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5sospenguinqueen · 4 months ago

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Feels Like Sabotage | Charles Leclerc x Red Bull! Reader

Summary: The Grid have decided that this is the season to see who can injure Yn the most. (Not intentionally, they all feel terrible about it). Fed up of seeing his girlfriend injured, Charles decides to enact revenge.

Pairing: Platonic! Grid x reader. Charles Leclerc x Reader (slight)

Warnings: swearing, slight injury

Word count: 3.3k

F1 Masterlist

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#1 Lando Norris

Cheers thundered throughout the track, vibrating through the floor and buzzing into the bodies of the podium winners. Max Verstappen stood in the middle, arms raised high as he bared his Grand Prix trophy to the roaring crowd. Another successful race, another win under his belt. The Dutch anthem was still ringing in his ears, and his smile widened as he turned to his left, finding his teammate beaming with her P3 trophy in hand. A double podium for Red Bull and another step closer to the Constructors Championship.

Jumping down from the P2 podium, Lando raced over to his friends, eager to share in their victories. He threw his arms around Max and Yn, dragging them both into a hug and shouting congratulations into their ears. Disentangling herself from the papaya racer, Yn turned to face the crowd, eyes scanning for a dark-haired Ferrari racer. Dimples deepening as he made eye contact with her, Charles blew his girlfriend a celebratory kiss. Unimpressed that Yn was distracted and not listening to his overjoyed shouts, Lando waved his arms about in front of her, hoping to garner her attention. Miscalculating his movements, his face morphed from delight to terror. Around them, cameras caught the moment that Yn’s face morphed from heart eyes to pain as the trophy came into contact with her skull.

“Oh, fuck! Yn, I am so sorry! Oh, no. That was so hard.”

Recoiling from the McLaren driver, her free hand came up to nurse the red mark forming on her forehead. Lando chased after her, apologies spilling from his mouth. Yn beat him back with her elbow.

“Did you just hit me with your trophy?” Yn asked in shock. “I didn’t even beat you.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was waving it about and…”

“And they say F1 drivers are coordinated,” chuckled Max, walking over to his teammate to inspect the damage done to her skull. He winced jokingly, fingers prodding the dark bruise forming. “Oh, dear, you have a bump.”

“Your protective P instincts are kicking in.” She teased, jerking back as pain lanced down the side of her face. “You going to put a Disney princess sticker on it next?”

Max laughed, the melodic sound breaking through the ringing in her ears. “No, no. I will save those for Lando after Charles runs him off the track.”

The three winners glanced down at the aforementioned Ferrari driver, although Lando quickly looked away. Fury blazed in his blue eyes at the dark mark on her forehead.

Sighing deeply, Yn placed the bag of ice (long since melted into water) on the table in her driver’s room. Post-podium interviews were always draining but it seemed to drag more so today. Although that might have partly been due to the pounding headache and the dull ache behind her eyes. After the disaster on the podium, the journalists had focused less on their momentous success and more on the injury she had sustained at the hands of Lando Norris.

The internet had already turned their moment into a meme, laughing at the incident, but the journalists decided to take a different route, complaining that Lando had done it deliberately. Fielding those questions was always soul-destroying, especially when they liked to twist whatever you said. Three short knocks sounded at her door, and it clicked open before she could turn from the mirror.

“Mon amour.” Charles’ head poked between the gap before wincing slightly at the look on her face. “Does it hurt? I can’t believe Lando hit you.”

“He’s like an excitable toddler.”

Charles pulled her into his arms, glancing down at his bruised girlfriend. “You look like an œuf.”

“Saying it in French doesn’t make it any less insulting, Charles.”

“You are the most beautiful egg I have ever seen,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to the wound Lando had left.

#2 Daniel Ricciardo

Sweat ran down the back of Yn’s neck as she gripped the steering wheel harder, flying through turn six. She tapped the brake slightly as the back of a Ferrari came closer, slowing down.

“What is he doing?”

“Leclerc seems to be having an issue.”

“No shit. He fucking slowed right down.”

“Overtake when you can.”

“Tell me how to do my job, why don’t you?”

Pushing the car forward, she inched past the Ferrari as they approached the next turn. Her teeth clenched tightly together as he faded from view, running right alongside her. She felt sweat run down her cheek as her heart pounded in her chest and tried to focus on her breathing. She could do this. Just a little more.

“Fantastic job,” her engineer praised. “P5 now.”

Glancing in the mirror, she startled at the sight of Charles skidding off the track and onto the gravel, coming to a stop just before the barrier.

“Is he okay?”

“Gearbox malfunction. Leclerc is fine and out of the car. Car behind is Ricciardo, two seconds.”

“Okay.”

Relieved that Charles was fine, Yn returned her attention back to the track, doing her best to keep the McLaren behind her.

“Defend. He’s going to try and overtake.”

Turning the corner, Yn kept on the inside, yanking the wheel in order to achieve the tight turn. Despite pulling left, she felt the car veer off to the right, ignoring her command as she slammed her foot down on the brake. Her body snapped forward as the car came to a sudden stop, smacking into the foam barrier. The plastic coating with Pirelli splashed across it broke, landing atop her head.

“You okay?”

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Ricciardo made contact.”

“No shit. He fucking shunted me into the wall!”

“Obviously we’re going to have to retire the car.”

The cameras honed in on the Red Bull racer as she pulled herself out of the car. The crowd sighed in relief, pleased that she was alright but recoiled as she turned, violently kicking part of the plastic barrier. “Fuck!”

Storming over to the McLaren garage, Yn called out for the other driver forced to DNF. Behind them, the race was continuing, only another ten laps left to determine who would find their way onto the podium. And Yn wasn’t one of them.

“What the fuck was that! Do you know how to drive?”

“Me? You turned into me!”

“Don’t give me that shit! I was ahead of you, I was doing my turn first! You fucking clipped my wheel because you didn’t leave enough space and you want to blame me.”

Flashes of light went off around them, capturing the furious racer as she yelled at the sheepish Australian.

“I am sorry but coming in here to yell at me won’t put you back in the race.”

“No, it won’t because my car is fucked! Learn to fucking drive next time.”

“A pleasure talking to you as always, LN.”

“Suck my dick!” She yelled back, ignoring the numerous journalists smirking to themselves over their next juicy headline.

Debriefed and dismissed for the evening, Yn dragged her weary body out of the Red Bull motorhome. Despite having been cleared by medical, she was covered in bruises and looking forward to a night off.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Charles teased, taking his hand out of his pockets and holding it out for her. Lacing her fingers through his, Yn’s broke out in a smile when he pulled her closer.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“What sort of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t drive you back to the hotel after your accident.”

“But, my car-”

“Will be dropped off later. I’ve already sorted it, mon ange.”

“You take such good care of me.”

Charles bent down, lips tracing her ear. “It does not end here. What do you say we take a bath when we get back?”

Yn laughed, leaning into him as his breath tickled her neck. Before she could answer, the pair of them were out of the paddock and assaulted by the media.

“Yn. Yn. How are things between you and Daniel after your argument today? Things looked to be quite heated.”

“Daniel and I will be fine. We haven’t spoken since our argument but it’s very hard to remain mad at someone like Daniel.”

“Charles, do you feel the same way? After all, it was your girlfriend he crashed into.”

“Obviously there was a bit of anger at seeing someone you care about crash. Um, but Yn is a driver much like anyone else. These things happen. If she forgives him then that is all that matters.”

The two drivers excuses themselves, walking past the rest of the media without stopping. Charles’ arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close. A muscle in his jaw ticked and he was relieved when they entered the safety of his car.

“You handled that very well.”

“Could you tell I was furious?”

“No. You were very diplomatic.”

“Just another name to add to my list of people to hit with my car.”

“Char, you can’t say things like that,” giggled Yn.

“Only to you.”

#3 Lewis Hamilton

Waving at the crowd, Yn made her way across the paddock, eager for the day ahead. Another Sunday, another race, another chance at the podium. Stopping every now and then to take pictures with fans, Yn chatted animatedly with her PR manager as they discussed her upcoming media obligations. Unlike her teammate, she was much more amiable towards media appearances but only enjoyed the ones that didn’t feel more like a conference.

“Beep beep,” a British voice called out behind her, alerting the two women clad in Red Bull polos that he was approaching. “Good morning, lovely ladies.”

He pulled up alongside them, foot slipping off the brake. Instead of coming to a stop, he felt the scooter roll over a bump in the end. Jumping off the two-wheeled contraption, he winced as his on-track rival hopped around clutching her left foot.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t realise your foot was right there.”

“Why can’t you walk like everyone else?” She grumbled, wincing at the throbbing sensation when she put her foot flat on the ground.

“Because it’s slower?” He offered weakly, looping her arm around his shoulders and helping her hop the remaining feet towards the Red Bull garage.

Interested in the laces of her shoes, Yn shuffled in her seat. The top half of her racing suit had been discarded, tied around her waist, but when she sat down the sleeves had created an uncomfortable mound. P4 had been a helpful finish for the battle for Constructors but she couldn't help the disappointment at her finish. Lando, noticing her movements, asked if she was still in pain. One of the journalists called her name, preventing her from answering.

“We noticed you limping earlier when you got out of the car. Was that in relation to the videos of Lewis helping you into the Red Bull garage earlier?”

Lewis shifted awkwardly in his seat, offering the young woman another apologetic smile.

“Uh, yes. Unfortunately, earlier today, Lewis ran over my foot with his scooter. I have some lovely bruising to show for it.”

“Do you blame Lewis? Do you think that was what stopped you from achieving P1? Perhaps it was deliberate.”

“Both Lewis and Toto made their way down to the Red Bull garage to apologise personally. It absolutely wasn’t sabotage. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunately, yes, my boot was tied looser than usual, and putting pressure on my foot was painful in terms of braking. However, the onus is on me in terms of my performance. I don’t feel like I gave it my best today, and Max is very fast,” she finished with a laugh, earning scattered laughter from the room.

A buzz sounded in her pocket and she discreetly slipped her phone from it, checking the notification. The little race car next to the name had her smiling.

Charles: You. Me. Celebration later? I’ll find the greasiest food

Yn: I miss you. This conference sucks

Charles: No, you miss being in the podium conference. Don’t lie to me x

Yn: That too

#4 Max Verstappen

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is another perfect 1-2 for Red Bull! I imagine it’s smiles all around in their garage.”

The Dutch anthem was still ringing in her ears when the 2nd place trophy was placed in her hands. Grin plastered across her face, Yn raised her trophy high in the air, relishing in the roar of her team, watching down below. Once Charles’ trophy had been securely handed over, and the presenters had scurried off the stage to safety, Max lunged forward for the large champagne bottle. Shaking it profusely, he popped the cork and aimed at his teammate.

Not even having time to reach for her own bottle, Yn was waterboarded by the bubbly liquid. Spluttering violently, she clapped her hands over her face, trying to ward off the onslaught of champagne. It was up her nose, down her throat and, most painfully, burning her right eye.

“Max, you bastard,” she hissed, stumbling towards the edge of the stage where her engineer was waiting with a damp towel. Pressing it tight against her eye, she grumbled to herself about the dangers of champagne.

“Oh, bebe, not another injury.” Charles murmured, glancing at her bloodshot eye. Champagne rolled off the tip of his hat, flicking the tip of her nose.

Max bounded over next, laughing in elation at his win. He apologised at the sight of her eye but it felt a tad insincere when he followed it with, “They should call you the driver’s champion of non-race related injuries.”

“More like the champion of idiotic work colleagues.”

“Don’t be like that. You love me really.” Max pulled her in for a headlock, wet arms wrapping around her head. Yn stomped on his foot when another drop of champagne rolled into her stinging eye.

Fiddling with the cord of her microphone, Yn’s high from achieving P2 faded with each passing moment. Winning a podium was euphoric until she remembered it entailed a ninety minutes press-conference afterwards. Ignoring how badly she wanted food, Yn leaned over, whispering to Max, who looked as equally bored as she.

Charles’ hand slipped from her thigh as she moved, and he shook his head with a smile when he caught her gossiping. Her teammate grinned at whatever she said before the pair of them heard her name being called. Snapping to attention, Yn pulled away from Max and sat upright in her chair.

“Apologies but would you mind repeating the question?” Yn asked sheepishly.

“Following your recent accidents at the hands of your fellow racers, there’s rumours flying around that the male members of the Grid are opposed to your presence on the track. Care to comment?”

Yn leant forward towards her mic. “I must admit I’m starting to believe these rumours,” she let out a small laugh, informing everyone she was joking. “No, no. In all seriousness, I do seem to be getting attacked an awful lot by my fellow racers this season - uh, most recently was being blinded by Max after the podium - but I don’t believe there is any animosity behind it. They’ve all been very apologetic. I’m just unfortunate.”

“Mon amour maladroite,” whispered Charles but the microphone picked it up regardless.

Fake frowning at him, she reiterated for the crowd. “There’s a lot of love between me and the rest of the drivers so these are all just inCHIdents.”

Charles looked at her in shock, offended by her mockery. “Hey!” He whined. “I’m the only person not trying to sabotage you.”

Yn pressed an apologetic kiss to his cheek and the cameras lapped up the rare glimpse of affection between the two during a race weekend.

Charles' Revenge

A race in Monaco meant that the majority of drivers were able to spend the week beforehand at home. Padding across the living room barefoot, Yn made her way towards the kitchen. Wrapping her arms around Charles’ waist, she pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. He turned in her arms, beaming down at her in his oversized hoodie. After her racing suit, this look was his favourite.

“Thank you for helping me with this, handsome.”

“Help you? It was my idea, mon coeur. Especially because you would not let me run them off the track.”

“Because that is…” she prompted.

“Dangerous,” he finished with a pout.

The doorbell alerted them to the arrival of their first dinner guest, and she smirked to herself before flitting over to the door. Max stood there nervously, a bouquet of flowers in hand. She stepped aside to let him in, and thanked him when he handed the large flower bunch to her.

“To apologise for blinding you, and to thank you for dinner.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Max,” she inhaled the sweet fragrance of the flowers, almost feeling bad for deceiving him. He probably deserved this the least but her boyfriend needed a way to release his anger. “I’m going to put them in some water. Charles is in the main room with some sport thingy on the television. Gin and tonic?”

“Just one.” He nodded, placing his discarded shoes on the rack before sloping off in search of the brunette driver.

Hands clasped, Charles and Yn placed dishes of pasta in front of Lando, Daniel, Lewis and Max, smiling when they thanked them. Yn was well-known for her cooking throughout the paddock, often cooking sweet treats in the week and bringing them in for the Grid to share. Having a birthday on a racing weekend was a much coveted holiday because it meant a homemade cake from the Red Bull racer.

Watching as each of them took a big mouthful, she watched them all grimace in disgust when they swallowed. Taking a sip of wine before speaking, she informed them of the true reason behind their meal. “I lied to you. I didn’t cook dinner for you this evening.”

The four of them turned to face the devious Ferrari driver looking innocently at them, horror plastered across their faces. “Charles did.”

Friday - Practice

“Four F1 drivers are reportedly suffering from food poisoning. Perhaps a racing dinner gone wrong? They’re still set to race on Sunday, just two days from now, but images of them have emerged from today’s free practice, and the four look particularly under the weather.”

Seated opposite her Team Principal, Yn fiddled with her fingers as Christian berated her. Shame crept up the back of her neck and for the fifth time that day, she wished Charles was with her. Hands perched on his hips, Christian stared down at her, waiting for an explanation.

“I didn’t think they’d be ill for this long?” She defended weakly. “I just thought they’d suffer through a gross meal and that would be the end of it. I bought pizza afterwards!”

“You let them eat Charles’ food! What did you think would happen? The boy can’t cook.”

“Oops…?”

Christian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You could’ve at least left Max out of it.”

“He blinded me!”

“And I’d do it again!” Max groaned, clutching his stomach. Sweat beaded his forehead despite the cool compress resting atop it.

“The alternative was Charles pushing you off the track,” she shot back.

“He’d have to catch me first,” argued Max.

The two drivers broke out into good-natured bickering, voices raising as they got more heated. Sighing yet again, the Red Bull principal sank into his chair and muttered to himself, “I’m working with children.”

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A/N: I'm not sure what this is (laugh) I apologise but writing fics isn't my strong suit. I should probably stick to smau's lol

On that note, requests for F1 smau's are open. You can see who I write for on my masterlist :)

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tteotlma · 4 months ago

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Panic and Proximity

-- Trapped with Logan in a safe room, your biggest weakness reveals itself.

(Wolverine/Reader) 1.7kw

a/n: it's been like six years since i posted a fic.. smth short and sweet

TW: anxiety, panic attack, mentions of vomit, close spaces, forced proximity(?), CLAUSTROPHOBIA, tight spaces

"Bobby!" you yell over the deafening roar. You dig your heels into the dirt, pivoting to run towards your friend. A Sentinel has Bobby pinned, ice against ice. Suddenly, the ground opens beneath him, swallowing him whole. Your heart leaps into your throat, but in the next instant, the sky above the massive monster splits open. Bobby drops out, ready to swing full throttle.

You glance back to see Kitty sprinting towards you, Logan not far behind.

"No, run!" she screams, grabbing your arm as you both dash into the building.

"But Bobby—" you start, turning to look back at your friend. He seems to be holding his own, but for how long?

"It's okay, he's coming," Kitty pants as she phases you through industrial shelving.

Logan's gruff voice surprises you. "How do you know?"

"Because I'm gonna get him," Kitty replies, pulling you deeper into the building. "I just need to make sure you guys are safe first."

"And how are you gonna do that?" you ask, breathless. Your feet pound the floor in rhythm with theirs, legs aching. Only the adrenaline coursing through your veins keeps you going.

"This way," Kitty hisses, yanking you towards a narrow corridor. The building's layout becomes a maze of twisting hallways and locked doors. Alarms blare, red emergency lights casting eerie shadows.

Logan sniffs the air. "We've got company. Multiple hostiles, closing in fast."

"There's a safe room," Kitty says, her voice strained. "It's small, but it'll have to do."

Your stomach tightens at the word 'small'. "How small are we talking?"

She doesn't answer, instead phasing through another wall, pulling you along. You emerge into a dim, cluttered storage area. At the far end, a heavy metal door stands ajar.

"In there. Now!" Logan growls, glancing behind you.

The thundering footsteps of your pursuers grow louder. Your heart races as you approach the door, catching a glimpse of the cramped space beyond. It's barely larger than a closet.

Kitty pushes you forward. "You don't have a choice. Get in!"

You hesitate, your breath catching in your throat. The walls seem to close in already, even from outside. But the sound of gunfire erupting behind you slowly convinces you to enter, but not fast enough. Kitty grabs both you and Logan and before you can protest, she phases you through the thick steel door.

“Don’t go anywhere.” Kitty demands before she walks through the other side of the closet just as quickly as she put you in here.

A small “no” escapes your lips as you reach out to touch the walls. You try to find any crevice to show your not completely shut off from everything but its no use, it’s too dark and from what your fingers can feel there’s nothing. The steel is stainless, and smooth.

“Fuck,” you whisper, suddenly becoming too aware of your heart beating in your chest, and you suddenly feel lightheaded. You try and catch your breath but you can’t, you try and breathe but your lungs cant open enough as it hits you, your world shrinks to the size of a coffin. You try to take a deep breath, but you keep coming short.

"You okay?" Kitty whispers, her voice too close in the blackness.

You want to answer, to say you're fine, but the words stick in your throat. The walls are too close, the air too thin. You're trapped, and panic begins to claw its way up from your chest.

You try to soothe yourself, eyes squeezed shut, desperately imagining a vast field. Hoping to enhance the illusion, you peel your hands from the walls. Suddenly, a loud boom shakes the room, steel groaning around you. Logan tenses beside you, a stark reminder that danger still lurks beyond your confined space.

Your breathing becomes more erratic. Sweat beads on your forehead as the small space seems to shrink even further. Your fingers tingle, and a wave of nausea hits you.

"It's okay, it's okay," you mutter, but the words sound hollow even to your own ears. You take a step back, trying to escape the wall, only to collide with Logan's chest. He finally notices your distress.

"Hey, you alright?" He shifts, touching you lightly. You flinch away instinctively.

"Sorry," you pant. "Would now be a bad time to tell you I'm claustrophobic?" You attempt a chuckle, hands fumbling to steady yourself. Eyes clenched shut, you feel saliva pooling in your mouth. "I think I'm gonna barf," you whisper.

"Hey, hey!" Logan turns you around to face him. "Look at me." You briefly open your eyes, making out only his shadowy form, hunched over. You quickly shut them again.

"Are you hunching over because the ceiling's too short?" you ask, still dizzy. Your fingertips find his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his solid torso. He shifts, followed by a soft thud.

"No," he says.

"You're lying." You clench your hand, pressing your fist against his stomach. The rhythm of his breathing slowly anchors you, pulling you back to reality.

"Maybe, but that's not important," he says, his voice closer than before. You feel him shift, moving nearer.

Your fist sinks deeper into the muscle of his stomach as his heavy hands rest on your shoulders, grounding you.

"Why are you just saying something now?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"I-it never seemed to matter," your voice shakes, your other hand wrapping around his forearm for support. "Until now." You feel tears forming in your eyes. "I-I'm sorry."

"Oh," you hear him breathe out softly. "Oh, Y/N." He sighs, a mix of concern and understanding in his tone.

Suddenly, his arms envelop you, cradling your head against his chest. The gesture, though meant to comfort, unfortunately intensifies your panic. Your breath hitches as the feeling of being trapped increases, despite the warmth of his embrace. You try to pull away but his arms don’t budge.

Your breathing becomes more rapid against Logan's chest. The warmth of his embrace, meant to comfort, instead fuels your panic. "I can't—" you gasp, your fingers clawing at his shirt. "It's too tight, too close."

He cuts you off, shushing you.

“Yes, you can.” He reassures you, his hand stroking your head.

"Listen to me," Logan says firmly, his gruff voice softening with an unexpected gentleness. "We're gonna try something. Focus on my voice and breathe with me. Can you do that?"

You manage a small nod against his chest, your forehead pressed against the rough fabric of his shirt. Logan must feel the slight movement because he shifts, adjusting his stance to better support you.

"Good," he murmurs, the word rumbling through his chest. "Now, feel my breathing. Try to match it."

Logan takes a deep, deliberate breath. You feel his chest expand against you, the steady rise and fall a stark contrast to your own erratic gasps. He holds you close, one hand splayed across your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. His calloused fingers are surprisingly gentle, grounding you in the moment.

"In through your nose," he instructs, his voice low and measured. You struggle to comply, your breath hitching. "That's it," he encourages. "Now hold it for a moment."

You feel the pause in his chest's movement, a moment of stillness in the chaotic swirl of your thoughts.

"Now out through your mouth," Logan continues, his own exhale warm against the top of your head. "Slow and steady."

As you attempt to follow his lead, you become acutely aware of other sensations: the faint scent of cigar smoke clinging to Logan's shirt, the steady thud of his heartbeat against your ear, the warmth of his body contrasting with the cool metal walls surrounding you.

"Again," Logan says softly. "In... hold... and out. You're doing great, kid."

Gradually, your breathing begins to sync with his. The vice-like grip of panic on your chest starts to loosen, ever so slightly. In this small, dark space, Logan's presence becomes an anchor, a point of focus beyond the suffocating walls.

"That's it," he murmurs, a note of approval in his voice. "Just keep breathing with me. We'll get through this together."

You nod, one hundred percent sure that if you were to talk right now, it wouldn't be heard. Closing your eyes, you lean more of your weight against Logan. You take in his scent—a mix of cigar smoke, leather, and something uniquely him—his warmth seeping into you, his solid presence anchoring you in the moment. You melt into him, relishing the feel of his muscular body against yours.

In this intimate moment, your mind drifts to all the times you've admired Logan from afar. He's always been the ruggedly handsome mentor, the forbidden fruit that made your heart race during training sessions. You've caught his lingering glances, felt the electricity when his hand corrected your stance, noticed how his eyes seemed to soften when they landed on you.

There's always been something there, simmering beneath the surface. An unspoken connection, a tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge. You've told yourself it was just a silly crush, that Logan saw you as nothing more than a student. But the gentleness in his touch now, the care in his voice—it speaks of something deeper.

This moment, trapped in this tiny space, feels like a test of your limits. The boundaries between mentor and student, between longing and reality, seem to blur. Your racing heart isn't just from claustrophobia anymore, and you're certain Logan can feel it.

But now isn't the time for these thoughts. The danger lurking outside this safe room, the mission at hand—it all comes rushing back. You know you should pull away, regain your composure, focus on the task at hand. Yet, for just a few more seconds, you allow yourself to stay in Logan's embrace, drawing strength from him in more ways than one.

As your breathing finally steadies, you reluctantly begin to pull back, ready to face whatever comes next. But not before you catch a glimpse of something in Logan's eyes—concern, certainly, but also a flicker of something else. Something that makes your breath catch for an entirely different reason, you realize you're still pressed against Logan's chest. You step back slightly, looking up at him in the dim light.

"I... Thank you, Logan. I don't know what I would've done if..."

He cuts you off with a gentle squeeze of your shoulder. "We all have our demons, kid. The trick is not letting them win." His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "You did good."

The moment is interrupted by another distant explosion, reminding you both of the pressing danger.

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roaringxthunder · 2 months ago

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@reservedcloud

He walked down the walk with a rather relaxed stride, carrying his clipboard of what seemed like blank parchment. Things were finally starting to calm down after dealing with the Quincy invasion, the shinigami they could save were now on the road to recovery. He walked up and knocked on the captain's office door.

"Kotetsu-Taichou, it's 3rd seat Yoko. I have the reports from infirmary, If I may talk to you about some of the higher ranking officers who were in the majority of the fighting." He said as he watched things around him through his reiatsu vision. It was something that most people didn't understand, but it helped with his job as a medic now.

#thunder's roar -- ic #working days- seireitei #reservedcloud #Gentle Cloud of Healing - Isane Kotetsu #//thanks for the follow

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0bticeo · 5 months ago

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aemond targaryen | you owe a debt

summary:

you grit your teeth.

you’re a long way from dragonstone. with you plummeting towards the ground, leaving aemond above, you’ve bought yourself a few precious seconds ー not enough. far from enough. your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you, a storm is raging and aemond is catching up.

you still.

he’s there.

wc. 1.6k

tw. unreseolved sexual tension, niece!reader (targcest), mild description of blood and gore, hubris, fix-it fic set in season one epsiode ten.

the rain is cold on your face, like tiny pinpricks of ice piercing your skin. raging wind blowing through your ears, you hear your dragon roar above the thunder. the force of it spreads through your bones. eyes half closed against the storm, fists clenched on the handles of your saddle, you curse.

sending your younger brother alone, what was your mother thinking?

he wants revenge. an eye for an eyeーa fair price. he could’ve asked for lucerys’ life. ( he must’ve been itching to do it, to draw his sword, sharp blade slicing your brother’s throat. to watch the blood pour out, spilling on the round hall’s floors.)

you see it, then. the dark mass before you, coming in closer and closer with each beat of your dragon’s wings. vaghar, largest, oldest dragon in the world. a massive, battle-hardened beast, with wrath etched in every inch of her being, begging to be unleashed, held tight behind her master’s iron will. (you think you hear him begging her to stop. )

high valyrian rolls off your tongue, scraping against your throat in a bark.

faster.

visegar obliges, wings spread out against the storm. your breath hitches with how fast you’re going, strands of hair clinging to your face like you do to your reigns.

you’re close enough to see arrax now, as small and young and terrified as his rider.

close enough to hear aemond’s laughter. close enough to hear his tauntsー you owe a debt, boy . vaghar opens her gaping mouth, fangs gleaming under the pouring rainー

this will start a war. this will have your brother dying, torn up to pieces.

you will not let him die.

when you strike, it’s from below. lightning-fast, a blur of black scales, snatching your brother inches away from vaghar’s gaping maw. you feel her heated breath on your skin, the putrid scent of it – how many were left to rot there?

you meet your uncle’s eye and he recognises you.

you see it in how that mouth of his twists in a grin, tongue licking his lips in a slow drag. in how his eye traces your frame, sharpening upon noticing your stance.

“and what do you hope to do with that blade of yours?” there’s a flash of amusement in that coy grin of his. “surely, you can do better, niece .”

and he knows you can. he’s seen you in the training yard, wielding your mighty bow. he’s seen you grasping arrow after arrow, pulling them out of your quiver in an inhumanely fast gesture. he’s seen you hit target after target. he’s seen you run out of arrows and switch to the sword at your side, calling out for a sparring partner.

(he’d been the one stepping forward, lip curling in that coy grin of his.)

now, your mouth is drying.

you’ve left your bow and arrows behind in your haste to get there. at this range, the sword is useless.

you snarl, poison-laced words ready to strike because you yourself can’tー

your brother is screaming.

you look down and see arrax falling. with him, your brother. both of them, tumbling to the ground, spiralling down. arrax, almost torn in half, holding it together in a gory mess of viscera and torn up bones, wings beating erratically in a desperate attempt at stopping his fall. there’s so much red.

plunge.

plunge towards the ground at break-neck speed, visegar’s wings folding by his sides, almost brushing your arms. your shoulders are set ablaze. from the sheer strength it takes you to remain on your dragon’s back, or from your uncle’s heated gaze, you do not know.

soon you’re within arm’s reach. one look at arrax tells you trying to save them both is hopeless.

“lucerys!”

he doesn’t look at you. he can’t, not with the wind roaring at his ears, not with arrax’s pain merging with his pure terror, not with the sea and its devouring waves below, they’re pulling him in, he’s going to dieー

you grab your brother’s arm and pull , high valyrian leaving your tongue in a bark.

“visegar, up! ”

and so he obliges, your faithful dragon, leaving his brethren to crash in the hungry waves beneath. for a split second, you remain like that. floating in a never-ending storm, with your brother clinging to you, legs hanging in the void, hands in a vice grip around his flesh because you must not let him fall .

so you pull and pull , muscles begging for you to stop, praying to gods old and new that your strength doesn’t fail you, that your uncle doesn’t catch up, not now .

then he’s on your saddle, and you press him against you, arms surrounding him, firmly pressing his hands on the saddle’s pommel for purchase. you do not let him see arrax’s fall. he’s safe. for now.

you grit your teeth.

you still.

he’s there.

right behind you, hot on your tail. you do not need to turn to see the wide grin etched on his pale features. you hear it in the low baritone of his voice, in the venom of his words.

give up, niece.

and you can only weigh the odds. you cannot fight him. not with your brother there, clinging to your forearm tighter than one would to a lifeline. not with this storm. not without your prized weapons. you’re bound to lose, and he knows it.

you feel lucerys shift, looking up at you. oh, brave, brave boy with terror in his eyes.

“it’s me he wants.” he gulps. “if you hand me over to him, you might get awayー”

you bite your lip.

each beat of dragon wing drives you closer to dragonstone. you can get there. you have to. it’s not just a matter of ensuring your brother’s safety ー or yours for that matters. it’s that should the both of you die here by aemond’s hand, war would break out.

greens and blacks have daggers held at each other’s throats. the slightest mishap will draw blood. you will not let your death be the reason a fragile, relative peace is broken.

but you can’t kill aemond either, can you?

“niece.”

your attention snaps back to him. you find him already watching, hungry gaze never leaving you. he’s waiting, this wretched, cunning beast of a man. waiting for your move.

your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you on his back and a raging storm against his wings.

but if there was only one rider…

you don’t have a choice.

beneath you, visegar rises to attention. does he feel it, your fear? does he feel it, your unyielding resolve?

your hand closes around your brother’s shoulder, gently squeezing it.

“whatever happens, fly home and do not stop .”

visegar moves. faster than all-mighty vaghar can see, faster than aemond can see, spiking above them both.

your brother is screaming.

you’re falling.

you’re falling, and there’s nothing to stop you. the gaping mouth of the sea will swallow you and leave nothing behind. you wonder if you’ll die upon hitting the water, bones shattering with the impact. you wonder if you’ll drown, if the fall doesn’t kill you. you wonder if you’ll taste arrax’s blood.

you’re falling, and everything blurs before your eyes, storm grey and rain and a blue so dark it’s almost black. there’s lightning streaking the sky above, waves crashing down below ー and you do not know what’s up and what’s down anymore. the wind is merciless, splitting your ears with its force.

you’re falling, limbs spread out, gasping for air, and it feels like thousands and thousands of hands are pressing down on your heart and you can’t breathe ー

you think the wind roars your name. you think you see a great, black void coming from above, like the meteors the maesters weaved tales about for your entertainment.

you feel as though you’re floating. you’re flying without a dragon. does that make you a god? you think you’re laughing.

you’re falling and it’s a gamble .

you’ve seen aemond’s stare. felt it burn like dragon fire on your skin, felt its pull down to your core as you fired arrow after arrow in the training yard. you’ve seen his signature half-smile widen just a tad bit as your swords clashed, felt the heat radiating off him as you pulled him closer, close enough for your dagger to brush against his jaw.

(close enough to see his eye dart to your lips, pupil dilating for a brief second. close enough to feel his warm breath on your cheek. close enough to feel the lean muscles of his chest beneath the black leather of his clothes. close enough for him to bend down, lips brushing your ear in a low voice that left you with a hollow ache and clenching thighs.

“surely, you can do better, niece.”)

you intrigue him, at the very least.

so when he comes, when he catches you mid-fall and cradles you against the warmth of him, with your name on his lips and what surely cannot be fear but is, you cannot help but smile.

your grin flashes, as sharp as your blade.

“is that better, uncle?”

#obticeo writes #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x y/n #house of the dragon x you #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond oneshot #(no this isn't the smutshot the poll is about)

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wildfrau · 11 months ago

Note

"What sort of trouble are you up to now, hm?"

"I'm not. If you're worried or some shit."

She gave the Captain a wary look before resting a hand on her hip.

"Look, I'm not one of the ..Liaisons or whatever. If you're looking for Bambi you'll have to call one of them."

#loyaltypunished #[In Roaring Thunder - IC]#[Answered]#If you're here for Skirts. she's out for the evening

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rowdyluv · 6 months ago

Text

Say Yes - qh43

Summary: Quinn’s girlfriend attends the Hughes Bowl at Rogers Arena. She’s overtly in love with him (kind of annoying tbh) Quinn surprises her after the game.

Warnings: fluff, obsessy gf, eyes don’t leave bf, use of y/n, oc?

Word Count: 2.35k

Notes: I chose a random name for readers best friend. Ahem split second appearance of other nhler with bff. May or may not have successfully? wrote something.

In the hustling and bustling heart of Vancouver, nestled between the towering skyscrapers and the gentle caress of the Pacific sea breeze, stood the mighty Rogers Arena. Its gleaming exterior reflected the city's vibrant energy, a beacon of excitement that drew in locals and tourists alike. The chilly winter evening had descended, casting a soft glow upon the cobblestone streets, as the anticipation for the night's event grew palpable.

The Hughes Bowl also known as the Vancouver Canucks versus the New Jersey Devils

Inside the arena, the air was electric. The mouthwatering scent of popcorn and nachos mingled with the faint aroma of fresh lemonade and the mixture of alcohol in some areas. The thunderous roar of the crowd grew louder with every passing second, echoing through the vast space like a crescendo of anticipation.

Y/N and Mia, perched in the first row by the glass barrier, were surrounded by a sea of blue and green jerseys. A few red and black jerseys sprinkled in the mix. Guests in attendance dressed out were the die-hard fans, their eyes glued to the rink, where the players currently skated about in a blur of motion, warming up for the night’s showdown between the Canucks and the Devils.

When the lights had dimmed and both national anthems for Canada and the United States had a chance to play, a collective chorus of cheers fell over the stadium.

The spotlights that once bathed the ice in a soft multicolored glow lifted replaced with the bright white, and the players took their positions.

Quinn, was the center of y/n’s attention, his eyes focused and intense. He looked over at Y/N and Mia, flashing a quick smile that sent her heart racing. The puck dropped, and the game was underway.

Throughout the first period, Y/N did all she could to try and memorize every move Quinn made. An attempt to hold on to his years in the league for when they’re long over. His stick-handling was mesmerizing, a dance of precision and power that left the opposition scrambling. Whenever he checked one of his brothers, she held onto a strange mix of pride and protectiveness that swelled within her. She knew that behind the smiles and jovial rivalry, they were all fighting for the same thing: victory.

Leaning over to Mia, she whispered excitedly, "Did you see that? He totally outplayed them both! Jack and Luke!" Each time she spoke, her voice grew a little louder, the excitement spilling over like a fizzy drink. Mia, ever the supportive best friend, nodded and cheered along, even though she wasn't as versed in the nuances of the game. Y/N's eyes never left the ice when her love was on for a shift, captivated by the grace and strength of the man she loved.

Midway through the second period, Quinn scored a breathtaking goal through the goalie’s 5-hole. He spun around, stick in the air, as the crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers. Y/N's face lit up brighter than the goal lamp as she jumped to her feet, slapping the glass in exhilaration. Quinn skated to where she was sitting behind the glass. He blew her a kiss and yelled to her, “that was for you babygirl.” She turned to Mia, her eyes sparkling with pure joy, "I knew he was just as bad as you are!" Mia giggled, pulling her best friend in to a hug, the sound of their laughter lost in the deafening applause.

The game continued, each play more intense than the last. The tension grew as the score remained close, neither team willing to concede an inch of the ice. With every check, every pass, and every shot on net, Y/N felt her heart pound harder in her chest. Her eyes never left Quinn, not even when his brothers had the puck. It was as if she could feel his every move, his every breath. Her cheers grew louder, her hands slapping the glass more vigorously, leaving behind a smudge of her palm print like a silent applause.

In the third period, the game reached a fever pitch. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, a symphony of hope and nerves. The Devils had managed to tie the game, and the Canucks were desperate to pull ahead. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of fear. With minutes to go, Quinn stole the puck from his youngest brother, breaking away on a two-on-one. The arena held its collective breath as he streaked down the ice, the sound of his skates slicing through the frozen surface like a knife through butter.

Y/N's eyes were glued to him, her heart racing in her chest. The play unfolded before her in slow motion, every second stretching into an eternity. Quinn passed the puck to his teammate, who whipped it back to him with the grace of a ballet dancer. The goalie saw it coming, but it was too late. Quinn's shot was a rocket, flying straight into the top corner of the net. The arena erupted into a frenzy of cheers and the sound of thousands of hands clapping together in unison. The goal lamp flashed red, the buzzer sounded, Quinn’s media tape looped on the scoreboard. His teammates rushed him for a celebration. Y/n was watching in awe of her man. Mia was watching her best friend in happy wonder.

Mia nudged her, "Looks like you got yourself a star player!" she said, her voice barely audible over the din. Y/N nodded, her smile so wide it hurt. She felt like she was floating, the adrenaline from the goal still pulsing through her veins. The final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. The score was 3-2 in favor of the Canucks. The arena echoed with the chant of "Quinn! Quinn! Quinn!" She could see the pure elation on his face as he skated over to her, the grin stretching from ear to ear. He tapped the glass, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Quinn had the last scoring game puck in his hand. He had already wrote on it and brought it straight to her, he pointed up towards the top of the barrier and then to her, a silent message he was tossing it to her. With a flick of his wrist, he flung it over, sending it soaring through the air. Time seemed to slow as it spun, a perfect arc of twisting team logos and black against the vibrant backdrop of the cheering crowd. Y/N's hand shot up, her palm open and ready to receive it. The puck smacked into her palm with a satisfying thud, the residual ice shavings from the game still clinging to it.

The crowd's roar grew even louder as they noticed the gesture, the cameras flashing from the stands and the Jumbotron spotlighted on her, capturing her disbelief and pure happiness. She clutched the puck to her chest, feeling its coldness against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth flooding her cheeks. The moment was surreal, a memory she knew she'd cherish forever. She mouthed a silent "thank you" to Quinn, who was already being dragged away by his teammates for an impromptu interview.

As the players filed off the ice, the tension in the arena didn't dissipate. Instead, it transformed into a buzz of excitement and congratulations. Y/N watched Quinn closely, her eyes tracing his every move as he was interviewed, his voice steady and humble despite the victory. He talked about teamwork and the importance of family, never failing to mention his brothers and their shared love for the sport. Her heart bursting with pride as she heard him speak, his words resonating with the audience.

Finally, the moment came. The Zamboni glided onto the ice, smoothing out the battleground where Quinn had just claimed victory. He skated over to the bench, his gaze seeking hers through the throngs of people. She waved, the puck still clutched in her hand, a symbol of his triumph. He pointed at her, then at the locker room, signaling for her to wait for him. The crowd began to disperse, the blue and green jerseys forming rivers of humanity that flowed through the arena's exits.

Y/N and Mia remained in their seats before heading down to wait outside of the locker room, the excitement still coursing through them like an electric current. They chatted animatedly about the game, replaying Quinn's heroics in their minds, their voices a mix of disbelief and pride. As the last of the fans trickled out, the arena staff started prepare for the post-game cleanup.

The doors to the locker room finally swung open, and the players began to emerge, their faces flushed from exertion and their eyes gleaming with the adrenaline of victory. Quinn spotted Y/N immediately, his grin growing even wider when he saw the puck in her hand. His strides to her were urgent and quick, the sound of his skates, that were hanging off the side of his bag, clanking against one another echoing through the now-quiet corridor. He was dressed back in his game day suit, no tie, but perfectly put together.

Y/N looked up at him, her confusion palpable. "Why aren't you in your comfy clothes?" she questioned, gesturing to his suit.

Quinn chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "I had to make an impression, didn't I?" He leaned down, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Besides, I had a surprise for you."

Y/N turned the puck over in her hand, her eyes widening as she read the message scrawled in black sharpie. "Best game of my life," it read, "make it better by saying yes." Her cheeks flushed, and she looked up at him, her eyes filling with unshed tears as he’s down on one knee. "Quinn, this is..."

"It’s crazy, yes but I couldn't wait. You're it for me, you're everything. And after that game, playing against my brothers, I just know this is right." His voice was earnest, his gaze unwavering as he pulled out a small velvet box. “Yes I know in front of the locker room isn’t ideal, but I just had the best game I’ve had in months, I finally beat my brothers. You’re the girl of my dreams and I can’t hold onto this any longer because I’m afraid the yahoos behind you will let it out while they’re here. So baby, please will you marry me?” Quinn asks tears of love in his eyes.

Y/N felt as if the world had stopped spinning. She looked down at the box in his hand, her heart racing like a bullet train. She assumed this was coming later on in life, but she never expected it to happen here, in the lower interior of the arena she had watched him play in so many times before. An indescribable warmth spread through her, expansive spread across her from her toes to her fingertips. She looked into his eyes, her voice shaking with raw emotion, "Yes, Quinn. Yes, I'll marry you."

The words hung in the air, suspended for a moment before reality crashed back in. The locker room doors opened wider, and his remaining teammates spilled out, cheering and clapping. They had been waiting for this moment, and now it was here. Quinn slipped the ring onto her finger, the diamond sparkling under the harsh fluorescent lights. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for her. She couldn't help but admire it, the way it caught the light and danced across her skin. Y/n turned to Jack and Luke to greet the brothers she was unaware were there until Quinn said something, but instead was met by Jim and Ellen.

“You’ll officially be our daughter!” Ellen saps pulling y/n into a hug.

“Can’t wait to have another female Hughesy!” Jim laughed with her, ruffling up her hair.

Y/n’s eyes are misty with happy tears. She hadn’t seen this coming like this at all, she had thought maybe it would happen in a year or two but not now.

It doesn’t matter the timing, Quinn is forever hers and she’s forever his.

“Quinn, This, here. It’s perfect.” She says, her voice full of wonder and love. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. So it is ideal. Don’t worry about what it looks like.”

Quinn broke away from Elias and Brock’s playful teasing, his smile growing as he wrapped her in a warm embrace. The cheers of his teammates and the small gathering of family erupting once more, but all Y/N could hear was the steady beat of his heart against her chest. He leaned down, cupping her face in his hands, and kissed her.

It was a kiss filled with the passion of a thousand suns, the promise of a lifetime together, and the sweetness of a love that had only grown stronger with each passing day. His lips were gentle yet firm, a declaration of his love and commitment. Hers responded eagerly, her arms snaking around his neck, the coldness of the ice forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Mia had been standing off to the side watching her best friend happily. As the couple kissed she muttered to what she thought was just herself “I’m so painfully single.”

“You and me both. Hi, name is Nico. Captain of the New Jersey Devils.”

#cay writes #quinn hughes #qh43 #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #hockey fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes x fem!reader #⭑.ᐟ nucks ‘n pucks #please be nice - like & reblog ♡︎

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metranart · 5 months ago

Text

"(Y/N), you've been in there for over forty minutes," you heard Gojo state from the other side of the door, "and the shadow under the door tells me that you're still in this world," the chuckle from Geto furrowed your eyebrows, "—maybe you should let us give you a hand."

ft. Gojo & Geto x reader, All sorcerer's x reader, Toji x reader. Isekai where you are transported into jjk universe and your way back to your world is cumming.... poor little, shy reader.

JJK Men X Reader (Isekai Shameless smut teaser)

It had been a hard day at the office, your work was sometimes too boring and tedious, and although at twenty-something you should be going out since it was Friday night, you preferred to ignore the text messages from your friends and go back to relax in your apartment with a nice bubble bath, your favorite anime, Jujutsu Kaisen, a pint of your favorite ice-cream and a bottle of delicious wine.

The sky roared in the distance with the threat of a storm, and the smell of rain invaded your nostrils, it tended to be so relaxing to sleep with the sound of the rain around you. Every second that passed your evening got better and better.

Taking your favorite bath salts, you opened the bathroom window to place a scented candle in the rim. Your apartment was not a big deal, but you adored it, it had the right spaces and somehow always made you feel as if all the rooms were connected. Allowing you to take a bubble bath and watch TV from the living room at the same time.

Wrapping yourself in a soft towel, you took a large rubber toy – your sister’s latest Christmas gift– and danced into the living room taking the remote, the pint of ice-cream and a spoon and an expensive glass from the kitchen along with a freshly open bottle of red wine. You carefully placed all on the small table by the tub and shed from the towel immersing your leg in the water to test the temperature –perfect– diving fully, enjoyed the heat on your skin for a few minutes before opening your eyes and set to play a Jujutsu Kaisen episode.

Taking the remote, lazily began to switch between the episodes, season one was great but season two had a charm that you couldn’t deny. You had loved it, it had made your eyes drip more than once, Gojo and Geto were your favorites, and Toji and Nanami... Ugh! It was unfortunate that many of these had died in the series and that was why in your mind you imagined it differently.

In your mind it was a utopia. Geto didn't die or turn evil but instead became a teacher along with Gojo. Toji did not die but made a truce with the Zenin Clan to take care of Megumi. Nanami didn't die— NO ONE died! Even so, the rest of the story remained the same and that's how you liked to imagine it.

Playing one random episode, you returned your attention to the ice cream and wine, the storm was already here. Thunders interrupted the peace from time to time and droplets of rain hit the window harmonically, the voices of Gojo and Geto coming from the TV helped your imagination fly, and your hand went for your rubber friend.

Your fingers slid under the hot, bubbling water until they reached your warm center where they delved between your folds and began to caress, your ears paying special attention to Gojo and Geto’s voices as slowly started to pump, in and out, it wasn’t enough and your rubber friend joined the party, slipping inside you with a single thrust. Thunder interrupting from time to time, as your imagination did its trick.

Slowly, your moans began to gain volume, but still were drowned out by the storm around you. Perfect, that way you wouldn’t have to worry about the neighbors. You accelerated enthusiastically, and your thumb pressed over your clit. Fuck! You were close, and closer and closer…. And suddenly Gojo was laughing, and that bubbly sound makes it for you. Now, you were coming, hard and glorious. The excitement making you lose your balance, as a loud and magnificently, thunder roared and sparked the night sky, at the same time, your frame spasmed while cumming.

Your body submerged under the hot water, and you felt as if were sinking into the sea, the water covered you completely for a moment too long and the need for oxygen catapulted you out, grabbing frantically to the edge of the tub, gasping and heaving, in a combination of post-orgasm and suffocation. Hanging from the porcelain, unable to refocus your eyes, you were still seeing white, stars behind your eyelids when you heard Suguru Geto's voice again.

“Satoru, why did you call me if you had a girl in the bathtub, you perv?”

You didn't remember those dialogues, what episode were you watching?

“A girl in the bathtub?” Now you heard Satoru Gojo's voice reply in confusion, “I think I’ll know if I had a girl in the tub—”

A flash of lightning interrupted his sassy comeback and finally your eyes focused again, your center continued to palpitate in pleasure and for a moment, you thought you were in a wet dream, because Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto were standing in front of you—In person! In the flesh! Were you dreaming? Had you drowned and this was heaven?

“……Hello, t-there….” Gojo spelled, dumbfounded, mouth hanging open “…. pretty girl….in my tub?” he drawled, like trying to make sense to the vision in front, “—not that I’m complaining but….” He took a few, slow steps closer and you could only stare, “….h-how? - how did you get in here?”

You couldn't believe your eyes, how could this be!? You looked around and noticed that you weren't in your apartment. This wasn't your tub, nothing was familiar, except for the storm outside.

“—So, you didn't invite her?” Geto asked an astonished Satoru, who shook his head before spelled, “—if I had invited her…. I assure you. YOU wouldn't be here.”

Geto snickered a little under his breath, his eyes never straying from you, analyzing you in detail while bikering about the current event, Gojo’s gaze followed his example.

Neither of them looked relaxed as they would have you believe, both seemed tense, fists clenched, pupils dilated, breathing accelerated, eyes unable to focus on anything other than you….

“—Then let's ask her,” Satoru ranted, interrupting the discussion and taking a couple of measured steps towards you, crouched down to be at eye level, you hugged your naked body, and he softened his tone before asking. “Who sent you here? The higher-ups? a clan? some sect?”

Gojo was waiting for your answer, and you had no idea what to say, how could you explain to them that they were the characters of an anime series. While they were arguing you did some thinking, and the only thing that came to your mind was the possibility of having been transported to the Jujutsu Kaisen world, maybe something related to the storm… or something like that?! You had no idea, but this certainly wasn't your world—… but it wasn't the normal anime timeline either… Suguru should be Kenjaku, right?

“…. Kenjaku?” You tried, looking at Suguru and he raised a thin eyebrow. Gojo glanced at him over his shoulder and the black-haired shook his head at him.

“Kenjaku?” Satoru repeated, quizzically. “Who is Kenjaku, darling? Is he the one who sent you?” his hand landed on the rim of the bathtub, “or… is he the one you are running from?”

Fuck! This was a problem, not only had you changed worlds, but you had changed to a Jujutsu Kaisen timeline that you couldn't even predict. This was freaking canon; this couldn't be happening—

“Hey, calm down, everything’s fine. We are not going to hurt you.” Gojo reassured, taking his hand away from the rim of the bathtub to raise both hands in mock surrender wearing a soft, lingering grin on his lips.

Your distress must have shown on your features and Gojo softened his voice even more, “why don't you start by telling us your name,” he smiled warmly this time, and your heart skipped a beat, “…. shit—you are damn cute…” he found himself whispering under his breath, and coming to his senses, added louder. “I-I'm sure it's a pretty name.”

Geto stared down at his best friend for a long moment and out of the blue, left the bathroom, and the two were left alone.

Satoru Gojo's blue eyes were no joke, they were piercing, enthralling and so unbelievable pretty, that you had to force yourself out of the trance to reply.

“…….. (Y/N).”

“(Y/N),” he tasted how your name rolled down his tongue and grinned even wider, “I knew it would be a beautiful name…. so fitting—”

“—Let’s get you out of there, shall we?”

Geto returned quicker than anticipated, with a large towel hanging from his arm, and instead of offering it to you, he stepped closer, stopping in front of the tub next to Satoru where waited for you to come out. Your gazes crossing for a long, greedy second before he turned around.

“Come on, we won't look...” he asserted and giving Satoru a little kick for him to get up, “turn around, Toru, so she can get out.”

Satoru stood and then spined on his heels, both facing the other way while Geto held the towel for you to wrap yourself in. The sound of water rattling and drops splashing on the floor let them know that you had trusted them. You wrapped yourself in the soft, warm material and it was when you tried to pull it further that you noticed that Suguru wasn’t planning on letting go, but instead, turned around, your eyes met his chest from the height difference and in a very unexpected motion, the sorcerer collected you in his arms, bridal style.

"I heated the towel in the dryer," he informed you as he walked out of the bathroom followed by the white-haired prodigy, "-I didn't want you to get cold."

You muttered a weak. “T-Thanks,” and you reduced to let him carry you out.

Satoru raised both eyebrows— Going to such trouble for a stranger, Suguru was kind but... was he that kind?

Something was odd. It wasn't just your sudden naked appearance in his bathtub, but also that cozy feeling that had his heart beating a thousand per second, his hands sweating, his stare strapped to you, cheeks warm as if in a fever, skin crawling due to the mere sound of your voice, and that unsettling and equally mesmerizing, thrill.

Satoru Gojo was experiencing a strange and unusual pang of possessiveness that forced him to—

"Dress in one of my shirts," he demanded, in a high-pitched tone, "It’ll surely dwarf you-...since you're so small-"

"Pocket size..." Geto noted, still holding you against his broad chest. The bathroom where you appeared was connected to Satoru’s bedroom, so the bed was the best place to set you…. nevertheless, that didn’t follow through. Suguru Geto had sat on the bed but had not released you, instead had placed you on his lap like a child being dried by his devoted mother.

“I don't want you to get sick,” he claimed when notice you staring, “so I might as well do it.” He claimed with a soft grin, using the extra-large towel to dry you thoroughly.

The grin on his lips felt terribly engrossed like if charmed, sending a festival of goosebumps all over your vulnerable, naked form. You had to look away, and he chuckled. Satoru quickly searched through his drawers to hand you a white t-shirt, “Here! Try this one."

Hesitantly accepting the shirt, your cheeks filled with blood when you noticed that the two of them just wouldn’t quit looking at you.

"I can do it myself," you announced.

"I bet so... but I'm afraid we can't leave you alone," Geto assured, and Gojo seconded him, "we'll turn around to give you some privacy, but we can't leave the room."

You nodded with some reluctance and Geto slipped out from under you to stand next to Satoru and turn his back to you.

After a moment, they both heard the wet towel fall to the floor and the shiver that ran through them was inevitable— what the hell was wrong with them?! why were you so damn irresistible.... they only needed to share one look, for their bestie telepathy to work and quickly realize, both were feeling the same pull.

Satoru peeked to the side a little and Suguru immediately held him by the jaw with a firm grip. "...Don't even think about it, Toru."

The white haired merely shrugged amused, and waited for you to finish.

Satoru's shirt was indeed huge on you, covering up to the middle of your thighs. The rain had stopped and now the moon shone big in the starry sky. You looked out the window and were surprised by how similar both worlds were.

"—How am I going to get back home?"

"Where is home?"

Satoru's voice so close startled you and he was quick to apologize with a chuckle. He walked backward never losing you from his sight and carelessly drop on a nearby couch. Geto soberly sat on the bed, and both flanked you, the only exit a door that you had no idea where it would take you. You sighed heavily.

"This is not my world," you announced firmly, and they both listened attentively, you spinned on your heels to face them, hugging your body. "I know it sounds crazy, but this is not my universe," maybe you were going to leave out the fact that they were characters from an anime, "I belong to another universe where there are no curses, no cursed energy, no sorcerers-"

"-But you still know every term of this world..." Satoru intervened. "Better said 'Secret terms'," Geto added, "-how do you know what cursed energy or curses are?" he inquired, shifting his weight to rest his elbows on his knees, "...... not even a civilian of this world knows that, only those trained in the Jujutsu world."

You felt a lump in your throat. “I-I…. your world is…… a fairytale in mine….” Dammit! that was the best way you could explain it, in so little time. Both sorcerers shared a look. “I know everything about you guys. Even the most intimate details, I mean—”

“How old am I?” Satoru questioned.

“28.”

"When is my birthday?"

"December 7th."

“And Suguru’s?”

“27 years old, his birthday is February 3, you both went to Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical School with Shoko Leiri, Nanami Kento and Yu Haibara,” With each piece of information you released, their skepticism decreased, either you were telling the truth, or you were the best trained spy in history. “Your teacher and current Headmaster is called Masamichi Yaga. You have a sweet tooth, Satoru and Suguru prefers Zaru Soba, Satoru hates alcohol—”

“Okay…” It was Geto who interrupted you, “Let's say that-…let's say we believe you.” He did not seem very convinced of his statement but still continued, “…. I assume your goal is to return to your world?”

He asked and Satoru pursed his lips.

"Would be ideal."

The conversation continued for a few hours, and the excitement of being in the presence of Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto slowly dissipated as you realized that you were trapped in a world where curses ate people or killed them mercilessly. This world had its pros and cons and without cursed energy, the cons outweighed… unless-

“—How do you know if you have cursed energy?”

You were curled up, hugging your legs to your chest while resting against the headboard of the bed, Gojo was lying lengthwise at the end and Geto pacing side to side.

“Do you see curses?” Gojo questioned and you shrugged.

“We can test it out when we take you to the school,” Suguru advised, “so we'll know for sure.”

“Sounds good…. Well, does anyone have any progress on the plan to return me to my world?”

They both pouted their lips and Satoru began to ramble about various ideas, some comical, some too complicated but all really aimed to make you laugh and relax.

“—I seriously doubt that is even legal in any world.” You chuckled and the white-haired grinned pleased while lying on his back, loving the bubbly sound of your cute laugh.

Suguru gave him a playful smack to then sat on the edge of the bed. “Cursed energy leaks from the human body, accumulates, and ferments over time until a cursed spirit manifests.” He explained like a teacher. “This is only the case with non-sorcerers, as sorcerers we are trained to control and channel our cursed energy into jujutsu. Cursed energy becoming our primary power source.”

“Meaning?” Satoru pressed in a bored tone.

“Something akin to the creation of a curse could have happened on her plane," he mused, "...some intense feeling coming from her could have catapulted it... you mentioned that you were taking a bubble bath before being transported here," Suguru held his chin, "maybe you were doing something else while taking the bath?" he wondered, glancing at you from the rim of his shoulder. "Perhaps, something enticing?"

“…Nothing out of the ordinary just a relaxing bath in the tub, with a glass of wine and—”

You stopped your story at once and they both looked at you strangely.

“If you hide information from us, we will not be able to help you.” Suguru stressed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Whatever it is, we won't judge you,” Satoru insisted, “…we're just trying to help you.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to confess that you had been masturbating while listening to their voices from the episode on TV. This was information you would prefer to keep till your dying day.

“N-Nothing, I was just bathing…. I don’t know what else I could be doing-….”

“Masturbating?” Satoru clarified and your face turned beat red.

“We found your…. toy,” Geto confessed, scratching the back of his head, awkwardly. “It was at the bottom of the tub. It seems that dildos are an element that our two worlds share.”

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole, you hid your heated face behind your hands, and could hear their dissimulated chuckles before a stream of encouraging comments began, but no matter how hard they tried, were only making you feel more embarrassed.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, (Y/N)." Gojo kept going, "a lot of girls can't reach orgasm with just their fingers..." Suguru face-palmed but Gojo ignored him, "it takes a special technique, long thick fingers," you curled up further into yourself feeling awfully dizzy, "your little fingers can’t reach the right places,” he pointed out and smashing his closed fist on his palm enthusiastically, beamed, “unless you massage the clit exclusively, that way-"

You heard Gojo choke on his next words and thanks to your position couldn't see Geto smothering him with a pillow as he shot daggers through his eyes. "Thank you for the extensive and highly unnecessary explanation, Satoru-"

Satoru and Suguru began to quarrel like when they were young.

"Unnecessary?” Gojo gasped, feigning be offended, “—I was getting to the point before you interrupted me, Suguru,” he complained, “I think that might be our way to go” quickly added, ".... orgasm is a strong sensation which the body and mind can easily confuse with the feeling of euphoria, if we recreate the event maybe we can return her to her world."

OH MY! Could this be a dream!? You pinch your arm, but nothing happened.

There was a dead silence that prolonged and eventually you peeked through your fingers. They were both looking at you, waiting.

Capturing a lock of hair between your fingers, nervously twirled it to then gulp some spit and a so needed mouthful of air, before saying with burning cheeks. "It-It's worth a try."

No matter how hard you tried, the toy that had traveled with you from another universe refused to start, and you found yourself in the painful need to use your fingers. Satoru had not been wrong in his verdict, it was true that you could not reach orgasm just using your fingers... you were too impatient to hunt for the sensation, too inexperienced to know where to touch exactly and immensely shy to ever ask for some external help that would aid you in your homework. So, there you were, locked in Satoru Gojo's bathroom, playing the strings but not getting the glorious notes.

Knock! Knock! knock!

It was the third time they interrupted you.

You flung open the door and to your surprise, Gojo didn't even flinch. Almost as if he had been anxiously waiting for you to give up on your efforts and beg for his support.

"-Are you suggesting that I let two strangers jack me off in order to return to my world?"

Those were the last words you thought you would ever say.

Geto hid an amused smirk behind his hand, but Satoru was more brazen, and his smirk didn't shy away.

“We're not strangers, (Y/N),” Satoru said very confidently, gently putting a strand of your hair behind your ear, “you know us better than we know ourselves, don't she, Geto?”

"I had already forgotten how much I like Zaru Soba," Geto commented from his spot on the bed, broad back leaning against the headboard as he munched away an instant Zaru soba soup that he found in Satoru's pantry "-I am immensely grateful to you for reminding me, pretty."

"See," Gojo bit down a laugh that would surely only help to get you madder, "we're not strangers, besides it's not like you have any other options, do ya?"

You pouted your lips and your brow wrinkled, to what Satoru's invasive thumb quickly smooth it out gently, sliding motion that felt way too lovingly as it went up and down your skin. His face now inches from yours.

"Let us help you," his minty breath caressed the tip of your nose, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, "you didn't appear in my bathtub by accident," maybe it had something to do with the fact that you were masturbating while listening to their voices but that was classified information that they would only get out of you with torture, "...as we see it, we are in charge of you until we can return you to your world," Satoru straightened up and wrapping your wrist in his big palm began to guide you towards the bed until the back of your calves bumped with the mattress, "-so, our mission is to help you in any way possible."

There was something extremely captivating in the sweetly way in which he was looking at you, and glancing at Geto, you recognized this same warmness reflected in his raven eyes. Would it be possible for them to find you attractive? Or to find you as irresistible as you found them…

"Will you allow us to take care of you, little one?"

*READ THE 9000 WORD COMISSION IN MY PATREON. (Includes lots of smut content and NSFW art from scenes of the fic. Plus, lot of JJK NSFW content)

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roaringxthunder · 1 year ago

Text

He chuckled at her statement, taking another long drag. He knew most higher ranked shinigami did tend to keep their reiatsu levels in check. Whether that was to hide from others or to keep their subordinates safe was dictated by situation. He was appreciative of her conscious effort to not reblind him, but he had to deal with multiple people who either didn't know how to suppress or didn't care to.

He let out the breath of smoke as he mulled over what she had asked. He honestly couldn't care less what she did away from him, as long as she didn't drag him into it. Especially if it was a hairbrained idea like a certain 'strawberry' as he'd heard him called.

"I assure you, dealing with Kurosaki and Kenpachi-taichou on a regular basis has made things a little easier to manage in regards to the amount of reiatsu." He spoke as he looked over towards the smaller figure. "The more you suppress, the denser it looks to me. Cut loose, and I can still see the blurry version. The amount released doesn't normally bother me too much. Especially when I spar with people of my station and higher among the Gotei. Plus, all I need to describe you is to bring Chi out for a very detailed description."

"Oh... Hmm..." Well, perhaps this was actually vaguely awkward. If he could tell that kind of thing by her 'casual and regular normal person' level of reiatsu emission she only kept up as a courtesy to others to avoid her presence being incredibly disconcerting, what all else could he tell?

She and Kūkaku were quite... uninhibited... as newlyweds and although that didn't (yet) extend to full reiatsu releases—neither of them were all that keen on everybody within the same horizon knowing what they were up to with all the subtlety of a strategic nuke going off—she was pretty sure there'd be evidence in terms of reiatsu. Namely, either her wife's curling off of her, or intermixed with and tinging her own—or both.

It hadn't been an issue yet, given the peacetime conditions and all; nobody was investigating that hard, and probably only that silly stray Grimmjow was attuned and uncouth—as well as bold!—enough to comment on it, if he did notice. But perhaps someone always looking at reiatsu might see it...

"If that's the case, guess I better stay set to 'barely there'. Wouldn't want to temporarily blind you all over again from the Matrix Code of inner beauty. Maybe don't investigate too closely either though; you might notice things you can't unnotice. Anyway, I take it her energy becomes her?"

#thunder's roar -- ic #seireitei life -- bleach #midnightactual #black cat of mischief yoruichi shihouin

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nxzz-skz · 23 days ago

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~a glimpse on the ice~

ᯓ★ ice skater!sunghoon falling for his biggest fan

ᯓ★ warnings : brief mention of suicide, kissing, fluff, suggestive/implied sex

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The stadium was alive and roaring with thunderous applause, but Park Sunghoon heard none of it. He glided off the ice, his expression stoic and unreadable. His performance had been technically flawless, yet something gnawed at him-a hollowness that remained no matter how many medals he collected or cheers he heard.

Outside the arena, Y/N clutched her homemade banner tightly against the cold winds. Her cheeks and nose stung, her toes numb, but she didn't care. Not when she had been waiting hours just for a chance to see him. The moment finally came when he emerged, surrounded by his security and staff, his sharp features half-hidden under the shadow of his hood.

"Sunghoon!" she called out, eagerly trying to be louder than the rest of the crowd, her voice shaky but the desperation clear.

He paused mid-step, his dark eyes flicking towards her. There was something cold and almost piercing in his gaze, and for a moment, Y/N had regretted calling out. But then, almost hesitantly, he mumbled to his security before stepping forward, his movements deliberate.

She fumbled, thrusting a pink envelope towards him, "I....I wrote this for you. Please read it."

His gloved hand took it, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest of moments. "Thank you," he said curtly, bowing his head slightly, the words polite but detached. Without another glance, he was escorted away, leaving Y/N standing there watching, her heart heavy with unspoken hopes.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The letter sat unopened on Sunghoon's coffee table for days, admis the pile of countless other fan mail. It wasn't that he didn't care about it; it was just...difficult. Letters from fans were always the same-praise, admiration, maybe a request for an autograph or even a love letter. But something about this one tugged at him. He doesn't know if it was the way she sounded so desperate when calling him. Not in the way the other fans do- but in a way that sounded as if she was pleading to be heard. As if this was her last hope.

When he finally opened it, the words inside stopped him cold.

"Dear Sunghoon, I know you don't know me, and you probably never will, but I wanted to thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Watching you skate has been my light in the darkest of times..."

He read every line carefully, some even twice, his chest tightening. Y/N had written about her struggles, the suffocating expectations of her family, and how she'd once felt like giving up on this life entirely. But through all of it-watching him-his dedication, his resilience-had given her the strength to keep going.

"You don't have to be perfect to be loved," she had written before signing off with her name and a heart, and Sunghoon felt a lump rise in his throat.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The next time her saw her, it was unplanned. After a particularly tiring practice, he found himself wandering aimlessly, Y/N's words echoing in his mind. Before he knew it, he was standing outside the small coffee shop she had mention she worked at in her letter.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock when he walked in, the bell above the door signaling his entrance. For a moment, she thought she was imaging things, that her idol couldn't really be standing in front of her. But after blinking twice, there he was, standing in front of her, wearing a simple black hoodie that somehow didn't make him any less recognisable.

"Sunghoon...?" she whispered, he voice barely audible, not wanting him to go through the struggle of a crowd forming around him.

"Can we talk?" he asked, his tone quieter than she'd expected, his gaze refusing to meet hers.

She decided to take her break then, leading him to a secluded table in the corner of the cafe, her heart racing the entire time. As he sat across from her, Y/N struggled to find her words, in both disbelief and confusion. He too, seemed hesitant, his fingers tracing patterns on the edge of the cup of coffee Y/N had insisted he had.

"I read your letter," he breathed, breaking the silence and finally looking up to meet her gaze.

Her breath caught, a slight gasp leaving her lips. "You...did?"

He nodded. "It was different from the others. You're different from the others. I've never had someone see me the way you did in those words. Not even my manager...or my family." His voice softened, his eyes meeting hers. "Thank you."

Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment, neither of them spoke, an invisible jigsaw piece slotting together between them.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Their connection deepened over time, their coffee shop meetings becoming a quiet refuge for both of them. Sunghoon started showing showing up after practices or during Y/N's breaks, sometimes bringing his frustrations, sometimes just sitting in comfortable silence. Y/N, in turn, shared pieces of herself-her dreams, her fears, her relentless belief and hope in him.

One evening, as the walked together along the empty streets after closing, Sunghoon broke the silence.

"You told me in your letter that I don't have to be perfect to be loved," he said, his breath visible in the cold night air. "I've never believed that y'know. At least, not until i met you."

Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning to look at him. There was something raw and meaningful in his eyes, something she hadn't seen before.

"I've never known how to let go of the pressure or the stress," he continued, his voice wavering slightly. "But...when I'm with you,it feels like i can breathe again. Like i can finally see through the ice."

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand reaching for hers, his thumb running along her skin softly. "You've become important to me Y/N. More than I know how to put into words."

Her heart pounded, her breath hitching as he leaned in. His lips met hers softly at first, tentative and searching, as if asking for permission. But as her eyes fluttered shut and she melted into him, the kiss deepened, his arms wrapping around her waist tightly as though worried she might disappear.

Y/N's hands slid up to his shoulder as she stood on tiptoe, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed closer. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the cold.

"You're more than perfect to me," she whispered, and the way his gaze softened made her close her eyes and smile, feeling as though she'd just broken through the last of his walls.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Their new relationship wasn't always the smoothest. Sunghoon's intense schedule was demanding, and the media's attention on his every move made privacy a constant battle. But through it all, with the power of perseverance and love, they found ways to make it work.

Late one evening, after another exhausting day of training, Sunghoon ran away from his security and showed up at Y/N's apartment unannounced. His hair was damp from having a quick shower before he had come, and he looked more tired than she'd every seen him.

"You didn't call," she said, letting him in with an expression of surprise.

"The press have been so annoying these days....and i didn't want to be alone," he admitted, his voice low.

She led him inside, and before she could say anything else, she was spun around and he pulled her into his arms. The kiss that followed was anything but soft. It was desperate, almost feverish, as though he was pouring all his frustrations and emotions into it.

They stumbled towards the couch, his hands finding the curve of her waist as he pressed her down beneath him. Y/N's breath hitched as his lips trailed from her mouth her neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice husky, his dark eyes searching hers.

She nodded, her fingers threading through his hair. "I'm sure. Always sure with you."

What followed was slow, deliberate, and filled with a tenderness that left her breathless. Sunghoon's touch was reverent, his movements careful yet passionate, as though he was meticulously memorizing every inch of her.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together, the room bathed in the soft glow of the city lights outside. Sunghoon's hand brushed through her hair, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"I've never felt like this before...not for anyone or anything," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N smiled, her head resting against his chest. "Me neither."

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

In the moths that followed, Sunghoon found himself skating not for the judges or the crowd, but for himself-and for Y/N. She was there for every performance, her unwavering support reminding him that he was more than just a skater.

When he won gold at the World Championships, his first instinct wasn't to look at the medal or the cameras, but to find her in the crowd. And when their eyes met, her tear-filled smile said everything he needed to hear.

As they embraced later that night, away from the cameras and the noise, Sunghoon whispered against her ear, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Y/N smiled, blushing, pulling him impossibly closer. "And you're everything I ever dreamed of."

"I love you.." he responded before burying his face in the crook of her neck, leaving her speechless.

For the first time in his life, Sunghoon wasn't chasing perfection. He had already found it-in her.

ᯓ★ Send an ask or leave a comment if there's any fics or tropes you could recommend for me to write!

ᯓ★ Reblogs appreciated!

#enhypen #enha x reader #sunghoon #sunghoon enhypen #enhypen fic #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon

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soleilapproves · 25 days ago

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Older boyfriend Price teaches you how to use a shot gun.

Notes: Price doesn’t necessarily have to be older but it just made sense to me, reader wears a dress, not proofread (sorry)

main masterlist

You flinch as you hear the thunderous sound of the bullet echo out in the open field. Peacefully resting birds now flew out of the forest canopy they were resting in.

“I don’t know, John. I don’t feel comfortable holding a gun.” You squinted at your boyfriend who was standing right in front of the setting sun, creating an almost halo-like glow behind his cider brown hair.

He ignored your protests as he walked towards you and grabbed ahold of your wrist. “You’ll need to know how to use a gun to protect yourself. Now come on.” An uneasy breath escaped you as you stared at the shiny black hunk of metal in his arm. You wondered how your boyfriend could carry a shotgun in one hand but you chalked up his inhumane strength due to his rigorous years in the military.

Before you could protest any further, The older man simply pulled you to where he was standing earlier. You turned around to face him, trying your best to convince him out of his (in your opinion) crazy idea.

“Why would I need a gun when I have you to protect me?” You swore that your sickeningly sweet smile almost turned his frown into a bashful smirk but you were proved wrong quickly. He simply grabbed you by your jaw and pulled you close enough for your tipsy breath to hit his slightly chapped lips. “Don’t get cute with me. Now turn around.”

With two small pats on your cheek, your shuddering body turned around, facing back at the expanse of trees and the setting sun. The summer heat didn’t help with your nervousness- you couldn’t tell if you were sweating over holding a gun or the searing heat from John’s firm chest pressed against your back.

“Good, now do as I say. You’re gonna hold this by the grip right here.” His warm hand grabbed hours and placed it on the little hitch-like design on the gun. You ignored the way you shivered when your skin made contact with the cool metal despite it being the middle of August.

He quickly loads up a bullet and places your hand on the trigger, keeping his much bigger finger resting on yours for support. “Just relax, love. I’m right here,” he said as he kissed your temple. You took his words to heart and relied on his warm breath hitting your neck as a reminder to keep yourself grounded.

It all felt strangely romantic. The slight breeze in the air wrapped the skirt of your long flowy dress around his right leg. His whiskey neat sat idly alongside your cherry margarita (which he made, grumbling about how difficult it is to find a machine that crushes ice to the right consistency). Your ex-military German Shepherd sleeping soundly in the comfort of your summer cabin. It would all sound like a scene from a contemporary romance novel if you didn’t mention that your boyfriend was trying to teach you how to use a weapon.

He aimed the gun towards the sky and pointed the muzzle towards the blaring orange sun. “Ready?” his gruff voice asked with a teasing hilt.

You gulped and leaned further into his warm chest, blood roaring in your ears, heat creeping up everywhere. You were sure you must’ve left a sweaty imprint on Price’s flannel. “As ever.”

The gun’s recoil made it jerk in your arms and you gasped as your body jolted as a result. Your breathing quickened as Price cheered. “Attagirl,” he said as he kissed your cheek from behind, prickly beard tickling your skin. The soldier put the gun down and turned you around in his arms, uncaring if you were a jittery and sweaty mess.

“Little more practice and you’ll be a pro,” he said before kissing you square on the lips. The man was clearly impressed that you overcame your anxiety because his tongue couldn’t help but trace along your lips, relishing in their softness in contrast to his rougher ones.

You didn’t miss how his right hand lightly grazed your ass, trying to make sure you still weren’t jumpy, before landing his palm flat against it. “Fuck, might have to reward ya for bein’ brave,” he whispered into your mouth.

—

I was surprised that I couldn’t find any fics of him teaching the reader how to use a gun lol

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