmates call you and Shanks a complementary set. Now that you’re finally official with him and back to your full battle capacity, you can appreciate what happened to you for what it proved: that together, you and Shanks are complete.

Mihawk

You and Mihawk were opposite sides of the same coin. As different as you could be from each other, but still inexplicably connected as longtime rivals. Being warlords was the only thing you really had in common: He was a swordsman, you used guns; he sailed alone, you commanded a large crew; his colors of arms was better, your colors of observation was better. He preferred not to talk much, while you loved to egg him into trading banter. Many clashes with each other throughout the years solidified your strange, thrilling rivalry until you looked forward to the rare times you ran into each other.

Nowadays, you only really see each other during warlord meetings. So, when you were ambushed by your own crew, Mihawk was the last person you expected to save you.

He took out the four men holding you down, tossed you your pistols, and fought by your side. Your crew wasn’t weak by any means– you hand-picked them to sail with you–and had you been alone, you wouldn't have survived. With your combined strength, however, the battle was over quickly.

It surprised Mihawk, then, that you didn't stick around to bother him like you usually did. You fired a smoke round and disappeared. He figured that you were demoralized from the mutiny and didn't have it in you, but when the smoke cleared, he saw tell-tale drops of blood where you were.

Mihawk finds you in an abandoned shed not far from the battle. You're panting, hunched down against the wall and facing away from him, a first aid kit at your feet. He's as quiet as a cat when he approaches, but naturally you sense him anyway.

“How did you find me?” you ask without looking up.

“I followed the blood trail,” he says flatly. “You should have stemmed the flow before running off.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Did you tie a tourniquet first?” he asks, and even from there he can see you roll your eyes.

“Can’t. It’s not in the right place.” You raise shaky arms to your head, fiddling with something–stitches, most likely.

“Let me see.”

You glare at him for a moment, eyes uncharacteristically hard and angry. Then you quietly relent by turning, letting him see your other side. There’s a long, deep gash going from your temple down to your neck. Still oozing blood, he can't see for sure, but estimates it's gone down to the bone. You’ve got a few crude, clumsy stitches started in the top, the needle hanging from the wire, but without being able to see what you’re doing, it’s a piss poor job.

Mihawk wordlessly approaches you and crouches down, sharp gold eyes fixed on your wound. “It needs to be redone,” he says, unsheathing Kogatana and cutting through your stitches. You don’t so much as flinch when he pulls the wires out–you wouldn’t dare in front of him, he supposes. He’d likely do the same. Maybe you were more alike than he thought.

He takes the first aid kid from the ground and re-threads the needle, then starts to stitch your wound, pressing gauze to soak up the blood as he goes. “It's deep,” he says.

”That explains why it stings so bad,” you mumble. While you successfully resist the urge to wince, you can’t stop yourself from tearing up. “Man…”

“It could be worse. It went down to your skull, but the bone itself wasn't damaged.”

“What, are you trying to cheer me up?” You turn to look at him, but he tilts your chin back to the side and chides you to hold still.

You exhale harshly through your nose at the unpleasant sensation. “I hate needles,” you say suddenly. “I hate sharp things in general. The thought of a blade going through skin gives me the creeps.” He doesn’t respond, and you feel awkward, but you continue anyway, feeling the words tumbling out of you before you can stop them. “I’ve teased you about using swords, but the truth is, I could never.”

Mihawk doesn’t pause in his stitching, only hums. “If it’s worth anything, I’m a terrible shot.”

The corner of your lip twitches up. It does make you feel a little better, to be honest.

You glance at the swordsman as he works. His eyes are always so much more intense up close. You used to find it unsettling, but right now, focused as they are on your wound, it just seems oddly endearing. You glance away, blinking quickly, and a tear breaks from your lash line.

When Mihawk pauses to wipe it away, it’s so fluid and unhesitating that you debate if it really happened at all. Warmth creeps into your cheeks, and you avoid looking at him.

“Hey, ‘Hawk,” you say.

“What?”

You stare at the ground carefully. “Why did you help me?”

He’s quiet for a while, perhaps thinking about his answer, perhaps just keeping up his mysterious image.

“You’re the only one who’s ever successfully shot me,” he finally says. “To think someone of your caliber would be taken out by such cowardly tactics doesn’t sit right with me.”

You let that sink in while he finishes his work, tying off the stitches and applying the bandages. It’s weird–all the times you’ve bickered, all the times you’ve fought with lethal intent, and yet you trust with all your heart that Mihawk won’t harm you right now.

You’ve let your guard down too much, you think to yourself. That’s how you missed the warning signs of your crew’s mutiny, that’s how you got injured in battle, that’s how you’ve let Mihawk get this close.

Even then, you find yourself leaning your head into his hand. He doesn’t say anything, just brushes his thumb over your cheek.

The reality of what you’re doing hits you a moment later, and you quickly stand up, only for the world to spin and your knees to buckle.

Mihawk catches you easily. “You've lost a lot of blood.”

“It'll refill,” you mumble.

“In time. You need to rest.”

“Alright, alright,” you say. His hold is so secure, you kind of never want him to let go. Damn, you have lost a lot of blood. “I owe you for this, Mihawk. Somehow I'll pay you back.”

“How about dinner?” he asks, and you’re so caught off-guard that you stare owlishly.

“H-Hey, come on, now,” you say, but Mihawk has never really been one to joke. There's a crack in your confident demeanor. “Serious?”

“Serious.” He takes your hand, raising it to his lips, and kisses your knuckles.

Rosinante

“It’s not a fucking show,” you snap at the crew, crowded around where you are in the med bay of the Numenca Flamingo. Doflamingo is bent over the wound in your side, a string attaching his finger to the bullet still inside. Corazon holds your body down.

“You gonna scream?” Diamante teases cruelly, but you roll your eyes.

“You’d like that, huh, you sick–FUCK!” you shriek at the end as Doflamingo yanks out the bullet, body jerking against Corazon's iron grip. Diamante and Trebol both chuckle like the bastards they are, but Doflamingo waves them and the rest away as he moves in to disinfect the area.

You shiver, fighting not to tear up in front of the two of them. It is of the utmost importance not to show weakness around Doflamingo. After years of dedication and rigorous work, you’ve clawed your way into a promotion from a top Donquixote Pirate to one of the people in his Family.

It’s imperative, as an undercover Marine, that you don’t lose this chance. Your job is to support Corazon. You’d rather not cry in front of him, either, but that’s more about pride than anything else.

Doflamingo traces your hip as he finishes sewing you up with his string. “Buffalo said you took the bullet for Baby 5.”

You stiffen at his touch, an oddly soft contrast to the string that nonetheless makes you ill at ease. “Yes, Young Master.” Are you in trouble? You don’t want to act soft, but you couldn’t stand by and let a child get shot, either.

“I see,” he says, and you hold your breath. “I’d expect no less from someone I hand-picked.”

He pats your head once, then leaves the room, and relief courses through your veins alongside the adrenaline.

Corazon gives you a look you can’t decipher. He doesn’t speak to you, of course–too risky. His voice is a distant memory at this point, all the way from back when you were in training together.

A few uneventful days pass as the crew sails back to base with their spoils. The pain in your side seems to spread to right below your gut, intensifying as it goes. The wound area isn’t red or swollen, so you realize you must have gotten your period on top of everything. Great.

You’re the unlucky type that suffers from hellish, unpredictable menstruation, the pain often debilitating enough to put you out of commission until it abates. It was easier to cover up back in the Marines, feigning illness, but you wouldn’t be granted such liberties in the pirate world. You've had to fight through the agony to keep up your appearance as a tough-as-nails pirate commander. It seemed you were being tested again, as now you had to resist while under watch of the Family.

The cramps continue to get worse by the day until you’re nauseated from the pain. You end up vomiting over the side of the ship more than once, which you claim is from eating bad food. You try everything to take your focus off the pain. Meditation, breathing exercises. But for some reason, it just keeps getting worse. There’s one day where it seems to slightly abate, and you go to bed believing you’re past the worst of it, only to wake up the next day in complete, room-spinning agony. Moving makes it worse, every time you go to the bathroom or help with the ship tasks it feels like you might pass out. You can’t get comfortable no matter which position you lay in, and you sweat like crazy even though it’s cold.

You’re shaky while you help haul in ropes, thoughts so consumed by how terrible you feel that you jump when Corazon taps your shoulder. He scribbles something on his notepad, then shows it to you.

‘You look like shit.’

“That obvious?” you ask, even as your guts and head both swim in a thick fog of pain. Corazon scribbles some more.

‘Your pain tolerance is high. This is unusual for you.’

“It’ll pass,” you respond, turning away from him. He starts writing letters on your back, something he does to make absolutely sure no one can read your conversation later through his notepad.

‘Worried.’

The guilt eats at you before he can even finish writing it. As Doflamingo’s right hand, Corazon has himself to worry about. You’re supposed to make his job easier, not be dead weight. So even though this is the worst it’s ever been, even though you just want to cry at how much it hurts, you steel yourself. You can’t crumble now. “I’ll be okay, Cora,” you dismiss.

Law stands at the foot of your hammock that night as you writhe, a curious Baby 5 next to him.

“What do you want, Law,” you grit out.

“List your primary symptoms,” Law says. You glance at him to see he’s holding a notepad and pencil. “Also, you should let me look at how your wound’s healing.”

“I don’t need the opinion of an eight year old,” you spit, the pain making you lash out. You’ve already looked at your wound, you’ve dealt with many in the past, and the area around your incision looks fine.

Law clenches his fists, irritated. “You’re being a real bitch.”

Baby 5 gasps. Law shoots her a glare that makes her whimper and hide behind your hammock. He mutters to himself as he storms out.

“Why don’t you tell someone if you’re feeling bad?” Baby 5 asks timidly once Law’s gone.

“Because,” you say, taking a deep breath to try to focus on getting the words out. “I don’t have a devil fruit. My haki abilities are rudimentary. I can’t fall behind, Baby 5. I want to be useful to the Young Master.”

“I don’t understand.”

“One day you’ll get cramps, and hopefully they won’t be this bad. But when it happens, you have to be tough and not let anyone know. It’s looked down upon by those who don’t get them. You’ll be left behind…”

“That’s gonna happen to me?” Baby 5 looks worried.

You try to reassure her that since she’s handled everything the adults have thrown at her thus far, she’ll be fine. Baby 5 doesn’t look convinced, but you don’t have it in you to care right then.

By the next day the pain is so searingly, blindingly intense that no amount of willpower can overcome it. You’re woken up by it, and this time it’s unmatched by all the previous days combined. It feels like someone’s poured molten lava into your guts. It feels like your organs are being ripped out of your body. Pressing a pillow into your gut gives you a fraction of relief, but even the slightest relief is like heaven when the pain is that bad–until you’re ripped back down, not to earth, but to hell, and it’s agony all over again.

Somehow, you manage to get out of your hammock, only to end up on your knees on the floor, holding your stomach and making pitiful noises.

Distantly, you get the sensation that Corazon is writing words on your back, but you’re so out of it that you can’t parse them.

“Need help,” you whimper, voice breaking.

Corazon sends someone to get Doflamingo, who has Law assess you. After taking your vitals and pressing on your abdomen (you’ve never considered killing a child before, but it hurts so bad that you scream) Law declares you need to be hospitalized immediately, and also says he told you so just to rub salt in the wound.

It’s a miracle that there’s an island within a few hour’s sail. You don’t remember those hours very well. It’s in and out, coming and going with the waves of pain. All you remember is Corazon, staying by your side the entire time. He keeps the crueler Family members away from you, lets you squeeze his hand for comfort, holds your hair back when you throw up. When you make it to the island, he’s the one to carry you to the hospital.

You get palpated again by the hospital doctors (your own special hell) while Corazon holds your hand, get scanned by a machine, and finally diagnosed with a severe infection that’s gone septic. Post-surgery finally has you in relief, doped up on painkillers, but very, very weak.

Recovery is its own trial. Combined with the strength of the painkillers, plus your body fighting off the infection, you see things when you close your eyes. You’re not sure if members of the Family come to visit you, or if you’re imagining they were there. The only constant is Corazon.

You wake up one night to see him hunched over in a too-small chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Even half-awake, you get the sudden sense that he’s trying not to cry. He probably wouldn’t want to see you like that, and you’re so, so tired still, so you go back to sleep.

You dream that he speaks to you. Perhaps it’s a memory, but when you wake up, you see his silhouette in the door.

“Cora?” You smile, lifting your head, but your smile dies when you see Doflamingo stepping inside.

“Young Master,” you say weakly. Why is he visiting you alone? What could he possibly want, aside from telling you that you were demoted?

“Baby 5 was inconsolable,” he starts, sauntering up to your bed. “Someone told her she’d suffer the same condition that you did. Then she said something strange...” He trails a hand on the railing of your bed as he walks up to your side, looming over you. “She begged us not to abandon her.” You feel your blood run cold as Doflamingo grins. “What a silly notion.”

You open your mouth to speak, but can’t find the words. He reaches out a hand to brush back your hair and cup your cheek. It takes everything in you not to flinch away.

“Could it be, perhaps, you thought I’d abandon you, Y/n?” he asks, your daunted face reflected crimson in his sunglasses.

Swallowing, you nod, and he grips your chin harshly.

“In your concern, you almost got yourself killed,” he says. “I selected you to join me for a reason. You're no good to me dead. Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, and after another terrifying moment where he stares into your eyes–maybe your soul–he finally leaves.

Corazon writes furiously later, berating you for being so dismissive of your own condition.

‘You were on death’s door! Your CRP was over 200!’

“How much is it supposed to be?”

‘Zero! Fool!!’

You apologize endlessly, and more so as he helps you recover, until he gets sick of your apologies, too–but when he takes your hand, his gaze is soft.

From here on out, no more suffering alone, he writes into your palm, we fight together.

He holds your hand in both of his larger ones and, doing a quick check to make sure you’re still alone, brushes his lips against the tips of your fingers.

Suddenly you understand just how much he’s longed not to fight alone in his mission, and how important it is for you to be there. You bow your head, pull his hands so they’re at your chest, and kiss the back of one. “I understand.”

Blackbeard

Comparatively, you are the better in sheer physical strength to your opponent, but the other pirate outspeeds you. You fail to dodge back far enough from the downward stab of his dagger, and it sinks into the meat of your thigh.

You snarl in pain while he roars in triumph. His roar gets cut off as you suddenly grab his throat.

“Insect!” you snarl as you squeeze hard, grinding his windpipe to his spine. He flails, making horrid choking noises and digging his nails into your hand. There’s a brief struggle where he tries to reach the dagger in your thigh, but you grab his wrist before he can and, with a surge of armament haki, snap it in your grip. He can’t even cry out like this, just writhes around like mad, and you wait a few more seconds before the blood flow is cut off to his brain for too long, and he goes limp.

The rest of the crew watches from the seats of the bar as you snap his neck sharply before letting him drop. The other patrons of the seedy bar cheer, and cash is begrudgingly exchanged while you hobble back to the Blackbeard Pirates. Doc Q starts to look over your leg as you lean against the bar.

“Thirty seconds,” Lafitte says, looking at his pocket watch, “you said it would take you ten.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lafitte,” you warn. The pain wracking through your leg gives you no patience for his snide commentary. “Or I’ll choke you out next.”

“Promise?”

In an instant, you yank the knife out of your thigh and stab it into Lafitte’s so deep it’s almost at the hilt. He screams while Doc Q yells at you, “Don’t pull out the knife–!”

“They fucking stabbed me!” Lafitte shrieks as Blackbeard, Burgess and Auger burst out into laughter.

“I missed your femoral on purpose,” you grumble. “Next time I won’t.”

Doc Q rushes to stem the bleeding from your thigh, and you cross your arms, trying to quell your temper. Because the Doc has to sew you up first, Lafitte will have to wait a while with that dagger sunken into his leg. It’s a fitting punishment, but you still kind of want to kill him.

Blackbeard, wearing his shitty grin, drapes his arm around your shoulders. You throw him a warning look that he ignores, as usual. Most times he does this, you push his arm away and otherwise reject him to his face. This is one of the rare times you don't. You’re still in a lot of pain, and there’s pretty much nowhere else–no one else–on this planet that you could get a comforting touch from. You let him hold you to his side, if only to abate the burning of your injury, and ever so slightly, you feel your rage boil down to a simmer.

“Better, trinket?” Blackbeard asks you, smirking.

“No,” you lie.

#one piece imagines #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #rosinante x reader #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #x reader #blackbeard x reader #marshall d teach x reader #zen writes

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