#them meeting and the tension and overwhelming feelings

[em1i2a3]

Fable

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Rogue Inspired!Fem!Reader

Summary: Tensions are running high , and revelations are made at the cabin (This is a continuation of “Sailor Song”)

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because y’know Bob. Angst, a lot of it, apart from that…No explicit warnings or anything like that.

Author’s Note: Sorry it took so long y’all, I’ve been filing through so many requests and getting them started that moving back and forth through works is growing to be a crazy feat (but it’s manageable and I’m loving it very much!) Hopefully you all enjoy part 2 and it meets expectations!

Word Count: 5,394

The Peeps Who Wanted To Be Tagged: @jsprien213 @canupourme14theroad @spct0r

When Bob woke up from his nap, the first thing he registered wasn’t the rising sun slanting across the dashboard or the blur of tall pines passing the windows–it was you. Or rather…The absence of you.

You were still there, of course. Gloved hands steady on the wheel, eyes trained on the road ahead. But the version of you that had brushed his arm in passing, that adjusted his seat and teased him gently about banana bread–she was gone. Stripped away like warmth from a dream he’d woken from too soon.

The space between you had changed.

It wasn’t quiet anymore–it was silent. A thick, electric silence, the kind that followed the sharp crack of something fracturing beneath the surface. Something soft that had been held too tightly.

Bob blinked against the light, heart thudding hard in his chest for reasons he didn’t quite understand. No, that wasn’t true–he understood. He just didn’t want to face it yet. He didn’t want to face the fact that things were becoming overwhelming for him–that his thoughts of you were becoming unmanageable and you had invaded every fiber of his being without even trying, and that was becoming an issue for him.

He sat up slowly, pushing him off of the door of the car, stiff from the position that he had been curled into for the entire time he had been napping. His muscles were sore, and the side of his ribs ached where the armrest had bumped against him every time you went over a bump on the highway. His hand lifted instinctively to his chest, pressing lightly to the ache blooming there–dull, tight, like grief’s first whisper. He could’ve just brushed off the feeling and excused it for how he’d slept, but he knew better.

He turned his head toward you, hesitantly, cautiously. He hoped you’d look at him, but you didn’t.

Your jaw was set. Expression locked into something neutral and unreadable. But he could tell. He always could. You weren’t just quiet–you were gone somewhere inside yourself. Retreating behind the walls again, like you’d folded in on the fragile center of something and slammed the door shut.

“…Y-You okay?” Bob asked, voice rough with sleep, but quieter than it had been all morning. Careful. He didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want to break whatever thread might still exist between you.

You nodded. Barely. The kind of nod that was meant to end a conversation before it began.

Still, you didn’t look at him.

Bob’s throat tightened. He sat back slowly, folding his arms across his chest like he needed to brace himself against the coldness of you. He was confused at how you let him peek into you for that brief moment at the beginning of the ride, and now suddenly you were quiet and distant again. He could feel himself fracturing at the thoughts that were plaguing his mind about you.

He didn’t press further though, he couldn’t bring himself to.

The silence stretched out between you like a chasm now–wide and sharp-edged. Bob stared down at his lap, at his own trembling fingers, at the pale imprint the lid of the tupperware had left on his palm. He counted the seams on his pants. Watched the way the light shifted through the windshield and landed on the dash like it didn’t know anything had changed.

But everything had.

He didn’t know if it was something he did. Something he said in his sleep. Something you felt–maybe even something you’d pulled from his dream. If it was a dream. If it wasn’t something more. A connection pressed too hard against a boundary you’d spent your whole life guarding.

He didn’t know.

And maybe that was worse.

Bob glanced over at you one more time, not daring to speak. Not even really hoping to be caught. But just to see you. And when he did–

Your fingers tightened once on the steering wheel. Just once. A flicker of tension that gave you away.

Like you were hurting, too.

And God, that was almost worse than if you weren’t.

Because it meant maybe you had felt it. The dream. The longing. The way he said your name like it mattered more than anything else. And now you were pushing it down. Burying it. Pretending none of it had happened.

So Bob stayed quiet. Even though everything in him wanted to beg you to talk. To ask if you heard him. If you dreamed of it, too. If you knew what it meant when someone whispered miss you and don’t go like it came from the broken center of them.

The ache in his chest didn’t go anywhere.

It stayed. Pressed sharp under his ribs. Just like it did every time he woke up without you.

Only this time, you were sitting right beside him. And it had never felt further away.

The tension stretched like glass between you–transparent, fragile, and so tight it felt like one wrong word might shatter it. The hum of the tires on asphalt filled the car, steady and low, a dull white noise that did nothing to distract either of you from the weight of everything unsaid. You kept your eyes fixed on the road ahead, blinking hard against the burn at the back of your eyes every time Bob shifted beside you. His presence lingered like static on your skin–painful only because it was comforting.

You were numb. Or trying to be. The effort of keeping everything locked down was like holding your breath underwater, lungs screaming for release. You couldn’t think about what you heard. About how he said your name like it belonged to him. About how he missed you like he’d lost something he never had. Because if you let yourself feel it, really feel it, the dam inside your chest would crack and it wouldn’t stop at a single fracture–it would all come spilling out, wild and desperate and dangerous.

So you kept your hands tight on the wheel. Kept your gaze on the trees as they blurred past. Kept your mouth closed and your heart in a chokehold.

Bob thought you didn’t notice when his leg bounced slightly with nerves. When he shifted his arm so it wasn’t brushing so close to yours. When he stared out the window so hard he left a foggy patch on the glass from his breath. But you did. You noticed every single thing.

And it hurt.

Because you couldn’t touch him. Not even to reassure him. Not even to explain.

So you didn’t. You just drove.

By the time you reached the cabin, the sky had turned from muted grey to a richer blue streaked with early morning sunlight. It filtered through the trees, cutting long golden beams across the winding road that led up the hill to the property. As you curved around the last bend, the cabin came into view–a sprawling wooden structure tucked between dense pines and old, moss-covered stones. Smoke curled lazily from the stone chimney, and a few voices echoed faintly from the back porch where someone had already started a fire in the outdoor pit.

The cabin looked…Too cozy. Too normal. Wide wrap-around porch. Shuttered windows painted a warm forest green. The wood was dark and weathered but well kept, like someone had taken great care to preserve the place without sanding away the history in its grain. A short wooden fence bordered the driveway, and the van was already parked there. Everyone was here already.

Bob blinked in surprise, sitting forward slightly in his seat, looking at the scenery in front of him.

You shifted the car into park slowly, the tires crunching over gravel. The engine ticked in the quiet. You didn’t move right away. Just sat there, hands still gripping the wheel.

Bob watched you. Carefully. Silently. His stomach was knotted so tightly it felt like he’d swallowed iron. You weren’t meeting his eyes. Not even now. Especially not now.

And yet–he could see it. The storm behind your silence. The way your knuckles had gone pale in your gloves. The way your chest rose and fell just a little too fast to be calm. The way your lips parted like you were about to say something, but never quite did.

You were hurting. He could see that now. It wasn’t just coldness–it was restraint. Desperation turned inward. And guilt.

Bob didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. So instead, he just swallowed and reached slowly for the tupperware at his feet, holding it against his chest like a shield.

“Should I…Go in first?” He asked softly, barely above a whisper.

That finally made you glance at him. Just for a second. Your eyes met his–and it was like a slap to the chest. You looked like you were unraveling behind them, like you were barely holding the seams of yourself together. But then it was gone. You blinked, and the mask returned.

“No. It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

You opened your door, the hinges creaking loudly in the still morning air. Bob hesitated, watching as you stepped out, your boots crunching against the gravel. He followed, slower, clutching the banana bread like it was something to keep him grounded.

The fresh air hit both of you like a reset–but it didn’t help. At the very least it opened your lungs up wide enough that you could take a deep breath–something you hadn’t done since you had stepped into the car–but that was the only notable thing that it actually did.

Bucky stepped out onto the front porch, a coffee mug in one hand and his phone in the other. He was wearing a fully black ensemble–black t-shirt, black hoodie, and black sweatpants, he looked comfortable, and a little tousled.

”Hey! You two finally made it, we were getting worried.” He called out. Bob froze for a second beside you, then blinked, startled. He hadn’t expected to be greeted so soon. You didn’t stop walking. Just kept moving toward the steps, head ducked slightly, your voice calm when you answered.

“Scenery is breathtaking.” Bucky paused. The sentence was harmless–on paper. But something about the way you said it made him stop short. It was too polished. Too precise. Like it had been pulled from a drawer of ready-made phrases meant to end conversations. Not start them. He nodded slowly, watching you ascend the porch steps without meeting his gaze.

“Yeah,” He said, glancing out toward the trees like he was pretending to agree. “It is.”

Bob lingered behind you. The container of banana bread clutched awkwardly to his chest like a life raft. His sneakers scraped over the gravel more hesitantly than yours had. When he passed Bucky on the steps, Bucky’s eyes flicked to him just long enough to register the tension in Bob’s posture. The red still lingering at the tops of his ears. The haunted softness in his gaze.

Bucky caught Bob gently by the arm–just enough pressure to pause him without making it obvious. The porch creaked under their weight, the warmth of the firepit in the distance casting a faint glow across the weathered wood.

Bob didn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly, tilting his head a little. “Everything alright?”

Bob gave the smallest of shrugs, barely lifting one shoulder before shaking his head. Not no, not yes—just a fragile sort of motion that said he was still trying to make sense of it himself.

They both watched as you pushed the cabin door open and stepped inside, the screen clattering softly behind you. You didn’t look back.

Only after the door had clicked shut did Bob exhale and whisper, “I-I don’t know what I did…”

Bucky’s brows pulled together slightly.

“But I must’ve done something,” Bob finished. The words left his mouth in a nervous rush–low and tight, like he’d been holding them in too long. His knuckles whitened against the tupperware in his hands. “One second it felt okay, and then… it wasn’t. And now she won’t even look at me.”

His voice cracked on that last part. He cleared his throat quickly, trying to bury it under another shrug that didn’t convince anyone.

Bucky leaned against the railing, arms folded, watching him with that sharp, quiet focus he always defaulted to when things got delicate.

“You sure it was you?”

Bob’s lips pressed together. His shoulders hunched inward like he was trying to fold himself up, to make less noise, take up less space. “S-She was fine this morning, she talked to me. Laughed, even. And then I… I–I fell asleep and when I woke up…S-She was like this…”

He trailed off, his eyes flicking toward the gravel drive. A flicker of something dark passed behind his expression. Shame, maybe. Or fear.

“I–I think I said something. In my sleep.”

Bucky frowned. “Like what?

”…Like her name…” Bob responded quietly, “And…I-I think I told her I m-missed her maybe.” Bucky’s eyebrows raised slightly, watching him reach into his hood to scratch the back of his neck.

”Were you dreaming about her or something?” His gaze drifted toward the treeline, toward anything but Bucky, because the shame bubbling in his chest made it hard to breathe, let alone look at someone who actually cared.

The question had landed too close to the truth. Were you dreaming about her?

God, if only Bucky knew how many nights it had been now. How often he closed his eyes and found you there–barefoot in the field, hair catching the light like it belonged to something divine, smiling at him in a way you never did in waking life.

“Bob?” Bucky said, snapping him out of his haze. He gulped down the lump in his throat, but it was evident there was something wrong, especially in the way his eyes began to glisten and his bottom lip began to shake. That’s when Bucky began to piece things together.

”You’ve been dreaming about her?” Bob gave the smallest nod, chin dipping toward his chest like the weight of it was too much to lift.

His voice came out thready, barely more than a breath. “I-It’s e-every night. I–I didn’t mean for it to happen. I–I didn’t ask for it. But it’s always her. A-Always the same place. The same feeling. Like I finally found something good in me, and it’s because she’s there. And then I wake up, and…”

His voice cracked. He didn’t finish the sentence.

Bucky sighed, slow and deep, and rubbed a hand across his jaw. For a moment he didn’t say anything–just looked at Bob like he was trying to see all the way through the panic to the truth underneath it.

“Listen, man,” He said finally, voice low and solid, “You’re spiraling. You know that, right?”

Bob blinked, startled, looking up.

“I mean it,” Bucky continued, gentler now. “You’re assuming everything. Building a story in your head about what you think happened. About what you think she’s thinking. You don’t even know if you said anything in your sleep.”

“I–”

“You think you said something. But you don’t know.” Bucky’s tone didn’t harden–it just steadied, like he was anchoring Bob to something real. “And even if you did? Maybe it wasn’t about that. Maybe she’s just…Quiet. You know how she is. She shuts down sometimes. Could be anything. Could be the drive. Could be the retreat. Could be nothing.”

Bob opened his mouth, but Bucky kept going.

“Look, I get it. When you care about someone the way you clearly do, everything they do feels like it’s about you. But maybe this isn’t. Maybe you’re just thinking irrationally right now because you’re scared.”

Bob flinched like that word hit harder than the rest. Scared.

“You ever think maybe she’s scared too?” Bucky added, softer now. “Not of you. Just… of what it means to want something that much.”

Bob’s hands flexed against the tupperware, his thumbs moving slowly across the lid like they were tracing a thought he couldn’t quite put into words.

“S-She looked like she wanted to cry,” He whispered. “I saw it. J-Just for a second.”

“Maybe she did,” Bucky said. “But maybe that had nothing to do with you screwing up. Maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe it’s because something hit her. Hard. And now she doesn’t know what to do with it.”

That landed.

Bob stared at the door where you’d gone in moments before, like he was trying to see through it. Like he was trying to gather enough courage to face something he couldn’t name.

Bucky stepped back, tapping the side of his mug lightly against the porch rail. “Just…Breathe, Bob. Don’t go chasing ghosts in your own head. You’ll lose yourself.”

Then he gave a light nudge to Bob’s elbow. “Now c’mon. Let’s go stake out our square footage before Walker lays claim to half the floor.”

That pulled a small, crooked smile from Bob. Just a flicker of it–but enough.

And so, with the banana bread still clutched in his arms like something sacred, Bob finally followed Bucky inside. He didn’t know what he was going to do next, or how he was going to survive a whole weekend sleeping feet away from you with the weight of silence pressing between you like glass, but for now he took a breath and kept walking.

————————-

Night fell thick and slow over the cabin, and with it came the slow hush of bodies surrendering to sleep.

The open-concept living room had become a makeshift sleeping quarter, every inch of floor claimed by quilts and sleeping bags, backpacks slumped like forgotten sentries at the edges of the room. The fireplace had died down to a faint ember glow, flickering against the knotty pine walls and casting shadows that moved like restless ghosts across the ceiling. The string lights still glowed overhead in soft, amber halos–gentle enough not to disturb, but warm enough to keep the dark from feeling endless.

You had picked your place early, before anyone else could stake claim to the corner near the old bookshelf. It wasn’t cozy. It wasn’t near the fire. But it was far. Tucked back just enough that your silhouette faded into the outline of the wall, barely there, folded up beneath your own blanket like a page turned quietly in a crowded room.

Bob had ended up ten feet away.

He hadn’t meant to. Not intentionally.

He’d laid down near the center of the room at first–somewhere between Bucky and Ava, far enough from you that he wouldn’t tempt the ache in his chest. But the moment he settled, someone bumped his arm. Then Walker shifted to make more room. Yelena’s foot stuck out like a landmine and nearly got him in the ribs. He scooted once. Then again. And again.

And now…There was only that small amount of space between the both of you. Ten feet. Even though it seemed like a long distance to everyone else, to Bob he couldn’t have been any closer to you.

Bob lay stiff on his side, cocooned in his t-shirt and blanket, his hands clenched beneath his pillow. He stared across the room toward the darkened corner where you were, barely visible in the warm flicker of light. You hadn’t moved in ages. Not that he could see.

He couldn’t get comfortable.

He tried. He rolled onto his back. Onto his other side. Curled up. Stretched out. Nothing worked. It all felt wrong. The air was too still. His skin was buzzing. His chest ached.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sound of breathing–the rhythmic rise and fall around the room. But all he could find was yours.

Barely audible. But there.

And then—

Movement.

A shift.

The rustle of fabric.

Bob’s eyes blinked open just in time to see your shadow move–slow, deliberate. You were rising to your feet as quietly as you could, blanket folded tightly in your arms, socks muffling your steps. You crept carefully past a tangle of limbs and gear bags, weaving through the sleeping bodies like you were slipping between dreams.

Bob didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

You reached the door and paused for a heartbeat–one hand on the handle, your shoulders tight, head bowed. He thought, just for a second, you might look back.

But you didn’t.

The door clicked softly as you eased it open.

Then you were gone.

Bob laid there frozen, heart pounding so hard it hurt. A breath caught in his throat like a question he couldn’t ask. He turned his head toward the ceiling and closed his eyes, trying to stay still, trying to convince himself that whatever this was…It wasn’t about him.

But then his body moved on instinct.

He sat up, and pushed the blanket off with shaking hands, running a palm through his hair. The floor was cold beneath his socked feet as he rose, slow and quiet, careful not to disturb anyone. He grabbed the hoodie he’d stripped off earlier and tugged it on over his shirt, hands shaking slightly.

He didn’t know what he was going to say.

Didn’t know if he’d even go out there.

But he had to know where you went.

What could make you leave a warm room in the dead of night just to be alone?

And more terrifyingly, had he caused that?

He opened the door slowly.

The porch creaked gently beneath his feet as Bob stepped out into the cool night air and pulled the door closed behind him with a soft click.

The cold hit him first–not harsh, but biting enough to make him aware of every inch of himself. The scent of pine and smoke drifted through the night, mingling with the faint remnants of the firepit and the sharp tang of dew settling in the grass. The stars overhead stretched out like bruises in the sky, aching and endless.

But it wasn’t the cold that made his chest tighten.

It was you.

Your form was curled up near the far end of the deck, half-shadowed by the porch’s overhang. You were wrapped in your blanket like it was the only barrier between you and the rest of the world–shoulders hunched, knees drawn in close, hair wind blown every which way. You weren’t looking at the stars anymore.

Your head had snapped toward him the second the door clicked shut. Like you’d been listening for it. Like you’d known he might follow.

Your eyes met his–and Bob stopped in his tracks.

You weren’t just sad. You looked wrecked.

Your face was caught somewhere between now and something that had already broken. The skin around your eyes was tight, glassy with the sheen of held-back tears, like if he so much as breathed wrong it might all come loose. Your lip trembled, just once, then stilled again like you’d forced it into submission.

Bob’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He didn’t know whether to apologize or run or drop to his knees beside you and beg you to look at him and tell him what he did wrong.

You blinked and looked away first. Not out of anger, but out of hurt. Like you couldn’t stand to be seen like this. Like whatever pain you were holding had finally crested and now it didn’t fit inside you anymore.

He stepped forward.

Slow. Careful. Like if he moved too fast, you’d bolt.

The deck boards creaked with each step, but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t look up again, either. Just wiped your cheek with the edge of your blanket and hugged your knees tighter.

Bob swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I–I couldn’t sleep,” He said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

He stood there in the silence, fingers twitching at his sides, heart hammering in his chest like it was begging him to do something. To say something. But the words just kept choking each other out before they could reach his lips.

Finally, he lowered himself down a few feet away from you. Not close enough to touch. Not even close enough to share warmth. Just–close enough to be there.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t need to. He could feel the pain radiating off you like heat from the hearth that neither of you were sitting beside. This was a different kind of warmth–sorrow made flesh. Grief without a name.

He sat there for a long time in pure silence.

And then, finally, his voice broke the quiet again–soft, raw, and shaking.

“…W-Was it something I did?” He asked.

The question didn’t accuse. It barely even breathed.

Your shoulders stiffened.

For a moment, it seemed like you might answer. That the words were right there, caught in your throat, pushing to be freed.

But instead, you whispered, “I didn’t want you to follow me.”

Bob’s chest cracked clean down the middle.

But he nodded. Even though it killed him.

“I-I know,” He whispered. “I’m sorry.”

You tilted your gaze up towards the sky, the stars swimming in your glassy eyes like they might offer a language to explain how much anguish you were in. Like maybe the constellations could untangle the mess inside you better than words ever could.

You let out a long, trembling breath, and then your shoulders began to shake. Barely at first–just the slightest ripple beneath the blanket. But it built, trembling through your spine, your chest, your throat. A quiet sniffle escaped, too raw to be silenced. You turned your face away as much as you could, but Bob saw all of it. The way you pressed your clothed fist to your mouth, the way your jaw clenched like you were trying to hold yourself together with your teeth.

”There’s…” Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard, gulping down the large lump that formed in your throat, “There’s nothing to be s-sorry for…” Bob’s heart cracked at the corners, just by hearing your voice, the way you were trying to convince him through the flood of tears that cascaded down your face that it wasn’t him who caused this.

“B-But you’re crying Y/N…” He said softly, “You weren’t d-doing that before I came out h-here.” You let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it broke on the way out, as you sniffled again, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. You still couldn’t look at him, you couldn’t bear to turn and allow him to see you like this.

”It’s hard to be around you…” Bob’s breath hitched. His throat tightened around the sound. Instantly it felt like a sledgehammer was heaved through him. You weren’t cruel about it. Your voice wasn’t sharp. It was soft. Too soft. Like the words hurt to say even more than they hurt to hear.

Your voice trembled as you continued, your words dragging up from the marrow like they’d been buried too long beneath denial.

“It hurts, Bob,” You whispered, the words barely making it past your lips. “It hurts so much because I know how you feel. I know what those dreams mean to you. And I know I’ll never be able to give you what you want.” He could feel his body clench up at the mentioning of the dreams, but it made it worse that she was telling him something that could be untrue.

“Y-You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Your eyes closed tight, the tears slipping faster now. “You keep dreaming about a version of me that doesn’t exist. One that you can touch. One that can hold you. One that can keep you close without it costing you everything. But that’s not me, Bob. That’s just–”

“But i-it is you,” He cut in, voice sharp in a way it never was with you. Desperate. Cracking apart. “It’s you, no matter where I see you. Dream or not. I know the difference between fantasy a-and you. I do. I swear I do.”

You turned your head slowly, finally looking at him–your eyes shining with hurt, your voice trembling with something close to mourning.

“Then why do you keep chasing it?” You asked. “Why do you keep dreaming of something that can’t survive the real world?”

Bob opened his mouth, but the words failed him.

You let out a ragged breath and leaned back slightly, your blanket falling from one shoulder.

“I can’t control it, Bob,” You said, quieter now. “You…You know what I am. What I carry in my skin. One brush–one slip–and I can take everything from you. Not just strength. Not just memories. I could kill you.”

His chest rose, held, and didn’t fall.

You looked away again, your voice hollow.

“And then here you are, saying my name like I’m your salvation. Telling me you miss me in your sleep like I’m something soft. Like I’m not a loaded gun walking around with the safety off.”

“You’re not d-dangerous to me,” He said. “Not like that. I have the Sentry–I could handle it–”

“No, Bob,” you snapped. It wasn’t loud, but it cut like a wire pulled taut and suddenly severed. “Don’t do that. Don’t give up being you just to make me feel safe.”

He flinched. “I-I didn’t say I’d give that up—”

“You would have to!” You said, your breath catching mid-sentence. “That’s the only way we could ever be close. If you were him. All the time. Always glowing. Always indestructible. That’s the only way I wouldn’t break you.”

Bob’s throat bobbed, and the silence returned for a long moment–too long. You could feel the weight of it in your lungs.

“I don’t want that,” You whispered. “I don’t want the version of you that has to burn to survive being near me. I want you. But wanting you is a death sentence–for you. And I can’t live with that.”

He looked at you like his entire soul had fractured. Like he didn’t know where to put his hands or his heart.

“I don’t care,” He said finally. “D-Don’t you get it? I’ve been living with something worse than dying–”

You shook your head, eyes blazing now, the emotion finally boiling over. “Don’t you get it? You can’t love me, Bob. Not really. Not when every part of me is wired to destroy the people who I care about.”

He stood then, like the pain was too big to stay seated with. He took a step forward before stopping himself, curling his fists at his sides. His voice dropped, low and tight.

“Y-You don’t get to tell me t-that I can’t have f-feelings for you .”

“No,” you whispered. “But I do get to protect you from it.”

Bob’s jaw clenched. His chest heaved. You could see it in him–the way every cell wanted to fight you, to argue, to close the space between you and press his forehead to yours and say your name like it could change the laws of the universe.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, shaking under the weight of everything you both wanted and could never have.

And then, in the softest voice you’d ever heard him use, he asked: “I-If I keep dreaming of you…D-Does it hurt you more than it hurts me?”

You didn’t answer right away.

You looked at him, fully this time. Like it might be the last time. And something in your expression collapsed, quiet and beautiful and unspeakably tragic.

“Yes,” You breathed.

Then you stood, blanket falling away, arms wrapping around yourself like you needed to hold in the pieces before the wind took them.

“I need to go back inside.”

Bob didn’t stop you.

He watched you walk past him, silent and burning. And when the door clicked shut behind you, it sounded like a chapter closing. Like hope slipping through fingers that had waited too long to unclench.

[berscrk]

I finally updated my griffguts playlist to a roughly accurate order of how i imagine the songs playing out to the story 🤭 i hope you like it if you check it out

[tonycries]

Men In Uniform F*ck Better!

Synopsis. You want him and you want him now. It doesn’t matter if you have to fúck him in his uniform - in fact, it just might make it better.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] professor! Gojo x Reader, yakuza boss! Sukuna x Reader, calligrapher! Geto x Reader, baker! Nanami x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, no curses! AU, oral (male + female receiving), men at work, manhandling, marking, slight gúnplay, degradation, smacking, choking, Sukuna is mean but he’s a yakuza boss so, spitting, semi-public, brat-taming, bunch of heinous stuff idek, cúmplay, slight foodplay, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.6k

A/N. Was gonna add Choso and Toji but this got too long, dw I’ll make separate ones about them later <3 

♡ NANAMI KENTO - The baker

Watching Nanami Kento at work could make even the most ardent non-believers worship God. 

Kneading. Spreading. Every motion of his strong hands deliberate and purposeful. Muscles rippling in his forearms with each movement. 

You watch - almost hypnotized - as the devilishly handsome baker at your favorite bakery prepares his dough for tomorrow. By God were you glad you managed to bat your lashes just enough to convince him to let you stay after closing - for educational purposes, of course. 

Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily as long fingers sink deep into the dough, squeezing. Pulling. Teasing. A delicate bead of sweat trickling down between his furrowed brows and disappearing enticingly between those chiseled collarbones. Oh, how you wished it was you under his hands instead.

“How long’s it gonna take? I see the way you’re watching me, y’know.” 

A low rumble breaks the silence, sending tremors down your spine - all the way to your already-heated cunt. Eyes snapping up to meet Nanami’s darkened ones, your face burns at being caught red-handed. Stammering out excuses, “W-wha- I didn’t-”

Soft dough now forgotten, he steps closer, presence overwhelming, dominating the space around you. “Always do. Watching me with such slutty eyes.” Low words that make your pussy throb. You’re dumbfounded by his eyes, intense and stripping - making you feel so exposed and vulnerable before him. 

In the dimly lit kitchen, the tension is palpable. You can’t help but lean into his presence, standing toe-to-toe with his muscled front. 

With a slight smirk curling his lips, Nanami leans in, his breath warm against your ear and making you shudder in anticipation. “But don’t worry, darling. I like it.” 

They’re the last words said before he pulls you into a searing kiss, a hand tight around your neck, neat fingernails digging into your skin, pulling you impossibly closer to him as his tongue demands entry, intertwining with yours. It’s possessive, it’s feral - and tastes oh so very sweet - just like his delicate pastries. 

Nanami breathes you in like a man starved. A desperation that carries into your frantic fingers untying that godforsaken apron. 

And in his steady hands as they lift you up as if you weigh nothing, fingers groping and kneading your ass as he seats you on the kitchen counter. The surface cold under where your skirt was messily bunched up. “Mm- hngh- please, Nanami.”

Pulling away with a final bite to your lower lip, he leaves a trail of wet, sloppy kisses down your body that send chills racing through you, and have your thighs rubbing together for an ounce of friction. 

“Tch” Of course, he wasn’t a fan. Grip bruising, manhandling your legs open so shamefully, he splays you out deliciously for him. Nanami’s greedy gaze devours the sinful way your dripping cunt leaks through your thin panties - ones you wore especially for him.

Seems he knew too, pushing his glasses up contemplatively before dropping onto his knees with a fucked out oh. “Always knew you were naughty, darling, but to be such a slut? Driving me crazy, hm?” his voice thick with desire and whispered mere millimeters away from your swollen folds.

Moaning softly, you arch your back into the warm breath hitting your quivering cunt, whining out an embarrassed “Noo- only for you, Nanami.”

“Oh yeah?” Huffing out a dark chuckle, he all but rips off your soaked panties. The tattered fabric stark against the sterile floor. You gasp at the cold air that hits your heated cunt - but not for long, because Nanami’s hot mouth is on it like a man dying of thirst. 

Nose-deep in your pussy, the cold metal of his glasses makes you flinch in sensitivity. His hands spread your cunt bruisingly, letting his tongue bully it’s way past your folds, urgently lapping at your juices as if you were the sweetest damn thing he’s ever tasted. 

Chin hitting your cunt, nose rubbing against your pulsing clit, he makes out with your sloppy pussy in methodical, merciless movements of his tongue that have you keening and bucking your hips for more more more. 

Looking up at you over his glasses, his hungry gaze devours your half-lidded eyes, the grip searing on his hair, and the whimpers of his name leaving your swollen lips just as greedily as the mouth on your slutty cunt.

“Wanted this right, darling?” he murmurs, lips hot against your own. Vibrations making slick bead out of your cunt and pool onto his waiting lips. “Wanted to break under my hands?”

“Yes. Yes, yes yes, s’all I’ve wanted.” teary whimpers leave your bruised lips, you craved the sting of his hands, the burn of his fingers. Your hips buck uncontrollably, grinding yourself against his mouth as he sucks your clit into his mouth. 

Hands now groping every inch of skin he could find, leaving pretty purple marks that remind you of his mouth-watering pies.

Exploring every curve and valley, bending you to his will, languid where his tongue was merciless. Savoring you. Groping your breasts, squeezing your ass, as if he wanted everything all at once.

Your entire body was sore now. Cunt throbbing in sympathy with the tender flesh. Marks littering your skin as if you’d been thrown to the wolves. Ah, all these weeks you’d been right - heaven really was in Nanami Kento’s hands. And right now you were putty in them. 

He grasped your thighs, squeezing them roughly and lifting them higher, opening you wider for his unforgiving pace. Clearly enjoying the way your face contorted in pain and pleasure, Kento slipped a finger inside you. One. Then two. Stretching you to your limits. Spreading open your already-stretched entrance further. 

His fingers frantic now, fucked-out, jerky movements. Wilder. Animalistic. Driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Open your mouth.” 

You listen - drunk on his tongue as yours lolls out so lewdly. The taste hits you before the realization - sweet sugar and the taste of you on your tongue as two thick fingers are shoved into your mouth. They reach the back of your throat, pressing hard onto your tongue. You force yourself to fight off the gagging as some animalistic part of you sucks desperately on them for the sweet, sweet taste. 

“Almost as sweet as you.” Nanami groans, words muffled into your cunt and sending white-hot pleasure racing up your spine. Words hanging in the air, he speeds up the movements of his mouth, frantic movements matching your need for more. 

Your climax hits you with a jolt, cumming till you see stars behind your eyes. Maybe it was his words, maybe it was the way his tongue quirked just right on your throbbing clit to make you throw your head back as you fell apart underneath him. 

“Hngh- Oh fuck, Nanami. M’cum- cumming!” you whine, grinding your cunt down impossibly harder on his pretty face. Fingers tangled in his silky blond locks as you force him deeper, riding out your high greedily.

You’re still dazed - vision blurry as Nanami pulls away from your cunt with a lewd squelch! getting up from his position kneeling on the floor. “So delicious on m’tongue, darling.”

Devastatingly handsome face flushed, breaths ragged, muscled front now pressing against your sinfully spread legs. And in your orgasm-hazed mind you still manage to hear the arousing clink of a belt unbuckling, and the metallic screech against marble of the nearby bowl of your favorite frosting being pulled closer. White - to match the precum dribbling down his leaking cock.

The distinct feeling of something wet and achingly hard against your needy cunt.

Oh. Ah, it really was a sweet, sweet life.

♡ GETO SUGURU - The calligrapher

You didn’t exactly think the live calligraphy show your friend dragged you to was about to have you on the edge of your seat.

But here you were. 

Eyes locked on the way the tall figure onstage, clad in a dark yukata - sinfully slipping off to reveal a milky, toned shoulder. Geto Suguru exudes an air of raw sexuality that the entire audience was aware of, eyes not being able to decide between the masterpiece on the canvas or the masterpiece of a man on stage.

His fingers, long and agile, effortlessly over the bamboo pen. Each stroke a sensual caress, dark eyes pools of desire that match his long, flowing locks, and the inky characters on the page. 

Chest heaving with passion, with a final, dramatic sweep of his arm, Geto completes the last stroke. And as the audience erupts into applause, you merely stay rooted to your seat, thighs pressing together and breath caught in your throat - only one thought ringing in your mind.

You just had to have him.

Which is why you found yourself following your friend to the chaotic atmosphere backstage. But despite the buzz of activity, you could still hear Geto’s deep, velvety voice carrying through the crowd.

Pushing through the sea of people, “Ah! Long time no see, Geto-san. This is my friend, she really enjoyed your performance tonight,” your friend introduced, gesturing towards you.

Eyes gleaming he turns to you, “Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, I enjoyed it very much.” you grin, batting your lashes. Relishing in the way Geto’s dark eyes appraise you from head to toe. Taking in every inch of you - and you do the same.

Geto’s eyes harden, as if deciding on something. “I’m flattered. Why don’t you two lovely ladies join me for some drinks with the crew?”

Yeah, you had to have him - you just didn’t think that would be so easy. 

Walls lined with paintings, the scent of ink and sin hung heavy in the air, as you two snuck away from the animated group downing celebratory shots. Geto’s hand hot in yours as he leads you down a dimly-lit corridor to “his favorite lil’ spot”, as he’d whispered to you. 

You could tell you were getting closer - because Geto promptly pulls you closer, hands grasping your waist possessively. 

“No turning back now, pretty girl.” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. 

“S’all I want, Suguru.” you mutter, desire coursing through you like a wildfire, pooling into something sticky and hot at your cunt. 

Perhaps seeing the pure, feral need in your eyes, Suguru murmurs, leaving no room for disagreement now, “Follow me.”

The room he led you to was heady with seductive candles, beautiful artwork lining the walls. His own - you assume, as Suguru leads you to a low wooden table in the center of the room. On it is a bottle of sake and two cups.

Movements fluid and precise, Suguru pours the sake, filling it to the brim. He hands it to you, eyes never leaving your face. “Drink up, pretty girl.” he hums, low and seductive. And honestly fuck stranger danger, how could you not when he looks at you like that?

So you drink, sake burning its way down your throat. Predatory eyes locked on you as you set down the cup, Suguru’s mouth quirks up into a sly grin around his as he asks, “Liked it?”

You’ve barely gotten out the nod - not trusting yourself to speak - before Suguru downs his shot abruptly, slamming down the cup with a thunk! 

Lips parting slightly, slender fingers squish your cheeks together into an almost-embarrasing pout. Forcing you to look up at him with an almost predatory grace as he looms closer. You don’t know if you should’ve expected the steady, warm stream of sake and saliva that hits your tongue. Sliding so obscenely down your throat. 

Guess Suguru Geto was filthy in bed where he was the embodiment of grace in public. 

It’s sweet on your tongue - both the sake and Suguru.

Eyes glassy, a mixture of sake and drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth - Suguru really can’t help the lips that come crashing down on yours, tongue plunging deep into your mouth. His tongue was relentless, keeping yours intertwined in a heady kiss. 

Arms wrapping around your waist to pull you impossibly closer to his heated body. Hands tugging on your hair, mapping your curves. All the way up to cup your breasts, thumbs running tight, little circles around your perked nipples.

You moan into the heated kiss as something rock-hard pokes your thigh. Hand greedily grabbing at his yukata with the need for more. 

Breaking the kiss, Suguru’s breaths come in ragged gasps. “On your knees, pretty girl.” 

And what Geto Suguru wants, Geto Suguru gets. 

Which is why you were sat, eyes hungry and greedily watching the way Suguru slowly, and deliberately peels open the front of his yukata, exposing his toned torso. A sly grin curling his lips at you gape at his leaking cock, standing proud and achingly hard. Thick and unforgiving. 

Fuck, could you really take him in your mouth? He was at least twice as big as anyone else you’ve been with before…

“Open.” he orders, voice low and commanding and making your cunt clench so deliciously in anticipation. Suguru’s flushed tip pokes your lips - glossy with sake and saliva - precum salty on your tongue. God, he was huge. Parting your mouth wider, lips stretching around his length you desperately try to fuck him into your mouth - eager to please.

But it just wasn’t enough.

Because Suguru has a searing grip on your hair, holding your head steady as he pushed his cock all the way down your throat. Delicate veins throbbing against the roof of your mouth as he starts up a steady, merciless pace fucking your mouth as if you were nothing but a fucktoy. 

“C’mon now, you said s’all you want. Better act like it, pretty girl.” he chuckles darkly, pushing you impossibly further down so that your nose presses into the tufts of thick, black hair at his pelvis. Like delicate strokes of a fine art. Breathing in the heady, masculine scent so sinfully.

This man is a masterpiece, you think deliriously - completely cock-drunk as you gag around his length, eyes burning at the way his fat tip hits your abused throat. Over and over. A ceaseless cadence you were losing your mind to. 

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, jus’ like that.” he hisses, as you tongue at his slit. Fingers deftly pressing around your neck to feel his dick ramming down your throat. 

The once-serene room rings with your pathetic, wet gurgles around Suguru’s cock and the smacking of skin on skin as his heavy balls hit your chin. “Take it, take it all.”

You moan, body arching as you claw at his toned hips for some semblance of stability. Nails digging neat lines down his milky skin. Balls tightening, he thrusts animalistically into your mouth, each one deeper and harder than the last, cock sliding in and out of you brutally. 

Messy.

Saliva and precum drip down his length, dirtying his yukata. Tears streak down your cheeks onto Suguru’s wrist, fingers tightening ferally around your throat. Blood roaring in your ears, choking at both the throbbing cock and the hand blocking your airway.

 It was so fucking messy.

So it only made sense that Suguru’s orgasm was the same. 

With a guttural cry of your name, Suguru came in hot spurts of cum, shooting rope after rope down your ready throat as his cock pulsed and stuttered in your mouth. You felt so dirty, his seed pooling on your tongue. 

But he wasn’t done - no, far from it - pulling out from your abused mouth with a lewd pop! Twitching cock heavy on your face as he paints your face white. Hips bucking deliriously, a smug smirk playing on his lips at his masterpiece.

Face and mouth covered in his cum, fucked out enough that you basically had heart eyes looking at Suguru, you ready yourself to swallow it all. Needing to taste Suguru immediately.

Ah, but one can’t get everything they want.

Because Suguru drops to his knees, hand still tight around your throat as he captures your lips with his. Teeth clashing, lips bruising, forcing his tongue down your throat. Tasting himself. Tasting you. It was absolutely animalistic. 

A barely-lucid, disappointed whine leaves your swollen lips as he pulls away. Only to spit once. Twice. Three times on your face.

You flinch as wads of saliva and his cum hit your face, warm and dripping down your cheeks. Staining the pristine tatami mats below as they fall with a resounding tap! tap! tap!

And you gladly offer yourself up for the abuse. A fucked out smile spreading across your face as you take in the feeling of being so debauched by Suguru. Somewhat-delirious, you barely register the dark mutter against your ear, “Hope you’re not tapping out yet, pretty girl. I haven’t even gotten out my paintbrushes yet.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - The yakuza boss

“Strip.”

Standing in the dimly lit room, red-hot irritation flashes behind your eyes as you bristle at the words falling out of his mouth - devastatingly handsome had it not been for that smug, leering smirk. 

Eyes half-lidded, long legs spread on that gaudy armchair, smoke falling from Sukuna’s lips as he stares at you intently. Eyes piercing through yours over his cigar. Demanding compliance. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you rip your gaze from his, flitting panickedly between the imposing yakuza boss in front of you - all alluring tattoos, and heavy, gold rings - and the glinting pistol that lay silently on one, muscular thigh.

You can feel the heat of his gaze burning into your skin as your hands tremble, fumbling with those tedious buttons. Breathing heavy, nipples hardening - your top hits the floor. God, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into. 

Cursing your father’s debt, you move on to your pants. Desperately trying to avoid catching a glimpse of those blown-out pupils, something prickly and hot pooling in your stomach. Shit. You won’t start liking this - you refuse to start liking this. 

One by one, it falls away. Leaving you bare and completely exposed under Sukuna’s intense scrutiny. A low growl escapes his lips at the way your thighs clench together so sinfully, the sound sending shivers down your spine. 

“Come here, doll.” Low, raspy words that go straight to your cunt. But you steel yourself, heels clacking against the polished floor as you step closer. And closer. Watching the way he drinks in your naked form. 

But apparently too slow.

Before you can even react, a muscled arm reaches out, pulling you to fall into his waiting lap, straddling those toned hips. A jolt of electricity going through your body as you register the cold metal of the gun digging into your leg. 

Sukuna leans forward, the scent of tobacco and sin overwhelming your senses. “Dance f’me.”

Shit. How dare he talk to you this way - and how dare you let your pussy clench in anticipation at his demeaning tone.

Biting back a groan at the way your hardened nipples brush against his button-up, you tentatively roll your hips forward. A thrill going straight to your pussy as something long and thick presses against you. Involuntarily, you press closer, grinding against him. Hard.

Large, calloused hands find your ass. Squeezing roughly to pull you closer, rocking your hips back and forth on his throbbing erection. Back and forth back and forth back and-

Cool metal pressed against your skin - the barrel of his glinting gun pressed lightly against your forehead. Goosebumps erupt down your spine, painfully prickling at your skin as you realize just what the fuck he was doing. “As much as I love you humping me like a bitch in heat, doll. I asked you to dance f’me.” he murmurs, tone was positively dripping with something dark and dangerous.

Well, you think, gritting your teeth in determination. Might as well give the bastard what he asks for. 

Staring defiantly right into those darkened, intense eyes, you begin moving your body agonizingly slow. Hands tantalizingly tracing the outline of your body. Teasingly caressing the skin, sliding your fingers along your collarbone, down your rib cage, grazing your navel before slithering lower. Lower. 

Your soaked cunt forming a wet patch right on his straining erection. 

Sukuna’s eyes follow your every move - every circle of your hips down on his throbbing bulge. The corner of his mouth curving into a satisfied smile as he takes in the sight of you so sinful and shamefully exposed for him. 

The desire simmering beneath his composed exterior is basically palpable. 

And then, it snaps.

Suddenly, his arm snaps up, grabbing bruisingly at your waist. With a slow, deliberate motion, he takes a long drag of his cigar - blowing the smoke right in your face, the warm breath mingling with the heady air. 

Your surprised gasp is swallowed by his heated kiss, tongues wrestling as a hand digs into the tender skin of your neck. As if he owns you. 

Hips bucking wildly, and more frantically on Sukuna’s clothed cock - the expensive fabric of his pants now wet with your slick and his precum. You lose yourself in the moment.

But what you do register is the sharp unzipping of his pants. 

Snapping your eyes open, they meet with the large, leaking cock now pulsing in his hands, prominent veins glistening with precum that dribbles down his flushed head. Pulling away, you rip your gaze from his throbbing erection to look in his eyes - with what, fear? Anticipation? Both?

Sukuna lounges back on his armchair leisurely, relishing the way you watch - somewhat-awestruck - as his large hand begins moving in small, unhurried motions up and down his rock-hard length.

A harsh push of the barrel against your forehead snaps you out of your debauched reverie. “Didn’t tell ya to stop, did I, doll?” he hisses out, venomous and needy. 

The tension in the room is almost tangible, the air thick with lust and fear. As you watch the rhythmic jerks of Sukuna’s hand on his erect cock - up and down up and down up and- your body betrays you. 

Mind hazy with arousal, you place your hands on his shoulders, cunt clenching at the strong, defined muscle beneath your fingertips. You lean forward, lips meeting his in a desperate, desperate kiss. 

Pulling away, you reach for his heavy cock, wrapping your fingers around it, feeling it’s thickness and the heat. Sukuna lets out a low growl, eyes closing momentarily as you begin to stroke him in urgent, desperate tugs that have his hips bucking involuntarily.  

As you let him fuck your fist like his own personal fleshlight, you grind down against his thigh. Hard. His tight, twitching ball stimulating your clit just right as you get yourself off on Sukuna like a bitch in heat. 

Maybe it was the pure feral need in your hazy eyes - or maybe it was the way you lean your head into the gun pressing against your forehead - but Sukuna’s eyes widen, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. Only growing more amused by the second as you lean impossibly closer to take the cigar from his hand, placing it between your lips. 

Drawing deeply, inhaling the sweet, rich flavor of the tobacco. As you exhale, you deliberately blow the smoke into his face, the tendrils of vapor swirling around his beautiful features, mixing with the sweat and the scent of his cologne.

A deep bark of laughter makes Sukuna throw his head back - and you to clench around nothing on his lap. Hips becoming more and more animalistic against his. Your wrist now aching and wet with precum, becoming so, so sloppy trying to get both yourselves off. 

Sukuna wraps his arm around you, pulling you close, his hand cupping your breast possessively. The other surges back with the gun on your forehead - where it had been faltering from pleasure before. “Make us come within the next five seconds before I blow your head off, doll.”

One.

Your fingers tighten around his cock, milking him. Movements from both ends become more and more filthy with the need to release.

Two.

You cup his heavy balls in your hands, clit catching on his zipper and making you mewl at the stimulation.

Three.

A thumb pressing down between his balls, hard. Hips stuttering with your impending release, losing your mind with each stroke.

Four.

Sukuna body goes rigid, choking on what sounds like your name, bottom lip catching between his teeth as he throws his head back and-

Five.

Cums all over your fist, thick, hot spurts of seed that paint your hands white. Splattering on your palm, and onto the chair below. You not too far behind as your body bows into his, stars behind your eyes as you chase peak after peak grinding down on his lap. You shudder, release taking everything out of you until it’s nothing more than mere tingles. 

A finger on the trigger. Pulling. 

Click! 

As Sukuna’s maniacal laughter rings in the heady room, you blink away the haze of your orgasm as you realizing with a jolt that there were no fucking bullets. 

Yet this bastard shot you anyway.

Skin heated against yours, lips ghosting your ear as Sukuna whispers. Low and gravelly. 

“I don’t need a gun to kill, doll.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - The professor

“You see, I really, really need this A to pass, sir.” you bat your lashes innocently, slightly whiny yet not desperate - at least, not yet. 

Short skirt hiking up as you lean over the desk in Professor Gojo’s stuffy office. Making sure that tight top you purposefully wore lets those striking blue eyes see a perfect view of your breasts - no bra today, of course. 

Eyes flickering down. Once. Twice. 

Success. 

Yet, Professor Gojo’s easy grin stays steadfast, “Well, maybe you should have studied harder then, hm?” You’d almost be fooled by his little act, yet your eyes catch the way he subtly crosses his legs, something stirring in those alluring cerulean eyes as he looks up at you through his lashes.

Deciding to play along, huffing as you cross your arms across your chest, “I did, maybe you should just let me take on an assignment for extra credit.”

His eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows raising in question, “What kind of assignment?”

You bite your lips coyly, holding back a smirk at the way he makes it so easy for you. Reaching out immediately to trace a thumb across his full lips, leaning down far enough that your tits were basically spilling out of your top now. 

“The one where you fuck me, right here. Right now, on this desk.”

You could feel his pulse quickening against your hand, voice strained with need. “I should fail you right now for this.”

Brushing your lips against his earlobe, you whisper, “But you won’t, sir.”

Before you can react, in one, fluid motion strong arms lift you off the desk to splay you out so sinfully on it. You almost get whiplash from his pure strength, brought back only by the feeling of his muscular thighs warm against your ass. 

“If you want that A, then prove how badly you need it.” 

Your heart races as you nod, cheeks flaring with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. With a feral grin, you spread your legs apart, toying with that soaked g-string - exposing your bare pussy. Beads of slick pooling underneath you on the desk as the way Gojo’s eyes harden as you clench around nothing. 

You trail your hands enticingly down, down down. A delicate finger swiping at your folds, collecting your juices - popping right into your mouth. A smug huff of laughter leaves you at the way Gojo’s mouth drops into a surprised oh!

“You’re such a lil’ fucking minx, princess.”

You needed him now. 

Rubbing your thumb over your swollen clit, index finger bullying its way into your snug cunt the way you wanted Gojo to. You gasp, arching your back as waves of pleasure, “Oh, sir! Mmm- feel s’good inside me. Want more- hah-”

Pornographic whines of pleasure send blood rushing straight to Gojo’s cock. He was losing his mind at your little show. He was going insane.

“Your turn now.” you mewl, 

Your hungry gaze was locked with Gojo’s as he stands, removing his belt and unbuckling his pants. Your eyes follow the movement greedily, mouth watering at the impressive size of his erection. Leaking tip furiously flushed your favorite shade of pretty pink. Delicate beads of precum smearing on the frantic, jerky movements of his fist up and down and up and down and-

It’s a silent staredown. Your fingers matching the delicious rhythm of his fist, urgently fucking yourselves to each other. Trying to see who would break first. Up and down up and down - in and out in and out. Faster. 

“Didn’t think you were all talk, sir.”

That’s what makes the great Gojo Satoru break. Surging forward in hasty steps, your hands pinned to the cold surface of the desk, pussy now quivering in loneliness. 

Smack!

“Count to five, then I’ll give what you want. If you can’t even do that then I don’t think you deserve an A, princess.”

“O-one.” You whine at the harsh hand that smacks your ass, large handprint stinging into your searing skin. 

“This the hand?” Gojo whispers, voice ragged. Inspecting your hands before his tongue sticks out to lick a long, languid stripe up your fingers, pooling your juices on his tongue. Pretty blue eyes rolling to the back of his head as he licks your fingers clean so filthily. 

Electricity courses through your veins as his long fingers deftly rip off your flimsy g-string, pocketing it safely in his work pants. You have half the mind to snark about it before you register Gojo’s throbbing cock flush against your pussy, leaking tip teasing in between your dripping folds leisurely. 

Your slick mixing with his precum, trailing down down down his glistening length, pooling on where he tightly gripped his base - splattering onto the hardwood office floor with a deafening tap! tap! tap! that matched the heartbeat in your ears. 

“Beg for it, princess.”

“Hmmm, no.”

Smack! Smack! 

“Ah! Three! Hah- please, sir.”

You didn’t even know exactly what you were begging for - but you got exactly what you wanted. Breath catching in your throat at the way Gojo pushed into you with a raspy grunt, cock hot and heavy against your fluttering walls. 

His sheer size makes you feel like you’ll split apart any second now, but oh how you desperately wanted to be broken by him. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Gojo began to thrust. Shallow, mindless strokes, each one just to drive his enormous cock deeper to fit into your snug, ravaged cunt. 

“Fuck me, please, sir. Need you feel me up insi-”

Smack! 

“...four.” you whisper, voice strained with need and frustration.

Ass sore, marks probably there for days. Your words catch pathetically in your throat as Gojo loses grip on his restraint - or his sanity - whichever one would break you first. Sheathing himself inside your dripping heaven till his heavy balls smacked your clit, your ass flush against the neat tufts of white at his pelvis. 

Wasting no time, Gojo starts up at an uncontrollable, merciless pace, every inch of him being forced all the way into your snug pussy. Your walls suck him up greedily as his prominent veins throb and graze just right on all your sweet spots. 

“This what you wanted, princess?” he rasps out, pace unwavering. “This is what you wanted, right? To be fucked like the pretty little slut that you are, huh?”

“Yes! Yes, please, sir.”

Each ramming of his cock drives you further and further up the cold desk, a pathetic little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth at each slam. Knees weakened by his relentless pounding, you didn’t know how you were gonna hold yourself up anymore-

Ah, but you didn’t have to. Gojo Satoru, ever the gentleman, wrapped a single, muscular arm under your hips, kneading the skin underneath his fingertips, fucking you deeper onto his cock as if you were his personal fucktoy.  

“Oh fuck! Hngh- sir, right there.” you yelp at the new angle, his furiously flushed tip kissing your cervix so painfully good, g-spot abused as he grazes it over and over. 

Smack!

“Ah, sir! Five-”

And then you’re cumming. Hips pushing back animalistically, fucking yourself through your high. Chasing peak after peak.

Boneless and exhausting, dripping cunt clamping down on him you mewl, “Fill me up inside, sir! Wanna feel it dripping down my legs.” At the sound of your voice, Gojo’s eyes rolled back, his features contorted in pure ecstasy as his cock twitches savagely inside you, finally letting himself release. Cum gushing out in thick, pulsating spurts.

Filling your abused pussy to the brim, coating your walls an obscene white. Gojo keeps fucking himself through it, milking even the last drops of his length on your cunt. Breaths ragged, hips animalistic, low murmurs of your name leaving his lips. 

And as his climax bates into nothing more but mere tingles, lust-hazed, tired ears catch the distant knocking from outside. Ah, right that appointment.

Blinking back the vision to his eyes, he looks down at you. All fucked-out, swollen lips pouty, and his cum dribbling enticingly down your thighs. Oh how he just wants to bite into you - or have half the mind to just send you out there like this to show all those college losers who you belong to. 

Or, he thinks, eyes twinkling as he looks down at the generously large space under his desk.

You catch his gaze, a dangerous glint in them as he maps every curve and dip of your body. Marked and so very obviously his. Your pretty lips falling into a soft oh! as you realize just what idea was forming behind those darkened blue eyes. 

“Come in.”

Before you know it, you’re shoved hastily under the desk, Gojo’s still-furiously flushed tip kissing your bruised lips as the door swings open. God, if every assignment was like this then you’d probably end up valedictorian…

A/N. Can’t believe this got me b@nned for like a hour bro pls.

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[norristrii]

IT WAS OBVIOUS.

“Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me.” — Oscar accidentally shows too much excitement after his win, revealing your true relationship to your brother and the whole world.

pairing. Oscar Piastri x Norris! fem! reader

warnings. none. AGAIN, IN THE HONOR OF OSCAR’S WIN IN CHINA ‼️🥹 (two posts in one day, crazy ik)

music. The Alchemy by Taylor Swift.

YOU WEREN’T ENTIRELY SURE if hooking up with your brother’s teammate was the best idea you’d ever had—or the worst. But here you were, tangled up in something you couldn’t quite resist.

It all started when Lando and Oscar became teammates. Their friendship blossomed quickly, the kind of bond that seemed effortless. So, naturally, it wasn’t long before Lando introduced you to Oscar. And, well, Oscar caught your eye in a way you hadn’t expected.

He was everything your brother wasn’t—polite, calm, and kind. Where your brother was loud and relentless, Oscar was steady and thoughtful. You couldn’t help but wonder how the two of them could even be friends, let alone teammates.

But the real surprise? You caught Oscar’s eye, too. What began as casual texts and lighthearted calls quickly evolved into something more. Dates, secret meet-ups, stolen moments that felt like they belonged to another world. You didn’t tell your brother for a multitude of reasons. First, it wasn’t any of his business. And second, you knew exactly how he’d react—relentless teasing, endless questions, and a level of overprotectiveness you weren’t in the mood to deal with.

When you and Oscar decided to make it official, it was a quiet decision, just between the two of you. Well, the two of you and your best friend—because keeping secrets from her was impossible. Beyond that, no one else knew. And maybe that was part of what made it so thrilling. The secrecy added a layer of excitement to every interaction, every glance, every touch.

The moments before a race were your favorite. The paddock buzzed with energy, the air electric with anticipation. And amidst it all, there were the secret kisses, the fleeting touches when no one was looking. It was a game, a dance of stolen moments that only the two of you understood. The thrill of it all made your heart race almost as much as the roar of the engines.

Lando's invitation to the Chinese Grand Prix felt like the perfect follow-up to his stunning victory in Australia. You couldn’t be prouder of him, and being here felt like a privilege. The atmosphere buzzed with energy, and you were eager to cheer not just for him, but for Oscar as well—your two boys.

Now, you found yourself standing behind the barriers, shoulder to shoulder with McLaren team members who shared in the collective anticipation. The hum of engines roared in the background as the cars sped around the track, each lap bringing Oscar closer to something extraordinary. His first-ever pole position had already felt like a monumental achievement, but now, with the race on its final lap—lap 56—Oscar was leading. His car, sleek and powerful in its vibrant McLaren orange, glided through the turns with precision, almost effortlessly.

The tension in the air was palpable, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you cheered with the team. Oscar had practically won by now, the gap between him and the car behind him widening with every second.

Standing there, witnessing the culmination of hard work and talent, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with pride—not just for Oscar and his incredible performance, but for Lando, who was right behind his teammate. The cheers around you grew louder as the finish line approached.

The chequered flag waved, signaling the end of the race, and as Oscar crossed the finish line first, with Lando right behind him, a surge of overwhelming pride and joy coursed through you. It was a moment of pure triumph, made even sweeter knowing how much Oscar had struggled during his home race in Australia. To see him claim victory here felt like vindication for every ounce of effort he had poured into this season.

As Oscar parked his car behind the gleaming P1 sign, your gaze never wavered from him. His car came to a halt, and in the corner of your vision, you caught sight of Lando parking just behind, the two McLarens standing like trophies of the team’s efforts. But your focus was locked on Oscar, on the way he climbed out of the car, exuding both exhaustion and exhilaration.

Helmet off, his face glowed with triumph as he threw up his arms in his signature victory pose, the crowd erupting in cheers. The moment was electric, but your heart raced for a different reason as you watched him turn—not towards his team, who stood waiting with cheers and open arms, but towards you.

Oscar’s strides were purposeful, his gaze unwavering as he crossed the distance between you. Your breath hitched when he reached you, ignoring everyone else, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace that was full of relief, joy, and something so uniquely him. You held onto him tightly, feeling the intensity of the moment.

As you pulled away slightly, his face was so close to yours, his brown eyes meeting yours in a way that made the world around you blur. For a fleeting second, there was a pause, a shared understanding, before he closed the gap. His lips met yours in a kiss that was unplanned but utterly perfect—an unspoken testament to everything he couldn’t say in words.

The team’s cheers rang louder behind you, but in that moment, it was just the two of you. The thrill of victory, the secret you shared, and the raw emotion of it all were woven together in that single instant. And for that brief, breathtaking moment, nothing else mattered.

As he pulled away, his voice was quick but steady, the words tumbling out before he turned away: “I love you.” And just like that, Oscar was off, moving to embrace the cheering team members who waited to celebrate his victory. The moment hung in the air for a beat, the rush of emotions swirling inside you.

You didn’t need to think twice about what had just happened. That kiss—bold, unapologetic—wasn’t just seen by the team. It was seen by the cameras, the crowds, and possibly even the entire world. And your brother. But none of it mattered anymore. Oscar had chosen this moment to make it clear where he stood. His love, his support, his pride in being with you—none of it wavered, regardless of what anyone thought. To him, the name you carried meant nothing in comparison to the connection you shared.

As your eyes trailed back to him, now surrounded by his teammates, the warmth of the moment was interrupted by a familiar presence. Your brother was already in front of you, arms crossed, his face set in that classic judgmental look he’d mastered over the years.

You tried not to squirm under his gaze, instead forcing a smile and stepping forward to embrace him before he could say a word. "I’m proud of you," you said quickly, deflecting with a playful tone as your arms wrapped around him.

Lando’s body stiffened for a split second, his eyebrows raised in suspicion, but he eventually hugged you back. "Hmm," he muttered, clearly not convinced but letting the moment slide—for now. You could already see the gears turning in his head, and you knew this wasn’t the end of the conversation.

As the top three entered the Cool Down room, the adrenaline still seemed to linger in the air, blending with the excitement and chatter from the race outside. The drivers were greeted by monitors showing highlights of their performance, the distant roar of the crowd fading into a steady hum. Lando followed a step behind, his usual playful energy evident in the slight bounce of his step as he grabbed a water bottle from the corner table. The tension of the race seemed to dissolve, replaced by camaraderie as they settled in, catching their breath.

It didn’t take long for Lando to break the ice in true Lando fashion. He turned towards Oscar, pointing at him with dramatic flair, his expression mock-serious. “Osc, don’t think for a second I didn’t see that,” he began, his tone accusatory yet laced with humor. The way he gestured, finger wagging as if scolding a misbehaving child, made it clear he was enjoying every second of this.

Oscar, who had just picked up his towel to dab the sweat from his face, froze mid-motion. He glanced at Lando, a mixture of confusion and resignation flickering across his features. “Here we go,” he muttered, almost too quietly to be heard. But he didn’t need to say much. He knew exactly what this was about.

“My poor eyes!” Lando cried dramatically, his free hand flying up to shield his face as if he were genuinely scarred. The theatrics escalated quickly, his voice rising in exaggerated despair as he staggered backward a step for added effect. “I’ll never recover from this trauma.”

Oscar sighed, shaking his head slightly, though the smallest twitch of a smirk threatened to betray his amusement. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, man,” he said, his voice dry but tinged with tolerance—the tone of someone well-practiced in dealing with Lando’s antics.

But Lando wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “I mean, honestly,” he continued, his mock indignation unwavering, “a little heads-up would’ve been nice. You know, like—‘Oh, hey, Lando, I’m about to make the whole world cringe by publicly making out with your sister.’ Something like that. Is that too much to ask?” His grin widened as he tossed the water bottle between his hands, his eyebrows arched in that trademark cheeky expression.

Oscar rolled his eyes, lifting the towel to hide his face for a moment as if shielding himself from Lando’s relentless teasing. “It wasn’t that bad,” he replied, his voice firm but quieter now, as if trying to downplay the moment.

“Wasn’t that bad?” Lando repeated, his voice climbing an octave as he placed a hand to his chest like he’d been mortally offended. “Mate, I think I just lost three years of my life.” His grin made it clear he was enjoying this far too much, but beneath the jest, there was no malice—just Lando being Lando.

Oscar finally allowed himself a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. Next time, I’ll send you a formal invitation first,” he deadpanned, the sharp wit of his retort earning a mock gasp from Lando.

“Oh, how thoughtful,” Lando shot back, finally leaning against the wall as if he’d exhausted his dramatic reserves. But the mischievous glint in his eye remained, a silent promise that he wasn’t going to let Oscar off the hook anytime soon.

The night paddock lay in near silence, the excitement of the day's events now reduced to a soft hum in the background. The dim glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows across the asphalt, illuminating the reflection of Oscar's trophy as he carried it proudly in one hand. His other arm rested securely around your shoulders, a gesture that brought a quiet warmth as the two of you walked side by side.

Lando walked just a step behind, still buzzing with energy despite the lateness of the hour. His natural playfulness was impossible to suppress, and it wasn’t long before his voice broke through the calm, cutting through the stillness with a sense of exaggerated drama. “Soo…” he began, his tone drawing out the word as if he were preparing to deliver a theatrical monologue.

Oscar groaned quietly, already anticipating where this was headed. “Oh no,” he mumbled under his breath, his head dipping just slightly. You felt his arm tighten around you briefly, as though bracing himself for impact, while you stifled a small laugh. Lando was nothing if not predictable.

“You two have a lot to explain,” Lando finally said, his voice laden with mock sternness as he caught up to walk alongside you. His brow furrowed in an attempt to appear serious, but the mischievous sparkle in his eye gave him away. He raised an eyebrow for effect, his gaze darting between you and Oscar as though he were demanding a confession for some unspeakable crime.

Feigning innocence, you tilted your head, a sly smile playing on your lips. “What do you want to explain?” you asked, your voice light and teasing. It was clear you weren’t going to make this easy for him. Even as your heart raced slightly at the idea of confronting the topic, you couldn’t resist the urge to play along.

Lando stopped walking for a moment, crossing his arms as he stood in the middle of the path, looking every bit like a self-appointed interrogator. He narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching as though he were holding back a grin. “You two are like… a thing?” he asked, his words slow and deliberate, emphasizing the weight of what he was asking.

Oscar exchanged a quick glance with you, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t need to say anything for you to know what he was thinking—this was so typically Lando. As much as the question lingered in the air, it was impossible to take him completely seriously. Still, the tension buzzed ever so slightly beneath the surface, and it was clear that neither of you could sidestep the question for much longer.

But after a few lingering seconds of silence, Lando cleared his throat dramatically, clearly preparing to fill the void. “I mean, it was obvious,” he declared, his tone laced with faux confidence, as though he had pieced it all together from the start.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. “No, it wasn’t,” you shot back, shaking your head at him. “You had no idea, Lan.”

Lando’s eyebrow shot up as he feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest in mock indignation. “Excuse me? I’m incredibly observant, thank you very much.”

Oscar, who had been quietly amused throughout the exchange, finally chimed in, his voice calm but teasing. “Yeah, right,” he said, glancing at Lando with a smirk. “You only noticed because we made it too obvious today.”

Lando threw up his hands in a theatrical shrug. “Well, maybe. But still. I figured it out. That’s what counts,” he insisted, though the grin on his face betrayed how much he was enjoying winding the two of you up.

You rolled your eyes, giving him a playful shove. “Alright, Sherlock. Sure, you ‘figured it out,’” you teased, unable to keep the grin off your own face. Despite the teasing, there was an undeniable warmth in the moment—a mixture of relief and lighthearted acceptance. Leave it to Lando to turn even the most awkward revelations into something almost comforting.

“But seriously now,” Lando said, his tone softening as he let his teasing demeanor fade away for a moment. He glanced between the two of you, his lips curling into a genuine smile. “I’m happy for you guys,” he admitted, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard.

Oscar smiled warmly in return, his arm tightening slightly around your shoulders, as if silently thanking Lando for his support. It was a simple moment, but you felt the weight of Lando’s words—his approval meant more than you’d realized.

“Just a bit mad for not telling me sooner,” Lando added, raising his eyebrows as though pretending to scold you. Though the hint of mischief in his smile quickly undermined any seriousness. “You could’ve spared me the whole awkward guessing game, you know.”

[astrolook]

Sun in the houses:

Let's see what happens how sun behaves in all these houses, both positive and negative. Mind you that every planet in any house or sign can exhibit both positive and negative traits and can manifest in a person.

Sun in 1st House: I’m not saying I’m the center of the universe, but... I kinda am. 🌞🌍

You just get leadership. You don’t have to try; it’s in your blood. If afflicted, your leadership style might feel more like "dictatorship." You’re so sure of yourself that others don’t get a chance to voice their opinions.

Your positivity and belief in yourself make others think, “If they can do it, I can too!”. If Sun is afflicted, it can come off as "I'm better than you" rather than "I believe in myself."

You’re the life of the party! Your energy lifts the room and makes everyone feel involved. If afflicted, you might crave attention to the point where you overshadow others.

You set big goals, and you achieve them. There’s no stopping you once your mind is made up. If afflicted, friends and colleagues can feel like you’re so busy chasing success that you forget to check in on them.

Your dad probably instilled in you a sense of pride and self-worth that shaped who you are. If afflicted, your dad could be too demanding or proud of you, it can create some serious pressure. You might feel like you’re living for his approval rather than your own dreams, and that can lead to overcompensating or burning out.

Sun in the 2nd House: Money talks, but my self-worth yells! 💸🌟

You have a strong sense of self-worth, often tied to personal achievements. You know your value. If afflicted, You might tie your entire identity to material success, feeling inadequate or worthless without financial stability or possessions.

You are ambitious, striving to build financial security. Hard work often pays off. If afflicted, your financial instability may lead to insecurity or even an unhealthy obsession with money. You may be overly materialistic.

You’re usually careful with your resources but if afflicted, you could be prone to overspending or hoarding, unable to find a balanced approach to finances.

A father figure can be a source of inspiration and a role model in financial matters and work ethics. If afflicted, it could bring inheritance issues or you may feel that you never live up to his expectations.

Can exhibit workaholic tendencies, sacrificing personal happiness or family life for financial gain or status.

You have the potential to rise above financial challenges, but if afflicted, you could experience deep feelings of insecurity or even shame when you don't meet your own or others’ material expectations, possibly leading to cycles of self-doubt.

You might view love through the lens of material gestures or gifts, making it difficult to connect emotionally or romantically.

Sun in the 3rd House: Your ideas are shining bright, but good luck getting people to stop talking long enough to hear them!

You’re a natural communicator, your words carry weight. If afflicted, you might dominate conversations or struggle with listening, sometimes coming off as self-centered or dismissive of others' perspectives.

Close, possibly authoritative, relationship with siblings; they could be supportive, or you may take on a leadership role in your family. If afflicted, Conflicts with siblings or feeling misunderstood could arise, leading to tension and rivalry, sometimes even to the point of no contact.

Quick-witted and sharp but also can struggle with overthinking, becoming mentally scattered or overwhelmed by too many ideas at once.

You could excel as a teacher or mentor. If afflicted, a tendency to lecture or impose your ideas on others.

Enjoys frequent short trips. On the flip side, Travel may be more about running away from stress or distractions rather than meaningful exploration, leaving you feeling unsettled.

You naturally build connections with people in your immediate environment, making you very social and approachable. If afflicted, can come off as superficial or too eager to network.

You have a great sense of humor and can use wit to win people over in conversations. If afflicted, might use humor as a defense mechanism or to hide insecurities, sometimes crossing boundaries or coming across as insensitive.

Sun in the 4th House: Home is where your heart—and your ego—are, and good luck moving past your childhood room!

You deeply value your home and family, often finding identity in your roots and personal space. Sometimes, it can lead to clinging to the past or feeling stuck in old patterns.

Your self-esteem may become too tied to your home life, making you feel insecure or restless if things at home are unstable.

You may have a strong, nurturing relationship with your mother or a motherly figure, who plays a central role in your life. If afflicted, A dominant or overbearing mother could lead to conflicts or struggles with your own sense of self.

You have a deep appreciation for your heritage and traditions. If afflicted, You may be too focused on the past, unable to move forward or let go of old family patterns or unresolved issues.

You may find comfort and strength in your private life, but sometimes a strong need for privacy might lead to isolation or difficulty expressing yourself outside of your home or family setting.

Sun in the 5th House: You’re not just good at playing games—you’re good at being the star of them!

You have a strong need to express yourself creatively, often excelling in arts, hobbies, or self-expression. If afflicted, Can become too focused on being admired for your creativity, leading to vanity or insecurity when not recognized.

Life is a playground for you; you seek joy, excitement, and adventure in everything you do, but if afflicted, may seek too much pleasure, becoming careless or irresponsible, neglecting other important aspects of life.

You approach romance with confidence and passion but sometimes you might crave validation through romantic relationships, leading to drama or superficial connections.

If you become a parent, you’re likely to take pride in raising children and may have a natural ability to nurture and inspire them. If afflicted, can become overly focused on impressing your children or living through them, putting too much pressure on them or on yourself.

You are willing to take risks for excitement but on the flip side, A penchant for risk-taking could lead to reckless behavior or impulsive decisions, sometimes causing unnecessary harm to yourself or others and regrets.

Sun in the 6th House: You’re the go-to person for work, health, and making sure everything runs smoothly—unless you’re burnt out, of course!

You take pride in your work and have a strong sense of responsibility. You’re highly dedicated and reliable. If afflicted, it could be overburdening yourself with tasks and potentially leading to burnout.

You find fulfillment in helping others and often take on service-oriented roles where you can make a difference. Sometimes, you might feel taken for granted or unappreciated, especially if you put others' needs before your own, leading to frustration.

You are often very conscious of maintaining good health but sometimes you could become obsessed with health routines, leading to anxiety about perfection or overemphasis on minor health concerns.

You feel fulfilled by supporting or mentoring others, often excelling in roles that require service or care. You might struggle with self-worth if your efforts aren't appreciated or recognized, leading to resentment.

You possess strong mental and physical discipline and you may become overly critical of yourself or others if things don’t meet your high standards.

You’re excellent at identifying and solving problems but over-thinking or obsessing over problems can lead to anxiety or difficulty seeing the bigger picture, getting stuck in the minutiae.

Sun in the 7th House: You love being in the spotlight of relationships—just make sure you're not shining too brightly for your partner!

You thrive in close relationships and find your identity through your connections with others. If afflicted, you may become overly dependent on a partner for validation, losing sight of your individuality or putting too much pressure on the relationship.

You may take pride in your role as a partner or spouse and often invest deeply in committed relationships. If afflicted, You could place too much importance on marriage or partnerships, potentially attracting bad partners that are either possessive or just use you.

Your relationship with your father can have a significant impact on your views of partnerships. If your father was distant or authoritative, you may unconsciously seek partners who resemble him, leading to issues with power dynamics or unfulfilled needs.

You excel in negotiating and finding common ground in relationships but you may avoid confrontation or sacrifice your own needs to keep the peace, leading to resentment or unresolved issues.

Sun in the 8th House: You don’t just like to dive deep, you want to see what’s under the surface—and no, we’re not talking about the fridge!

You experience emotions deeply, with a strong ability to connect to others on an intimate level. beware, intense emotions can lead to emotional highs and lows, making it difficult to find balance or feel stable in your personal life.

You are fascinated by the unknown, with a natural curiosity about life’s deeper meanings, psychology, and even the occult. You may become obsessed with uncovering secrets, and sometimes, this can lead to unhealthy fixation or paranoia about what’s hidden.

You’re often able to emerge stronger from crises or difficult experiences but also you may become addicted to chaos or dramatic transformations, seeking out crises for the sense of power or transformation they bring.

You have an innate understanding of life's cyclical nature, and you often feel comfortable with the idea of death, allowing you to live more fully. This connection can turn into a preoccupation with mortality, possibly manifesting as anxiety or unhealthy fears surrounding death or loss.

If afflicted, a troubled relationship with your father, possibly marked by power struggles or emotional distance, could lead to unresolved issues or feelings of inadequacy that carry over into your relationships.

Sun in the 9th House: You're on a never-ending quest for truth, knowledge, and adventure—basically, a cosmic tourist with a PhD!

You are drawn to big ideas, philosophy, spirituality, and have a strong sense of purpose, often inspired by a higher calling or ideal. If the ideal is unattainable or unrealistic, you might feel disillusioned or disconnected from reality, leading to frustration or unrealistic expectations.

Travel, especially abroad, opens your mind and helps you grow as a person. If afflicted, leads to a feeling of being ungrounded or dissatisfied if you're unable to travel or explore as much as you’d like.

You might even study or work abroad. Your family could have mixed races.

You enjoy being a guide, especially when it comes to life’s big questions. If afflicted, can exhibit a tendency to be overly preachy or self-righteous could alienate others.

Sun in the 10th House: The spotlight is yours! You were born to be on stage—just don’t forget to thank your fans (or, you know, your boss)!

You’re highly motivated to achieve your professional goals and to be recognized for your efforts. If afflicted, you may become overly focused on career achievement, neglecting personal life or burning out from putting all your energy into work.

You care deeply about your reputation and public image, working hard to project a successful, competent, and reliable image. If afflicted, an excessive focus on public perception might lead to superficiality, a tendency to prioritize appearances over substance, or anxiety about how others view you.

Your career goals often play a significant role in shaping your sense of self. Achieving professional milestones boosts your confidence and sense of purpose. If your career is the only way you define yourself, failure or setbacks in your work life may cause a loss of self-worth or personal identity.

Your work is a vehicle for self-expression. You want your career to reflect your true talents and individuality. If your work doesn't align with your authentic self, you may feel you're not being true to who you are.

Your father may serve as a strong role model for career success, influencing your own professional aspirations and ambitions. If your relationship with your father was strained or critical, you may feel like you’re constantly trying to meet his expectations or prove yourself, which could cause you to chase success for the wrong reasons.

Sun in the 11th House: You’re the lonely butterfly with a mission— dreaming of changing the world one connection at a time!

You're that introvert in the extroverted setting. You could be surrounded by people all the time and still feel lonely. You prefer a one-to-one connection than a group setting.

You may become disillusioned or frustrated with the slow pace of change or people who don't share your level of commitment to causes, which could make you feel isolated or unsupported.

You likely to adopt kids or maybe you are the adopted kid. There is a possibility of having a step-father or divorced parent.

You're not one to conform easily and prefer to stay true to your unique self, even in social settings. Definitely, not a sheep.

You like to talk with strangers online and loves to spend time online. If afflicted, chronically online.

Sun in the 12th House: The spotlight is on you, but you’re hiding in the shadows—awkwardly shining in silence and doing some serious soul-searching!

You have a deep connection to your subconscious mind, offering insight into hidden aspects of yourself. This connection can bring about significant personal growth and spiritual awakening.

Could have had a relationship or a fling with a professor or teacher of some sort. Or was it just a crush?

You could shine by moving to other countries for studies or even work. You might feel like you don't belong here.

You could be working in a hospital, programmer, researcher, or just any "behind-the-scenes" jobs.

Have a tendency to avoid the spotlight. You might won't even show your face on social media.

Your father could be distant or could be that he is not there for you.

Curious about your birth chart and what it's really saying about you? 🌟 Slide into my DMs for a personalized astrology reading, and let's unlock the secrets of your stars. ✨ Don’t forget to check out my pinned post for pricing details! 🔮 Let’s make those cosmic connections happen! 🌙🌌

[tfwbluu]

PAIRING — ni-ki + f!reader

WARNINGS — no plot, somnophilia, fingering, raw sex (stay safe!), creampie, sex in the dorms, kissing & marking up.

WORDCOUNT — 0.9K

NOTE — riki is the type to sleep shirtless i don’t make the rules. thank you all for patiently waiting, enjoy your food <3

To say he wasn’t riled up by your sleeping form was an understatement. Maybe it was the delirium of the early hour, but the way your warm body pressed against his bare chest, a stark contrast to the cool air in the room, was nothing short of torment. Your soft breathing as you peacefully slept, and the way your ass settled perfectly against his growing arousal made it nearly impossible for him to focus on anything else.

The thin shirt you were wearing did little to help his restraint. One shoulder was left bare, the fabric slipping down just enough to tease him, and the hem had bunched up against your stomach, exposing the delicate lace of your white panties. His gaze lingered, drinking in every detail.

“Fuck… you’re such a tease even without doing anything, angel,” he murmured under his breath, his voice husky with longing as his hands hesitantly began to wander over your form. Slowly, he moved closer, his lips brushing softly against your exposed shoulder.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t talked about these moments before—after all, you were the one who had surprised him by initiating morning sex not long ago, waking him with your mouth wrapped around him. The memory made his restraint slip even further.

After what felt like an eternity of debating with himself, he finally decided to give in to the temptation. With deliberate care, he pushed down his sweats and boxers, freeing himself. His hands gently slipped beneath your panties, pulling them down with practiced ease, careful not to wake you.

He gently adjusted your position carefully, not wanting you to wake up just yet. You shivered in your sleep as the cool air touched your arousal, he took a small squirt of lube before pressing his fingers on them, gently pushing them in one first before another. You hummed in your sleep, squirming a little bit but not entirely awake. Riki couldn’t hold back anymore. He pulled his fingers from you, earning a soft whine that sent shivers down his spine.

“Shit, you’re so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” he murmured, his voice low and raspy. Aligning his length against your soaked folds, he pushed in gently, savoring the way your body welcomed him. Slowly, he began to move, each thrust purposeful and controlled.

His hands pressed firmly into the bedsheets on either side of you, his gaze locked on your squirming form. Your eyes fluttered open, a groan spilling from your lips as a sudden wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

“Ki…? Ngh…” you moaned, your voice hazy and laced with sleep, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming.

“There’s my baby. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Riki whispered, his tone soft but filled with desire. He leaned down, pressing feather-light kisses along your collarbone and up to your jaw, his hips still moving in a steady rhythm. “You just looked so pretty, baby. I couldn’t hold myself,” he confessed, his lips finally capturing yours, swallowing your small, needy whines as he thrust deeper into you.

“Mhm, Riki…” You breathed out, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, slowly losing control in your own voice, becoming louder and louder as he pressed harder into you.

“Careful, baby. We’re still in the dorms,” Riki murmured, his voice husky but steady, pressing a hand over your lips to stifle your moans. “I know you can be a good girl and stay quiet, right?” he teased, his dark eyes locking with yours.

The muffled sounds of your cries mixed with the wet squelching and the sharp slapping of your bodies meeting, the only noises filling the room. Despite his caution, his desperation grew with each passing second. He hooked your legs up higher, angling himself to hit deeper inside you, his pace quickening as the tension in both of you began to peak.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy’s taking me so well—like it was made for me,” he groaned near your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Between kisses along your shoulders and collarbones, he could feel the way you tightened around him, the knot in your stomach nearing its breaking point.

“Cum for me, baby,” he urged, his voice both commanding and tender as he thrust one last time, sending you spiraling into your release. Your walls clenched tightly around him, pushing him over the edge as he spilled into you, the warmth of his seed filling you. He continued his slow, gentle thrusts before pulling out, watching with fascination as his release dripped from you. “That’s it,” he whispered, his tone full of admiration.

“You’re so needy,” you teased through labored breaths, locking eyes with him, your lips curling into a soft smirk.

“Just for you,” he replied without hesitation, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. He lay beside you, pulling you close, his eyes glowing with affection as you both caught your breath. But it didn’t take long before he grew hard again.

“Do you think you can take a few more, baby?” he asked, his fingers brushing over your sensitive skin. Before you could respond, his hard cock was already pushing inside you again, your leg instinctively resting over his hip as he filled you once more. “Fuck, Ki… Ah~!” you whimpered, as he smirked against the crook of your neck.

“Be quiet,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing as he began to move slowly, each thrust growing in need. “We wouldn’t want my hyungs to know how much you love my cock, hmm?”

TAGLIST — @kikidoul @rikiives @contyynishimura @ziiao @lilmarsh-t @bxcndd @laylasbunbunny @d-dilemma

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much mutual pining and longing, not sharing feelings. This chap- kissing, fingering, masturbation, lots of jealousyy, they're idiots in love lol, teasing, TENSION, oral (f recieving) Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad. Three parts- WC this Part- 7.6k

Songs for this - Birds of a Feather // Nonsense // Suffocate

Ty for all the love on part one!?!? I hope you all enjoy this part as well! We got one more after this <3 Comments and reblogs so appreciated always!

<<<Part One - Masterlist - Final Part>>>

Part Two

One month of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend.

“I’m nervous about this meeting, Satoru. Are you sure I’ll do alright?” You ask softly, as you both head to the elevator, a meeting that you know Satoru has been dreading himself, with the higher ups his dad usually deals with.

“You’ll do just fine, let me do the talking, you can just look all pretty.” He takes your hand as you all get into the elevator, squeezing it warmly, and you’re dying at how good that hand feels, and how good he feels, his strong arm brushing against you as you both watch the elevator doors shut.

“I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“You could never. You’ve been a perfect wife this month, I promise.” His sweet grin, just a little crooked melts you, as you exhale in relief. “I’m getting a lot done with this, I swear… I know you probably wanna get back to normal life.”

The hurt in his words immediately makes you pull back, and Satoru curses himself, taking your hand again, as you two ride up the floors, but you pull away, shaking your head. “Are you so eager for me to go?” Your voice is quiet, trying not to reveal what that makes you feel like fully.

“What!? No, not at all. I meant… if you wanted to.” Satoru’s heart breaks when he sees your dewy eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way, I meant it may not take a year, if you wanted to…”

“I’m glad it’s helping, really.” You give him a small little smile, and Satoru can barely concentrate on what he’s here for, when he wants to wrap you in his arms, to kiss you fully, not just pecks for appearances.

And god those kisses to prove you’re together make the lines blur, makes everything so confusing and jumbled for him. He’s having so much trouble remembering that it’s for show, when you all watch movies at night still, when you both have dinner together, when you’re washing dishes side by side. When you’re having coffee on his balcony in the morning.

The one thing that keeps it ‘fake’ is the separate rooms, but the amount of times Satoru has played with himself in the room next to yours has gotten insane, the number of showers he has to take so he hopes you won’t hear him. Lately, he’s backed off just a bit, for his own sanity, so it hurts less when this is over.

“Toru, wanna watch the show tonight?” You ask, wearing one of his big tee shirts, it swamps you completely, tempting him to no end, thinking of slipping it up just so…

Shit.

“Nah, sorry not tonight. I’ve got work to do.” He says, hating the little down turn of your lips.

“How late, I can wait!”

“Um… yeah I wouldn’t wait up.” You blink then, wondering have you gotten too comfortable with him? Have you been acting too much like a wife at home? You can’t help but enjoy him, enjoy your time together, are you overwhelming him with it all?

“Oh. Um, okay. Good night, then.” You smile sadly, aching to kiss him good night, knowing you shouldn’t want it, knowing you shouldn’t be desiring him right next to you, snuggling on that couch. God you’d love him in your bed even, holding you so close against him.

“Good night, sweets.” He murmurs, softly, not wanting you to think that you were the problem, no the problem is him.

He can’t stop picturing how every corner and nook in his huge home will be so very empty when you’re gone.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, not one thing, I swear you’re playing this perfectly. And I really appreciate you, yeah?” He says, but it’s not what you want to hear, because you’re not playing, not really, it’s just too fucking easy.

“Yeah, we got this.” You kiss his cheek softly, the friendly way you used to, as you all walk through the sliding doors where everyone is, all old men aside from a couple younger people scattered in seats in a row.

You tense, so he squeezes your hand, smiling at you, an upturn to pink lips as a room full of old money assesses you both, trying to reassure you. “Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, please have a seat.”

You nervously sit next to Satoru across from them now, your legs crossing as he casually leans back, one arm around the back of your seat, an ankle crossed over his knee, sunglasses right on his face. He’s so at ease, or so it seems, you are certainly learning more and more that Satoru tends to hide much of his anxiety with cracking jokes and sarcasm.

“Ah, the oldies, how goes it?”

“Ahem, oldies?” A blonde man raises a brow, and Satoru scoffs.

“You might as well be, Zenin. Old ass mentality.”

“Satoru, how is your father?” Asks an older man from another high company that works with the Gojos, Mr. Gakuganji.

“Ya really hoping he pulls through hmm? Even if so, he’s already appointed me, so don’t get too excited.” Satoru has an easy grin, fingertips brushing against your bare arm, leaning closer to you. “You’ve all met the wife?”

“Not all of us.” A pretty woman with long blue braids smiles at you. “Heard of her though, hello Mrs. Gojo. Mei Mei. Apparently so old.”

“Hello Mei Mei.” You greet with a small smile, looking at them all. “It’s going to be a pleasure to work with you all, I am sure.”

“Isn’t she just charming?” Mr. Naoya Zenin says, you feel Gojo’s fingers tighten in response.

“She is lovely.” Mei agrees, predatory smiles on both of their lips.

“Enough with the greetings, Gojo, you've made a lot of changes to this company in a quick manner.” Now Yaga, a tall imposing man that owns much of the shares of the company, speaks.

“Sure have, Yaga. Aw, mad you all got pay cuts? Poor things. Don’t worry, gave your extra to the employees.” Gojo says with a big white grin, earning the glares of everyone in the room.

“You’re not some Robin Hood.” An older man of the Kamo family says, raising a brow at Gojo, who chuckles.

“No, sure am not, I’m still rich and so are you all, just a little more evened out, wouldn’t you say, sweetheart?” He looks to you, tilting down his glasses, and you take a breath, putting a hand on his thigh, silently supporting him.

“Employees are going to work harder and stay longer with better pay and better conditions, and cutting just a bit off the top accomplishes that.” You say, voice strong and clear as a bell, making Satoru so proud he can’t stand it, smiling big at you as the room collectively grumbles.

“You’re not the only one with interest in this company. What does your father think of this?” One of the older men asks.

“It’s my company already, it’s about to be official soon. So don’t worry.” Satoru says with ease. “Also, my wife was talking.”

“Your wife is certainly… hmm, very pretty, but a commoner.” Naoya says, earning Gojo standing up, chair screeching back.

“The fuck you say!?”

“Satoru…” You lean forward, touching his arm, looking at his furious stance as the room shifts.

“How is she a commoner? You’d be lucky to lick the ground she fucking walks on ya know that?”

“She’s clearly not a commoner, but… she’s not “rich" is what he means. She has no concept of wealth.” Mei says, and Naoya stands now as well, glaring right over at Satoru.

 “She’s rich now, she’s my fucking wife.” The words feel so real from his infuriated voice that you can’t even separate it anymore, if this is some act you will just play right into it, even if it hurts. Him defending you is raw, you feel his fury next to him, trying to calm him and failing.

“It’s fine, baby.” You murmur, and hearing it, this little pet name from you? He immediately looks down, seeing your eyes wide with worry, he sighs now, sitting next to you, exhaling when you brush a hand up and down his back, then you look at the room. “I was not rich, no.”

“Your family was cut off for this sort of behavior. Is that what you want again, want for your children?” Mr. Gakuganji asks, a tired voice breaking through.

“I know better than anyone in this room what it’s like to live on a normal, even low income. Would you not welcome the insight, or are you so above caring about the people who line your pockets?” You demand softly, raising a brow, Satoru watches now as you proceed to wreck them.

He watches you debate them, raising each of them this point and that, and watches them all falter under a pretty little thing like you, usually soft spoken and sweet, but you have no problem decimating a room of them like it’s nothing. You smile so pretty at them all, bat your lashes and they land argument after argument, bouncing off what Gojo says.

Gojo is chuckling after about twenty minutes, as they seem to really think he couldn’t fuck them all if he felt like it. “What you’re forgetting, is I’m the highest up there is here.”

“Your father-”

“My father trusts me to take over. Plain and simple, are there going to be any problems? Millions not enough for you all, need golden toilets for your asses?” You barely hold in the snort of laughter, eyes bright as you watch him continue to disgruntle the room, until they finally let up.

Naoya walks up to you, eyeing you up and down as Satoru is talking to Yaga, who seems to be one of the more laid back of them all, his hands in his pockets, light brown eyes lit up. You tense at his gaze, feeling it like a slimy, disgusting touch, making you almost sick. You’re trembling as his eyes dissect you.

“Conveniently, he gets a bride the moment everyone pushes him.” He says with a nasty smirk, brushing a tendril of your hair back. “Don’t buy it.”

“Well, we’ve been in love forever, I assure you.” You say quietly, he hums to himself, when Mei walks over, and damn this woman just saunters, truly, hands on her curved hips.

“It’s so odd indeed, out of a list of so many eligible ladies. Was it true love, I wonder?” She taps her chin curiously, Satoru sees you then, coming by your side immediately, and arm around your waist.

Is he being a protective best friend or…

More.

Is this all just for show, as he pulls you to his side so possessively, making your pulse race, your body reacting as you look up at his face, and he’s scowling at the both of them. “Everything alright, sweets?”

“Yes, they were wishing us the best, weren’t you both?” You say, earning Naoya’s glare and Mei’s smirk.

“Indeed we were, we’ll see you at the auction I imagine?” Mei says, eyeing Satoru now.

“We’ll be there, of course. But for now, hmm…” He tilts your chin up, kissing you in a room full of people who want to hurt him, and hurt you, a protectiveness he’s always had for you becoming so intense it’s hard for him to function, he’d literally take down anyone and everyone that would dare say one thing to you even.

Your lips are sweet, so sweet, as you lean up and kiss him, wrapping an arm around his waist, and that same electricity sparks, even with all their seedy eyes on the two of you. He pulls back, looking at your lips, as you look into his eyes, already dilated and dark, when he clears his throat, smirking up at the shocked gazes.

“Are we all done here?” He asks, and then proceeds to take you out of that room, you finally catch a breath in the elevator, and Satoru grins at you, cupping your face with his big hands, bending down.

“Holy shit.” You murmur, earning his chuckle.

“You were amazing! How dumb am I telling you - look pretty and let me talk- shit I think it was the opposite?”

“No way…”

“Yes way. That was sexy.” He hums, you’re both giggling a bit, but you’re close, too close, and his thumb is brushing your lower lip, sending desire straight through to your tummy.

“I thought you were mad at me.” You whisper then, earning his smile turning down at the corners, his eyes a little distant and hazy.

“I could never be.”

The elevator doors open, the two of you walk out of the sliding glass doors of the enormous building, and you are trying not to touch the lips he just had, trying not to think of just how good they felt. The driver pulls up and you get into the car, Satoru slides in next to you, far too close, you inhale his cologne, you still taste him on your lips, like torture.

“I’m not mad at you.” He says again, you blink a bit, taking a breath, before looking up at him as the car drives onto the highway, gently moving underneath you both.

“You turned down movies for days. You won’t eat dinner with me. I get you’re busy, I really do, but I enjoy it, spending time. I’m… lonely without you? I know that sounds so silly, I’m sorry. Shit.” You cover your face, hating the pathetic words spilling from your lips. “You’re probably sick of all this time, even as a best friend.”

That’s not it.

God that’s not it.

It’s just when he’s next to you all he can think of is fucking you, or making you cum all over his mouth, his fingers. He can’t stand how good you smell, how good you feel, he melts over your pretty smiles and giggles, he can’t stand how deeply he is starting to feel. The three times you all have kissed for publicity it took everything in him not to drag you home.

How does he just shut it off, the ability to kiss you when he wants? And now you’re lonely, you’re hurting, not even able to look at him when he gently pulls down your hands by your wrists. “Look at me.” He murmurs softly.

You do then, and he sees it, tears swimming. “Sorry I’m too emotional.” You whisper then, embarrassed.

“No, I’m being an ass.”

You let out a little laugh. “No, Satoru just distant, and I didn’t know if I fucked something up, the day in your office?”

“No, no. Please, I swear it’s not that… I’ve been in my head.” He mutters, unable to express it truly.

“I get it, you have a lot going on. I want to be here for you.”

“You are.” He’s brushing your hair back softly, leaning down, resting his head against yours, it’s too intimate then, the words on the tip of your tongue, that you feel more than you should, but you try to swallow them. “You’re amazing, you made them all look so stupid.”

“No…”

“Yes. You surprised me, I never have seen you like that.”

“Sexy, you said hmm.” You tease, but he’s serious then, as your breaths mingle, and he’s leaning even closer, wreaking havoc on your every sense.

“God yes, you’re sexy like that.”

“Satoru… it’s too much.” You whisper, as his hand rests on your thigh, and he feels it, how hot you are, earning his eyes shutting, trying to not let it affect him and failing. “I haven’t… I’m really…”

“Been a while, sweetheart?”

“Oh fuck you.” You don’t move his hand when he slips it up higher, in fact your thighs spread just a bit, his little moan making more wetness start to drool from your aching pussy.

“I take up all your time, you can’t date, why not let me take care of you?” He acts as if he can handle anyone ever touching you, the thought alone makes him feral, want to fucking claim you as his own, to devour you senseless. He tries to be teasing, casual, watching your breath catch, your pupils dilate.

“Wh-what!?” Your lips part, and his desperate blue gaze is so intense it’s hard to look at.

“Let me make you cum, sweetheart, hmm? It’s the least I can do, I’m taking up all of you, I am sure it’s been a bit.” You gulp nervously. “You’re not a…”

“No, no, not a virgin Toru, just I didn’t like it.” You admit softly.

“At all?” He whispers, frowning just a bit, before he feels your inner thigh with his thumb, finding you hot and sticky, making you gasp. “Who sucked that bad?”

“You don’t know him. But I didn’t like getting…”

“Fingered?”

“That, not at all, um the times it happened were uncomfortable. So don’t try, it won't work.” Satoru laughs then softly, shaking his head.

“I’ve never had that problem. And I would never hurt you.” His words are serious then, you gulp nervously.

“I know you wouldn’t. But it’s intimate, and it’s not for show.” Your hand clutches his blazer now, thick material in your palm when he finally touches you over your panties, making you cry out at the contact, his cock throbs in response.

“Let me just take care of you, make you feel s’good, hmm? Don’t think too much about it, just feel.” He presses kisses down the side of your neck, your free hand wraps the back of his neck, brushing over his undercut, the soft hair under your fingers like silk, when he presses his fingers over your clothed clit. “You like that, pretty?”

“Y-yes.” You manage, his lips kiss and then suck at the base of your throat, when his finger slips under your panties, finding you bare, soaked, your cry is louder, when he finds your engorged little clit, feels you slippery against his long fingers.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He huffs, free hand slipping up the side of your breast while he rolls his finger in little circles, and your hips jerk, your head falling back. “She’s begging f’me to put one in.”

“You c-can try, but- ah!” Satoru sinks a long finger in you, pressing up, and you’re blinded when he finds your spot so effortlessly, leaning back to look down at your face, as it scrunches up in pleasure. “Ngh!”

“There it is, some loser couldn’t find it hmm? I’ve got you, don’t worry.” He’s pressing up again and again, the spongy spot in your gummy walls, gripping him so fucking tight. You hear it, the lewd sound of your squishing cunt, your eyes rolling back in your skull as he works you. “Let go, trust me.”

“It’s too much I… T-Toru…” You whisper his name, while moaning, your mouth open in this perfect O, it makes him leak precum, sticking to his boxers as your thighs spread for him, as you trust him, your eyes lidded. “More.”

“More?” He repeats, speechless for a moment as you’re leaning forward, your lips just a breath away.

“Please, it’s s’good Toru.” Your little plea destroys the last fighting brain cell he has, he’s slipping one more in you, making you pulse around the thick invasion, curling them up and sinking them inside you, to the knuckle, while you moan against his lips. “F-fuck… oh my god what…”

“That’s it, fuckin’ feel her, grippin’ me.” He’s fucking his fingers into you, wishing they were his cock, and you’re soaking his hand, your cunt drooling when he shoves them in deep, thumb pression on your clit, making you shatter. “There you go, sweetheart, that’s it, s’pretty like this.”

You’re cumming all over your best friend/fake husband’s talented fingers, nearly crying at how good the release feels, pulsing all around him, hands clinging to his jacket, hopelessly wrinkling the material, all while he watches you. Your mind goes blank, pleasure is the only thing you can focus on, as he eases his strokes, and you both are panting in the quiet car.

Satoru eases his fingers out, putting them to his lips and sucking now, moaning when he tastes you, and your mouth drops in shock. “T-Toru…”

“Fuck.” He’s kissing you then, your slick all over his lips as he presses your back against the seat, and your thighs shake, sensitive from cumming so hard, you can barely focus on anything but your throbbing pussy.

“Please.” You whisper again, as he yanks his cock out, right in the back of the car, and you reach down, stroking it, his eyes shut as he whimpers, Satoru Gojo whimpers, over you touching his pretty pink tip, swirling that precum.

“Wanna taste you first.” He huffs, kissing down your throat when the car comes to a halt, yanking at your dress, pressing hungry kisses on your breasts.

“What are we… Toru what’re we d-doing, fuck!” You’re whining out when he’s biting at your nipple over your bra, your hands yank on his hair, hips arching, feeling his length on your inner thigh.

“M’gonna-”

“Mr. Gojo, we’re here.” His driver infuriates him now, Satoru leans up, breaths heavy as he’s leaned over you, looking at your already fucked out eyes.

“We almost… we… y-you…” You are stuttering, suddenly so nervous, so overwhelmed. “Is this just you helping me out? Is it-”

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Ijichi, I’ll fucking kill you.” He mutters angrily, quieting his driver quickly, as he adjusts himself and then you, and you’re sitting up, blushing as he fixes your panties, fingers covered still in your slick. He sucks them again further making your tummy flutter, tighten, your heart pounding out of your chest. “God you taste yummy, the fuck, how does someone taste this good.”

“You tasted me? Twice!?” He smirks now, easing you to sit, tilting up your chin now.

“Not fully.”

“Fully!? Is this what friends do?”

“Well I sure don’t want you doing this with anyone else.” He glares now, jaw locking, making you gasp.

“What now?”

“No one else can do that to you.” His lips gently kiss yours, you taste yourself on them again, but you shove at him now, glaring.

“What do you even mean, no one else? You think you have some freakish claim on me now?”

“I know you came so hard you soaked my fucking backseats, hmm?” He whispers, you roll your eyes now, eagerly getting out of the car.

“You’re insane, Satoru.”

“You clearly like it.” You scoff, body shaking, legs literally wobbly, you try to ignore them as you stride up to the front of Satoru’s fancy doors, and walk in quickly, as he follows you with long strides, calling your name.

“That was fingering as a friend!?”

“No… it was…” He wants to say it then, you’re literally his fucking wife, even if it’s pretend, he can’t think of anything he wants more than you, to be inside you.

“Almost fucked me as a friend? Satoru, I can't do that.”

“I know, I didn’t… I just…” You’re turning away, if you look into those blue eyes too long you won’t be able to breathe, to exist, every inch of your body dying for more. “You loved it.”

You scowl as he smirks. “You’re a conceited little shit, just like when we met! Swear to god.”

“You’re still shaking.” He says, eyes raking over you, you gasp.

“You know what? Fuck you.”

“If you want to, say the word.” He murmurs, leaning against your doorway, and you roll your eyes.

“No way, I’m going to bed early. Good night.” You shut the door right in his face, sliding down it, head in your hands.

What the heck even was that.

Five weeks of being ‘fake married’ to your best friend, Satoru Gojo

Satoru and you were barely talking this entire week, you’re so furious with his cocky, conceited attitude, and the fact that he’s entirely right. Nothing felt that good, no one felt like just his fingers had, how he found you, how he looked at you. Now for the past week every night you’ve done the one thing you said you wouldn’t do.

Touch yourself to the memory.

You’re rolling your fingers on your clit, whining his name in a breathy whisper the morning of the charity auction, covering your mouth with your free hand as you realize that you’ve done it, that you’ve said his name, all while cumming all over your little fingers, which don’t even come close to his, lengthy and thick, the rough pads of his thumbs.

And you could fuck him, you know you could, but you also know what it will mean, there is no friends after that, kissing alone has made things impossible for you both. And Satoru is doing the most amazing things, you’re so proud of him already, and don’t ever want to lose him. But now he’s in your head, making you absolutely insane with want, with need, with desire.

Now you can’t even think of him without picturing his cheeks hollowing as he sucked your wetness off, picturing his head between your thighs, things you shouldn’t, and it’s like he knows. He smirks at you just so, lazy lidded eyes draping down your frame every morning, every night, making sure to constantly have a hand on you in public.

He was making you lose it, and he knew it.

Your stupid little fingers can’t do shit, in fact they frustrate you more, but it’d be a cold day in hell before you ask him for any help. In fact you realize the game he plays when he walks around in his boxers, when he does push ups in the middle of the living room with one arm, like he’s showing off, smirking when he catches you watching him, in your moments of weakness.

It would be so easy to fall into his bed, but to think of ruining your friendship terrified you, to think of the feelings you know would be unleashed like some fucking flood gate was too much. You never have been able to be casual, you’re not even interested in someone without feelings, and you’re slowly realizing that those feelings when you were younger never went away.

They’re just more intense now, living with him, with this unspoken tension in the air, every breath you take you can practically taste him, every time you watch his fingers slipping around the rim of his cup you remember them in you. As you see the clear bulge in his boxers you remember touching him, remember wanting to taste that precum on his tip.

The worst part is he looks so knowingly at you, so sure you’d probably beg for him, you’re sure many, many women do. But despite knowing Satoru to be a bit of a ladies man, you’ve not seen a single one here since you’ve lived here, not seen him go on a single date. You’re not sure if you could handle it, despite acting so very nonchalant about it.

But you have no claim over him, this was just convenience, every bit of the arrangement. Your new car, no more debt, helping Satoru do what he needed to, you all are a perfect team even with the added tension of your pussy constantly throbbing around said best friend. Surely it wasn’t worth ruining, complicating, just to feel that pleasure he brings.

As you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup, you nervously step out of the room, into Gojo’s spacious foyer, where he’s turned around, a dark blue suit adorning his body like a glove. He hears your heels click on the marble floor below and turns, his lips parting as he studies you.

The red dress hugs every line and curve of your pretty body, the bold shade making your skin pop so pretty, it looks so smooth he aches to caress you, every bit of you. You are biting your lower lip nervously, looking up at him from across the room as you stand there, looking so beautiful his pulse races.

This week has been torture for Satoru, he wants to tell you then, that he feels so much more than he even knows how to convey, that it wasn’t just ‘getting a friend off’ it was such a joke, he can’t even understand how you believe that. He can’t get the sweetness of your pussy off his goddamn mind, he’d do just about anything to taste it again.

He’s even eyed your panties in the hamper. He's so pathetic and desperate for you, but he’s tried to keep some semblance of composure, to act unbothered, so scared to ruin your relationship. He knows how much you sacrificed just coming here, sure he’s helping you, but you uprooted everything, you acted perfect at every function, you stood up for him at every meeting.

You are the perfect wife.

Pretend wife.

Pretend, pretend, pretend.

He keeps repeating it like a mantra in his head, brushing off the moment in the back of the car as maybe you just needed to cum, maybe it was just that for you, but something about how your eyes met his, has him desperately pumping his cock, hearing your soft whimpers at night. He knows you’re touching yourself, he wishes he could see it, watch it, take over.

Instead he’s stuck endlessly jerking it to his best friend/fake wife, ignoring any girl that even texts him because they just aren’t you. They could care less he’s ‘married’ everyone just wants a piece of him, everyone but you. You just are there for him, with him, by his side, you’d have done this for nothing in return. You’re becoming everything to him so fast it’s terrifying.

The magnification of feelings he’s had for you over so many years is overwhelming, being near you, smelling your sweet scent, hearing you hum as you cook with your earbuds in, your nervous habits. How you twirl your hair, how you tilt your head, how you tremble just a bit when he holds you for the cameras, how you sigh sweetly as he kisses you for show.

You can’t fake that, he knows you’re affected too.

But he doesn’t know if it’s what he feels for you.

He’s stammering like a teenager at prom, but prom pales in comparison to seeing you now, how the diamonds glitter off your neck and delicate wrists, how he can picture fucking you with just that on. Your cheeks are decorated with that pretty color as you handle his wordless scrutiny, teeth releasing your lip when he comes closer, he brushes a thumb across the indentations left.

You gasp, eyes shooting up to his, as the electric current of his touch rocks through you. “You always bite it, stop. Gonna hurt it.” He says, voice husky, eyes hungry as he looms over you in the quiet, elegant room.

“Do I always?” You whisper, and he nods, brushing his thumb over it again, as if to soothe it.

“Mmhmm, gonna cut up such pretty lips.” His voice drops another octave as one of your hand grips his wrist, and you ache for him to kiss you, to press you against one of these cream colored walls and pound into you.

Stop that!?

You clear your throat, taking a breath and then plastering on a little smile. “You look handsome tonight, blue is your color.”

“Red is yours, clearly.” He brushes a bit of hair back off your bare shoulders, two fingers gently running down the strap, watching the network of goosebumps spread, your heart is racing at the contact. Your urge to yank him by his skinny black tie and slam his lips to yours tempts you to no end.

“Thank you for this dress, and the jewelry. Stop getting me more.” Your little glare just makes him grin.

“At the auction you can get whatever you want, so you know.”

“No way, it’ll all be overpriced.”

“It’s charity, baby. Hmm, should we practice kissing more?” He asks, and you smack his hand away, glaring as he chuckles.

“We’ve had lots of practice, let’s go.”

You all are arm in arm as the cameras flash so brightly later that night when you both step out of the car, so much so they hurt your head, but you hold onto Gojo’s arm, as he guides you through, grinning and answering every question effortlessly. “Why the shades at night, Mr. Gojo?”

“Your bright ass cameras hurt my pretty baby blues.” He teases with a pout, earning the laughter there.

“And what’s this talk of major changes in the Gojo corporation?” Another reporter asks, Satoru chuckles then.

“Ah, well these old geezers needed some revamping is all. Right, pookie?” He asks you, and you smile up at him, then at the cameras.

“Satoru knows what’s best for the company and his employees, his changes are going to only make everyone more profitable.” Satoru watches you answer their questions left and right, enamored more and more by you.

“Are you trying for a baby, Mrs. Gojo?” Someone asks then, and you heat up at the question, at the image that flashes in your head.

Gojo breeding you.

So vivid you feel like you’re there, him murmuring a ‘let me fill you, sweetheart, have you so full of my babies’ and pumping over you. You almost faint it’s so real, and you have no clue what has come over you. You don’t think like that!? You’ve never done shit like that… you…

“We’re enjoying each other a lot right now, but it’ll happen I’m sure, when we’re ready. We’re a little consumed with each other.” Satoru answers now, breaking through the pounding of your heart in your ears, you look up at him, lips parted, as he completely saves you, you’ve frozen on the spot. “Right sweetheart?”

“Right.” You clear your throat, shaking your head then. “We are very much in love, and enjoying our alone time, but we’d both love a baby.” You say, and you hate how real it is.

He hates how he can picture you now, full mating press, as he fucks one load of cum into your pussy, and then another, watching it all pool out. Fuck he’d watch your tummy get so full of him. The thoughts of getting you pregnant make him feral then, he can hardly stand there as he just stares at you, and you at him.

You don’t get your best friend/fake wife pregnant.

Do you?

The auction continues, fancy and expensive items for filthy rich people, Gojo detests it more than even you do, though you’d never know with how he plays the room. You see Mei and Naoya again, laughing about something in this creepy way that makes you shiver. When Gojo is mingling while you're having a seat, you see a pretty brunette girl talking to him closely.

Why does it make you feel so sick to see him, you don’t know. You’ve watched him date, and he’s watched you, but something about living with him, about this enormous glinting rock on your finger really messes with you. His grin glinting under glittering chandeliers of this enormous auction room, another woman coming up, surely he runs in their circles.

You try not to focus on that, it’s not as if you have given Gojo a hint that you want more, and do you? Do you want to cross that line? If something doesn’t work, it’s not a fight between friends, it’s the end of everything, and isn’t having Gojo with you somewhat better than not at all?

“You look like you hate this, huh doll?” You hear then, looking up to see a dark haired man, grinning down at you, he’s handsome in a rugged way, not pretty like Satoru, but something appealing. A scar on his lip as he chuckles, gesturing around you both. “Bunch of rich assholes, huh?”

“Shh!” You giggle though, looking around, nodding.

“Knew it.”

“So what’re you doing here?” You ask quietly, he grimaces, running a hand through inky locks.

“Got a fuckin job to do, what about you?” You gesture to Satoru then, who’s glaring right at you both.

“I’m married to Gojo.”

“Ah shit, I’m too late.” You blush a bit at the attention, Satoru has a girl who’s far too close, whispering in his ear, her hand on his shoulder, making you sick.

“Hmm.” Is all you manage, looking back up at the man. “What is your name?”

“Toji Zenin. Yeah, I know, the name… but fuck them.”

“You are different.” You murmur softly, tilting your head to the side, he brushes his fingers then across your thigh subtly, your jaw clenches a bit.

“If I was with you I sure wouldn’t be over there with snobby bitches.” He says, and you don’t like it then, the jealousy in your heart as Gojo walks up suddenly, clearing his throat.

“Zenin.” He mutters, and he grins up at Gojo.

“Talking to your wife, Gojo, keeping her company y’know? Shouldn’t leave such a pretty thing so lonely.”

“You’re. In. My. Seat.” Satoru mutters, teeth clenched together, and Toji laughs with ease, taking your hand, planting a kiss on the back of it with a wink.

“See ya around, doll.” He says, patting Gojo on the shoulder, and Satoru wants to rip his fucking arm off then, as he glares down at you, sitting in the seat, but you cross your arms, looking away.

“Did he touch you?” He demands quietly, you frown then.

“He was nice, I mean he-”

“Nice!? Looked like he wanted to eat you.”

“What do you care, looks like they were all over you. Oh look, they miss you, go say hi.” You say, as three girls giggle and point over at Satoru, his blue eyes narrow, leaning over you then, cupping your face with his hand.

“Think I wanted to be bombarded by flirty ass drunk women?”

“I don’t know!”

“Do you care if I do?”

“No! What do you care about me then?” You demand, whispering amongst the loud crowd of auctioneers, as they start lining pieces up for sale.

“Because he… you…” Satoru trails off, mouth opening and closing. “You are my wife right now, you know.”

“Fake wife.” You correct, seeing a vein throb in his temple.

“It doesn’t matter, how does it look when-”

“That’s what you care about, appearances? Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your precious appearance any.” You whisper, as the crowd settles, and a brilliant sapphire necklace is now on display.

“You act like you don’t care at all, I saw you.”

“So what!?”

“So why don’t you just tell me how -”

“Ten thousand, do I hear…”

“Shh.” You scowl at him, as he scowls back at you. “Maybe you should go sit with your girlfriends.”

He laughs softly, without humor. “You’re jealous.”

“Nope, you’ve always been that way. What’s surprising is not having seen a girl at the house.”

“You think I want-”

“Twenty Thousand, going once, going…”

“Want someone more your speed? Sure, I know this is just convenience, I'm not stupid.” You say, he scowls even deeper, his hand suddenly on your thigh in the darkened room, making your heart pound as it squeezes bruisingly.

“I’ll not have anyone touch you.” His words make no sense, they don’t even compute in your brain then.

“What do you care, hmm? If I did. If I was discrete. Remember?” You ask, bitingly and full of shit, and you watch the hurt in his eyes, hating yourself for a moment before his eyes turn insane, dilating until they’re almost black.

“You wanna fuck him, huh?” He demands, you scoff, shaking your head.

“You’re stupid, Satoru.”

“Me stupid!?”

“If you think that I want anyone but…” You pause then, gulping as people are starting to look, hearing your hushed arguments then, and you stand angrily, stomping off until you hit the bathroom, splashing water on your neck, trying to pull yourself together.

You almost said it.

You’ll never want anyone but Satoru, your best friend, and you never have, fuck you probably never will, and it’s terrifying you. When the door shuts and he’s there, chest heaving, you turn away, tears pricking your eyes. “Just go away, fuck it’s the ladies room.”

“You’re mad at me for talking to women at an event?”

“You’re mad at me for talking to someone at an event?”

Yes, fuck yes he’s furious that man got near you.

That maybe you’d want someone else, more than him.

He steps closer, hands on your shoulders now. ““You gonna be mad when I fuck someone in my room, huh?”

You freeze, turning and glaring up at him then. “I hear you jerk off every night, so what’s the difference?”

Satoru looms even closer, you feel his breath hit your lips, making your tummy clench at the thoughts of him. “And I hear you moan as you play with your little clit, ya frustrated your tiny fingers don’t hit?”

“Oh fuck you!” You turn now, shoving at him, chest heaving, but he pulls you to him, pressing you against the bathroom counter, glittering and ridiculously opulent, hands shaking when they’re on your waist.

“You should just ask for help, sounds like you can’t cum.” Satoru whispers, earning a smack on the face that makes him smirk.

“Maybe you should ask me, how many times do you need to jerk off a night, huh Toru?” Satoru’s laughing then, insanity, his cheek decorated with red from your little hand print.

“At least I make myself cum.”

“Fuck you, I’m over this. I’ll take the opposite side of the house, won’t have to hear your moans.”

“Good, won’t hear your pathetic whimpers.”

“Good!”

“Good!” You both stand there, him bent over, barring you with his arms. “Admit it, you’re jealous.”

“Nope, just annoyed with you. Over you, Mr. never has on a fucking shirt!”

“Good, I’m done, Miss walks around in slutty panties!”

“Ugh!” You shove at him again, until he’s slamming his lips on yours, and then you’re lifted like you’re nothing, when his tongue slips in your mouth, and you’re clinging to him eagerly, as he sits you on the sink, hungrily shoving up your red dress. “You’re gonna rip it, shit!”

“I’ll buy you twenty more, just shut up.” You go to retort when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, and you’re crying out right in a bathroom, knowing anyone could walk in, only serving to make your cunt dripping wet, when he finds it he moans, pulling back and staring at you. “Why are you so beautiful?”

You can’t speak then, you’re lost in him, in his blue eyes and his pink lips, in his big hands all over you, his whispering words crushing any resolve you try to have. You lose all reason then, as your head falls back as he kisses up your throat, and you’re gushing down his fingers, remembering their shape and feel as they tease your entrance.

“Please, Satoru…”

“Why are you so sweet now, huh? Where’s your attitude?” He murmurs, but you’re arching up, whining as he stares at you so hungry. “Should fuck that attitude out of you.”

“Please…” You whisper again, when Satoru bends down, his head between your thighs, and stares right at your glittering pussy.

“Oh my god, she’s s’fuckin pretty…” He murmurs then, licking a stripe up your slit that has you crying out into your hand, thighs shaking as he groans at finally being able to taste you. “S’yummy mmm…”

“Toru…what’re you-ah!” You’re covering your mouth again as he laps at your cunt, his nose bumping your sensitive clit, and you’re dripping down his face, hand finding purchase in his silken white hair, gripping it.

“Gonna lick this attitude out of you.” He whispers, as your sweet nectar pours down his mouth, his hands spreading your plump lips, fucking you with his tongue then, your head smacks the wall, nearly sobbing it feels so good. “No one’s licked it, have they, baby?” You shake your head. “Good, s’all mine, huh?”

“All… y-you… Toru what are- mnh!” He’s yanking you to him by your hips, devouring you now, unlike anything you’ve ever felt, having you close so fast it’s embarrassing, tongue dancing and delving between your folds, drinking you up loud and wanton in this bathroom.

“F-fuck….” He’s achingly hard now, cock throbbing, tip of his tongue circling your little clit as he spreads you wide, looking at your perfect pretty pussy.

“You’re just… looking at it…” You manage to whisper, and he’s chuckling now, leaning over you, sinking two fingers inside, making your eyes roll back, so sensitive you’re about to cum right then and there. “Imagining it dripping out cum, sweetheart, that’s all.”

Your brain short circuits. “With cum!?”

“Mmm.” He’s not using words anymore, not when he’s picking you up, planting your heeled feet back on the bathroom floor, turning you to face the mirror. He’s lifting that dress up higher and bending down, pressing against you, finally he’s lost it, so drunk off your pussy, he can’t take it anymore.

“Satoru, you’re insane, what are you…”His cock springs out, heavy and aching with need, as he bends you over, one hand on his cock, the other, wrapping your pretty little throat, as your eyes catch his in the mirror, glassy and dilated.

“Next time he or anyone talks to you, it’ll be with my cum dripping out of your pretty little pussy.”

Final Part

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Rest in the reblog <3

[rafayelxsylusho]

Hello ♥️ I love your fics so much!! 😩 I don’t know if you take requests…but if you do could I request the LADS guys reacting to seeing you without panties on under your dress/skirt? 😈

Ohhhh I really liked this idea.

I'll work on the other three today and post them as soon as I can.

Enjoy!!!

Calebxreader

Rafayelxreader

TW:SMUT

How do the LADS men react when they see you without panties under your skirt/dress Part 1 (Caleb)(Rafayel)

Part 2 (Sylus) Here

Caleb's gaze drifts over to you as you sit across from him at the dinner table, a smile playing on his lips. The aroma of your favorite meal, freshly cooked by his own hands, wafts through the air between you.

"You know, I remember when you used to beg me to make this every week, you'd come running into the kitchen, skipping and laughing, and throw your arms around me until I agreed." His eyes glimmer with a distant memory, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You were so cute back then, so full of life and energy. I could never say no to you."

"You still can't" said Gran, who sits beside him, with a knowing smile. Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she takes a sip of her drink, setting the glass down gently on the white tablecloth.

"You're right, Gran," Caleb agrees, turning his attention back to you. His gaze is intense, a mix of fondness and something darker, more possessive. "I still can't say no to her. Never could."

He picks up his fork to start eating but accidentally pushes his spoon to the floor with his elbow. He leans down, his chair scraping softly against the hardwood floor as he bends to retrieve the fallen spoon under the table. His eyes can't help but wander over your legs. They trail up your calves, over your knees, and come to a sharp halt when he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat. Or rather, the lack of something. His eyes linger for a moment, drinking in the expanse of smooth, tanned thigh that's been revealed by your slightly spread legs.

Straightening up, he sets the spoon on the table, his movements deliberate and slow. There's a new tension in the set of his shoulders, a coiled energy that wasn't there before. As he takes his seat once more, he doesn't meet your eyes right away. Instead, he busies himself with his own plate, cutting into the tender meat with precise, almost angry strokes. But as he lifts his fork to his mouth, his gaze finally meets yours. There's a depth of emotion swirling in those violet eyes, feelings he can barely contain. Desire, possessiveness, a desperate longing that borders on obsession. It's all there, laid bare for you to see.

His grip tightens on the fork, knuckles turning white as he fights the sudden, overwhelming urge to toss it aside. To lean across the table, to take your face in his hands...and claim your mouth with his own.

Caleb's eyes darken with lust as he watches the sensual movement of your throat as you swallow. The sound of your moan, sweet and breathy makes his heart beat against his ribs like a caged animal desperate to break free. "Does it taste as good as you remember? "I made it just the way you like it," he murmurs, leaning forward slightly. "I remember everything about what you like, pipsqueak." His tone is teasing, but there's also something darker on the way he says your old nickname.

"It's delicious Caleb" said Gran, before you had a chance to answer him, breaking the tension between you.

He sits back in his chair, trying to compose himself even as his heart continues to race. He can't let Gran see the true depths of his feelings, the all consuming love and lust that threatens to swallow him whole.

"That's great, Gran," he says, his voice only slightly strained. "I'm glad you both like it." He forces a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Those violet eyes remain focused on you, even as he tries to engage in the conversation.

"Remember when you and Y/n used to fight over the last piece of meat?" Gran asks, a fond smile on her face. "You two were always so competitive, especially when it came to food."

Caleb's smile tightens "Yeah," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. "I always made sure she got the last piece. No matter what." His tone is light, but there's another meaning beneath the words. A promise.

You look over at Gran, a bright smile on your face when you say "Gran, I'm meeting up with a friend tonight. We had plans to go out since friday" You stand up, gathering your dirty dishes and silverware. "I'll just put these in the kitchen and then I should get ready."

Caleb watches, his eyes glued to your every move as you carry your dishes to the kitchen. The sway of your hips, the gentle bounce of your hair with each step...it's all seared into his mind.

He forces himself to turn to Gran, to keep up the pretense of a normal conversation. But his mind is elsewhere, already conjuring up a dozen ways he could stop you. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caleb stands in your doorway, his tall frame filling the space. His hair is still slightly damp from a recent shower. His arms are crossed over his broad chest as he watches you get ready. His eyes follow your every movement, from the way you brush your long black hair, to the quick application of makeup.

"Did you forget," he says, his voice low and slightly accusatory, "that you had to do the dishes and I had to do the cooking?"

He steps into your room, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, sound. The space suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker, with his presence dominating every inch of it.  He reaches out and plucks the hairbrush from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. "Here," he says softly, holding the brush. "Let me help you finish getting ready."

You look up at Caleb, a flicker of annoyance in your eyes as you take the hairbrush from his hand. "I didn't forget," you say, your voice a bit sharp. "I just got distracted. Besides, I thought you had more important things to do than keep track of whose turn it is to do the dishes." You turn back to the mirror, running the brush through your hair with more force than necessary. "And I didn't ask for your help," you add, "I think I can handle getting ready on my own."

Caleb watches as you finish brushing your hair, his eyes never leaving your reflection in the mirror. He sees the flicker of irritation in your gaze, hears the sharpness in your tone. As you turn to leave, he clears his throat, his voice a low rumble that stops you in your tracks. "You're forgetting something, pipsqueak," he says, a hint of that old teasing to his tone. But there's something darker, something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

He takes two long strides towards you, closing the distance between your bodies in an instant. His large hands find your waist, strong fingers splaying possessively over the curve of your hips. He pulls you back against his chest, your body molding to the hard planes of his own like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

In the mirror, your eyes meet, locking in a charged gaze. You feel his hands fist the fabric of your skirt. He pulls and tugs, the skirt riding higher and higher on your thighs with each yank of his wrists. The cool air of the room brushes against the newly exposed skin, sending a shiver racing up your spine.

"Caleb..." you protest, your voice a mortified whisper as you feel your skirt being hiked up past your thighs. But he doesn't listen, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror as he exposes you completely.

Your blush deepens as you watch, uncomfortably aroused, as he finally reaches the hem of your skirt. The fabric pools around your waist, leaving your bare cunt on full display in the reflection. The sight of your glistening folds, makes your heart race and your core clench.

Caleb's breath grows heavier, his chest rising and falling more rapidly against your back. His grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you in place, trapping you against him. His eyes, dark and hungry, rove over your reflection, taking in every intimate detail.

"Were you really planning on going out like this?" he asks, "Or were you just trying to tease me...again?" His fingers flex, digging into your hipbones hard. He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I've told you before, pipsqueak. If you want something...ask for it."

His eyes bore into yours in the mirror, a intensity burning in their violet depths. Ask me, they seem to say. Ask me to touch you to taste you, to claim you again. Beg me to fuck you until you can't walk straight.

He watches as your lips part, your breath coming in short, sharp pants. He waits, his heart pounding in his chest as he anticipates your response. Say it, he thinks. Say you want me. Say you need me. Beg me to touch you like I've been dying to.

"I...I..." you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. He smirks, a curve to his lips as he watches you struggle to form words. So cute, so innocent, he thinks. He leans in closer, his teeth nipping your ear as he whispers, "Go on, pipsqueak. Say it."

"Caleb...please" you whimper, your voice barely audible but dripping with desperate need. It's all the encouragement he needs. Caleb reaches down and slowly lowers the zipper of your skirt and it slides down your legs until it pools at your feet, leaving you bare from the waist down. And just as quickly, Caleb makes short work of his own clothes. His shirt joins your skirt on the floor, followed by his jeans and underwear. His cock springs free, thick and hard and already leaking at the tip.

Before you can do anything he takes your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he leads you to the chair where you sat just moments ago. He sits down, his bare skin warming the cool leather, and pulls you to stand between his spread thighs. The heat of his body envelops you, making your own skin prickle with awareness.

He looks up at you, his eyes glinting with a dark, possessive light as he takes in your reflection . His hands come to rest on your hips, fingers splaying over the bare flesh of your ass as he holds you in place. Mine, his eyes seem to say as they rove over your naked form.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a sensual rumble. "So fucking beautiful. And all mine." His hands slide around to your front, one coming to rest low on your belly while the other cups your mound possessively. "This is what you do to me, baby. This is what you make me want."

Caleb moves his hands to grip your hips once again as he slowly lowers you onto his lap. His cock, hard and thick, slides between your folds, the thick head nudging against your entrance. You feel the heat of him, the pulsing of his flesh against your most intimate place, and it makes your head swim with need.

A moan escapes your lips as he settles you fully in his lap, his thick shaft nestled snugly between your thighs. Your back arches, pressing your breasts out as you throw your head back against his shoulder. Caleb's lips find your neck, pressing hot kisses to the sensitive skin as his hands roam your curves.

"Fuck, baby," he groans against your neck, his hips rocking up slightly to grind his cock against your dripping slit. "You feel so fucking good. So hot and wet and ready for me."

Caleb's hands slide up your sides, his fingers skimming over your skin until they reach the hem of your shirt. Without pausing, he tugs it upwards, exposing your flat stomach and the cute little belly button that sits above your cunt but he doesn't stop there, he keeps going, pulling the shirt and your bra up and over your breasts until they spring free, bouncing slightly from the sudden release. Your tits, perfect handfuls are now on full display in the mirror. The cool air of the room makes your nipples tighten and pucker, begging for attention. His hands cup the soft mounds, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he squeezes and kneads. His thumbs brush over your nipples, teasing the sensitive peaks until they're stiff peaks.

"Fuck, look at these perfect tits," Caleb groans, watching your reflection as he plays with your breasts. "They're even more gorgeous than I remember. I can't wait to get my mouth on them, to suck and bite and mark your beautiful skin." He rolls your nipples between his fingers, pinching and tugging on the sensitive buds as he rocks his hips up against you. His cock slides between your folds once again.

"Oh god", you whimper, feeling your pussy clench and flutter around nothing. "Oh fuck, Caleb"  Your hips start to move on their own, grinding down against the hard length of him as your body craves more stimulation. The mirror reflects your desperation, your tits bouncing in his hands as he teases and pleases you.

Caleb's voice is a commanding growl in your ear. "Lift your hips, baby. Just a little bit, that's it." You feel his fingers around your throat, his large hand spanning the delicate column of your neck. His other hand slides down your body, over the soft swell of your belly, to wrap around your thigh. He squeezes the supple flesh, his fingers sinking in as he spreads your leg wider, opening you up to him. You feel the cool air against your dripping core, making you shiver.

Caleb takes advantage of your new position to line himself up with your entrance. The thick head of his cock nudges against your folds, slipping between them to catch on your hole. You feel the heat of him, the hard, throbbing flesh pulsing with need.

"Watch, baby," Caleb commands, "Watch as I claim this pretty little cunt. Watch as I make this pretty pussy mine."

He starts to push forward, his hips rocking up as he sinks into you inch by inch. The mirror allows you to see every moment, every second of your joining. You watch, as your body stretches around his thick cock, your walls fluttering and clenching as they struggle to accommodate his size. Caleb's eyes bore into yours, his gaze intense and consuming. Mine he thinks, watching your expression morph with pleasure. This is what you were made for, baby. To take my cock, to milk it with this greedy little cunt. His hand tightens around your throat, not enough to cut off air, but enough to make you feel owned, claimed, possessed.

Caleb starts to thrust up into you, his hips rocking and rolling as he drives his thick cock deeper and deeper into your tight, clenching heat. And you find yourself meeting his thrusts, your own hips rolling as you take him in. The mirror shows you every detail of his thick cock disappearing between your thighs, only to reappear coated in your arousal.

Caleb keeps your leg spread wide, his hand gripping your thigh hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises. He holds you open, keeping you in place as he fucks into you with deep, powerful strokes. The other hand remains wrapped around your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your racing pulse.

"Fuck baby," Caleb groans, his voice ragged and rough with lust. "Your pussy feels so fucking good. So hot and tight and perfect." He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust, his pelvis slamming against you as he bottoms out inside you. You can see it, see the way your body swallows him up, see the thick ring of milky white arousal forming at the base of his shaft where he's stretching you open. It's filthy, it's obscene, but it's so fucking hot.

His thrusts become more urgent, more insistent, as he chases his own release. The mirror reflects your bouncing tits, the flesh jiggling and swaying with each powerful surge of his hips. Your mouth is open, soft gasps and whimpers spilling from your lips as you lose yourself in the sensation.

Caleb's eyes are glued to your reflection, watching your every reaction. He sees the way your head lolls back, your eyes glazed over with lust. He sees the string of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. "Fuck, look at you," a surge of pride and possessiveness rushing through his veins. "Look at how much you love taking my cock."

"Tell me, baby, didn't you wear any panties today, just to tease me? To make me want to bend you over and fuck this pussy raw?" Caleb grins wickedly as you nod, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "That's my girl" he says, feeling a thrill of satisfaction at the knowledge that you deliberately left your pussy bare and exposed, just for him. "Such a naughty little tease, getting me all worked up."

"Keep your legs open for me, baby," Caleb orders, his hand squeezing your thigh harder as he spreads you wider. "I want to watch this pretty cunt as I make you come all over my cock." Then you hear him spit, the cool wetness drips down between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach before dripping onto your pussy. Without wasting a second, Caleb smears the spit around your clit, using it as lubricant. His fingers circle the sensitive nub, rubbing tight, quick circles as he feels your body tensing. Your clit swells under his touch, peeking out from beneath its hood as he strokes and teases and pleasures you. He keeps rubbing, as his hips never stop their rhythm. The mirror shows your body shaking, your tits bouncing, your mouth open in a silent scream as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. Caleb feels your scream building, hears the way your breath hitches and catches in your throat. In a flash, he brings the hand that was on your throat up to cover your mouth, silencing your cries before they can escape and alert Gran of your activities.

But then your teeth sink into the flesh of his palm, biting down hard enough to make him hiss in pained surprise. The sudden, sharp sensation sends a jolt of adrenaline through his body, pushing him over the precipice. Your orgasm crashes over you, your body seizing and shaking as ecstasy whites out your mind. Your cunt clamps down around his cock, walls rippling and fluttering as they try to milk him for all he's worth.

The feeling of your pussy spasming around him, combined with the throbbing ache of your bite,its too much for Caleb. With a moan that he muffles against your hair, he hilts himself inside you and lets go. Thick, hot ropes of cum paint your insides as Caleb's cock pulses and throbs. His hips jerk and stutter, spurting his seed deep inside your cunt as he fills you with his essence. It seems to go on forever, wave after wave of thick, sticky cum pumping into your hole as Caleb marks you, claims you, makes you his.

As the intense waves of your shared orgasms start to fade, you feel Caleb's lips press soft kisses along the column of your neck. His touch is gentle now, almost reverent.

You can feel the thick mix of your combined releases starting to leak out around where you're joined, your over sensitive flesh twitching at the sensation. Caleb's fingers find the source of the dripping wetness, gathering some of the pearly essence on his fingertips.

"Open up, baby," Caleb whispers as he removes his hand from your mouth. "Taste us. Taste what we made together." His fingers press against your lower lip, smearing the sticky fluid across the soft flesh. Almost unconsciously, you part your lips, allowing him access to your mouth. Caleb takes advantage, slipping his finger past your lips to rest on your tongue. The taste of your combined releases floods your senses, the slightly bitter, salty flavor of his cum mixed with the sweeter, tangier essence of your arousal. It's an intoxicating combination that makes your head swim.

"Fuck, that's so hot," Caleb groans, watching your face intently as you suck on his finger. "Seeing you taste our cum, taste the proof of how good we are together."

He slips out of you making you flinch "You better get ready now, pipsqueak, you don't want to be late for whatever plans you have today. But..." His hand tightens in your hair, tugging lighly.

"...when you come back home to me, I'll be waiting. I'll be here, ready to pick up right where we left off." Caleb's other hand slides down to grip your hip possessively, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh. "We only have a few days together, after all. And I plan to make every single second count."

Rafayel's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as he navigated through the crowded city streets, slower than necessary. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink.

"You know," he began, voice laced with a touch of impatience but also a hint of something softer, "you could have just stayed home and I would have understood" His finger tapped an erratic rhythm against the wheel, and he sighed. "I just...I wish we had more time together, just the two of us. Without all this..." He waved a hand vaguely at the windshield, as if gesturing to the world beyond the car.

"Tell you what cutie," he said, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes "if you give me a good enough reason, we can turn around right now. Leave all this nonsense behind and find somewhere... more private."

His lips curved into a playful smirk, a silent invitation hanging in the air between you. The car rolled to a stop at a red light, and Rafayel cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow raised in question. Waiting. Always waiting for your response.

"Nooooo, you actually need to show up this time Rafayel," you say as you looked inside your purse for your lipstick.

"I know, I know," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "You're right, of course. I can't just...skip it." He trailed off, jaw clenched tight.

The light turned green, and Rafayel pressed down on the accelerator, the car lurching forward. He gripped the wheel tighter. "I just...I hate all the pretension. The fake smiles, the insincere compliments..." He shook his head, a look of distaste on his handsome face. "I'd rather spend the time with you, not stuck in some stuffy room filled with people I don't know."

"Have you seen my lipstick? I swear I left it here the last time I used it." You asked still looking through your purse

"Yes, it's back there somewhere..." he murmured. Rafayel watched as you hastily unbuckled your seatbelt, leaning over to rummage through the backseat. He couldn't help but let his gaze linger on the tantalizing curve of your back. Suddenly, you let out a small 'ah!' of triumph and straightened up, holding the tube of lipstick. In doing so, you lose balance for a moment. His eyes widened as he noticed your dress riding up, revealing the tantalizing sight of your bare skin above the seat of your panties... except there were no panties. His foot slipped off the accelerator, the car momentarily slowing.

For a moment, he forgot about the traffic, the show, everything. The world narrowed down to the sight of your exposed skin, the absence of any fabric that should have been there. He swallowed hard, a wave of heat coursed through him, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter to stop his hand from reaching out to touch. He wanted to trail his fingers up the smooth skin of your thigh, to feel the warmth beneath his palm.

"Cutie..." he breathed out, voice low and rough with sudden desire. He tore his gaze away from the tempting view, forcing himself to focus on the road. But he couldn't unsee the image burned into his mind.

Rafayel took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure as he watched you sit back down and apply your lipstick, oblivious to the effect your little display had on him. He swallowed hard, his pants suddenly feeling far too tight and constricting. He forced his gaze back to the road, but he could still see you in his peripheral vision, the way your lips pursed and pressed together as you applied the color. He imagined tasting that lipstick, tasting you, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Almost there," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He just needed to get through this damn show, and then...then he could focus on indulging in the fantasies running wild through his imagination.

He parked the car in the furthest spot from the gallery entrance, the tires crunching on the gravel as he brought the vehicle to a stop. He turned to you, a grin spreading across his face, eyes glinting with mischief. He reached out, tracing a finger lightly along your jawline, tilting your chin up towards him. His thumb brushed over your newly applied lipstick, smearing the vibrant color slightly.

"Mm, I like this shade," he murmured, voice low and flirtatious. "It reminds me of the color of your lips when I've kissed you breathless...on all of your lips. You see, I remember exactly what you look like, all pink and swollen and glistening, when I've had my face buried between your thighs for hours," his voice was a low, hypnotic rumble. "When I've licked and sucked and teased your clit until you're writhing and begging for release. His hand slid down to your knee, fingers trailing up along your inner thigh, inching higher and higher. His touch was electric, setting off sparks of pleasure that raced through your veins. He watched the blush spread across your cheeks, your thighs clenching together at his bold words. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne.His fingers inched higher up your thigh, his touch bold and purposeful. You knew that somehow he had figured out your little secret. The heat in his gaze told you that much.

"Open your legs for me, cutie, let me see those pretty lips again, the ones that are hiding from me right now." His hand slid higher, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin at the apex of your thighs. He didn't touch you directly, not yet, but he was close. So close that you could feel the anticipation building, could feel your core starting to throb with need.

"Come on," he purred, "don't make me wait. I know you're not wearing anything under that dress. I saw a glimpse of paradise back there."

He licked his lips, eyes gleaming with hunger. "Now be a good girl and open up for me, like you did last night when I had you spreading yourself wide open on my tongue."

His breath hitched as you slowly parted your thighs for him, revealing your bare pussy. His eyes darkened with lust at the sight. "Fuck,..." he breathed, voice rough with desire. "Look at you, so pretty and pink and ready for me." His fingers traced teasingly along your slit, not quite touching, just barely grazing your skin.

Rafayel didn't seem to care about the growing crowd in the parking lot. His focus was solely on you, on the sight of your bare cunt glistening in the fading light. He leaned in closer, the leather of his car seat creaking as he pulled it back giving himself more room.

He slid his hands under your thighs, gripping them tightly as he pulled you closer to the edge of your seat. Your dress rode up around your waist, fully exposing your bare, glistening sex to his eyes.

"Wrap your legs around my shoulders," he commanded, settling between your thighs. "I'm going to make you cum so hard, you won't care if the whole fucking world sees." His hands gripped your lower back tightly as he pulled you up and forward, your head resting on the armrest, your legs draping over his shoulders. He could feel the heat radiating off your core, could smell your intoxicating arousal. It made his cock throb and ache with the need to be inside you.

"Fuck, I can smell how much you want this," he groaned, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "You're fucking drenched. So wet and ready for me." He leaned in closer, his tongue darting out to take a long, slow lick up your slit. He moaned at the taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss. "Delicious," he murmured, before diving back in for more.

"Oh god, Rafayel!" you gasped, back arching off the seat as his tongue delved deep into your aching core. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight as jolts of electricity raced through your body. His hands kneaded the globes of your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth, his tongue plunging in and out of your soaked pussy.

Rafayel glanced up, taking in the now crowded parking lot. The closest car was a few spaces away, but still within clear view of anyone who cared to look in your direction. He could see people already heading towards the gallery entrance but he was too far gone to care. All he could focus on was the intoxicating taste of you on his tongue, the way your body trembled and quaked beneath his touch.

He licks you again, this time slower, he flattens his tongue and licks you from the bottom up, going particularly slow over your pulsating clit. The pressure builds as he finally does what he knows will be your undoing. His tongue swirled up to your clit with the perfect amount of pressure and you loose yourself to him and the thrashing of his tongue on your clit. The coil deep in your stomach curled painfully tight when he sucked your clit into his mouth, a strangled cry escapes you as your body falls over the edge, he plunges two fingers inside of you as you cum, and the bliss is catastrophic. You no longer cared to hold back the scream or to stop your thighs from clamping his head firmly between them.

"That's it, cutie," he praised, voice rough and ragged. "Fucking soak my face. I want everyone to know I'm the one who made you feel this good."

He didn't let up until your body went boneless, slumping back against the seat, chest heaving as you gasped for air. Only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a smug and thoroughly satisfied grin on his face. Rafayel quickly tugged your dress down, covering your cunt as he fumbled for his phone on the console between the seats. He put it on speaker and dialed Thomas's number, his thumb hovering over the call button.

Thomas picked up on the second ring, his voice filtering through the car's speakers. "Hello? Rafayel? We were starting to think you wouldn't make it to-"

"Hey, listen," Rafayel interrupted, his voice still rough from his exertions. "I need you to do me a favor. I...I won't be able to make it to the show tonight, something came up." He shot a meaningful glance at your flushed appearance, biting back a smirk.

"Tell everyone I apologize for my absence and that I'll make it up to you all soon. I have to take care of something important" He ended the call abruptly, not giving Thomas a chance to protest, and tossed the phone aside. The engine roared to life as he put the car in gear and drove out of the parking spot, leaving the gallery behind.

"Where are we going?" you asked breathlessly, still trying to catch your breath from the intensity of your orgasm.

Rafayel flashed you a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with renewed lust and desire. "Back to my place. I'm not done with you yet, not by a long shot." He reached over, resting his hand high up on your thigh, fingers teasing the hem of your dress. "I'm going to take my time with you, explore every inch of this gorgeous body. And then, maybe, just maybe I'll give you another screaming orgasm, but this time on my cock."

[player042]

A DEBT TO THE HEART | kang dae-ho

pairing: kang dae-ho (player 388) x reader

summary: you thought you'd left dae-ho behind for his own good, but fate has a cruel way of bringing the past back to life; now, in the deadly arena of the games, avoiding him is no longer an option, even as old feelings threaten to overwhelm you.

warning: hurt/comfort, some tears here and there, a bit angsty, established relationship and breakup mentioned, loving someone so much it hurts, other players mentioned, also mention of bloody and deadly squid game themes, lovers to strangers to lovers again? please enjoy ♥️

word count: 5k (oopsi, but you'll love it, promise <3)

You loved Dae-ho. You loved him with a depth that words could scarcely capture, and he, in turn, made sure you could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, and feel it in every touch just how deeply he loved you. But sometimes, even love was not enough, for love could not fill an empty stomach or silence the relentless ticking of overdue clocks. With each passing day, the small apartment you shared with Dae-ho felt colder and emptier, despite him always being there. The weight of your mutual debts loomed over every conversation, every glance, every touch.

You noticed how he'd come home later and later, his shoulders hunched as if the world rested entirely on them. He stopped smiling as much, and when he did, it didn't reach his eyes. You were no better. Your sleepless nights had you pacing, worrying over bills, debt collectors, and the way his kind heart made him try to fix everything for you, even at his own expense. You made the decision after a particularly brutal encounter with a debt collector. They'd come to your apartment, banging on the door, shouting threats. Dae-ho had stood between you and the door, his body rigid with tension as he told them to leave. That night, as he slept fitfully beside you, you stared at the ceiling, your heart breaking. You couldn't let him do this anymore, couldn't let him sacrifice himself for you, he deserved better.

That's why you found yourself remembering those exact thoughts while you were having dinner late at night. The small kitchen felt stifling, the hum of the fridge and the faint ticking of the wall clock amplifying the silence. You'd spent days rehearsing this moment, but now, as Dae-ho sat across from you, his familiar features etched with exhaustion and quiet hope, the words felt impossible.

But you had to say them. You had to let him go.

"We need to talk," your voice was firmer than you felt. Your heart raced, but your face remained a mask of composure.

He looked up from his bowl of rice, chopsticks hovered mid-air, his brows furrowing. "What's wrong?"

"I think..." You paused, the words catching in your throat. "I think we need to end this."

The chopsticks clattered onto the table, the sound startling in the quiet room. He stared at you, disbelief etched into every line of his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying this isn't working anymore," you said, gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turned white. "We're holding each other back, Dae-ho. I can't do this anymore."

His eyes darkened, his voice low and trembling, "Holding each other back? Is that what you think this is? After everything we've been through?"

"You're drowning because of me," your voice cracking. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn't let them fall. "I can't let you destroy yourself trying to fix things for me."

"You think this is about you?" he asked, his tone rising. "You think my problems magically go away if you're not here? That's not true, and you know it. Don't do this. Don't push me away."

You couldn't meet his gaze, your fingers trembling as they dug into the table. "I'm doing this for you," you whispered, barely audible.

"No," his chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood abruptly, his voice breaking, "You're doing this to me."

Frustrated, you stood up too, "I've watched you work yourself to death for me," your voice rising to meet his, "Every time something goes wrong, you're there, trying to fix it, trying to shoulder everything! I can't let you do that anymore!"

"You think I care about that?" he shouted, his hands slamming onto the table. His voice cracked as he added, "I want to carry it! I'd do anything for you, because you're- you're everything to me!"

Your chest tightened, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. "And what about you? What happens when you break under the weight of it all? Then what? I can't stand the thought of being the reason you-"

"You're not the reason for anything!" he yelled, his voice raw. "The debt, the stress, it's all mine. Don't you dare blame yourself for this."

"But it's not just yours anymore!" you shouted, tears finally streaming down your face. "It became mine the moment we decided to do this together. And that's why I have to leave. Because I'm holding you back, and you're holding me back, and we'll destroy each other if this keeps going!"

He stepped back as if you'd struck him, his hands falling limply to his sides. His voice, once so loud, now came out as a whisper. "You don't mean that."

"I do," you lied, your heart breaking with every word. "I don't see a future for us anymore, Dae-ho."

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of your words sinking into the space between you. His jaw clenched, his eyes glistening as he struggled to keep his composure.

"If this is what you want," he said finally, his voice shaking, "then fine. But don't pretend this is for me. This is your choice. Own it."

You turned away, biting your lip to keep from sobbing. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

And with that, you just left in the middle of the night, bags already prepared beforehand, your heart shattering with every step. The sound of the door closing behind you was louder than it should have been, echoing in your chest like the final nail in a coffin.

Alone in the now-silent kitchen, Dae-ho sank into his chair, his hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the table. He stared at your empty seat, the half-eaten bowl of rice in front of him a stark reminder of your presence just minutes ago.

The tears he'd held back began to fall, silent and unrelenting, as he whispered into the empty room, "You're wrong. You're not holding me back... you're everything I need."

Years passed, three, to be exact, and you hadn't heard from Dae-ho since the day you parted ways. Sometimes, especially in those first months after the breakup, you found yourself longing for him with an intensity that felt unbearable. So many times, you wanted to call him, just to hear his voice, to tell him about your day, to ask how work had been, or even something as simple as what he wanted for dinner. Too often, you'd thought about taking a detour just to walk past his neighborhood, unannounced, clinging to the faint hope of catching a fleeting glimpse of him. But you knew it was for the best, his best. 

People always said time heals all wounds, but that wasn't true. Time doesn't heal anything, it doesn't mend, it doesn't fix. All time does is teach you how to live with the weight of what's broken. And despite the years that had passed, you still yearned for him in the quiet moments, still missed him like a phantom ache. You'd come to accept the sheer vastness of Seoul, its endless streets and countless faces, and resigned yourself to the thought that you'd probably never cross paths with Dae-ho again, not by chance, not by fate, not ever.

That's why you were utterly stunned when you found yourself standing in the expansive arena looking straight at him, surrounded by strangers in identical green tracksuits in the midst of a nightmare. The doll's haunting song, the sound of gunfire, and the smell of blood filling the air, it was pure chaos. Some of them were already lying lifeless on the ground, their blood pooling beneath them. Your heart pounded violently in your chest, fear coursing through your veins as you tried to process what you'd gotten yourself into. And even more importantly—

He was here.

Dae-ho stood to your right, a few feet diagonally in front of you. His broad shoulders were tense, his stance alert as his eyes scanned the room with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His hair was slightly longer now, tied in a half-up, half-down style, and his face carried a weariness that hadn't been there before, a hard edge born of time and struggle. But there was no mistaking him. It was him. Dae-ho.

During the whole cursed red light, green light game, you couldn't stop glancing at him. He was strong and steady, helping a few others stay calm and focused as the horror doll's eerie song echoed through the air. Among the chaos and panic, Player 456 stood out. His voice rang out over the trembling murmurs of the other players, guiding them on when to move and when to freeze.

You barely survived, your legs trembling as you crossed the finish line. Relief washed over you, not just from the sheer fact that you were still alive, but also because 456's instructions had kind of anchored you when panic threatened to take over. And even then, your eyes sought him out. Dae-ho. Relief flooded you again when you saw he'd made it too, his chest heaving, his gaze scanning the crowd as if looking for someone. As if looking for you. 

You were certain, however, that he hadn't seen you, and you made sure it stayed that way for as long as possible. 

It surprised you later when he pressed O during the voting. Your chest tightened. Because after witnessing the pure horror of the first game, you had immediately pressed X to quit and leave this place. The idea of staying in a place like this was unthinkable. That's why you had assumed Dae-ho would have done the same.

Why would he want to stay? Did he care so little about his life now?

And the worst part? With just one single vote tipping the majority, the games continued.

You made yourself invisible. First, to keep all the unpleasant people at bay, and second, because you simply weren't ready to face him. For now, you stuck close to an older woman and her son, Player 149 and Player 007. At the same time, you watched Dae-ho from a distance as he spoke with Player 456, the former winner of the games, as you had just learned. You owed him your second reprieve, too, his speech during the voting had drawn all the attention to himself. Dae-ho spent his time with him, as well as with Player 001 and Player 390. It seemed he had already found his group.

Watching him from afar, you couldn't help but notice how he still carried that same kindness, that same strength that had made you fall in love with him. But the game of hide-and-seek came to an end the next day when the second game forced you to split into groups. Before you even realized it, your group was already at the front of the line. You were all bound together, each of you tasked with completing a series of mini-games and needing to cross the finish line within five minutes. Otherwise, you would be mercilessly shot in front of the other players, as had happened with the group before yours.

Just seconds earlier, you had been watching Dae-ho as he practiced his Gonggi part, stretching his wrist. Despite the grotesque circumstances, it brought a fleeting smile to your face. For a brief moment, you saw the carefree, boyish Dae-ho you used to know. The one who tirelessly worked with his group, lifting their spirits and even helping a young woman with the number 222 (according to Geum-ja, she was pregnant, and you could see it). It somehow hurt to see him like this, still trying to be a savior even when he had nothing left to give.

When his eyes finally found yours, he froze. For a moment, the noise and chaos around you faded, and it was just the two of you, staring at each other across the room as the guards bound your leg to that of your teammate.

By some miracle, your team won the second game. If that wasn't a sign from the heavens, you didn't know what else could be. You had been the clear underdogs from the start. Even while preparing, you'd overheard some of the men muttering amongst themselves, convinced your team was doomed. "They'll definitely bite the dust," one of them had sneered.

But when the red tape of the finish line snapped, the room erupted into cheers. Not because they liked you so much, but because they thought, If they can survive this, we'll surely survive as well. It was obvious they'd written your group off; a fragile old woman, her aimless son, a timid girl who barely spoke, a trans player still finding her footing, and you. Yet somehow, against all odds, you had crossed that finish line together.

Your heart raced as your eyes instinctively searched for Dae-ho. Across the room, he stood among his team, his gaze locked on you. For a moment, it looked like he was about to rush toward you, arms open, ready to pull you into a celebratory embrace. Your chest tightened, and you quickly turned back to your team, reminding yourself to keep your distance.

You threw yourself into the moment instead, hugging your teammates as the guards ushered you five out of the room.

Back in the dormitory, time stretched unbearably. With every passing minute, your nerves grew more frayed. Dae-ho hadn't returned.

At first, you rationalized it. The early groups were expected to be back sooner. But as the tenth, eleventh, twentieth, and even fortieth group arrived without him, dread started to creep in. What if he hadn't made it? What if someone in his group had messed up? What if, God forbid, his body was already being wheeled away, zipped into one of those cold black coffins with a mocking pink bow?

The thought sent a shudder through you, and you shook your head, forcing it away. You couldn't let yourself go there. Not yet.

Just as you felt the edges of panic begin to take hold, the doors finally opened one last time. There he was, walking in with the final group, his face glowing with triumph. That familiar grin spread across his face, and he looked as though the weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

A breath you hadn't realized you were holding escaped in a rush, leaving you lightheaded with relief. For a moment, everything else faded, your fear, your doubts, the shadows of this hellish game. All that mattered was that he was safe, still standing, still him.

Of course, the games continued the next day. This time, the vote wasn't even close, over a dozen more people chose to keep playing. You were doomed to continue these death games. And yet, a small part of you was relieved to see an X on Dae-ho's chest. That didn't mean you stopped avoiding him, oh no, you were still committed to that strategy. Every time you felt he might be getting close, you darted in the opposite direction, struck up a quick conversation with someone nearby, rushed toward the bathroom, or climbed into your top bunk and pulled the blanket over yourself, determined to make it clear he shouldn't approach you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake the way your chest ached every time you saw him.

Was it childish? Most definitely. Was it foolish? Probably. Did it accomplish anything? You didn't even know. All you knew was that you weren't ready to face him, not yet. You weren't ready to confront the flood of emotions, the pain, and the memories that his presence would bring. What good would it do to talk to him now?

And so, the third game arrived. You prayed silently that it would finally be the last.

The circular room you stood in was overwhelming. The massive, spinning platform in the center loomed ominously, while the 50 numbered rooms along the walls felt impossibly distant. The air was thick with tension, players murmuring nervously as the female voice explained the rules.

Your heart pounded as you stepped onto the platform, your eyes scanning the crowd instinctively, and landing on him. Dae-ho was standing on the opposite end, his arms crossed as he took in the rules. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but you knew him well enough to sense the tension radiating from him.

You tore your eyes away, trying to focus. Stay sharp. Survive.

The platform began to spin, a hauntingly cheerful tune playing as you stood rigidly in place. When it stopped, the display above flashed a number: 10.

Panic erupted as players scrambled to form groups. You grabbed Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Young-mi, holding onto them tightly as the timer began ticking down, and you only vaguely noticed as your group joined another group of five. Together, you pushed your way into a room, barely making it inside before the doors sealed shut.

Breathing heavily, you looked up only to see that across the room, Dae-ho stood with his group. 456, 390, 001, 222. No way. Dae-ho's eyes locked onto yours almost instantly, the proximity between you both the closest it had been in years.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, stepping toward you. His voice carried that familiar warmth, even undercut by tension. 

The words froze you for a moment. You hadn't expected him to speak to you directly, and certainly not with such concern. "I'm fine," you managed, your voice steady even as your hands tightened into fists at your sides. "We made it."

Before he could say more, Hyun-ju intervened, and you inwardly thanked her for that. "We're all fine," she said sharply, though not unkindly. Her eyes flicked between you and Dae-ho, clearly assessing the unspoken tension. "Let's focus on staying that way."

The room settled into an uneasy silence as the timer reset. You kept your distance, stealing occasional glances at Dae-ho as he conferred not only with his group, but also with your group. He still had that same steady energy, guiding Player 222 to sit down on the ground with a reassuring tone and helpful hand. It sent a pang through you, a strange mix of admiration, longing, jealousy, and bitterness.

Once the doors opened, you couldn't wait to leave it as soon as possible and be back on the platform. You exhaled, ignoring the bloodbath on the ground and waiting for the next round to begin.

"Still avoiding me, huh?" Dae-ho's low voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. You turned your head just enough to see him standing there, his gaze unreadable.

"I'm not avoiding you," you lied, crossing your arms defensively. "There are just... a lot of people here."

"Right," he said, his tone carrying the faintest trace of sarcasm. He stepped closer, lowering his voice even further to avoid drawing attention. "You didn't even look at me back in there. I'm not stupid."

You glanced quickly toward the others slowly and exhaustedly taking their places on the platform. No one was paying attention to you.

"What do you want, Dae-ho?" you asked quietly, keeping your voice even.

"I just want to know how you're doing," he said, his tone softening. "You're here, in this mess, and... it's not like I don't care."

The sincerity in his voice made your stomach twist. You turned fully to face him, your arms still crossed. "Why does it matter? You should focus on your group. They need you."

He studied you for a moment, his expression still unreadable. "And you don't?"

"I didn't say that," you said quickly, then shook your head, frustrated at yourself for engaging. "I'm fine, Dae-ho. I can take care of myself."

He exhaled softly, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to."

The words hung between you, heavy and unspoken. For a moment, the room felt smaller, quieter. Just then, the platform beneath your feet began to rumble softly, the motion sudden and disorienting as it started to spin again. The unexpected movement threw you off balance, and you instinctively reached out, your hand brushing against his chest before you could steady yourself again. Dae-ho's hand moved as well out of reflex, hovering near you, but he hesitated, his fingers curling back before he touched you.

Everyone focused on regaining their footing, the air heavy with anticipation. No one spoke now. All eyes turned to the display above, waiting for the next number to be announced. The tension thickened, each second dragging as the platform continued to spin, the haunting melody playing once again.

Your pulse quickened, the unease growing. You stole one last glance at Dae-ho, but his attention was already on the display, his jaw set, his posture steady despite the shifting ground beneath him.

And then, the platform stopped, the number flashing ominously on the screen. 4.

Your heart sank as you realized you'd have to split off from your current group. Geum-ja and Yong-sik clung to each other immediately, and Hyun-ju put a protective hand on Young-mi's shoulder. Before anyone could ask what you'd do, you took a step back.

"I'll find another group," you said quickly, avoiding their gazes.

Hyun-ju frowned but nodded. "Be careful," she said, her tone laced with suspicion.

You didn't wait for anyone to say more, darting into the fray, hurrying to put as much distance between Dae-ho and yourself. You managed to gather three strangers, players who looked just desperate enough not to question you, as you secured a room in time. The door sealed shut behind you, and for a brief moment, you let out a shaky breath, pretending that the tightness in your chest wasn't from leaving him behind again.

By the final round, only 126 players remained. The platform spun for what felt like an eternity before stopping abruptly. The number on the display flashed: 2.

The room erupted into chaos. People sprinted, shoving and clawing at each other in desperation. You froze, your mind blank as you scanned the crowd. Panic blurred your thoughts, the timer ticking down far too fast.

Until you saw him.

Dae-ho was weaving through the throng of people, his movements sharp and precise. Before you could think twice, he turned, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, everything else faded, the noise, the chaos, the rising panic. It was just him, standing there, staring at you as though time had stopped.

But then he moved, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. Before you could react, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, and he pulled you toward the nearest room.

"Come on!" he barked, his tone urgent but unyielding.

The two of you ran, weaving through the crowd as the timer ticked dangerously close to zero. You barely registered the other players anymore, your entire focus on the warmth of his hand and the steady pull of his grip.

The door slammed shut behind you just as the timer hit zero. You collapsed against the wall, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Dae-ho stood across from you, his gaze burning into yours as the silence stretched between you.

"We need to talk," he said finally, his voice low but firm.

You stared at him, your mind racing, unsure of whether to run again or finally face the storm you had spent so long avoiding.

The silence felt heavier than the air in the room, pressing down on your chest as if daring you to speak first. You remained frozen, your back against the cold wall, your mind racing with every reason to avoid this conversation. But Dae-ho didn't move. His gaze was unwavering, cutting through your defenses like a blade.

"You've been running from me since the moment I saw you," he said, his voice quiet but laced with frustration. "And I'm tired of pretending I don't notice."

You opened your mouth to argue, to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, you dropped your gaze, focusing on the floor beneath you, the slight tremor in your legs a reminder of just how close you'd come to death moments ago.

"You don't understand," you muttered finally, your voice barely audible.

"Then make me understand," he shot back, his tone sharper now. He stepped closer, the weight of his presence making it impossible to look anywhere else but at him. "You think I'm just going to ignore you? Pretend like you're not here? Like I don't-" He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he were physically restraining the words.

He sighed, his tone softening. "Seeing you here, in this place… Do you have any idea what that's been like for me?"

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as his words sank in. "I didn't ask you to follow me here," you whispered, the words cutting even as you said them.

"I didn't follow you," he replied, the intensity in his voice making you flinch. "I didn't even know you were here until I saw you during that second game. And if I had-" He stopped again, running a hand through his hair. "If I had, I would've never pressed O. We would've walked out right then. Only one vote decided to quit or continue the games. My vote."

The rawness in his voice made your stomach twist. You forced yourself to look at him, and for the first time, you saw the exhaustion etched into his features, the weight he'd been carrying, the same weight you'd been trying to run from.

"Then why didn't you quit when you had the chance? Why do you blame me for your own vote?" you asked, your tone sharper than you intended.

"I don't blame you. It's just… if you weren't here, I'd have nothing to lose," he admitted, his voice dropping. "I thought if I won, I could fix what I broke. What we broke."

You blinked at him, your heart pounding. "You mean, what I broke."

"Stop saying that," he said, his voice rising slightly. "Stop taking the blame for something we both had a hand in. I made mistakes, too, and you leaving, it didn't fix anything. It just made it worse."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "You don't know what it was like," you said quietly. "Watching you work yourself to death, trying to fix everything for me. I couldn't stay and watch you destroy yourself."

"So you destroyed us instead?" he asked, the hurt evident in his voice.

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you felt the tears you'd been holding back finally spill over. "It was the only way I could save you."

"Save me?" he repeated, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You didn't save me. You just made me lose the only thing I cared about. And you know what's worse? I thought I deserved it. I thought I wasn't good enough for you, that I let you down."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving as the weight of his pain settled over you like a suffocating blanket.

"I'm sorry," you whispered finally, your voice breaking. "I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing."

Dae-ho's expression softened, and he took another step closer, his voice quieter now. "The right thing would've been staying and letting me figure it out with you. That's all I ever wanted."

Tears welled in your eyes as you whispered, "I thought you hated me."

He kneeled in front of you, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. "I could never hate you. Not for a second. I loved you then, and I love you now."

The words broke something inside you, your tears spilling over as you finally let yourself feel the weight of it all. You shook your head, realizing the mistake you made, "I thought I was protecting you."

"And I thought I was protecting you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "But all we did was hurt each other."

Both his thumbs swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. "I don't care about the past. I don't care about anything except this. Right now. Tell me you don't love me, and I'll walk away. But if there's even a part of you that still-"

"I never stopped," you cut in, your voice barely audible.

His breath hitched, and he pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your hair and holding you as though afraid you might slip away again. His body was warm, solid, and for the first time in years, you felt like you could breathe.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, clinging to each other as the weight of the world pressed down on you.

"We don't know what's going to happen," you said finally, your voice shaky. "These games... they're not going to let us both make it out alive."

His grip on you tightened, his jaw clenching. "We'll figure it out. We'll survive. Both of us."

"Dae-"

"Don't," he said firmly, pulling back to look at you. "I already lost you once. I'm not losing you again."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of the announcement system crackling to life cut you off. The same automated female voice filled the room, announcing the end of the game.

The moment shattered, the tension between you replaced by the cold reality of where you were. But as the words faded and doors unlocked again, Dae-ho didn't move away. His gaze remained fixed on yours, a silent promise lingering in his eyes.

This wasn't over. Not yet.

[moonlightwritingf1]

First Time | LN4

❤︎ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando finds out Y/N is a virgin.

❤︎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❤︎ word count ━━━━━━━ 5.3k

❤︎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex (f receiving)

Based on this request.

Friday night settled over London with a quiet hush, the city lights flickering in the distance and the occasional sound of cars passing below Y/n’s apartment building. Although the night was still and cool, a charged warmth filled the cozy living room. She sat on the edge of her couch, legs tucked beneath her, trying to focus on the movie playing on the TV screen. But it was impossible. Not when Lando Norris was sitting just inches away from her, his presence like a magnet pulling at every nerve in her body.

It had been two months since they’d officially started dating, and yet, the tension between them still crackled like a live wire. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared laugh—it all felt charged with something unspoken. Something waiting to burst free.

Lando leaned back into the cushions, one arm casually draped behind her. His fingers traced lazy patterns along the fabric of the couch, dangerously close to brushing against her shoulder. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. It made her stomach twist in the best possible way.

Lando studied Y/N’s features in silence, his gaze lingering as if he were trying to decipher a puzzle. He noticed the subtle tension around her eyes, the delicate way her lashes fluttered as she blinked, and the gentle parting of her lips with each soft breath. The slight flush on her cheeks hinted at something more—nerves, maybe, or a thought she wasn’t sharing.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, as if afraid to break whatever spell she seemed to be under. “You doing okay? You seem a little distracted.” 

Y/n swallowed. “I’m fine,” she replied quickly. She noticed her own voice sounded defensive. “Just… I was thinking about work. It was a long week.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know the feeling. Meetings, calls, deadlines… not as glamorous as I used to think a normal nine-to-five would be.” A teasing spark lit his eyes. “At least you’re off the clock now,” he added, his lips curving into a soft smile.

Y/n found herself smiling despite her nerves. There was something about his tone—soft and playful at once—that disarmed her. This was why she had let him in, despite all her reservations. His earnestness, the puppy-like devotion in his gaze. He was so unlike the rumors—so unlike how she once imagined him to be.

She stood up abruptly, the need to put a little distance between them overwhelming her for a moment. “Want some tea? I can put the kettle on,” she offered, forcing herself to sound casual.

A small frown tugged at Lando’s brows, but he quickly covered it with a smile. “Sure, I’d love some.”

While she busied herself in the kitchen, Lando took a moment to look around her apartment. It was modest—comfortable and intimate, with personal touches here and there: books carefully arranged on a shelf, a photograph of her parents near the TV, soft throw blankets on the sofa. He couldn’t help picturing how often she might curl up under those blankets, reading a novel after a long day. He yearned to be there during those quiet moments, to share them with her, to make her life a little less lonely.

The clink of the kettle switching off caught his attention. Y/n returned shortly, two mugs of steaming tea in hand. She handed one to him and then sat back down on the couch, leaving only a cushion’s width of space between them. The delicate scent of chamomile filled the air.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking a slow sip. “You’re too good to me.”

“Trust me,” she said with a small laugh, “I’m not. You just make it so easy to want to do something for you, seeing as you’re always doing things for me.”

Y/n’s mind wandered briefly to the memory of him sending her all those gifts—flowers, perfumes, expensive clothes that made her squeak in shock when she saw the price tags. She had been torn between excitement and embarrassment, but also a bit of suspicion. There was this question that kept haunting her: Could Lando be serious? She needed more than sweet gestures and pretty words. She needed true depth, true commitment. And if he wasn’t that kind of man, she’d rather know now than be hurt later.

Lando watched her expression shift, as if lost in thought. Ever perceptive, he set his mug down. “Y/n,” he said, voice quieter this time, “I can see it in your eyes that something’s bothering you. Is it us… or something else?”

She offered him a tentative smile. “I’m just… still adjusting to us, I think. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

He couldn’t hide the relief that seemed to soften his features. “I understand,” he said, reaching out and gingerly placing a hand on her knee. “I know I might come on strong, but you have to believe me—I’m in this. No matter what.”

She placed her hand over his. His words chipped away at some of her armor, and she felt a stirring of warmth that had little to do with the tea. “Thank you,” she whispered, letting her thumb brush over his knuckles.

Time felt suspended. The city noises outside turned into nothing but a faint backdrop. In the hush of her living room, the only sounds were their breath, their quiet laughter, and the hum of electricity in the background.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to lighter topics: a fun memory from Lando’s last race weekend in Europe, a comedic mishap at Y/n’s office that had everyone trying to fix a computer glitch that turned out to be user error. The atmosphere grew playful again, but a current of tension remained, rolling through the space between them like a gathering storm.

They inched closer until their shoulders touched. Lando placed a finger beneath her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his. His voice was a whisper in the stillness. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

Y/n’s lips parted, a bashful chuckle escaping her. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” he murmured, leaning in, close enough to brush her ear with his breath, “I’m not.”

And then he kissed her. Gentle at first, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the feel of her lips. She responded softly, her heart fluttering. The warmth of his mouth against hers turned every cell in her body alive.

His hands drifted from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer so that no space remained between them. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming against her own. Every time their lips parted, he whispered her name, as though it were a plea and a prayer all at once.

The kiss deepened. His hand went up, tangling in her hair, and a soft moan she couldn’t restrain slipped from her lips. Sensations flooded her: his warmth, his scent—a mix of clean soap and the faintest cologne—his unwavering focus on her and only her.

It wasn’t long before the passion of their kisses caused them both to shift. Lando’s palm skated gently over her waist and up toward her ribs. His lips traveled along her jawline, down her neck, tasting the soft skin there. She clutched at the fabric of his hoodie, eyelids fluttering shut.

The moment felt too perfect, too intense. A fierce desire blossomed in her chest, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She could feel Lando’s heart racing, or maybe it was her own.

His mouth found hers again, deeper, hungrier this time. When she felt his right hand cup her breast over her sweater, an unexpected jolt of panic mingled with excitement. The swirl of emotions—desire, fear, anticipation—was suddenly overwhelming.

She let out a quiet gasp and quickly placed her hand over his, stopping him in the motion. It wasn’t intentional, the way her body stiffened, the way her breath caught in her throat. Instantly, Lando pulled back, eyes wide and full of concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and rough from the heat of the moment. “Did…did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Y/n drew in a shaky breath, her cheeks burning, unsure how to explain. She felt her entire face glow with a complex mix of longing and worry. “Lando…” she began, biting her lower lip. She slid her hand into his for a moment, a silent reassurance that she wasn’t rejecting him, but the intensity. “I just…maybe we’re moving too fast right now.”

He nodded, pulling away a little more to give her space. “It’s okay,” he whispered, gently brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek. “We can slow down, I promise. I don’t ever want you to feel rushed.”

She looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. A fresh wave of nerves welled up in her chest—but this time it wasn’t just about caution, it was about her own decision, a burgeoning sense that maybe she was ready to take this leap with him. She’d been holding onto her secret for so long that it almost felt easier to keep the status quo. Yet tonight, something had shifted inside her. She had been convincing herself that her wariness was purely about trust, about not wanting to rush. But if she was honest with herself—truly honest—she wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted anyone.

“There’s… actually something else,” she said in a voice so soft he had to lean in to hear her.

His eyes filled with anxiety. “Talk to me, love. Please.”

She swallowed. “I’m…still a virgin.”

For a moment, the air left the room. Lando stared at her, silently processing, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his face. He exhaled slowly, as though trying to collect his thoughts. “You’re…a virgin?” he repeated quietly, the disbelief evident in his tone. “Wow, I—I’m sorry,” he quickly added, holding up his hands as though in surrender. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just… I’m surprised.”

She nodded stiffly, her gaze fixed on the space between their knees. “I know we’re the same age. I know how it sounds. You probably had…way more experiences than I ever have.” She tensed, voicing the insecurity that had haunted her for months. “I just, I never met someone I trusted enough. Or maybe I was too busy convincing myself I didn’t need it… didn’t need them.”

Lando, still coming to grips with her revelation, took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. “Hey,” he said softly, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. And what she saw wasn’t judgment or disinterest—it was gentleness, acceptance… and maybe even awe.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, voice trembling with raw honesty. “I know that couldn’t have been easy.” He lifted his free hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “And please don’t feel embarrassed about it.”

She let out a shaky breath, tears threatening to form. “I thought you’d think it’s weird,” she confessed. “You’re so… experienced. You’ve had so many women and—”

“Let’s not talk about them,” he interrupted gently. A slight sadness flickered across his face, as though all the old choices he’d made suddenly seemed trivial or even shameful. “They don’t matter. You do.” He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “And I don’t want you to feel any pressure from me.”

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “Lando, this is… important. But I—” She paused, feeling that swirl of fear in her stomach again. It was now or never. “I think… I’m ready. To be with you,” she admitted, voice barely audible. It was the first time she had truly spoken the words aloud. The admission sent a flush of heat through her entire body.

His eyes widened at her confession. “You’re… ready?” he echoed, as if carefully testing the meaning of those words. Hesitation and tenderness mingled in his expression. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want you to do this if you’re not one hundred percent.”

She swallowed, nodding. “I’m sure,” she whispered. A small laugh escaped her, colored by nervousness. “I can’t believe I just said that. But… yes. I—I want this, with you.”

Relief, joy, and something deeper flooded Lando’s features. He reached for her hands again, clasping them between his own. “We don’t have to rush,” he said, though the excitement in his voice was clear. “Just because you’re ready doesn’t mean—”

“It’s my choice,” she interjected softly. “I trust you. And it’s taken me a while to let myself feel this way, but… the truth is, I’m tired of being scared. Of holding onto my hang-ups. I want to share this with you.”

Lando exhaled, a million emotions running across his face—gratitude, longing, protectiveness. “Y/n,” he said, voice thick. “I promise I’ll be gentle. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

She offered him a trembling smile. “I know you will.”

He stood then, carefully pulling her to her feet. They stood close, the fabric of their clothes brushing against each other. Lando dipped his head so that his eyes were level with hers. He could see the mix of courage and trepidation in her gaze.

“Do you want to move to your room?” he asked, the question laced with quiet anticipation.

She nodded, sliding her hand into his. They walked slowly toward the short hallway that led to her bedroom. Every step brought a new spike of adrenaline and longing. The overhead lights were off, leaving only the faint glow from a small lamp on her bedside table. The walls were painted in calming, muted colors—soft grays and blues. The bed itself was made neatly, a plush duvet folded at the end.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. A whirlwind of thoughts chased each other through her mind: He’s here, he wants me, I want him, I’m ready, no turning back… Yet overshadowing all of it was a sense of quiet determination. She had chosen him. After all the months of hesitation, she was certain.

When they reached the bedside, she paused, turning to face Lando. The uncertainty still flickered in her eyes, but it didn’t come from doubt in him—rather, it came from the enormity of the moment. Her first time. Something she had guarded for so long.

He noticed. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and bent to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “We’ll go slow,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin.

She nodded, inhaling deeply. “Slow,” she repeated, as if the word itself were a grounding tether.

Carefully, they leaned in for another kiss. This one was warm and tentative, a promise rather than an urgent demand. Lando’s hands drifted to her waist, and Y/n reciprocated, sliding her arms around his neck. The heat between them was more controlled now, more intentional, and yet somehow even more intense. She felt safe—reassured by the unspoken vow in every gentle touch.

After a while, their kisses grew deeper, more confident. He guided her backward until her legs met the edge of the bed. They sank down together, lips never losing contact. Soft gasps and hushed whispers began weaving an intimate tapestry of sound around them. Even the hum of passing cars seemed distant, as though the outside world had fallen away and left them in a private universe.

The warmth of their kisses lingered, slow and deliberate, as Lando hovered above her on the bed. His lips moved from her mouth to her jawline, trailing soft, featherlight kisses down the column of her neck. Every touch was a promise, every sigh a silent reassurance. Y/n’s breath hitched when his tongue flicked against her pulse point, sending shivers cascading down her spine. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him close, her fingers trembling with anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and rough with desire. His lips continued their journey downward, skimming over her collarbone before settling at the hollow of her throat. He paused for a moment, his breath warm against her flushed skin, and then gently tugged at the hem of her sweater.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his eyes locking onto hers, dark with arousal but still filled with tenderness.

She nodded, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s hands slid beneath the fabric, his fingertips brushing against her waist as he slowly lifted the sweater over her head. The cool air kissed her skin, and she shivered—not from the temperature, but from the way he looked at her. His gaze was reverent, almost worshipful, as he took in the sight of her bare torso. His eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts, encased in delicate lace, and a soft groan escaped his lips.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, his hands already moving to cup her through her bra. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, drawing a sharp gasp from her. She arched into his touch, her body betraying how much she craved him.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to the slope of her breast, just above the edge of the lace. His kisses were slow and exploratory, each one sending jolts of pleasure radiating through her. When his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra, she reached behind her to help him, her hands shaking slightly. The bra fell away, and his breath caught as he took her in completely.

“Y/n…” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “You’re stunning.”

His hands caressed her breasts, his palms sliding over the soft flesh before his mouth followed. He captured one nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak while his hand teased the other. Y/n gasped, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure coursed through her. Her moans spilled freely now, no longer restrained, and each one seemed to spur him on. 

“L-Lando,” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. “That feels… so good.”

He responded by sinking his teeth gently into her nipple, eliciting a sharp cry from her. His hands squeezed her breasts together, his lips moving back and forth between them, leaving her a trembling, moaning mess beneath him. He worshipped her like this, his touch and his words making her feel cherished, adored.

“Lando,” she whimpered, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Please…”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Please what, love?” he teased, his fingers pinching her nipples lightly, making her gasp again.

She shook her head, unable to form the words. He laughed softly, kissing her lips briefly before sitting back on his heels. His hands drifted to the waistband of her leggings, his thumbs hooking under the elastic. “Can I take these off too?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with anticipation.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. But… take your top off too.”

His grin was irresistible as he tugged his hoodie over his head, revealing the toned planes of his chest. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. He was breathtakingly handsome, his muscles defined but not overly bulky, his skin smooth and warm.

He returned to her, his hands sliding her leggings down her legs slowly, peeling the fabric away inch by inch. She lifted her hips to help him, her heart pounding as she lay before him in nothing but her underwear. His gaze lingered on her, heat and adoration burning in his eyes.

“God, you’re stunning,” he said, his voice rough with want. He knelt between her legs, his hands resting on her thighs. “Are you sure about this? We can stop anytime.”

She nodded, her voice steadier than she expected. “I’m sure.”

Lando leaned down, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. She gasped, her hands gripping the sheets as his lips traveled higher, closer to the apex of her thighs. He nuzzled the thin fabric of her underwear, his breath hot against her already soaked core.

“So fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with desire. He kissed her through the fabric, dragging his tongue over her clit in a slow, teasing motion. She cried out, her hips lifting instinctively toward him.

“Lando!” she gasped, her thighs trembling as he continued to tease her, his lips and tongue driving her wild. He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

“Patience, baby,” he purred, his hands sliding her underwear down her legs. He tossed them aside, settling back between her thighs. For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression reverent. “Fuck, Y/N. You have such a pretty pussy.”

Her face burned, but before she could say anything, his tongue was on her, lapping at her folds with long, slow strokes. She moaned loudly, her head falling back against the pillows as pleasure shot through her.

Lando devoured her like a man starved, his tongue circling her clit, dipping inside her, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from her body. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her hands fisting the sheets as she writhed beneath him.

“Oh my God, Lando,” she whimpered, her thighs shaking. “That feels so good…”

He groaned against her, the vibrations making her cry out. He slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right against her walls as his tongue continued its relentless assault. She swore she saw stars, her entire body tensing as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within her. Just when she thought she might scream, he pulled back, his lips glistening and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Do you really want this?” he asked, his voice ragged. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

She nodded, her eyes glazed with need. “Yes, I’m ready. I want you, Lando. All of you.”

He nodded, his breath hitching as he reached for the waistband of his trousers. In one swift motion, he stripped them off, along with his boxers, leaving himself completely bare. Y/N’s eyes widened as she took him in—hard and flushed, his length straining toward her.

He settled between her legs, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he leaned down to kiss her. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell me if it hurts.”

She nodded, her heart swelling with affection for him. “Okay,” she whispered.

He pressed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation. It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable—and mixed with the pain was an overwhelming sense of closeness, of being connected to him in the most intimate way possible.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed, staying still to give her time. “How do you feel?”

“Full,” she admitted with a shaky laugh. “But… good. Really good.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. “You’re doing so well, love,” he murmured against her lips. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Lando began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts. Each glide of his length inside her was met with a soft gasp from Y/n, her body still adjusting to the unfamiliar fullness. He kept his pace gentle, rhythmic, almost teasing, as if he wanted to savor every second of this moment with her. His eyes never left hers, searching for any sign of discomfort—but all he found was desire, trust, and a growing need.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “So fucking perfect.”

She whimpered in response, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his chest, where she could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Her own heart raced in tandem, her breath coming in shallow bursts as arousal coiled tighter and tighter in her core. She arched instinctively, her hips rising to meet his next thrust, and Lando groaned low in his throat at the sensation.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice trembling. “It’s… it’s so much.”

He paused, concern flickering across his face. “Too much?” he asked, his tone laced with worry. “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head quickly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “No… no, don’t stop. It’s just… overwhelming. In a good way.” Her fingers traced the muscles of his chest, marveling at the way they flexed with every movement. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

The relief in his expression was palpable. He leaned down to kiss her again, his lips slow and sweet, before whispering against her mouth, “Then let me show you how good it can be.”

His thrusts grew slightly firmer, the rhythm steady but unhurried. Y/n’s moans grew louder, each one sending a jolt of pleasure straight to Lando’s cock. He ground into her deeper with every push, angling his hips so that he brushed against a spot inside her that made her gasp and clutch at him desperately.

“There…” she whimpered, her nails lightly scratching his back. “Right there, Lando… please…”

A groan rumbled in his chest as he obeyed, focusing on that spot with relentless precision. Her reactions were intoxicating—every sigh, every shiver, every desperate plea only fueled his own need. But he refused to rush, determined to make this first time unforgettable for her.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes dark with adoration. “Watching you like this… hearing you… it’s driving me insane.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she met his gaze with equal intensity, her eyes clouded with passion and something deeper—something that made his chest ache with emotion.

“Touch me,” she begged softly, her hand sliding down to guide his. “Please…”

Without hesitation, Lando reached between them, his fingers finding her swollen clit with practiced ease. He circled the sensitive nub gently, watching as her entire body jerked in response. Her moans turned into breathless cries, her hips rocking against his hand and his cock in a frenzied rhythm.

“Fuck, Lando—oh god—” she gasped, her back arching off the bed. “I’m… I’m close…”

“Let go, love,” he urged, his voice thick with passion. “Come for me.”

The combination of his hand and his cock pushed her over the edge. She cried out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her inner walls clamping down around him in a vice-like grip. Lando groaned loudly, his thrusts faltering as her climax overwhelmed him. He clenched his jaw, fighting to hold on just a little longer—to give her every last drop of pleasure she deserved.

When her tremors finally subsided, she looked up at him with dazed, unfocused eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. She was utterly breathtaking.

Still buried deep inside her, Lando kissed her again, his lips tender and reverent. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Absolutely fucking incredible.”

Y/n smiled shyly, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulled him closer. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Not yet…”

He nodded, his own arousal still burning hot and urgent, but tempered now by the reverence he felt for her. He resumed his slow, deep thrusts, each one deliberate, each one meant to draw out every ounce of pleasure she could take. Her soft moans filled the room, a melody that made his chest ache with something deeper than desire—something tender, something sacred.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with adoration. His hands cradled her hips as though she were fragile, precious. “Anything, love… just tell me.”

Her fingers brushed through his hair, her touch featherlight yet electric. “You,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Just you.”

Those two words shattered him. Not in the way of losing control, but in the way of surrender—to her, to this moment, to the depth of what they were sharing. He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating in sync. His pace quickened, not out of urgency, but out of a need to give her everything he had, to make her feel how much she meant to him.

Her body arched beneath him, her moans growing louder, more desperate. Her hands roamed over his back, not clawing, but caressing, as if she wanted to memorize every inch of him. She clung to him, not out of desperation, but out of a need to be as close as possible, to erase any space between them.

“Y/n…” His voice was strained, but it wasn’t just from the physical strain. It was from the weight of what he felt for her, the intensity of it threatening to spill over. “I’m not gonna last much longer…”

She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure began to crest. “Neither—“ she managed, her voice breaking. “Oh god, Lando—“

He felt her tighten around him again, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cry was raw, unfiltered, and it echoed through the room, a sound that would forever be etched into his memory. Her nails dug into his skin, not to hurt, but to anchor herself as she rode out the blissful aftershocks.

That was all it took for him. With a final, shuddering thrust, he spilled himself inside her, his release tearing through him with a force that left him breathless. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his ragged breaths hot against her skin as he whispered her name over and over, like a prayer, like a vow.

For several long moments, neither of them moved. Their bodies remained tangled together, sweat-slicked and spent, but closer than they’d ever been. Gradually, the haze of pleasure began to fade, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction and an overwhelming sense of closeness that went beyond the physical.

Lando was the first to stir, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone before pulling back to look at her. His heart swelled at the sight of her—flushed, disheveled, and utterly spent, but smiling up at him with such tenderness that it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice husky but filled with genuine concern. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin.

She laughed quietly, the sound warm and content. Her fingers trailed along his jawline, tracing the curve of his face as though committing it to memory. “Like I just discovered heaven,” she admitted, her smile widening. “And you?”

He grinned, leaning down to capture her lips in a lingering kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes held hers, dark and full of emotion. “Like the luckiest man alive,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Because I get to call you mine.”

Her smile softened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, her touch achingly gentle. “You already had me,” she whispered. “Long before tonight.”

His throat tightened, and he kissed her again, slower this time, pouring every unspoken word into it. When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet stillness of the room.

“I love you,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They weren’t planned, but they were true—so true it hurt.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her eyes wide and searching. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, brighter than anything he’d ever seen. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice steady despite the tears pooling in her eyes.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her as though he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, with her head resting on his chest and her heartbeat echoing his own, he knew—this was where he belonged. With her. Always.

[4linos]

they call you clingy pt. 2

ot8 x fem!reader

genre: slight angst. hurt/comfort. fluff. (mostly) happy endings.

wc: 8916

(read they call you clingy pt. 1 first)

bang chan

When Chan returned home later that night, he was overwhelmed with guilt. He expected to be greeted with a warm embrace, maybe even a soft joke about how awkward he had been earlier. But when he entered your shared bedroom, he was greeted with silence. The lights were dark, and you sat on the edge of the bed, back to him. "Y/N?" He called out quietly, almost pleading.

You did not respond.

Chan's heart fell as he got closer, but you flinched when you felt him behind you. He stood there for a while, unsure of what to do, before finally speaking, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say what I said. It was a terrible joke. Please… please look at me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to see the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes were red and swollen, and your expression was tight, like you were holding everything in. The sight broke him, and he stepped forward, kneeling in front of you, trying to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I was frustrated, and I let it all out in the worst way. I’m so sorry, I should’ve never said that. You’re not clingy. I don’t think that at all. I was wrong. I never should’ve made you feel that way.”

You shook your head slowly, your voice cold. “No, you meant it. I heard the way you said it. You don’t want me around. You think I’m suffocating you.”

“I don’t,” Chan whispered urgently, his hands reaching out to touch yours, but you pulled them away. “I don’t think that. I swear. I don’t want you to think that at all. I just… I don’t know what came over me.”

But you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to believe him, but the words still stung too much. The way he had looked at you with indifference, how he dismissed your presence like it was something burdensome. It wasn’t just the words it was the way it made you feel so small, like you weren’t wanted.

You stood up suddenly, avoiding his touch. “I just need some space, Chan. Please. Just leave me alone tonight.”

Chan flinched, but he didn’t argue. He nodded, his heart breaking as he quietly walked out of the room. He knew he had crossed a line, and the weight of that reality hit him hard. He didn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning on the couch, feeling the distance between you both like a wall that couldn’t be scaled.

The next morning, Chan woke up early, with his mind still filled with guilt. He'd apologized the night before, but he knew it wasn't enough. He needed to express how sorry he was and how much he cared. He crept quietly into the kitchen and began preparing breakfast, hoping to get it right for once. When the smell of pancakes and coffee filled the apartment, he returned to your bedroom, gently knocked on the door before opening it slightly.

You sat on the side of the bed, looking out the window. Your back was still turned to him, but when you heard him enter, you had stayed still.

Chan took a deep breath, his voice soft. “I made breakfast… for us. Please, can we just eat together? I want to talk.”

You didn't say anything at first, but eventually nodded and stood up, following him into the kitchen. You both sat silently, the tension hanging between you like a cloud. Chan pushed the dish of pancakes toward you, his hands shaking slightly. He took a breath and spoke again, his voice full of earnestness.

"You were not clinging, Y/N. I was wrong. You aren't suffocating me. I adore having you around; I always do. I… I'm not sure why I said that. My frustration clouded my judgment, and I hurt you. I'm really sorry."

You didn’t answer right away, but the tightness in your chest slowly loosened. You looked up at him, seeing the genuine regret in his eyes. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

You sighed softly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “It just hurt, Chan. I… I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re never a burden,” he said quietly. “You’re my partner. I want you to be with me. Always. You nodded, the words finally sinking in. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “No, I deserve it. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you both ate in silence, the unspoken understanding between you filling the room with a quiet comfort. The hurt was still there, but you knew you could heal it together.

lee know

The warmth from the burns on your leg persisted, but the coldness in your chest stung the most. You sat on the edge of the bed, carefully placing a cold compress against your skin, hoping that the discomfort sting would ease.

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what had just transpired in the kitchen. Minho, your Minho, had yelled at you, and the words cut worse than anything physical could. You couldn't understand how it had come to this.

You had tried so hard to help, to lighten his burden, but instead you had made matters worse. The kitchen was a wreck, your leg was on fire, and your heart felt like it had been ripped open by the very person who had always made you feel safe. You wanted to believe it was just a moment of frustration, something that could be forgiven, but the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

When Minho’s voice called from the living room, it felt like the world’s weight pressed on your chest. “Hey... can we talk?" He sounded tired, but there was an undertone of hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d even listen.

You didn’t respond, hoping the silence would send the message you weren’t ready to face him just yet. But moments later, the sound of his footsteps in the hall brought you back to reality, and before you could register, he was standing in the doorway of your bedroom.

His expression shifted from confusion to panic when he saw you sitting there, the cold compress against your leg, and your tear-streaked face. His eyes widened, a rush of guilt flooding over him.

"What... what happened?" His voice was quieter and more uncertain now. He took a step forward, peering down at the reddening skin on your leg. "I—oh God, did you burn yourself?" His eyes scanned yours for a response, his hand quivering slightly as he reached out to touch your leg. You didn't say anything. You couldn’t find the words. The burn hurt badly, but the heaviness of his words in the kitchen made it intolerable.

Minho's hands shook as he gently led you to lie down on the bed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His voice cracked slightly as he rubbed a cool cloth on the burns, the chill alleviating the sting slightly.

You finally let yourself to cry, tears rocking your chest and the emotional weight coming down on you. You didn't understand how much you were holding back until the tears started pouring freely. "I-I'm sorry for the soup," you said through sobbing. "I didn't mean to ruin everything. "I just... wanted to help."

Minho's face softened, expressing regret and disbelief. He wiped your tears away with his thumb, his voice barely audible. "Stop. I don't care about the soup. Not when you're hurt. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"

His words felt like a balm to your wounded heart, but they didn’t erase the ache. You buried your face in his chest as he leaned down to kiss your forehead gently, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You don’t deserve that... you never deserve that.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten even more. You clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, needing his warmth, his presence. “Minho... I just—everything went wrong today. And then you... you made me feel like I was a burden.” Your voice trembled, and the weight of your emotions finally broke free.

Minho’s arms tightened around you as he whispered into your hair, “I never meant to make you feel that way. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. But you are not a burden. You never will be. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You could feel his hands softly comb through your hair, comforting you as you kept crying into him. The tears weren't simply over the soup, the burn, or the day's failures. It was all about trying to keep things together, to be strong, and not show how overwhelmed you were. And everything came tumbling down in his arms. "I should have been there for you today." "I should have seen how much you were struggling," Minho said, his voice thick with regret. "I'm not upset at you. I should never have said that. I'm so sorry."

You nodded into his chest, the tears slowly subsiding as his comforting words washed over you. Despite everything, despite the mess and the hurt, there was still love between you two, even if it was lost in the chaos for a moment.

“I love you,” Minho whispered, his hand gently wiping away the last of your tears. “Please, forgive me.”

You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes. There was nothing but tenderness there now, no trace of the frustration that had clouded his expression before. “I love you too,” you said, your voice still shaky, but steadying. “I know you didn’t mean it. I just... I just had such a bad day. Everything went wrong, and I was just trying to fix it... and I ended up making it worse.”

Minho kissed your forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment. “You don’t have to fix everything. You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Let me help you.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief settle over you as his arms wrapped around you again. “I’m sorry, too,” you whispered, hugging him tighter. “I just... I wanted to help you. To make it better. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

“I know,” Minho whispered back. “And you didn’t make it worse. I promise.”

As the silence between you two grew, the storm within you began to calm. It wasn't entirely mended yet, but for the first time that day, you felt like you weren't going through it alone. You felt at ease in his embrace, and you gradually began to hope that things can get better again.

changbin

Changbin's breath came out in weak, raspy gasps as he stood there watching you walk away. Every instinct in his body shouted for him to go after you, to draw you back and explain himself, but something in the air held him still. The severity of his own words resonated in his thoughts, a jarring reminder of the damage he had just done. You were hurt. And now, so was he.

He watched as your form disappeared through the exit, the door closing softly behind you. The gym suddenly felt suffocating. The weight of his own anger and frustration, which he had not yet fully comprehended, seemed to settle in his chest like a stone. He turned over, and his face flushed, his head dizzy with regret. He never wanted to make you feel like this, never wanted you to feel like a burden. His mind was spinning with confusion, but one thing was painfully clear: he had messed up. Badly.

He stood there for a long time, eyes fixed on the door, as if begging you to return, but he knew it was pointless. He had said too much. The damage was done.

You'd never felt smaller than you did at that time. Changbin's words felt like a hefty blow to the chest, knocking the air out of you. You weren't expecting him to snap. Sure, he'd been distant before, but this was different. The sharpness in his voice, the way he stared at you with irritation and anger, hurt in ways you couldn't articulate.

You didn’t know how long you had been walking for when you found yourself in the parking lot, your car now looming in front of you like a silent reminder of what had just transpired. You stood there for a moment, your hands trembling as you fumbled to unlock the door. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the chill in your chest felt much worse.

Why was he so angry?

You understood that sometimes people needed space, but you had no idea that your presence, which you expected to bring you closer, would make him feel overwhelmed. The realization hit you hard: He had been letting you to follow him about because he didn't know how to express his need for space. And, in the end, when he exploded, it broke the fragile link you had formed with him.

Your eyes stung with the promise of tears, but you pushed them away. You weren't sure if you were ready to let them fall yet.

You got in the car and drove aimlessly at first, wanting to get away and clear your mind. The drive seemed to go on forever, but you couldn't escape the agony in your chest. You eventually pulled over onto a quiet street and parked. You allowed the silence to settle in, the only sound being the faint hum of your car's engine.

Your phone buzzed, and you looked at it nervously. It was a message from Changbin. Your finger hovered over the screen, unsure whether to open it or not. But the yearning for an explanation, some attempt to make sense of it all, was overwhelming. So you opened it.

Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted. Can we please talk?

You bit your lip, your eyes scanning the words over and over. His apology felt sincere, but it didn’t erase the sting of what he had said. How could it? And yet, a part of you still wanted to hear him out, to understand where he was coming from, even if it hurt.

You debated texting him back. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to hold onto the distance you felt was needed right now. Another part wanted to reach out, to explain that you weren’t trying to smother him, that you just wanted to be close.

Instead of responding, you did the one thing you never thought you’d do: you called him.

The phone rang a few times before he answered. “Y/N?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost nervous.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Can we talk?”

A long silence passed. You could hear him take a deep breath on the other end. “Yeah. I think we need to.”

-

Back at the gym, Changbin had barely managed to collect himself before his phone buzzed in his hand. When he saw your name on the screen, he almost couldn’t believe it. He had messed up so badly, and yet, you were still willing to talk to him. His heart beat faster as he swiped to answer, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

“Y/N?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t imagining this.

“I… I’m still upset, Bin,” you said, your voice shaky. “I don’t know what to think. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was invading your space. I just… I wanted to be close to you.”

“I know,” he whispered, guilt flooding his chest. “I should’ve told you sooner. It’s not your fault. I don’t want you to feel like that… like I’m pushing you away. But I just… the gym was the one place where I could just be by myself, clear my head. And when I didn’t have that anymore… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t know. I thought… I thought you’d like it. That maybe it would be something we could do together.”

“I do like spending time with you,” he said, his voice steady now, more sincere. “I really do. But I didn’t realize how much I was taking it out on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I’m sorry for how I said it. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You’re not a burden to me, Y/N. You’re the last person I want to hurt.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “I just wanted to be close to you. I didn’t realize I was making you feel suffocated.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I know. And I should’ve communicated better. I just didn’t know how.”

“I understand,” you replied softly. “I just… I need a little time. To process this.”

Changbin’s heart sank, but he understood. “Yeah. I get that. Take the time you need. But please know I’m here. I don’t want to lose you over something that should’ve been a misunderstanding.”

You inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the conversation. It wasn’t fixed, not yet, but you could feel the tension easing a little, the sharp edges of the pain starting to soften.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “We’ll talk more when I’m ready.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Changbin replied, his voice full of warmth despite the distance between you. “I’ll be here.”

The call ended, leaving a quiet, uneasy space between you two. You were unsure where this would lead or what would happen next. But perhaps, just maybe, you can find your way back together.

hyunjin

The next morning, you woke to a cloud of confusion still hanging over you. Hyunjin's remark from last night, as well as the way he pushed you away, played on an unending loop in your memory. The hurt was still fresh, but you were beginning to wonder why. Why had everything changed so dramatically? Why had Hyunjin, who you had always trusted, suddenly become distant?

You'd barely slept, your mind knotted in a web of despair, confusion, and betrayal. Everything seemed odd as you tried to get through the day. The calm hum of your daily routine had been replaced by a heavy silence in your chest. Your phone remained silent, and you weren't sure if that was a relief or something else entirely. You couldn’t decide whether to hope Hyunjin would reach out to explain himself or whether it was better to just forget it all.

But then, in the late afternoon, your phone buzzed. It was a text from him.

Hyunjin: Can we talk? I need to explain.

Your stomach twisted, both nervous and cautious. You stared at the message, weighing the possibility of opening the door to this conversation. You didn’t know if you were ready to hear whatever he had to say. Still, part of you needed answers, even if they were painful.

After a few moments of hesitation, you typed back.

You: Where?

Hyunjin: Meet me at the park in 30 minutes. Please.

You took a deep breath and, despite everything, found yourself getting ready to meet him. Part of you was angry, but there was another part, the part that still missed him, that needed to understand. You had always believed in the strength of your friendship. You didn’t want to just throw that away without knowing what had really happened.

When you arrived at the park, the air felt cool against your skin, and the trees around you swayed gently in the breeze. The park was quiet, mostly empty, with only a few scattered joggers. You found him near a bench, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his posture tense. He stood as soon as he saw you, but neither of you moved closer at first. There was an awkwardness between you two that felt thick enough to cut.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice almost faltering. "You wanted to talk?"

He nodded but didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, staring at you as if he wasn’t sure how to start. Finally, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply and took a step closer.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice low and unsure. "I know I hurt you last night, and I—I need you to know that wasn’t my intention. I’ve been… I’ve been a mess, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to deal with these feelings.”

You furrowed your brows, the confusion growing. “Feelings? What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin seemed to hesitate, as if he was unsure whether to voice the words out. But after a moment, he added, his voice breaking slightly: "I—I like you. More than just a friend. I had for a while, but I wasn't sure how to deal with it. So I tried pushing you away. I figured if I detached myself from you, it would go away. That I could let go of these feelings."

The words struck you like a thunderclap. For a while, you just stood there, your mind spinning, trying to make sense of what he had just revealed. Hyunjin... liked you? Was it why he had been so distant? All the time you'd spent wondering what had changed, what had gone wrong… it was this?

He looked at you, his eyes full of vulnerability, guilt, and something else that you couldn’t quite name. “I didn’t know how to deal with it, and I thought… if I pushed you away, I could just forget. But the more I tried to ignore it, the worse it got. And last night, I just… I didn’t know how to act around you anymore. So I lashed out. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You stood there, silently absorbing his words. The knot in your chest relaxed, but it was replaced by something else: a rush of feelings you couldn't quite describe.

You had no idea how to handle this revelation. You had been wondering what had happened to your friendship, why things seemed so tense, and now it all made sense. But it was overwhelming. You never saw it coming.

"I don't know what to say," you confessed gently. "I did not..." I didn't realize you felt that way. All I saw was you slipping away, and I wondered if I had done something wrong. I didn't realize it was about this."

“I should have told you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I was so afraid of ruining everything, of losing our friendship. But instead, I ended up pushing you away. I thought if I could stop being close to you, I could stop feeling this way. I was wrong."

You felt a mixture of emotions rise up relief, anger, sadness, confusion. But beneath it all, there was something else: you understood now. He had been trying to protect himself, even if it meant hurting you in the process. It didn’t make his actions right, but it made them a little easier to comprehend.

“So what now?” you asked, your voice softer than before.

Hyunjin took a step closer, his gaze intense. "I don’t expect things to go back to how they were immediately. I don’t know how to fix this. But I want to try. I want to be honest with you now. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. I couldn’t let you think you didn’t matter."

You paused for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Part of you still felt hurt, but another part of you your heart, maybe was softening. You had always cared about him. The idea of more than just friendship… it was a lot to process, but you realized that in some way, you were willing to listen, to figure out what this meant for the two of you.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t care. I do. I care a lot. We just need time. To figure this out.”

Hyunjin nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet hope. “I’ll give you time. I won’t push you. I just needed to say it. To be honest.”

The two of you stood there for a while, neither of you moving, but there was a shift a change in the air. For the first time in weeks, it felt like there might be a way forward. Maybe it wasn’t simple, maybe it wasn’t easy, but at least you had the truth. And that, you realized, was enough to begin again.

HAN

The silence lingered for what seemed like hours, the kind of silence that enveloped you both like a thick cloud. You hadn't moved, still curled on the bed, eyes locked on the wall, as if it might give some answers. You couldn't get the idea that something inside of him had permanently shifted, that whatever had cracked tonight had been building up for a time and was now beyond your control.

Jisung said nothing, did not try to pull you closer, nor did he give his usual soothing words of regret. But he had not left either. His presence next to you, despite its normal comfort, suddenly felt like a distant recollection, a piece of him that had vanished.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard him shift on the bed beside you. His voice was barely a whisper, but you could tell he was struggling, his words thick with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you could hear the weight of the apology, like he had been holding it back for so long it had become a raw, painful thing.

You stayed silent, not sure what to say. He had hurt you, and though you wanted to forgive him, you couldn’t shake the sting of his words. His harshness had cut deeper than anything he’d said before, and you weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion of the day, or something more, something that had been building up between you two for a while.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N,” he continued, his voice shaky, as if the apology itself had become difficult to express. “I’m just… I’m just tired. I don’t know how to deal with everything. But that doesn’t excuse how I snapped at you. You don’t deserve that. You never do.”

You eventually allowed yourself to turn towards him, your gaze scanning his face, and you saw the weakness there, the same vulnerability you had always seen beneath his normal confidence. His fists were clasped in his lap, and his shoulders bowed, as if he were bracing for the impending storm.

"You are not a burden, Y/N." "You're not clingy," he continued quietly, his voice much lower now, as if the apology was gradually peeling away the layers of irritation and hurt. "I just.. I'm not always sure how to let you in. I am so overwhelmed that instead of accepting your help, I push you away."

Your heart squeezed. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was battling with himself, trying to figure out how to make it right without knowing how.

“I’ve been so used to dealing with everything on my own,” he continued, looking at the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. “I didn’t want to burden you with my problems. I didn’t want you to see me as weak. But instead, I ended up hurting you.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and it took everything in you not to reach out and wrap your arms around him. You knew he had been struggling, you knew it. But hearing him admit that he had been keeping things from you, afraid of showing his true self, only made the ache in your chest grow.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “I think you're strong. But you don’t have to do everything by yourself, Jisung. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

He shook his head, eventually meeting your eyes. His eyes were filled with sadness, but there was also a quiet desperation in them, as if he didn't know how to mend the rift between you two.

“I just... I'm so sorry. I don't know how to ask for help," he said, his voice full with sorrow. "But when you try to help me, I... I push you away because I'm not sure how to let you in. But you aren't a burden, Y/N. You have never been one. I just didn't know how to handle anything on my own, so I ended up pushing you away when all you wanted was to be there for me."

The honesty in his words was almost too much to bear. You had always known Jisung to be someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, someone who could make light of even the darkest situations. But now, seeing him like this, so raw and open, made your chest tighten.

“I don’t want you to push me away anymore,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to help you. But I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out.”

Jisung's lips twitched, as if he wanted to say more but couldn't find the right words. Instead, he simply nodded, the impact of his quiet screaming loudly. He didn't need to say anything else because you could feel the pain in his chest and all the frustration he'd been carrying around for too long.

For a long time, the two of you merely sat there, your quiet now distinct. It wasn't the crushing stillness of earlier, but one filled with empathy, even if neither of you understood exactly how to mend anything.

After a while, Jisung reached out, his hand hesitating before softly stroking your arm. The warmth of his fingers across your skin brought back memories of how simple things had been between you two. He didn't say anything unnecessary, but you could sense his apology in the way he held his hand there, letting you know he was sincerely sorry.

"I'll try to do better," he answered simply and softly. "I will try to let you in more. I do not want to push you away anymore."

You nodded, your heart still heavy but not as broken as it had been moments ago. “I just want to be there for you, Jisung,” you said softly. “I don’t want you to have to go through everything alone.”

The quiet stretched again, but this time, it felt different. It felt like a beginning. Neither of you knew how to fix everything right away, but you both knew that you wanted to try. And sometimes, that was enough.

Jisung shifted closer, his hand still resting on your arm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel so distant from each other. There were still things left unsaid, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were both here, both willing to try again.

felix

The hours passed by in agonizing silence, the kind that made everything seem more impossible than it actually was and stretched and clawed at your thoughts. Nothing could take away the icy emptiness that had descended between you and Felix, even as you lay there, wrapped up inside yourself, listening to the gentle buzz of the night.

When the world got too much, he would wrap up with you and reassure you with soft touches and quiet words. You recalled the warmth you had previously enjoyed. Now, it felt like a lifetime ago. His distance was more than just physical; it was something that made your chest hurt since you didn't know how to make it better.

But as much as you wanted to lie there, to let the hurt consume you, you couldn't. You couldn't just wait and wonder if things would somehow improve on their own. You were the kind of person who needed closure, who needed to understand what was happening. And right now, Felix was slipping through your fingers, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

You sat up, wiping at your tear-streaked face, and glanced towards the living room. The faint glow from the TV still flickered through the hallway, casting a cold light on the darkness of the apartment. You could feel the weight of the choice pressing down on you: Should you leave him be, give him the space he seemed to want, or should you push through, confront him, and demand answers?

You hesitated for quite some time. But then you made a decision. You needed answers. You needed to understand why the person you loved had abruptly shifted into someone you didn't recognize. You moved along the hallway, the apartment's silence more oppressive than before.

Felix kept his position on the couch, his eyes looking blankly at the TV, his posture tight and walled off. You stayed there for a moment, studying him, trying to determine whether he noticed your presence.

His eyes didn’t leave the screen. His face remained unreadable.

"Felix," you said again, your voice steady but laced with emotion. This time, there was no hesitation in your tone, no softness. You needed him to hear you.

He didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the tension in the room shift slightly, as if he knew you were waiting for him to say something. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter than before.

“I told you I don’t want to talk,” he said, almost in a whisper. But this time, the words weren’t as sharp. There was something else in his voice, something you hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t anger, but a deep exhaustion, a weariness that seemed to go beyond just physical fatigue.

You didn’t take a step back this time. Instead, you closed the distance between you, sitting on the arm of the couch, your hand brushing lightly against his. It was small, a gesture that once would have meant nothing, but now it felt like everything. You needed him to know you were still here, that you hadn’t given up.

“Felix,” you repeated, softer this time, your voice trembling with vulnerability. “I know something’s bothering you. And I get it. You don’t have to talk right now, if you’re not ready. But I need to know—am I the problem?”

When you asked the question, his head snapped towards you, his eyes wide with amazement, as if he had never considered it before. For a brief moment, his gaze softened, and you thought you caught a glimpse of the old Felix, the one who used to share everything with you, the one who would always turn to you when the world got too much.

"Of course not," he said gently, his voice husky. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with his palms before running them through his hair. "You aren't the problem. "I just...I’m a mess right now, okay? I did not mean to push you away. I didn't know how to deal with it, and I thought if I could draw back, maybe it would get better.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time in what felt like days, you understood. Felix had always been the strong one, the person who seemed so capable of handling everything on his own. But now you saw how much he was struggling beneath the surface, how much he had been hiding.

"You don’t have to carry it all alone," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "Felix, we’ve always been a team. You can lean on me. You don’t have to push me away just because you’re having a hard time."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze flickering to the floor, then back up to you. The tension in his shoulders finally seemed to ease, and he let out a long breath. It was as though a weight was slowly lifting, and for the first time in days, you saw a glimpse of the Felix you had known and loved.

“I’m scared,” he admitted softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m scared of being a burden. I’m scared that if I show you how much I’m struggling, you’ll leave. I’m scared you won’t love me if I’m not always the one who has everything together.”

The rawness of his confession hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you just sat there, your heart aching for him. You had always known Felix to be strong, but in this moment, you realized just how vulnerable he was beneath it all, and how much he had been carrying alone.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me, Felix,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I love you, all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between. You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

Felix finally looked at you, his eyes wide, his expression almost disbelieving. The walls that had been built up around him seemed to crack ever so slightly, and you could see the relief in his eyes. He swallowed hard, then reached out, taking your hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his grip tightening around your fingers. “I’ve been pushing you away for no reason. I was just so scared.”

You shook your head gently, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, Felix. You don’t have to be scared. We’ll get through this together.”

For a minute, you just stood there, the two of you having an unsaid understanding. There was still a lot to sort out, and the path ahead would be difficult, but you knew that if you were both ready to try, you could do it.

As Felix drew in closer, resting his forehead against yours, you felt the warmth of his presence return, as well as the relief that you hadn't lost him despite everything. Not yet.

And for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe that things could be better.

seungmin

The morning light filtered softly through the kitchen windows, casting a dull glow over the room. Seungmin walked in, a faint sigh escaping his lips as he poured himself a cup of coffee, his mind still half-occupied by the rehearsals and everything waiting for him outside the walls of this apartment. But as he sat down at the breakfast table, he was immediately hit with an unexpected shift in the air.

There was no cheerful greeting from you, no attempt to share a quiet moment together before the day began. Instead, you sat across from him, silently eating your breakfast, your gaze fixed on the plate in front of you. Usually, you’d be making something small, even if it was just a quick toast or coffee, a gesture that made mornings feel connected. But today, the stillness felt suffocating.

Seungmin frowned, the weight of the silence pressing down on him. He didn’t quite understand why you weren’t speaking, but he knew something wasn’t right. He set his cup down, meeting your eyes for the briefest of moments before his voice broke through the quiet.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone a bit strained, not sure if he was even ready to hear the answer.

You did not respond immediately away, keeping your gaze fixed on your food and your jaw tight as if the words you wanted to say were locked between your teeth. But they didn't come, and your silence spoke louder than any argument. Seungmin waited, his patience dwindling as time passed.

Finally, you scoffed, making a little but harsh sound that seemed to cut through the air, and you stood up from the table, pushing your chair back with an audible scrape.

"I don’t know, Seungmin," you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration, barely holding back the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I don’t matter to you."

He blinked, taken aback by the intensity of your words. Before he could respond, you stormed off, the door to the bedroom slamming shut behind you with a force that rattled the still air. Seungmin sat there, the taste of the bitter coffee suddenly unfamiliar in his mouth, his mind spinning. He hadn’t expected this. Not after everything that had happened last night.

The rest of the day felt like a blur. He went through the motions work, meetings, rehearsals but your words lingered in his mind, a constant hum of unease. By the time he returned home that evening, the tension was unbearable. He hesitated by the front door, unsure of what to expect. Normally, he would have found you sitting on the couch, or you would have greeted him with a small smile, asking about his day. But tonight, there was only silence.

He walked into the apartment, his footsteps faltering slightly as he noticed you in the corner of the living room, avoiding his gaze completely. You sat curled up on the couch, eyes fixed on the television but not really seeing anything at all. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of you, and the hollow feeling in his chest deepened.

"Can we talk?" he asked carefully, his voice laced with concern. His eyes searched yours for any sign that you were ready to listen.

You didn't respond immediately, your body rigid and remote. His heart fell as he saw the look on your face, as if a part of you had closed off, trapped behind a door he couldn't open. "Please," he said, getting closer. "I don't know what's going on, but..." "I can't fix this unless you tell me."

You snapped your head up, your eyes burning with a mix of pain and frustration. Your voice was more emotional than usual. "You don't get it, do you, Seungmin?" You stood up abruptly, raising your voice with each word. "I have tried. I've been trying for days to get you to come see me and realize that something is wrong! But all you have done is brush me off, make me feel like I’m too much for you, like I’m just… clingy."

His eyes widened in realization, the words you had uttered earlier in the morning returning to him with a crushing force. He had no idea it had gotten this bad, nor did he realize how much his words had hurt you until now. And it stung when the weight of his own stupidity fell on him. You carried on, your voice cracking as you talked.

"You've been really distant, Seungmin. And when I try to talk to you or look for your attention, you just push me away. You make me feel as though I am a burden. And I can't keep pretending that I don't feel it.”

Seungmin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He stood there, completely stunned, his chest tightening with regret. He had been so wrapped up in his own stress and exhaustion, so focused on his own battles, that he hadn’t realized how far apart you had grown, how much pain you had been quietly carrying.

He swallowed hard, stepping closer, his voice small now, barely a whisper. "I never meant to make you feel that way. I… I didn’t realize how much my actions were hurting you."

But your anger had already started to bubble back up. You shook your head, arms crossed tightly against your chest. "How could you not realize, Seungmin? How could you not see how much I’m struggling with this? I needed you, but you’ve been so… so cold." You paused, your breath shallow. "I needed you to care. To see me."

The words stung like salt in an open wound, but Seungmin couldn’t deny the truth in them. His heart clenched, and without thinking, he moved toward you, pulling you into his arms before you could step away.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to make you feel invisible, or like you were too much. I’ve been so caught up in everything that I forgot to see you, to notice what I was doing to us." He held you tighter, his grip desperate now, like he was trying to hold onto something he feared was slipping away. "Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose you."

Your body trembled against him, but for the first time in what felt like ages, you didn’t pull away. You rested your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath, your emotions swirling but slowly softening under his touch.

"I just need you to be present, Seungmin," you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. "I need to know that you’re here with me. That I matter to you."

"I hear you," he whispered softly, gently touching your face and lifting your head to meet his gaze. His embrace was raw and vulnerable in a way you had not seen before. "I hear you, and I promise to do better." I will make you feel seen. I will make sure you understand how much you mean to me."

You nodded softly, your heart aching but glad for his genuine remarks. The path to healing would take time, but for the first time in a long time, you felt confident that he would accompany you on it.

I.N

The next day, Jeongin arrived at your apartment, his normal bright smile on his face as he walked through the door. It was as if yesterday had never happened. His aura was light and carefree, as if he hadn't just disrupted the peace you had previously enjoyed in your relationship.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling from his cold demeanor the night before. The hurt persisted, and you couldn't shake the weight of his words. Stop being so clingy. It wasn't the first time someone had made you feel small, but it hurt more than you expected, especially coming from him.

You didn't answer as usual, and you didn't greet him with the warmth he had grown to expect. Instead, you kept your distance by giving him short, clipped answers. You preoccupied yourself with little things in the apartment, refusing to make eye contact in the hopes that the stillness would bridge the gap between you. The tension in the room, however, was palpable.

Jeongin didn't seem to notice right away. He went about his usual business, jokingly discussing his day and laughing as if everything was alright. When he reached for your hand, you automatically pushed it away, indicating that something was wrong. His smile faltered, and the warmth in his eyes was gradually replaced by confusion.

"Hey," he said, voice soft, the smile still not fully gone but now laced with a hint of concern. "What's wrong?"

You looked up at him, saw the real confusion in his eyes, and almost let it go. Almost let go of your pain for his smile, for the Jeongin you adored. But the words you'd been keeping in all day sprang to the surface. "What was that yesterday?" You snapped, your voice filled with emotion. The anger, hurt, and confusion you'd been harboring all night had finally bubbled over. "You were an entirely different person. One minute you were fine the next you were pushing me away, telling me I was too clingy. What was that?"

Jeongin blinked, taken aback by your strong tone, his eyes wide as if he had not expected such an outburst. His posture tensed, and for a brief period, you could see the walls he had built to protect himself from whatever discomfort was brewing inside. But that didn't erase the fact that his actions had harmed you more than he knew.

"If you want to act like that, maybe we should just break up," you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, a mix of hurt and frustration in your voice. "I don't want to be with someone who suddenly treats me like I'm a burden just because they're worried about what others think.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Jeongin’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as if the idea of you breaking up was the last thing he expected. His eyes softened slightly, and his voice became almost breathless as he spoke, not quite believing what you’d just said.

“Wait… what?” His voice wavered, the hurt in his eyes clear now. "No, no, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to hurt you."

You crossed your arms, feeling the burn of frustration building again. You needed answers. “Then what was it, Jeongin? Why did you act like that? I thought we were fine, but now… now I don’t know where I stand with you.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands running through his hair as he paced for a moment, clearly struggling to find the right words. After a beat of silence, he stopped in front of you, meeting your eyes, this time with a vulnerability that was both unexpected and painfully familiar.

“I… I love you," he began, his voice steady but filled with an edge of fear. "I love you so much, but I was afraid… I was afraid that if we showed too much PDA, the members would tease me relentlessly. They’re always joking about stuff like that, and I didn’t want them to make fun of me, of us."

The explanation hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, stunned. Was this actually the reason? Was he so concerned about what his members thought that he distanced himself from you, his girlfriend, in front of them? You struggled to wrap your head around it.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" The question fell out of your mouth before you could think. The thought of it twisted something inside you, the possibility that he might consider you as something to hide rather than something to be proud of.

Jeongin’s face immediately morphed into one of panic, as if the very suggestion cut him deeper than anything you could have said. “No! God, no. I would never—” He stepped forward, his hands reaching for you, but you instinctively took a small step back. He stopped, his hands falling to his sides, the hurt in his eyes obvious now.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his confession hanging between you two. "I never meant for you to feel like that. I just… I just didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want the members to think I was soft or that I couldn’t keep my cool. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. I’m sorry for pushing you away, for making you feel like I didn’t care about you."

His words were a mix of regret and sincerity, and as he spoke, you could feel the depth of his struggle, the dread of being judged and ridiculed that kept him from completely being himself with you. It wasn't that he didn't love you; it was just that he hadn't understood how to balance his feelings with the demands of his life.

You stood there, silent for a moment, contemplating what he had just said. Your heart was still raw, but you could see remorse in his eyes and feel it in the way he stood, as if he was waiting for you to decide what to do next.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter than before, but the hurt remained beneath the surface. "I don't care what others say, Jeongin. I care about us. I want to be able to express my love for you without having to worry about what others might say."

He nodded quickly, his stare focused, and took a slight step toward you. "I promise I won't do it again. I will never make you feel that you are too much, or that I am embarrassed by you. You are more than just someone I care about; you are someone I am proud of. And I will do better. I will."

You held onto his gaze, seeing the honesty in his eyes and sensing the truth in his words. It was not a simple fix. There was work to be done and trust to be rebuilt, but you could tell right away that he was eager to give it his all.

"I just need you to be honest with me," you muttered, feeling the tension between you begin to ease. "That's all I want."

Jeongin's expression softened as he made one final step forward, closing the gap between you. His hands met yours, and his contact was warm and grounded. "I'm here. I'm actually here. And I will make sure you never feel that way again."

//

(❌ proofread)

masterlist.

[avonnimimi]

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Attitude Adjustment

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an: this is my first little drabble, please be nice, I hope you all like it, lmk if you want more or any other characters my asks are opennnn:) (no i did not spell check this or read it over) MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: college!au, kind of porn with a plot, mean!vi, strap-on-sex (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving) brat taming?, dom!vi, one pussy slap, multiple + forced orgasms, edging?, choking, degrading names, hair pulling, breeding kink, cursing. (lmk if i missed anything)

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It wasn't like you to be so miserable especially not toward Violet. But she'd been gone for four whole weeks, off training with an elite professional boxer, and it was driving you insane.

Sure, she called every night, texted you every morning, and checked in whenever she could, but now it was ovulation week, and she knew it. She knew exactly what her absence would do to you.

You'd tried to take care of yourself, desperate for relief, but your fingers couldn't fill you the way hers did.

Frustration festered in your chest, spiraling into a dull ache that left you feeling empty and irritable. Now, you were curled up in your dorm bed, naked, fat tears brimming in your eyes as you clutched the phone.

It vibrated in your hand.

Vi was calling.

You answered immediately.

"Hey, princess," her familiar voice drawled, warm and affectionate.

You huffed. "Hi, Violet."

She chuckled softly, but there was concern in her tone. "What's wrong?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

Instead, you did something you never thought you'd do-you hung up.

Vi always made you feel heard and loved, but the irritation of missing her, the ache in your chest and between your legs, had you acting out of character.

You buried your face in the pillow, ignoring the buzz of your phone as it vibrated relentlessly for the next 15 minutes. Call after call, message after message, it was all Vi.

Still, you didn't respond. Your body, overwhelmed by exhaustion and longing, eventually lulled you to sleep.

But the peace didn't last long.

A loud pounding on your dorm door startled you awake. Your heart leaped into your throat as you scrambled for your phone, ready to speed-dial Vi, but what could she do? She was miles away.

Tugging one of Vi's old shirts over your bare body, you crept to the door. Your hands trembled as you unlocked it, cautiously pulling it open.

"V-Vi?" There she was, in all her glory, and she looked furious. She didn’t tell you she was going to be back early.

You stepped back, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the oversized shirt, eyes wide. Vi didn't say a word as she pushed the door open wider, her sneakers heavy against the floor as she made her way to your couch.

She sat down, legs spread wide, one hand resting on her thigh. "You gonna explain what the fuck that was earlier?"

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the thick tension in the room.

You closed the door quietly, too scared to meet her eyes. You'd rarely seen Vi upset, but this? This was something else entirely.

"C'mere," she commanded.

You hesitated but obeyed, walking over to stand in front of her. Her piercing gaze followed you as you slowly straddled her lap, your legs trembling slightly as you draped them over hers. Her hands immediately gripped your hips, pulling you flush against her chest.

You froze, your breath hitching when you felt her bulge press against your clit.

"Not gonna speak?" she murmured, her voice low and dangerous.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, but Vi

wasn't having it. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her. Her thumb brushed over your bottom lip, her eyes dark with frustration and something deeper desire.

"You never use your mouth when you're supposed to," she said, her tone laced with mock disappointment. "Let's put it to use now."

A needy whimper escaped you. "I'm sorry," you whispered, but the words sounded weak even to your own ears.

Vi didn't respond. She slid two fingers into your mouth, her calloused fingertips brushing against your tongue.

Instinctively, you sucked, hollowing your cheeks in a desperate attempt to please her.

Her eyes fixated on you, watching the way your puffy lips wrapped around her fingers. Her thumb stroked your jawline, almost as if she was admiring her handiwork.

Then she adjusted in her seat, her hips shifting so that her bulge pressed harder against your sensitive clit. The friction sent a shockwave through your body, and a moan escaped your lips, muffled by her fingers.

Vi smirked, her annoyance melting into something far more predatory.

"Yeah," she muttered, her voice a low rumble. "That's what I thought."

Her tone sent a shiver down your spine, and when she pushed her fingers deeper, you gagged, your throat tightening around them. A satisfied hum rumbled in her chest as she slowly withdrew her fingers, a thin string of saliva still connecting you.

Before you could catch your breath, Vi scooped you up effortlessly, her strong arms cradling you against her chest. Desperate to make amends, your lips found her neck, kissing, licking, and sucking across her warm skin in frantic, apologetic motions.

She didn't say a word, her expression unreadable, but the heat of her gaze pinned you in place as she carried you to the bed. Gently but firmly, she set you down, her fingers already tugging at the hem of your shirt. She pulled it off in one smooth motion, leaving you bare and exposed under her intense scrutiny.

"Ass up. Now."

Her voice was low and commanding, leaving no room for argument. Your body moved instinctively, heart pounding as you obeyed, presenting yourself just the way she liked.

You felt her shift behind you, her calloused fingers spreading your slick folds with ease. "Fuck me," she groaned, her voice dripping with need.

"So fucking wet. This what you wanted? Wanted this slutty little pussy pounded in, huh?"

When you didn't answer fast enough, a sharp, stinging slap landed right on your swollen clit, sending a jolt through your body.

"Yes!" you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation. "Wanted it so bad, Vi... please," you whined, your hips instinctively pushing back toward her.

Your back arched deeper, presenting yourself fully, your body begging for her to finally give you what you needed. The tension in the air was electric, leaving you waiting, trembling with anticipation.

"I know, baby, I know," she murmured, her voice low and soothing as her thumb pressed against your puffy clit, tracing tight, deliberate circles over the sensitive bud. The touch was perfect-just what you'd been craving for weeks.

You clutched the sheets beneath you, a shaky sigh escaping your lips as relief washed over you. Finally, finally, she was giving your needy pussy attention. Soft whimpers spilled from your mouth, your hips grinding back into her hand, desperate for more.

"Mhm, yeah," she cooed, her voice laced with teasing affection. "My baby gets so miserable when she doesn't get what she wants, huh?"

Before you could respond, her middle finger slid inside you with ease, her knuckles brushing against your entrance. The stretch sent sparks of pleasure coursing through your body, and your head fell back against the pillow.

"F-fuck.. Vi," you gasped, your voice trembling as your walls clenched around her.

Before you could fully adjust, she slid in another finger, the stretch making your walls flutter around her. "But y'know what I don't like?" she asked, her tone sharp, almost mocking.

You gasped as her thrusts grew deeper, faster, leaving no room for your protests. "V-Vi, wait-" you stammered, your voice barely above a whine.

"I don't like when my girl gets all bratty just because she doesn't get her greedy little cunt stuffed up," she growled, her voice dripping with dominance. Without hesitation, she added a third finger, forcing another gasp from your lips.

"Fucking slut," she spat, her fingers curling perfectly to press against that sensitive, squishy spot deep inside your gummy walls. "So desperate."

The obscene squelching of your soaked pussy filled the room, mingling with your broken moans that grew louder with every thrust. Your body trembled, completely at her mercy, as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

—

Three orgasms in, Vi had her strap so deep inside you that it felt like she was rearranging your insides. She hit every spot so perfectly you couldn’t even think straight. Your vision blurred, stars swimming behind your eyelids. Your face was smashed into the pillows, her hand pressing down hard to keep you there. She didn’t want to hear a single sound out of you, but fuck, you couldn’t help it. You tried to stay quiet, but the way she was fucking you? It was impossible. She’d never been this rough before. Was it bad that you liked it? No. Of course you liked it. You loved it.

You tried to say something, tried to beg, or explain yourself. You just wanted her to understand, you missed her, that’s why you acted out, that’s why you got upset. But the words wouldn’t come.

“You want a break? Hm?” she sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. You couldn’t even answer, too fucked out to form anything close to a response. Your pussy clenched around her cock like it was starving for it, drooling all over her strap. She noticed, of course. How couldn’t she?

She grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you up, dragging your body back against hers until your back arched so deep it nearly hurt. “Fuckin’ knew it,” she growled in your ear, slamming into you even harder. “Such a cockslut. You don’t need a break, you need me to ruin you.”

And you did. God, you did.

Your mouth hung open, words replaced by gasps and moans you couldn’t hold back. You could barely think, let alone speak. She shoved your face back into the pillows like she was disgusted by the sound of you, pulling out until just the tip of her strap sat there, teasing you, before slamming back inside without warning. You cried out, fat tears streaking down your face, soaking into the sheets.

“Shut the fuck up,” she snapped, giving your hair another sharp tug. You tried. you really did, but every thrust knocked the air out of you, made your body betray you all over again. Your cunt was so wet, so messy, it was loud enough to echo in the room. Vi fucked you like she didn’t care, like you weren’t hers, and you fucking loved it.

Your hips moved on their own, trying to meet her thrusts, but she wasn’t having it. She pinned you down harder, her grip unrelenting, her pace brutal. You felt like you were falling apart under her, barely holding on, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the way she fucked you.

Your body gave her all the answers she needed—your pussy creaming for her, clenching so tight it felt like you never wanted to let her go. And you didn’t. You didn’t care how rough she was, how raw this felt. You wanted her to keep going, to leave you wrecked. You wanted all of it.

“Mmm, cumming—gonna cum… V-Vi, I’m gonna cum again, fuckkkkk—” you whined, your voice cracking as your body trembled. But just as you were about to fall apart, she pulled out, leaving you empty, throbbing, and desperate. You barely had time to complain before she flipped you onto your back, manhandling you into a brutal mating press. Your knees were pushed up damn near to your shoulders, leaving you completely exposed.

“Don’t fucking cum,” she growled, her voice low and mean. “Gonna show you what happens when you pull bullshit with me.”

Before you could even catch your breath, she slammed her cock back inside you, filling you to the hilt in one sharp thrust. You cried out, your hands clawing at the sheets, but she didn’t care. Her thumb found your clit, rubbing it just enough to make your head spin. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted you to break. She wanted you to cum—so she could punish you for it.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me? Don’t cum, baby,” she teased, grinning down at you like she had you completely figured out. And she did. You were already shaking, your body on fire, the pressure building so fast it felt like you were going to explode.

“W-wait! No, c-can’t—” you babbled, words falling apart as you hiccupped between gasps. You were so close it hurt, and she knew it. She fucking knew.

“Fuck, I wish I could get you pregnant,” she said, her voice rough and breathless. “Breed this fucking tight cunt.”

The filthy words sent your mind reeling, your pussy clenching hard around her cock. You couldn’t stop it—your body betrayed you completely. But that’s exactly what she wanted.

You came hard—so hard you couldn’t breathe. Your chest heaved, your body spasming uncontrollably, but Vi didn’t stop. Not even for a second. “Yeahhh,” she groaned, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Cream all over this dick. Let me see it, baby.” Her words were filthy, but the way her hips snapped into you made it impossible to care. You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even think. The overstimulation was unbearable, every nerve in your body lit up and sparking like fireworks.

Her hand found your throat, her grip firm but teasing, just enough to make you whimper. “Whose pussy is this, huh? Tell me,” she growled, her tone sharp, commanding. Her eyes bore into you as her thumb pressed into the side of your neck, daring you to answer. But you couldn’t. You were still cumming, your body jerking beneath her as she drilled into you, her pace unrelenting. Her cock slammed so deep it felt like she was splitting you open, her tip slamming into your cervix over and over again, sending sharp waves of pleasure and pain straight through you.

“You can’t even talk, can you?” she sneered, her lips curling into a cocky grin. “God, look at you. Fucking wrecked. You like this, don’t you? Being my little cumdump?”

Her thumb dragged over your clit again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made the pressure inside you skyrocket all over again. Your legs trembled violently, your back arching so hard it felt like you’d snap in half. “Come on, baby,” she taunted. “Wonder if I can make this little pussy squirt. You wanna squirt for me? Hm? I know you do.”

“N-no! I can’t—I c-can’t—” you babbled, tears streaming down your face. But your body betrayed you. The way your pussy clenched around her cock, the way you gushed every time she hit that perfect spot—it told her everything she needed to know.

“Yeah, you can,” she growled, leaning in closer, her lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna squirt for me, baby. Gonna fucking soak me, aren’t you? I know this pussy can do it. Fuck, I wish I could knock you up—fill you up with my cum and watch you take every drop. I’d breed this tight little cunt every fucking day if I could.”

Her filthy words sent your mind spiraling, the heat in your stomach boiling over. “Vi, please!” you sobbed, but you didn’t even know what you were begging for. Relief? More? It didn’t matter—she wasn’t stopping.

“Bet you’d look so fucking good, all round and full with my baby,” she continued, her voice rough and breathless. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Make you a mommy, let me breed you over and over until this pussy’s mine forever?”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and the pressure inside you snapped all at once. You screamed, your body locking up as a gush of wetness exploded from you, soaking her cock, her thighs, the sheets—everything. She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, her thrusts pushing you through it as more and more juices poured out of you, leaving you shaking and completely spent.

“There it is,” she groaned, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Knew you had it in you. Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, baby. Look at this messy little pussy.” Her hands gripped your thighs, pinning you down as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure. Your body twitched and jerked with every thrust, tears streaming down your face, but she wasn’t letting up just yet.

“Vi, please,” you cried, your voice hoarse and broken. “C-can’t—too much—”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she slowed down, her thrusts easing until she pulled out completely. You collapsed onto the bed, trembling and gasping for air, your body completely wrecked. Vi stayed there for a moment, watching you, her chest heaving as she caught her own breath. Her cocky smirk was painted across her face, but there was something softer in her eyes now, a tenderness creeping in as she took in the mess she’d made of you.

“Fuck, baby,” she murmured, leaning down to brush her lips against your temple. “You okay? You still with me?”

You nodded weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yeah… just… fuck.”

Vi laughed softly, her hand coming up to stroke your hair. “Yeah, you’re a mess,” she teased, her tone gentler now. She pulled the strap off and tossed it aside, then scooped you up into her arms, holding you close against her chest. “Shhh, it’s okay. I got you.”

She pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, anywhere she could reach, her hands rubbing soothing circles into your back. “You did so good for me, baby. So fucking good,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth.

You buried your face in her neck, letting her steady heartbeat calm you. She stayed like that for a while, just holding you, until your breathing evened out. Then she shifted, reaching over to grab a towel. “Hold still, sweetheart. Let me clean you up,” she said softly.

Her touch was careful but firm as she wiped you down, murmuring soft apologies whenever you flinched from sensitivity. She took her time, making sure you were completely clean before grabbing a fresh blanket to wrap around both of you. Once she was satisfied, she pulled you back into her arms, tucking you against her like she never wanted to let you go.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked again, tilting your chin up so she could look into your eyes. “I didn’t go too hard, did I? You’d tell me if I did?”

You shook your head, a tired smile tugging at your lips. “No… it was perfect. You’re perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Vi smiled back, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “Nah, you’re the perfect one,” she said softly. She kissed you again, slow and tender, before pulling you even closer. “Close your eyes, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

You melted into her, letting her warmth and soft words lull you into a peaceful haze. She stayed awake a little longer, stroking your hair and whispering sweet things, her voice the last thing you heard before sleep took you.

—————————————————————————

this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

[acid-ixx]

that's my type! (again &. again drabble)

ft. yandere john constantine x gn! neglected reader w/ the batfamily

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

absolute shitpost, but i keep thinking in my series, again &. again, the awkward tension of having to reject all your suitors right in front of your family.

they don't explicitly force you to tell anyone off – suddenly, bruce believed in the means of gentle parenting after your abduction – but you can tell with their expectant eyes and damian's harsh glares or cass' fighting stance against the small crowd, that if you don't play with their whims, there might be more than broken bones and sore bodies after, compared to simply rejecting them as nicely as you could.

it's kind of like a peace treaty, a silent agreement between your side and theirs to ensure no harm befalls anyone you're close to, if you think about it.

you're still too considerate for your own good, after all.

"... sorry, haha... i'm not interested in dating any one of you right now," your voice is faint like the ghastly whispers of the hallways you're once subjected to, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, eyes downcast in fear of watching their reactions churn out.

if you don't take kindly to the past rejection of your family, then what of them?

imagine the silence that ensues first, then the short celebration after from your family's side. steph shoots your love interests a harsh glance, shooing them away in her high-pitched mockery paired with a mean grin and a tongue sticking out at the heartbreak plastered all over their faces.

there's a brief, "hn," on damian's side. despite the short reply and his still-crossed arms, you can tell it's a tone of satisfaction with just how his lips quirks up at the corner of his mouth.

you look away when your eyes meet his.

at first, you braced for the blinding shame that overcomes your being, these were people precious to you after all. yet the more you think about yourself even further, the more the cup spills with overwhelming anger instead.

anger at just how you allowed your sardonic, dictatorial family the belief that they could just control who you should and shouldn't spend your years of romantic pursuits with.

it's your dating life, not theirs! and you're a full-fledged adult, mind them!

no! this shouldn't be their moment, you shouldn't lose your dignity and reputation, seen as someone in the public eye allowing the very same people who estranged them the delusion of control over your emotional autonomy to romantic feelings.

you don't allow the time to stretch even further, touching your precious amber necklace when you're sure nobody's looking. it's gifted by someone special, and you hope your beloved on the other side, in another dimension, could hear your distressed signals.

there's an unsound churn, a melodic beat akin to the thrum of a heart that plays mechanically at the pattern your fingers run on the shiny crystal. a warm, intangible glow encases your body like a hug, he'll be here for you soon.

then before the celebration ensues, before dick could explode with absolute joy, praising his baby bird about how he's so proud that they're prioritizing themself or any other patronizing bullshit he wants to splurge, or before bruce can come over to you to give you a pat on the head, possibly even an awkward sidehug, and one of his rare smiles; you breath heavily, then with all your heart, retort with:

"— in fact," your voice booms with a sudden assertiveness that shocks even you, commanding everyone's attention on your furrowed brows and tired glare at the nuisance they're causing. once their eyes are looking expectedly on you, you continue with no hesitation.

"...i'm- well... i'm actually into older men...

— hell, i'm dating one right now..."

a magic circle appears right behind you, encasing your form in a sheer, yellow glow. goosebumps erode from across your body, both from giddy anticipation and the dramatic entry of wind that kisses your skin cooly.

after a momentary beat, alongside watching your wide-eyed crowd, john fucking constantine steps out of the space, his arms already wrapped dangerously close to your hips to be considered not intimate. you turn your back, head meeting his chest, and bring your arms to envelop his shoulders.

he smells of booze and pride.

"miss me already, darlin'?" john laughs and sweetly kisses your sweaty forehead, you giggle at the ticklish sensation of his shaved beard hovering above your head and the faint scent of cigarettes hitting your nostrils.

"oh, more than you could ever know, babe."

his lips find their way to your mouth in a quick peck, as your nose nuzzles with his. there were no other sounds surrounding you other than your shy laughter when his hands explored further below your hips.

after a moment of love-filled gazes, he turns his head to the crowd and offers them a bemused smile, the expressions of those watching makes your shameless pda all the more worthwhile.

alfred's jaw drops to the floor, the tray on his hands cluttering on soft, velvety capets, poor him. even your father couldn't even believe, in all his years of living, that this man had the balls of steel stealing the heart of his precious child.

he doesn't even have the contingency plan for- for this...!

cue the absolute shitshow that plays in everyone else's mind, as you try to convince your boyfriend to get you both out of the place because sloppily making out with you and fondling with the sensitive parts of your body in front of your suitors and family isn't the best course of action if he wants to lose all his limbs.

jason already got his guns out, damian his sword, and duke wouldn't waste a beat triggering his metahuman powers— you know your man, constantine, is a capable lover and fighter with years of experience, but against a crowd of metahuman love interests and a literal house full of trained combatants, you don't want him to sore his body out protecting you before the real fun begins in your shared bed.

all that trouble, when he's capable of teleporting you both away into a safer area, a different dimension where it's just you two. and, you know...

his hand playing with the fat of your ass is already enough to cause a heart attack for all of them, anyways.

a/n: woah, my writing style fluctuates a lot. as i've stated, the more i become invested with the dc fandom, the more i want to branch out with other characters too. i also want more creative plots ngl. this is inspired by my own fic, just a taste. please leave comments below, it's my main motivation bec i'm an attention whore (slash jay) and my works have been flopping lately LMAO. i hope you guys become as feral as i am for this british man.

[finelinevogue]

start again

summary - you and azriel are going through the mating frenzy [ 18+ WARNING ]

word count - ~1k

🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇

“I-I can’t.” You whimpered as Azriel pulled you up and onto his lap, his cock still snug inside of you.

“You can and you will.”

Azriel tried to sound demanding and strong, but in reality he was falling to pieces no thanks to the mating bond that was alight between you and him.

You panted heavily as your arms wrapped around his neck, scrunching at the wisps of hair on the back of his neck to exert some of the tension your body was feeling.

Azriel’s arms sat tight around your waist, keeping you firmly where he wanted you - together.

“Fuck.”

His forehead dropped to your chest and you felt him breathe in heavily, drinking in the scent of you and the bond. It was utterly overwhelming and completely intoxicating.

Neither of you could get enough of each other - not even for a quick drink or rest.

If you and Azriel died because you couldn’t stop consummating the mating bond then it would be a lovely way to go.

You kissed his forehead as he shifted his hips up slightly. Your mouth dropped open at the feeling of him pushing further into you. This angle was neither new to you nor your favourite, but it felt all too consuming in that moment that you never wanted it to end.

Azriel pushed his hips up again and you started to understand the rhythm and pace he wanted, so you helped him by moving your body in tandem with his.

Your chest glided against his - bodies sticky and hot after being with each other for hours and hours now.

One of Azriel’s hands travelled down to your hip, pushing your body down with force as he moved down.

It was so overwhelming. You felt like you’d lost your mind.

Azrie untucked his head from your chest and nudged your face down to meet his. Your teeth clashed together in a messy kiss, both of you fighting for dominance even though you both knew he’d win in the end.

The room became hotter than it already was, the glow of many a candle burning as hot as your skin.

Your pace increased. You moved up and down quicker whilst your kisses became more and more urgent.

You whimpered as Azriel kept hitting the spot you knew would eventually be your downfall. You didn’t need to say anything for Azriel to know that he was doing things just right and to keep going. He’d learnt everything about your body and continued to with every stroke.

“Mother above…” Azriel muttered, his lips moving away from yours messily and head moving backwards as he came close to his release.

The feeling of your breasts moving up and down his chest was so erotic that you couldn’t form a single coherent thought. It was just pure bliss.

“Az…”

“I know, I know.” He said softly.

Because Azriel knew you so well he knew you’d not be able to reach a climax in this position without a little bit of help - not that he minded at all.

One of his hands moved from your hip to your clit, thumbing over the right spot well enough to make your toes curl and your mouth drop open as you tried to catch a breath.

Azriel noticed how quick your breathing was, his own a very similar pace, and took the opportunity to dive his teeth against your neck to kiss the tender skin there.

He’d already marked a few spots on your neck - bruising them nicely - but there was always room for another. You weren’t present enough to stop him, even though you’d shout at him for it in the morning.

“I’m…”

“Yeah…”

“Please.. Az….”

“I’ve got you. So… good.”

You and Azriel came together.

It was a pleasure like no other. Your body so heightened you thought you might visit heaven.

Azriel was tucked so far inside you, you could feel him come inside of you and claim you once again. The grunting sound he made when he came was so animalistic it almost made you want to come again.

Your body quickly slumped into his as your high started to lessen. Your eyes - which went starry - started to focus on the room again and on him. Your mate.

His arms were still tucked around you, holding you close.

“Will it ever stop feeling so good?” You chuckled breathlessly into his neck, finding home there for now as you came back to life.

“Probably not.”

“You’re literally dripping inside me and I already feel like we need to go again.”

It was Azriel’s turn to chuckle this time, “Fine by me.”

He flipped you onto your back and started kissing down your body ready to - as you put it - start again.

[solxamber]

Holding Them and Not Letting Go with: First Years

the rest will be in a separate post <3

Others: Housewardens + Jamil ; Vice housewardens + Rollo, Neige

Ace Trappola

Ace bounces into the room, still riding the high of his basketball victory. His grin is wide, and he’s practically glowing with confidence. “Alright, so are we going with Sprite or Coke for this exclusive VIP party?” he asks, digging through the mini fridge with exaggerated flair.

You don’t answer. Instead, you step closer and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a firm hug.

He freezes for a second before letting out a laugh, his tone teasing. “Wow, I didn’t realize winning a game made me this irresistible.” He turns his head to try and catch your expression, expecting a playful retort, but when you don’t let go or even laugh, his teasing fades.

“Hey,” he says more softly, twisting slightly to look at you. “You good?”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands still gripping his jersey. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, voice steady but warm. “I just… I love you, Ace. And I’m really, really proud of you.”

For a moment, he’s completely still, blinking at you like he can’t quite process your words. Then he lets out a shaky laugh, his arms coming up to pull you closer. “Don’t get all soft on me now,” he mutters, but there’s a tremor in his voice, and his hold on you is anything but casual.

Ace is the kind of guy who hides behind his jokes and bravado. He’s the loudest in the room, the one always cracking jokes to deflect attention from anything that might feel too serious or too vulnerable.

He plays it cool, like nothing ever really gets to him. But deep down, he’s always wondered if he’s enough—enough to be taken seriously, enough to make someone proud, enough to deserve the kind of unconditional love he’s always quietly craved.

Hearing you say those words, feeling the sincerity in your hug—it’s almost overwhelming. The teasing grin he wears so easily is replaced by something softer, something real.

He buries his face in your shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks,” he says, the single word carrying more weight than he usually lets on.

In your arms, Ace allows himself to feel it all—the pride, the love, the relief. He might joke about being irresistible or too cool for heartfelt moments, but the truth is, you make him feel like he doesn’t need to be anything other than himself. And that? That’s everything.

Deuce Spade

Deuce sits at his desk, the faint sound of pencil scratches and frustrated sighs filling the room. His brow is furrowed, and his leg bounces anxiously under the table. “Why can’t I get this?” he mutters, flipping through his notes for the hundredth time. “I should know this by now. I have to get this right.”

You watch him for a moment, heart aching at the stress etched into his face. He’s always trying so hard—pushing himself to be the perfect honor student, the model example. You know how much he wants to prove himself, but sometimes, he forgets that it’s okay to lean on others.

Without a word, you walk over and wrap your arms around him. At first, Deuce stiffens in surprise, but the tension melts away almost instantly as he leans into your embrace. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice a little shaky. “What’s this for?”

You don’t answer right away, just holding him tightly. His hands come up to rest on your arms, his grip firm, like he’s drawing strength from you. After a moment, though, he shifts slightly, craning his neck to look at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. “You’ve been holding on for a while…”

You smile, shaking your head gently. “I’m fine. I just… I’m really proud of you, Deuce. I see how hard you work, how much you care about doing your best. I don’t think you hear it enough, but I’m proud of you.”

For a moment, he’s silent, his wide eyes searching yours like he’s trying to make sure you mean it. And then, without warning, he pulls you back into the hug, tighter this time, his arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let go.

Deuce has spent so much of his life trying to prove himself—to his mom, to his teachers, to his classmates. He worries constantly about whether he’s good enough, whether he’ll ever live up to the expectations he’s set for himself. Deep down, there’s a part of him that fears he’ll always be that hotheaded troublemaker he used to be, no matter how hard he tries to change.

But in your arms, all of that seems to fade. When you tell him you’re proud of him, it feels like a gift he doesn’t quite deserve, but one he’s so grateful for that it hurts. He doesn’t feel like he has to pretend to be perfect or have it all figured out—not with you.

“You’re… you’re the best,” he mumbles into your shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

To Deuce, you’re like a miracle—a gift from the Sevens themselves. Someone who sees him for who he is and believes in him even when he’s struggling to believe in himself. And as he holds you close, he silently vows to keep doing his best—not just for himself, but for you, too.

Jack Howl

Jack sets the heavy crate down with ease, brushing his hands on his pants before glancing at you. “Alright, that’s the last one,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “You didn’t have to lift a finger. Told you I’d handle it.”

You smile at him, watching as he dusts himself off, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. Jack always insists on doing the hard work, carrying the weight—literally and figuratively. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for help, just powers through with quiet determination.

Before he can turn back to the next task, you step forward and wrap your arms around him. He stiffens slightly, caught off guard, but then his arms come up to hold you in return.

“What’s this for?” he asks, his voice soft but curious.

You don’t answer right away, simply holding him tighter. Jack stays quiet, but you can feel his tail wagging behind him, a faint swish against the ground. When you don’t let go, though, he starts to shift slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, concern evident in his tone. His ears flick nervously, his golden eyes scanning your face.

You smile up at him, shaking your head lightly. “I’m fine, Jack. I just… I just love you, and I’m really glad to have you in my life. You’re always looking out for me, always working so hard. I don’t think I say it enough, but I really appreciate you.”

For a moment, Jack just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he pulls you back into the hug, his grip firm and grounding. He doesn’t say anything, but his tail betrays him, wagging faster now, practically spinning like a motor.

Jack isn’t used to hearing things like that. He’s always been the dependable one, the one people rely on but rarely the one people go out of their way to thank. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’s only valued for his strength, for what he can do rather than who he is. It’s a quiet insecurity, one he keeps buried deep, but it’s there all the same.

But when you hold him like this, when you tell him how much he means to you, it feels like a weight has been lifted. You don’t just see him as the reliable guy who carries the heavy stuff or takes care of the hard work. You see him—Jack, with all his flaws and strengths, and you love him anyway.

His tail thumps against the ground now, a silent giveaway to how much your words mean to him. He doesn’t need to say anything; the way he holds you, the way his tail wags furiously, tells you everything.

In your arms, Jack feels something he’s not sure he’s ever felt before—completely understood and appreciated for who he is, not just what he can do. And for him, that’s more than enough.

Epel Felmier

The two of you were walking back to Ramshackle, Epel chatting animatedly about something funny that had happened during class. His hands were moving as he spoke, when a sudden whistling sound cut through the air.

You didn’t even have time to react before Epel’s hand shot out, summoning a precise burst of magic that sent the incoming magift disc flying back in the direction it came. It hit its mark with a loud clang before tumbling harmlessly to the ground.

“Idiots need to watch where they’re aiming,” he muttered, brushing it off like it was nothing. Then, without missing a beat, he reached for your hand, his grip firm yet casual as he led you back toward your dorm.

The moment you stepped inside, you turned to him, your arms wrapping around him tightly. He let out a small, surprised “Whoa,” his hands instinctively coming up to hold you back.

“Hey, what’s this for?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a bit of embarrassment. He hugged you back anyway, his fingers lightly rubbing your back, but when you didn’t pull away, his expression shifted to concern.

“You alright?” he asked, leaning back just enough to look at your face. “Did that disc scare ya? I didn’t think—”

“I’m fine,” you interrupted softly, squeezing him tighter. “I just love you, Epel. And that was so cool. You were so quick, and you didn’t even hesitate. I’m… I’m really lucky to have you.”

Epel blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process your words. Then, as your words sank in, his cheeks flushed a deep pink, and his lips curled into a small, bashful smile.

“You think… I’m cool?” he asked, his voice almost timid, as if he didn’t quite believe it.

“I know you are,” you said, your tone firm and sincere.

Something in him seemed to shift at that. Epel pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly now, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

He’d spent so much of his life feeling like he had to prove himself—to his family, to his classmates, even to himself. Being underestimated because of his height or his face had always left a bitter taste in his mouth, pushing him to work harder, fight stronger, and shout louder just to be taken seriously.

But in this moment, none of that mattered. You didn’t see him as fragile or weak, didn’t treat him like someone who needed to prove anything. You saw him for who he was, and you loved him for it.

The warmth in his chest spread to his face as he buried it against your neck, his arms tightening just a little more. He didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the silence speak for him.

When he finally did speak, his voice was quiet but steady. “I’m lucky to have you too, y’know. More’n I deserve.”

You smiled, holding him just as tightly, letting your presence remind him that he was already more than enough. For the first time in a long time, Epel felt like he didn’t need to prove a thing. You thought he was cool, and that was all he needed to hear.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was mid-sentence, his voice rising in animated fervor.

“And that’s why this tale of heroism directly correlates to Lord Malleus's own virtues! Truly, how could anyone miss the resemblance? Why, if they merely paid attention—”

You didn’t let him finish. Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, pressing your cheek against his chest.

Sebek froze instantly, the words dying in his throat. “Wha—? What are you doing?!” His voice pitched higher, equal parts flustered and confused.

His arms hovered awkwardly for a moment before he tentatively settled them around you, his usual composure crumbling. “Are you hurt? Is something wrong? Speak to me at once!”

When you didn’t respond immediately, Sebek’s grip tightened slightly, and he pulled back just enough to inspect you, his eyes scanning your face with concern. “What has happened? Are you unwell?”

You smiled softly at him, your fingers curling into his uniform as you leaned back into his chest. “I’m fine, Sebek. Really. I just love you.”

Sebek blinked, his mouth opening and closing as your words sank in. He seemed at a rare loss for words as you continued, “I love how passionate you are, how much you care about the things and people you love. It makes me love you even more.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his lips pressed together tightly. Then, without warning, he hugged you back gently, yet firmly, his arms encircling you as though he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“...I see,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.

Sebek had spent so much of his life trying to live up to expectations—his own, his family’s, even the ones he imagined Malleus might have for him. He had always been painfully aware of his mixed heritage and the silent whispers it inspired, of the way his fiery temper and unwavering loyalty often set him apart from others.

Yet with you, none of that seemed to matter. You didn’t judge him for his intensity or his quirks; you embraced them, cherished them, even. And in moments like this, when he felt your arms around him and heard your steady words of love, he was reminded that he didn’t need to prove himself to you.

You saw him—not just as a knight or a servant, but as Sebek.

“I…” His voice wavered for a moment before he steadied it. “I love you as well.”

The words were simple, but the way his arms tightened around you spoke volumes. For all his loud proclamations and larger-than-life demeanor, Sebek’s love was quiet and steadfast, an anchor that held firm against any storm.

And as he rested his chin atop your head, silently committing this moment to memory, he realized something: as long as he had you, everything else seemed just a little less important.

Masterlist

[tojiphile]

thinking about big boys who make it fit. you try to protest, fidget and squirm out of his calloused hands but he grips your waist firmly, pulling you back towards him.

“my darling girl,” he coos, “don’t you trust me?” he brushes a stray hair out of your face, wiping the tears streamed down furiously, your eyes squeezed shut. he laughs and presses a large hand to your stomach, “you’ll be a good girl for daddy, won’t you?”

through sobs, you find the strength to nod as he aligns himself at your entrance. he uses his thick fingers to spread your soaking cunt, the other hand guiding himself in slowly. “that’s it baby, you got this.” his fat cock inches his way in, and you feel the stretch, clenching down on him, shaking your head as if in a trance. he shushes you, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. “relax, it’ll hurt less.”

you heed his words and release the tension in your stomach. he audibly sighs as he continues pushing his way into you, causing you to whimper until the tip of his dick has pressed up against your cervix. satisfied, he traces the outline his cock is leaving in your tummy, giving it a squeeze as you barely get out the words, “so- full!” he laughs and grips your waist, pulling you off his cock and making you gasp at the sudden movement. before you have time to protest, he’s slamming himself into you again, the lewd sound of his balls slapping against your ass and both your groans fill the room. your cries of pain seem to only spur him on as he continues thrusting into you harshly.

“look at me,” he pants, “look at me while i fuck you silly.” you open your eyes only to meet his, then quickly shutting them in embarrassment. he laughs, “look at my sweet, darling girl, being fucked like the whore she is.” you whine in response but release a gasp when his fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing in quick circles and forcing your stomach to clench up. “don’t cum yet, my darling, hold it there, wait for me.”

you try your best to not cum, squirming from both the pain of him bottoming out and the pleasure from him toying with your sensitive bud. “i’m close baby, just say my name. say my name.” he can’t tell if you’re obedient, or just too fucked out to do anything but obey but when you cry out “daddy!” it’s all over for him.

“now.” he presses the bulge in your stomach down and you can feel the orgasmic joy washing over you like blinding lights, your body shaking, absolutely overwhelmed by him. he fucks you like a man in heat, bottomming out as he reaches his peak, gripping you hard. you can feel the warmth of his cum spreading in your cunt as he collapses on you, kissing your cheek.

TOJI FUSHIGURO, gojo satoru, geto suguru, TODO AOI, bokuto kotaru, TERUSHIMA YUJI, kaeya, ARATAKI ITTO, childe