#when you’re in Twitter mind it makes Sense

[cancerian]

The only “dense motherfucker” is one that believes it is women that must do so (make men feel comfortable) for men. You live in a society highly governed by your fellow males, if anyone is making you feel “bad” or “sad” it is because of the rules and laws created by your fellow males. Why should women who have been oppressed and subjugated for years, and are still subjugated by a different name care for your hurt that is caused by other men.

The biggest threat to women is men, the biggest threat to men is other men. At these your big ages, you would think that half a braincell would have formed by now. There is nothing that men will do now that they have not already done in the past. This is why women’s history and their experiences with the men they loved is very important for young girls to know. That way they don’t fall into the trap of “if you show them love, they will change and be kind.” Stop trying to put women in dangerous situations under the guise of loving all humans.

You have to be small minded to think women treat all men the same, your kind needs their ego stroked. Which is why women/girls are required to say “but not all men” when discussing things that disproportionately affect them. No one owes you love, but as humans we owe each other some sense of respect. So, you must respect women’s decisions to interact with you how they feel safest doing. The same way women have learned to respect that not all men are going to respect them. Only a dense pig would think that women do not understand the concept of viewing others as humans. In fact, time and time again it is women that are viewed as less than human by the same group you’re forcing them to care for.

As women (regardless of age), and especially as black women (moving away from the POC bs) you should prioritize your safety, you are not mother Theresa (even she was proven to be a fraud) and should focus on your own wellbeing. Don’t let an idiot calling you “dense” put you in situations many never come out of alive. As someone who has a male in her life that would do anything to see her happy and accomplished (and vice versa), I don’t go around with rose colored glasses trying to change anyone’s opinions because they chose to adopt an ideology that demonizes the living experiences of others. If being called “brother” is the only way you feel welcomed, then you need to rethink your entire life. Once you’re above 25, I implore that you try using at the very least 1/3 of your brain. I know using even half would probably cause a headache, so for now let’s aim to use 1/3.

Also you bring up the fact that men disproportionately hold more seats of power, so maybe direct your sadness to the people actively causing it. Which is the men in power not caring about the broke men (any man not in power). “It won’t pan out great for anyone who is not a male” because this is what males have done throughout history (I know you used man, but I used male for a specific reason and no I’m not a terf, but I don’t care about being called that). What a pathetic thing to say, especially if you’re not the man in power. This is an issue that egotistical idiots have (not calling you an idiot, but it is what it is), claiming men created this and that, when your ancestors are not the men that created it. Stop claiming power you personally don’t have. Stop claiming other men’s hard work as your own, especially when they put in the work to actually be productive members of society.

To the original twitter post, my dude you sound very stupid and seem like the kind that spends more time watching videos than actually reading on your countries history. The win was predictable, not because “men are becoming more right wing” but because this has been a common theme in America. These people are influenced by certain kind of media because deep down they already hold these beliefs, which is why they accept them. Men don’t genuinely want to see equality, hence why when they notice any group they view less than getting more rights they retaliate. The election result only tells us the reality of America as it pertains to race and sex (even more so when we look at the outcome of certain women’s voting history). So, the replies need to stop trying to make women take the blame for actions caused by other men. We should all aim to grow up.

To all the women/girls out there, avoid men that always want to be coddled and victimized. Most importantly find ways to protect yourselves, utilize the 2nd amendment given to you not by all men, but by the men that actually wrote it in. Protect yourselves by all means, and don’t be made to feel guilty for opting for safety over danger and stress.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[imunbreakabledude]

Twitter seemed increasingly dumb and off putting to me when I was on it (which is why I stopped using it) but it somehow seems even more dumb and off putting to me when my main view of tweets is those that are screenshot and shared by people I follow on other platforms (Instagram/tumblr). Like damn these aren’t the dregs of awfulness Twitter has been overtaken by, these are curated, these are tweets someone I like enough to follow has deemed worthy enough to screenshot/reshare, and they’re still dumb as fuck most of the time. Like even sentiments I generally agree with coming from people whom I know to be smart - when they’re reduced to a 280 character “spark as much reactionary emotion as possible” format, they become dumb! it’s a pretty shit format for communicating anything and it incentivizes some of the worst rhetorical strategies out there!!!!

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … princess going digital! ♡

bsf!jj followed you on all of your social media accounts. well, he thought he did. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ ౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆

your instagram was adorable and demure. photo dumps and stories of your daily iced coffee in your little manicured hand. you had pinterest boards too — jj had seen you scrolling through endless pictures of clothes on his bed and asked questions. you helped him make his own account so he could find new ideas on how to customise his board. he hasn’t opened the app since, but it seemed like it made you happy so he couldn’t find it in himself to delete it off his lockscreen.

he followed you on twitter too. he knew he did because he saw your tweets all up and down his timeline when he would be scrolling late at night trying to find porn. tweets about the cashier that was rude to you, or about that one song you just can’t get out your head.

he thought he’d covered all bases with you. he liked to be in tune with everything you were doing — and maybe that was wrong for a best friend to want, but the two of you were close! it only felt right. it may also have something to do with the fact he’s head over heels for you.

you were laying on your front on his bed. contrasting so sweetly against the boyishness of his room with your cute little hello kitty shirt and denim skirt — epitome of girly girl in such an unfitting space. it made him smile, and he nearly forgot to tune into what you were saying.

you were ranting about your mother again, the woman making it her mission to constantly bring you down.

“seriously jayj, if you saw the way she spoke to me...” you mutter with a frowny little pout as your fingers tap away at the screen, assumably responding to a text.

“i have seen the way she speaks to you. the lady is a nut job, no offence.” jj leans back slightly, tossing a balled up pair of socks from his laundry in the air and catching it.

“her texts are even worse.” you huff.

“s’alright. i’ll be your mommy.” he quips as you’re distracted by pulling up the correct screen.

“jj.” you tsk before turning your phone around. “look!” you whine, and he knows he’s meant to be looking at the texts displayed infront of him. but with undiagnosed adhd, jj couldn’t help but find his focus on the notification sliding down at the top of the screen. the twitter icon, notifying someone reposted your tweet — however, it was accompanied with another username he’d never seen before. an account ran by you assumably, that he no idea about.

“huh… yeah, no yeah. she’s batshit.” jj shakes himself off as he takes mental note of the username, leaning back and hoping you don’t ask any questions knowing he didn’t read the texts at all. you seem none the wiser, continuing to complain and go about your business. that evening, it’s time for you to head home. jj squeezes you at the doorway, cups your cheek and tells you that if your mom is giving you grief, you can come right on back. it seemed to comfort the pout off your face, and you skip off.

now it’s time to sate his curiosity.

when jj gets into bed that night, he types the username into twitter. it takes a few tries to get the specific spelling right, as it had been a few hours and slipped his mind — but finally, the account filled his screen.

your age is attached to the account, yet no name. there was definitely a sense of anonymity— to the point where you hadn’t even told him about it. he considered doing the right thing and clicking off — but jj didn’t always do the right thing, and this was one of those times. the first thing he notices is how clearly you the account is. the header, the profile picture — even the font in your bio was so… you. all curlicues and girly and pink — it was undeniably his best friend.

and then he scrolls.

‘want my best friend 2 hold me down n use me so bad :(’ a tweet from 3 days ago. the blonde sits up in bed, blinking at the screen. that was him, right? eagerly, he continues his scrolling — finding endless tweets about your sexual desires, fantasies, anecdotes about jj himself. it didn’t take much longer of scrolling until he comes across a video — his face heating and crotch stiffening at the familiarity of it all. it was your bedroom, and your face was cropped out. that one pair of pink panties he occasionally caught peeks of beneath your skirt hang off the ankle of your knee high clad legs, pretty pussy on display, glistening as you roll your hips, desperately fucking a pillow.

“god… damn.” he breathes, hand coming up to rub his chest as if to attempt to still his quick-beating heart. he stuffs a tongue in his cheek, part of him wanted to be mad that you were letting strangers on the internet see you like this before he got to. it was a childish type of jealousy that made his hands sweat and the back of his neck all prickly.

a bird squawks outside his window, causing the maybank boy to jump out of his skin like he was about to be caught watching his best friend get herself off. he juggles the phone, quickly checking the screen to make sure he hadn’t accidentally liked any posts. he hadn’t, and he exhales— but with the commotion, he’d accidentally refreshed the page. the loading wheel disappears with a pop, and a new tweet displays itself from three minutes prior.

‘my bsf looks after me so good :( he shld make me feel btter by letting me cum on his fingers <3’

it would be stupid to make a move. he would be potentially destroying a friendship, and on top of that — you could be mad at him for snooping. it was kind of a betrayal of trust after all, similar to if he’d read your diary. but his dick was hard and had taken over the steering wheel that operates his brain — and like he always said, stupid things had great outcomes all the time.

so with a clammy hand, he calls you.

“whats up jayj? did i leave something at your place again?” you croak, sounding all sleepy and cute. god, he couldn’t believe he’d waited so long.

“uh… so, like — imma cut to the chase, with everything goin’ on at your place, i don’t love the idea of you stayin’ there tonight. i’m comin’ to get you. you’re stayin’ here.” he makes up a quick excuse and feels kind of bad about it. his own desire toward you being masked as genuine concern for a friend. he expects some questioning, maybe even some resistance— but you perk up instantly.

“okay!”

and that’s exactly how you end up cradled in his lap with the rings at his knuckles tickling your opening from how deep in your greedy, drooling pussy they were.

“hmm— mm—huh—” you’re whining, all incoherent and fucked out with your cheek smushed against him, only two orgasms in. jj is grinning ear to ear, like some kind of sicko — never in his life thinking you’d want him like this. he almost wished he’d kept up the act for longer, preyed on your twitter account for longer to see what else you’d say, but he couldn’t help himself. he’d wanted you since you met in high school, and he was hungry.

“what’d i tell ya about not asking for things? could’ve just told me dude, i literally wanted this more than you.” he thinks out loud and you groan, pulling yourself up face to face with the handsome blonde.

“don’t call me dude when your fingers are n’side me!” you slur, lip all puffy and pouted. he smirks, unable to stop himself from finding amusement in your neediness and tilts his head a little so he was breathing right into your mouth.

“i’m sorry that’s my bad. baby.” he corrects himself, before pressing his lips to yours. that was much better.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 4] Expecting

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Warnings: Sukuna's an ass

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Sukuna visits you every night, trying to fulfill his duty. He’s doing his best to make it happen, but your womb is as bare as the day you met. It’s been three months since the day you showed up, and he’s been having sex with you nearly daily. You should be pregnant by now.

Yet, you’ve bled between the months. He’s been keeping track, after all, it’s his whim. You claim the bleeding is lighter than your usual lunar cycle, but that doesn’t signify anything for him… Perhaps you’re less fertile? It doesn’t make sense to him. Women don’t bleed while they’re pregnant, therefore you’re not expecting. 

He’s feeding you, clothing you, giving you luxuries that you could never afford in your lifetime– How dare you not fulfill his simple wish. He’s even helped your brother and helped your aunt in the process as well, he’s going above and beyond while you have done nothing for him.

He’s become increasingly harsh with you. He won’t dare to lay a hand on you, but he’s meaner than usual. He’s at times cruel with you, and while you try to understand that he’s just frustrated with the situation and lack of results, you get in your feelings about his behavior. Who wouldn’t be upset at the fact that a monster nearly twice their size is yelling at them over something they can’t control?

“King Sukuna will enjoy dinner with lady Kyoko tonight, my queen.” Uraume bows down before you. They’ve been giving you the announcement at least once a week. He’s rewarding her for your barren womb. You simply hum in response, barely even acknowledging them.

“Please tell Hina to make my dinner early, I want to rest soon.” You tell them before they leave the room. Sukuna told you that you wouldn’t receive any loyalty from the very beginning, therefore you’re not upset that he goes off with Kyoko when he pleases. As a matter of fact, you’re glad that he’s choosing to visit her tonight.

You try not to think about the situation, though it’s the only thing that pops up in your mind. He’s done what you’ve asked from him, he’s simply waiting on you now. He’s impatient, he won’t wait around on you forever. He’ll get tired of waiting soon, and you fear what will happen to you that day. 

“My queen.” You barely hear Hina coming into your room, so you’re startled when you hear her voice. She holds your tray of food, and you sigh at the sight. The food she makes is delicious each and every time, but you’re just not in the mood to eat tonight. Sukuna won’t let you rest if he knows you haven’t eaten; he wants the process to be as fast and as smooth as possible.

“Hina, do you also cook for Kyoko?” You question once she puts the tray of food down. She furrows her brows, trying to recall who Kyoko is. The name doesn’t ring a bell.

“I apologize, I don’t know who that is.” She responds, and it gives you a sense of satisfaction that the servant that tends to you goes nowhere near Kyoko. Though Hina is more of your personal servant than anything. 

Ever since the night she cooked for you, she’s been tasked with a lot more regarding you. She’s well studied, knowing how to read and write which made Sukuna force her to teach you. She keeps you company during your lonely afternoons, cheering you up while you wait for Sukuna to visit your room. You’re starting to see her as a friend, and the thought of Kyoko getting anywhere near her upsets you.

“Will you keep me company tonight?” You ask her, even though she doesn’t have much of an option. Your request is a command– Luckily for her, she doesn’t mind at all.

“Of course.” She answers with a subtle smile on her lips. She kneels before you, and waits for you to speak. She speaks when spoken to. She steals some glances your way, watching the way you eat the food that she made for you. You usually devour the meal, but it seems that tonight you’re eating with disgust. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to remake the meal?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite, my apologies.” You tell her, and she holds her breath. She hates to scold you but it’s her duty.

“You mustn’t apologize, my queen. King Sukuna would kill me if he were to hear your words.” She responds, and you’re about to mutter another apology due to your carelessness, but you hold back. You chuckle before giving her a slight nod. “What’s on your mind?”

“What makes a woman fall pregnant? Other than sex.” You ask her, and she’s taken back by your question. Her lips form into a straight line as she takes one good look at you. 

“Why would you like to know, my queen? You’re already expecting.” She says, and you furrow your brows. Hina has been by your side to see everything that’s been going on for the past couple of months, she knows that you’re not expecting. 

“Hina… This isn’t a joke.” You tell her, frankly a bit offended that she’s said what she said. She maintains the same serious expression, and you can’t make anything of it. “I’ve still been bleeding.”

“When my mother was pregnant, she bled. Granted, we had no idea but within seven months she had a healthy baby.” She answers. “It sometimes happens.”

“Babies come early.” You point out. Hina knows a lot, but you know your own body. If you were carrying a baby, you’d feel it.

“They do. But you’re also waking up nauseous, with tender breasts and you’re extremely fatigued throughout the day. I’ve been by your side enough to know.” She explains, and you chew on the inside of your cheek. Maybe you’re just sick, it doesn’t signify that you’re pregnant. “Plus you’ve been gaining some weight, it seems like a baby to me.”

“Let’s change the topic.” You end up saying, getting annoyed with her. She’s telling you what she’s noticed, yet you’re getting irritated with the mere suggestion that you’re expecting. You don’t want to get your hopes up in the case that you aren’t.

A week after Hina tells you that you’re expecting, you begin to feel all the symptoms that she mentioned but even worse than before. You think you’re just getting into your head, giving yourself false hope. You’re in your head a lot since Sukuna has stopped visiting you at night. He no longer asks for you to join him for dinner, and you can’t remember the last time you saw his face.

“Hina…” You begin, needing the opinion of someone else. She’s told you that you’ve been gaining weight, but you need her confirmation once again. 

“Yes, my queen?” Hina responds without wasting a second. She’s flashed by you, and she doesn’t even blink twice. It’s common for her to see you bare as she helps you get ready– Though being suddenly flashed is not usual.

“Am I gaining weight?” You ask her, and she nods in response.

“You are expecting.” She reaffirms you for the umpteenth time that week. It goes in one ear and out the other for you, and you’ll ask her in ten minutes once again. Hina walks over to you and tries to cover you with your robe, “Please cover yourself before someone walks inside.”

“Who’s going to dare–” You begin, cut off by the door to your room sliding open. Uraume walks inside, about to give an announcement but they take one good look at you. You’re thinking that they’re staring at you because you’re pretty much naked, and that’s only part of the issue. A subtle smile comes to Uraume’s lips.

“I shall tell him the news.” Uraume says, and you furrow your brows. What are they saying? Are they talking about the fact that you’re practically naked? It’s not anything crazy considering Hina is your servant and helps you with everything throughout the day.

“It’s not necessary.” You tell them, but they don’t listen to you and walk out of the room. It’s not a matter that requires Sukuna so why are they telling him this? Is Hina not supposed to see you bare? “What are they going to do?”

“Tell him the news that you’re expecting.” Hina fixes your robe, and you click your tongue. 

“How would they be able to tell? I don’t even have a bump, I’ve just gained some weight.” You say, and Hina lets out a chuckle. You still refuse to acknowledge it, but she can’t blame you. There isn’t a definite way for you to know. She just feels the energy the moment she steps anywhere near you, it’s too hard to ignore.

“We’ll see what King Sukuna says.” Hina tells you after she’s done dressing you up again. She’d make you more presentable, but she has a feeling that you won’t go out so there isn’t a need for it. She wants you to be as comfortable as possible.

Your body tenses up as you hear his loud footsteps approach the room. You feel as if you were a child about to get in trouble, even if you haven’t done anything wrong– Not to your knowledge at least. Hina bows down on the floor the moment Sukuna enters the room. You don’t give him the same honor, you don’t need to.

“Come here.” Sukuna doesn’t have to speak twice before you’re stepping towards him. You hold your breath when you’re before him, growing impatient as you wait for him to do something. A wicked smile forms on his face before he gleefully says, “It’s resonating.”

“What–” You begin as his hands go to your lower abdomen.

“He has a strong flow of cursed energy.” Sukuna points out, which leaves you confused. The statement isn’t meant for you though, you notice Uraume smiling before they bow down their head. “So much… It has to be twins.”

“Twins?!” You’re still denying the fact that you’re expecting, the mere suggestion that you’re expecting more than one baby is baffling. You try to take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. “How do you even know I’m pregnant? It–”

“Do not question me, woman.” Sukuna can’t even properly yell at you, as a weird feeling consumes him… Satisfaction, it has to be. He’s finally getting what he wants. “How did I not notice?”

“You haven’t–” Uraume begins but Sukuna turns his head to glare at them. They bite their tongue as Sukuna looks back down at you.

“You have to eat properly. I’ll overlook your every meal.” Sukuna says, which is overwhelming to hear. Dinner with Sukuna was already an experience, so you aren’t necessarily excited to have him watch you eat every meal. 

“Is that necessary?” You ask him, and Hina is surprised by your bold words. Though she guesses you can say whatever you’d like when you’re expecting Sukuna’s child. “I mean so far I’m eating well and everything–”

“I will be accompanying you.” He hates when he has to repeat himself, but he guesses he has no other option. He’s not going to harm you in any way, at least not when you’re clearly pregnant. “Uraume make the announcement, and set people to watch her.”

“Watch me? Am I a child?” You question, and he can’t help but chuckle. You truly are clueless, he can’t help but be amused.

“Someone will try to harm you. You’re so pathetic that you can’t fend for yourself, so I’ll assign someone to watch you.” Sukuna answers, and just as the words leave his lips, an idea comes to mind. Would he like to have you by his side all day and every day? Absolutely not. Does he want to ensure that you’re safe and his son(s) are alright? Yes. In that way he’ll also have the pleasure to rub it in everyone’s face that he’s having an heir. “I retract my order. I’ll be watching her.”

“King Sukuna, that’s not the best decision–” Uraume begins, thinking about your well-being considering Sukuna’s life is something that you’re not ready to see. You’ve been shielded from it the past couple of months, but he’s even worse than the being that he presents himself to be.

“I’ve made my decision and that’s final. Who are you to question my order?!” He raises his voice, which is the most extreme reaction that he’d give Uraume. If they were anyone else, they would’ve taken their final breath. Sukuna rolls his eyes before speaking again, “You, on the floor, make her something to eat. And you, Uraume, get to work on my food.”

“Yes, my king.” They respond in unison before walking out of the room, leaving you alone with Sukuna.

You aren’t sure what to do once you’re alone with him. Whenever you’re alone with him you proceed to have sex, but it’s too early in the day for that to happen. You’re not sure if it’s going to happen again, not when you’re already expecting.

“You’ve proved to be useful.” Sukuna comments, extending one of his arms for you to take, so you can walk with him to the dining room. You’re hesitant to take it, but you end up doing what he wants you to since you don’t need him to raise his voice at you. Walking alongside him is an honor for anyone, and you’re the first to do it– Not because he sees you as an equal, but because you carry something that is.

“How do you know that I’m expecting?” You question, which goes unheard by him. It’s not for the same reasons as Hina since Sukuna isn’t by your side to know that your body has been changing. You recall his words from earlier, though they make little to no sense.

“What do you want?” Sukuna asks you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, looking up at him. “You must want a gift considering you’ve partially fulfilled your duty.”

“Oh…” You respond. Your gift was him helping your brother and aunt, which he already has done. But he’s offering something more, which you’ll gladly accept. You just have to think about what you want. “Can I see my family?”

“No. Anything else?” Sukuna answers, and you sigh. You shake your head, you don’t want anything else for the time being. “Jewelry is what your kind likes, no?”

“I guess.” 

“Then you’ll get jewelry.”

[itoshi-s]

this but the viral where have u been x the hills remix plays. sae’s never been caught pushing his tongue up anyone’s throat by the paps, always keeps his privacy away from prying eyes - but the look you’re giving him all night is too much to ignore, and if having you right there and then is what it takes to show you that he really needs to bring you home tonight, then so be it <3

going on a hot girls euro trip with ur friends and bumping into sae in a club .. white shirt with the few first buttons undone ..... thin chain glimmering in the lights as you stumble into him........... he absolutely hated the thought of coming here with the rest of the team at first but is rly glad he did when he has u bent over in his apartment later that night !!!!!!

[gojorgeous]

"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!” 

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said. 

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind. 

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers. 

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.” 

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path. 

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back. 

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket. 

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.” 

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?” 

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t. 

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s. 

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?” 

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you. 

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying. 

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong. 

~

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches. 

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment. 

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you. 

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike. 

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now. 

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him. 

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside. 

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it. 

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet. 

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease. 

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo. 

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night. 

“Yeah. Long day at work.” 

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?” 

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.” 

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you. 

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there. 

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.” 

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?” 

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.” 

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life. 

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight. 

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder. 

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines. 

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?�� look. He just smiles and shrugs. 

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.” 

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool. 

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone. 

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride. 

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention. 

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish? 

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman. 

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself. 

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive. 

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?” 

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.” 

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps. 

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says. 

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet. 

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.” 

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?” 

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?” 

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like. 

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then… 

“So, what’s your technique” 

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual. 

“Bet I could find out.” 

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.” 

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…” 

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.” 

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks. 

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job… 

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.” 

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?” 

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth. 

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing. 

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?” 

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal. 

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.” 

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to. 

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit. 

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now. 

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone. 

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid. 

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines. 

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle. 

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans. 

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever. 

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles. 

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to. 

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs. 

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now. 

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please… 

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework. 

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly. 

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight. 

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it. 

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better. 

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?” 

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over. 

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.” 

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls. 

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.” 

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see. 

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs. 

Your lips part. “You knew?” 

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?” 

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him. 

But you have one thing on him. 

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.” 

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.” 

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.” 

You freeze. He notices. 

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?” 

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–” 

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation. 

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.” 

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo. 

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?” 

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced. 

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display. 

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin. 

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes. 

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?” 

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree. 

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…” 

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides. 

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone. 

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again. 

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.” 

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.” 

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes. 

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased. 

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.” 

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.” 

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue. 

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right. 

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you. 

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault. 

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. 

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away. 

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?” 

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone. 

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick. 

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole. 

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out. 

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.” 

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages. 

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.” 

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut. 

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.” 

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.” 

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you. 

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth. 

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him. 

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.” 

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same. 

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant. 

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs. 

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind. 

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be. 

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you. 

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death. 

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest. 

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?” 

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.” 

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?” 

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe. 

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.” 

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?” 

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been. 

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free. 

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position. 

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind. 

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you. 

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.” 

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @fushironi, @enchantedsylveon, @keiva1000, @complexivelovely, @httpstoyosi, @bbyxxm, @6kabuki.

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[vxnuslogy]

— will they, won’t they.

pairing: hoshina soshiro x gn!reader

premise: hoshina soshiro has been hopelessly in love with you for years now. and for the first time, you finally hear him say the words "i love you."

— warnings: down bad + jealous hoshina, modern setting, reader is a kyudo player.

— author's note: little miss says she's going on a break then proceeds to write about hoshina soshiro for all the dying fans (its me, i'm the dying fans.) art credits to @.BByo_chick on twitter.| ~700 words.

“how long are ya gonna keep me here?”

“no one is forcing you to.”

hoshina only clicks his tongue and stares at the dojo walls. his finger impatiently tapping at his chin as he hits crossed leg on the floors. it’s half past 5 in the afternoon now and you have no intentions of going home anytime soon.

“i’m gettin’ bored here,” he drawls, hands stretching over his head as he watches you shoot another arrow with pin-point accuracy that makes his smirk twitch uncomfortably. you’ve gotten too good at kyudo, and it shows.

“then go home,” you reply as you pull the bow back and aim for your next shot. “you don’t have to keep waiting for me to finish.”

but that was the thing: hoshina wanted to wait for you and he always will.

he wants everyone to know that you had him and he’s all you’ll ever need. there was no need for that guy who caught your fall a few days ago—not when he’s been catching you for the past 3 years. he was your guide in the train station every morning, so why do you keep trying to go to the station earlier and ask your junior for directions? hoshina soshiro was always by your side, so why couldn’t you see that?

“i’ll wait,” he murmurs into his hand, eyes looking at anything but at you. “got nothin’ to do at home anyways.”

it was a weak excuse, but it always does the trick. you always relent and let him stay but not without throwing a look over your shoulder that screams “you’re acting strange.” because he was. hoshina, against his will, feels his lips being tugged into a frown whenever you interact with anyone that isn’t him.

that sounds very bad–it is bad in a sense–but hoshina would never dream of taking away your freedom. so he just watches, painfully by the sidelines, with a scoff on his face as another student from a rival school stammers to ask for your number. it was irritating, having to watch everyone throw themselves at you when you’re clearly uninterested. 

“what the hell will happen if i’m not by yer side, captain.” hoshina jests as you pack up your stuff and lock the dojo.

“is this about earlier?” you ask with an amused lilt to your voice. “when the new student asked for my number?”

hoshina hated how you always aimed for the heart.

“i have no idea what yer talkin’ about,” he weakly tries to change the topic. hoshina racks his brain to think of something—anything—to help change the conversation, but his mind keeps circling back to you. how you almost looked serious when some guy–who was leagues below you by the way–had the gall to ask you out for a date.

“never took you for the jealous type.” you tease.

“it’s because ‘m not.” he said through gritted teeth, hands balling into small fists against his school bag. “‘m lookin’ out for ya, alright? that guy was a creep. i’m keepin’ yer ass safe from weirdos.”

you looked unconvinced but didn’t comment on his unusual aggressiveness. hoshina let out a frustrated sigh, a hand coming to ruffle your hair and pull just a tiny bit closer that would make everyone question your relationship. this was driving him crazy but he couldn’t do anything about it.

“‘m not jealous. get that over yer pretty little head.”

and until you both got on the train and went your separate ways to go home, hoshina soshiro never once let your hand drop to your side. he kept you impossibly close to his side and whispered sweet good lucks into your ear. body so comfortably lax in your presence he was slouching on the train seat so he could bury his nose in your hair. 

hoshina soshiro was so unfathomably in love with you. 

how could he not love you when you use your own heartbeat to calm his erratic one during every competition? when every hug has his mind spinning with gold and you. every victory is dedicated to your name, and no trophy or medal could ever compare to the feeling of running into your arms and drowning in your praise.

“i love you.” he mutters as you sleep peacefully on his shoulder on your way home. how many years has he been saying it before he lost count? it’s truly just a matter of when you’ll wake up and finally realize it yourself.

he feels the blood rush to his brain as he throws himself on his bed, unable to wipe the image of you smiling as if you had heard him.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[sweetimpurity]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ day 4 yayayay! I'm having such a blast you guys I'm so deprived and horny and I'm glad you all indulge me hehe ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ wc: 1k

cw: masterbation, p0rn, afab masterlist>> ˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊

“God…” You sigh, eyes scanning over your phone screen and biting the edge of your thumbnail. You just got up from a rare afternoon nap, hoping to answer some emails but now you’re way off track. Seems you’ve wound up on a darker side of twitter. You were just scrolling through it mindlessly while procrastinating something else. A seemingly harmless thread turned softcore porn. And not just those models trying to get you to click on risky links or promote something. It’s one of those threads you bookmark for later, knowing you’ve struck a little sliver of gold. Men with thick arms and pretty big dicks. Not as big as your boyfriend though. And the women seem to bend and flex in such erotic ways. Throwing their heads back and gasping in pleasure. 

Your boyfriend stirs beside you in bed. Turning over slightly and nuzzling his face in the pillows. You freeze, trying not to wake him up. He has no problem with you watching porn. And vice versa. You've talked about it before. You've actually watched porn together before. That feeling of watching two other people going at it. Risky and taboo. That naughtiness adding to the fucking that follows. Like it's something you shouldn't be doing. Something to get in trouble for. Maybe he touches you during it, maybe you touch him. Either way it's hot and inspirational at the same time.

But you don't want to wake him up after he finally settled down to rest on his day off. He works so hard and he's been so drained.

Once he stops moving, you keep scrolling. Eye’s landing on a specific video that makes your face feel hot. A dull ache in your core and fluttery in your tummy. Prone bone style and the woman’s head tilted back to kiss her partner's lips. Tender yet dirty at the same time. His hips jutting into her again and again against the plush flesh of her ass. You know what that feels like. It’s amazing. You want that but the only person to give you that is sound asleep. 

You sigh, leaning back and laying your head against the pillows. Should you? Shouldn’t you? You just can’t resist. 

Glancing at the pornographic display on your phone screen, you hand snakes down under the covers, slipping under the waistband of your shorts and your underwear. Feeling the slick that’s collected there. Sticky on the cotton. Biting down hard on your lip and swirling your fingers around your puffy clit, you have to hold back the sounds that threaten to spill. It feels so good. It would feel better if it was Miguel’s fingers though. 

Your mind drifts. Miguel’s fingers, his arms, his shoulders, his back. His back with scratches from your fingernails, his neck with marks from your teeth. His voice, his eyes, his nose, his cock. How he feels buried deep inside and the way he overwhelms every sense until you're nothing but a puddle on the mattress. It’s all flooding your mind the way you pulse against your fingers. Pumping two fingers in but you just can’t reach deep enough. Not as deep as he can. 

“Mig…” You can’t help but sigh so softly. Almost silently, almost like a breath of his name. His body, his face, his voice in your mind playing like a movie. Gasping silently and rubbing your clit faster and faster wishing for that release. For that feeling only he can give you. 

His mind is on fire. His body aflame. Watching you like this. You must think he’s still asleep but he’s been awake a few minutes now. He saw you watching the porn, saw exactly what it was. The position, the theatrics of it all. His naughty girl. Grinning and watching you from where his head rests on the pillow. Hearing you quietly sigh his name even when it’s not his hands touching you. Watching you pleasure yourself, you were watching porn and you’re still thinking of him? Fuck…

It’s like his own personal porno. Watching the one he loves like this. And the fact that you’re not really aware. But you’re doing it right next to him so who’s fault is that really? His dark eyes flick over your neck as your head tilts back against the pillows. Soft pleads passing your lips. “Please please please… hmph…” 

It’s frustrating that you can’t get there. Maddening. Huffing and pouting. Closing your eyes and trying to focus but you’re tensing, trying to make it happen now. 

A fluff of the blankets and confrontation of the cold brings your eyes to open. Blowing wide and watching Miguel shove the blankets off. Revealing your naughty act taking place underneath, your knees instantly drawing together. “Miguel!” You practically scream in a gasp. You swear he was asleep two seconds ago and now this… he…

“Keep going, mami…” He hums, scooting closer to you, his big hand coming to pull your legs apart. His eyes trained on the valley of your thighs to your puffy pussy and little fingers trying to make yourself come. Trying so damn hard. It’s adorable. His arm wraps around your thigh so you can’t close your legs again. Pushing up on his elbow to get a better view. Your mind is just melting at the situation. 

“I…I can’t…” Your cheeks flush and you sigh, feeling hopeless and now he’s watching you? “You can, sweet girl… just relax…” He hums, turning his head to look in your eyes. Your clit positively vibrates at the way he looks in your eyes. “Keep going... you're so fucking hot like this…” He groans. Turning to look at your fingers plunging back inside. Trying so hard. Interchangeably pumping your fingers inside and rubbing your clit, making your legs shake. Your eyes close to focus and he notices. Letting you close them because it will keep you relaxed. And this isn’t about you watching him watch you. This is about him watching you rub your little clit until you come. 

He’s watching you finger yourself. And encouraging you to go faster, go deeper, watching like he’s critiquing your work. You’d have thought yourself humiliated by a situation like this. That seems like what the natural reaction would be. But this… he seems so focused and entertained by your impending orgasm.

There’s something about this. He didn’t expect to feel this way. With his ego, watching his girl get off like she doesn’t even need him for it. Make’s him crazy. Stirs something inside him. 

And as you come, he can’t help but reach over, dipping one of his long thick fingers into you along with your two little fingers trying so hard to reach deep. A rasping moan leaving your lips and gushing from the added pressure, slick coating his knuckles and dribbling down his palm. He can't let you come without getting a little taste for himself...

Taglist:

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars

🍬 take one and I'll see you tomorrow! ⬇️ 🍬

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist please comment on my masterlist post or I might not see it! thank you!

[lemoniiiiiii]

copy room firsts

(luke cooper x reader)

content: just fluff, kissing, luke being a cutie

--

your fingers drum playfully on the photocopy machine as you wait for the stack of papers phyllis had asked you to pick up. the old machine chugs along at its usual snail’s pace, the loud hum almost deafening in the cramped room. ever since luke had tried to print the entire script of snatch fifty times, the thing had been slower than ever.

the light beneath the copier slides across the paper—up, then back—its repetitive motion the only visual stimulation available in the otherwise bland room. someone really should put up a bulletin board or something to look at. you try not to think too hard about the monotony of office life, focusing instead on waiting for the machine to finish when suddenly, the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up. there’s no sound, no creak of the door, but you can feel it—someone’s behind you.

“whatcha doing?” luke breathes in your ear, his voice so close you flinch involuntarily.

you spin around, startled, but luke's already backed away, his trademark grin plastered on his face as if he's enjoying every second of your discomfort. he leans back in, his breath warm against your skin, sending an involuntary chill down your spine.

“i’m making copies for phyllis”

“making copies...” luke echoes, a playful cadence in his voice. he reaches down and grabs a stack of freshly printed papers. “let’s see here…”

“you’re not supposed to be in here" you remind him, although you didn't really care. luke was a bother to most of the office but you actually enjoyed his company.

“it’s fine,” he waves you off, unfazed. “you’re just... teaching me how to properly use this thing.”

“am i now?”

“uh huh. what’s the first button i press?” luke grins, reaching for the copier with that mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“don’t touch it,” you swat his hand away before he can cause more trouble.

“ouch?” he whines, though the smirk on his face suggests he’s far from wounded.

finally, the copier spits out the last of the papers. you turn your back on luke and start organizing them, hoping he’ll go back to his desk if you ignore him long enough. it's only a matter of time before someone realizes he's missing and you don't want to get in trouble. plus luke's already on everyone's nerves, you don't want your only friend to get fired.

“creed follows me on twitter,” luke suddenly announces with that nonchalant attitude of his, now leaning against the wall.

you glance up, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief before letting out a chuckle. “honestly, that makes sense. you two are equally…” your voice trails off as you lose yourself in the task at hand, stacking the papers with precision.

luke, of course, isn’t satisfied with that. “equally what?”

“hm?” you blink, snapping out of your concentration. “oh, it’s nothing. i don’t even remember what i was gonna say.”

“hm.. what are you doing now?” luke presses, stepping off the wall and moving closer, curiosity shining in his dark eyes.

“i’m organizing these papers for phyllis”

luke hovers close behind you, his presence unmistakable. he leans in, his head tilting just enough so that when you glance over your shoulder, you’re met with his gaze, his face only inches from yours.

"phyllis this, phyllis that.. you're like her little servant" he teases, his tone low.

you hold eye contact for a moment, tension hanging in the air between you like an unspoken challenge while you watch his pupils search your face. his eyes seem softer now in the artificial light, and something stirs inside you. before you can second-guess it, you close the space between you, melding your lips to his.

it's a bit of an awkward kiss, your noses bump and luke doesn't seem like he knows what to do with his mouth, but you don't mind. there’s something sweet about the clumsiness, especially considering luke's usual aloofness. you pull away after a few seconds, a satisfied warmth spreading through you

luke looks anywhere but at you, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “uh, cool. uh…” he’s flustered—an unusual sight for him.

"was that your...?"

"first?... yeah"

“sorry,” you say softly, guilt creeping in. you kinda wish you had known before you went in for it, a dingy photocopy room is probably not the place most people want to have their first kiss.

“no, it’s—don’t worry about it,” luke stammers, still looking slightly dazed. “i liked it.”

you both fall into an awkward silence, the only sound the steady hum of the overhead lights.

“i have to take these copies back to... phyllis...” you finally say, breaking the tension as you gather the papers in your arms.

“right, yeah,” luke mumbles, stepping aside as you move toward the door. “go do that.”

just before you leave, you pause and turn to him. “what are you doing after work?”

luke's eyes meet yours again, the hint of a smile on his face. “i don’t know… depends. what are you doing?”

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @heartz4peter

[silkscream]

pure smile snake venom

ੈ✩ suguru geto x reader

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni, ageless + blank blogs will be blocked), unprotected sex, dom!suguru, emotional manipulation, fingering, dubcon, blood, yandere behavior, edging, multiple orgasms, choking, loss of virginity, religious imagery

ੈ✩ wc: 5.1k

ੈ✩ a/n: oooo i am soo normal about cult leader suguru. art by @/wonowono__3 on twitter

He finds you unconscious. 

He feels you before he sees you – your cursed energy permeates the air with dread. He can feel it in his throat, as if the hand of his past self materialized to strangle him, reminding him of desperation. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, not anymore.

It also felt like death. 

When he finds you, your body would have easily been looked over, small as you were compared to the vastness of the forest around you. Insignificant, left to rot. 

When he’d looked at your face, there was recognition in his chest despite not seeing you before. He hadn’t been drawn to anyone in a while. He barely had anyone that wasn’t at arm's length to him, even his closest devouts, yet something about the delicateness of your face enticed him. A predator finding lost prey.

He finds it mildly sacrilegious to touch you when you’re in this state, but your shirt was saturated with so much blood that it took him a bit to realize that the color of the fabric was supposed to be white and not merlot-red. He lifts your shirt, grimacing at its dampness, and finds a wound that looks fatal. 

He looks at it and feels the residuals of a nasty curse. By the time he tracks it down, he tortures it with all of the energy inside of him. 

__

You wake up on a futon you don’t recognize. You don’t remember a thing. 

You wince as you attempt to rise, clutching your side. You’re topless, clothed only by gauze covering your chest and ribs. 

You exhale, closing your eyes. In the darkness behind your eyelids, you see a face with a vacant smile. You are met with that very smile when you open your eyes again.

“Welcome back.”

You blink. He must be the stranger that saved you from — well, what did he save you from? You were used to spirits, took years to adjust to that fact, and have even killed a few yourself. But when you feel the pain in your side, nothing comes to mind.

“You… saved me?”

“I suppose so. It was pure luck that I happened to stumble upon you.”

“Where — where am I?”

He tells you it’s his temple, then he tells you his name. When he asks for yours, you’re reluctant. Eventually, you tell him. If he was luring you into his trap, you suppose you had fallen into it against your will by pure chance. It was probably better than bleeding out in the middle of nowhere.

“Do you have anyone who will miss you?” 

You don’t say anything. You think of the dingy studio apartment you’ve been subletting for a few months. You try to conjure up a narrative of belonging in your head that would give you any reason for you to leave. Nothing comes.

You shake your head.

__

Geto Suguru is the first person to tell you that you’re magic.

You knew that, in some way, ever since you were a child. Your intuition made you a strange child, always slightly cryptic with a sense of maturity that made you seem like a vessel for a sad ghost. Your visions would only get stronger – small bursts of light whiplashing through your mind into images, rapid like a supercut. The things you saw would come true. 

This is what makes you a good weapon. Ironically, you had always thought of yourself as weak. 

He was captivating the way a cult leader should be, and you had fallen under his spell. It was his robes and the regal way he carried himself, maybe. You don’t think he’s bad — he’s made you important, and you’ve never felt wanted before. You were a recluse before Suguru found you. Barely the shape of anything, so he found it appropriate to mold you into something to call his.

Suguru doesn’t tell you much. You know that he probably lies to you.

He holds too much power for you to question it. His cursed technique is daunting and his grace is enviable, but he’s mostly kind. You help him when he finds curses, usually the more powerful ones that could threaten him. Able to see into the near future, you can sense their next move each time. It makes it easy to subdue them to Suguru’s advantage.

You also find that he is regarded as something of a saint to non-sorcerers. Something twists in your gut when you watch his exorcisms, seeing the immediate relief in the faces of his followers. They look at him with so much adoration that it makes you self-conscious that you share the same disposition.

He tells you you’re his favorite and the feeling dissipates.

You like how ritualistic living in the temple is. Breakfast at the same time each day. Tea in the garden. Rolling in the gross with bruised knuckles.

You take a liking to his girls. They remind you of yourself, but they lack the meekness you had as a teenager. The twins adore you almost as much as they adore Suguru. They are endlessly fickle, as most teenage girls are, but their devotion is worn candidly in the way they carry themselves. You wonder how they can be so obedient, but you realize that they have known nothing else. 

It’s a quiet luxury. You like to pretend that you’re some sort of priestess, sometimes. You had never been as reverent as your mother, but you think that there is peace in serving a God.  If not Suguru, then some higher power must’ve granted you another chance at life, even if your new life meant mundane piety. 

You liked routine – it fit you. You did your part in the temple and Suguru would reward you with gentle praises. You were only one of few sorcerers in his current entourage, so you felt special. 

Despite this, something felt messing. You often wish Suguru could cast out the malaise inside of you, but you’ve carried it in the pit of yourself for as long as you could remember. Even in your pious bliss, you start wondering if the curse that nearly killed you left a part of itself within you. Each day is the same until you wear thin.

When the string finally breaks, you find him with blood on his hands in the temple’s omoya.

It’s not the blood of a curse, either. It’s dark crimson, such as the same blood that is inside of you, and on the tatami mat lies the lifeless body of a servant. 

Shin, his name was. He wasn’t much younger than you, but he had the spirit of a boy, always able to make you laugh before he served you breakfast. He had arrived only a few months after you had, citing suicidal ideation as a catalyst to seeking Suguru’s services. Once treated, he had felt larger than life. 

And now, his face is frozen in time – the look of sheer fear. 

“Useless monkey,” Suguru tuts, wiping the blood off his face. You’ve seen that look on his face before — when he’s cruel and callous in battle. When he snaps the neck of a special grade curse before he eats it. 

You run to the bathroom to vomit.

When you emerge, one of the twins looks at you curiously. Mimiko. She smiles at you serenely, her eyes flickering with taunt. 

“Is everything alright, Y/N-san?”

“Y-yes,” you nod. “Just a bit under the weather.”

“Are you feeling sick?” Her eyes light up for a second. “Oh, could you be pregnant? Nanako and I really wish there was another kid around—“

“No, no, I’m not pregnant,” you cut her off, shocked. Did she think you and Suguru were… together? Did she think you were his concubine?

“Ah. I can get the servants to prepare some ginger tea for you.”

“No need, Mimiko,” you shake your head, smiling sheepishly. “I just… need to get some air.”

She leaves you alone as you walk towards the pagoda. You feel another wave of nausea when you remember Shin’s lifeless eyes. The blood on his throat. 

You stare at the sunset. It’s been a long time since you’ve left the temple of your own volition. Suguru keeps a tight leash on you nowadays, blaming the unpredictability of your power. Bitterly, you realize that you’re only ever in town alongside him. 

Sometimes, you miss being a stray.

His presence is immediate. When you turn, his long hair sways in the breeze as he flashes you a cat-like smile. 

“Thought you were trying to run away from me,” he murmurs, walking towards you. “But you’d never do that, would you?”

“Just… enjoying the view.”

He looks at you, amused. It feels belittling. 

“I apologize. I thought Nanako had locked the door.”

Your blood stills. He saw you.  

“I thought you only killed curses,” you stammer. For the first time, his presence makes you feel unsafe. 

“I never said that, sweet girl,” he chuckles. He plays with a loose strand of your hair. “Humans are beneath us, you know that. Humans are the reason curses are created. Curses just like the one that nearly killed you.”

You don’t have it in you to protest. He’s gotten closer to you now. A hand on your waist. His lips kissing your hairline in a way that makes you feel like a child again.

“I— I liked him,” you stutter. 

“Mm,” he hums. “He liked you, too. A bit too much if you ask me.”

You stay silent. Only the sound of cicadas fill the air. 

“It’s not your fault,” he grins. “You charm anyone you meet by default, you know. But sometimes, these followers… they want to threaten our mission. Sometimes, they’re paid off by sorcerers who are targeting me to gather intel. And darling, when there’s a target on my back, there’s a target on yours.”

You pull away from him with wide eyes. His face is neutral. So naive, you are. He was only doing you a favor, but a sheltered girl like you trusts too easily. 

“Just remember. I will be the only one to protect you.”

__

He finds you in the garden.

You’re surrounded by wildflowers, your yukata loose enough on you that it falls off your shoulder when you sit up to greet him. The sight of your bare skin tokes the fire in his stomach. He’s dressed more casually tonight, in a plain kimono as opposed to his usual gojo-gesa.

“Enjoying the fireflies?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He notices the dark circles under your eyes. Your smile is tired now. You stare blankly as if you’re in a trance. 

“You’ve been a bit off lately,” he muses. “Something on your mind?”

You blink at him in surprise, almost regretting it once you make eye contact. The hint of a lazy smile is there while his eyes scrutinize you. It always feels like he can see right through you, observing you just before he eats you whole. 

“No, Geto-sama,” you shake your head.

He laughs, rubbing your shoulder. “So formal with me.”

“Shouldn’t I be?” you knit your brows. You had been at the temple for less than a year. You weren’t intimate with him enough to warrant that. You weren’t intimate with him in the way your heart longed for.

“Not with me. Never with me.”

“Suguru.” You mull over the taste of his name on your tongue. The shape of it in your mouth. “I’m okay, Suguru.”

You feel pathetic under his gaze. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something, sensing the apprehension in your voice. The slight quiver of your bottom lip as you avoid his face.

“I’m just… recovering. From my technique, that’s all,” you say hoarsely.

It’s not a complete lie — the intensive training with Suguru led you to discover that you could bend time and space to your will in small aspects. Teleporting short distances became a new tool for your arsenal. It was still difficult to manage and exhausting to exert. The other day, your nose had bled so much that you almost thought your membranes would burst completely.

“You’re exhausting yourself,” he says gently, rubbing a hand to the small of your back. “But you’re improving rapidly. I’m proud of you.”

Warmth floods your body at his praise. It was too easy for him to wrap you around his finger, and you were starting to hate it.

“Thank you,” you mumble. 

“Do you feel powerful?”

You take a moment of reprieve when he asks this. Powerful? Despite being a sorcerer and wielding the ability to exorcise the monstrous manifestations of human suffering, you did not feel powerful at all. You never have. If anything, you only felt useful.

“Not really.”

“You should,” he smiles. “You’re getting stronger. We’re untouchable together, you and me.”

You and me echoes loud in your brain. Stitches itself into every crevice unwittingly. 

“Ge– Suguru,” you swallow thickly. “Is that why you saved me? Because you wanted me to get strong?”

“Yes,” he nods without hesitation. “I saw potential in you.”

“Is that all I am? Potential? I’m just– just a vehicle for you?”

He leans over to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His own hair is down, for once, and you can smell his white tea shampoo as his shoulder touches yours. It almost soothes you.

“You aren’t just a tool to me, you know that,” he sighs, looking at you with intent. “I like taking care of you.”

You nod slowly as you look towards the sky. His words aren’t enough to fill the emptiness inside you. His proximity to you makes your chest constrict in the slightest bit, creaking the floorboards of your ribs inside a haunted house body. 

You shiver when he pulls down your yukata and presses a chaste kiss to your collarbone. It must feel the same as when humans get their curses exorcised by him. Lightness in their being instead of dead weight. Blessed by a god.

“Come inside,” he purrs. “You’re getting cold, yeah? I can see your goosebumps.”

No. His hands were just colder than you expected.

He gathers his hair into a half-up bun before he brings you to his room for the first time. It’s rather bare, save for the kotatsu across from his futon and the talismans that are hanging above it. The calligraphy is messy, unintelligible, as if the text was written manically. 

He sits you down at the kotatsu and pours you bergamot tea. You cough nervously in anticipation.

“Suguru.”

“Yes?”

“Um.. how long do you intend on keeping me here?”

He raises a brow. Looks at you like you’ve asked something stupid.

“You have somewhere else to go?” he asks sarcastically.

You triple-blink at his bluntness. He isn’t taking you seriously. 

“Well, I have a friend or two in my hometown. I was thinking about—”

Your breath hitches when he grabs your chin. His gaze bores into your face, his lips in a hard line.

“You’re unhappy,” he says plainly.

“No, I’m just not sure if I can completely fulfill the purpose that you—”

“Do you think anyone else will take you in?” he spits. “You told me yourself. You have no family. You were barely scraping by when you lived alone. With the amount of cursed energy you possess, you think you’ll be able to protect your friends from all the curses you’ll attract?”

You sink into yourself. As if a switch is flipped, his expression changes completely. There’s that familiar softness in his eyes again. God, the tea was making you feel so warm, too. One look from him and you find yourself melting. Even the Devil would swoon.

“Don’t you think fate brought us together?” he whispers. “Don’t you know how valuable you are to me?”

He almost sounds like he means it. Your rabbit heart speeds up when he strokes your collarbone with his thumb. A heady feeling consumes you and you force yourself to tear your gaze away.

“Look at me,” he demands, grabbing your chin again. He crowds your space, not leaving you any room to breathe. Your gut aches from sudden heat.

“God made you for me. Don’t you know that?”

Your mind goes blank as you nod slowly. He looks at you like he’s starved. No one’s ever looked at you like that before. No one has ever really looked at you before him.

“I’m— I’m sorry, Suguru,” you whisper.

He caresses your cheek, his breath tickling your jaw as he leans in.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand what it’s like to feel a little stir-crazy. I’ll take you out more often, yeah?”

“O-okay.”

He grins and it comes off as sardonic.

“Such a spoiled girl. Only the very best for my girl, hm? I clothe her, feed her, make her stronger. And what do I get in return?” he scolds, thumb swiping over your quivering bottom lip. “She tries to run away from me.”

“I’m not,” you pout.

“You’re not?” he scoffs.

You don’t know what to do other than apologize. You were weak like that.

“You’re so good,” he sighs. “And you want to keep being good, is that right?”

“Yes,” you mumble. 

You shiver again when he runs his fingers through your hair, his other hand undoing the ties of your yukata. You sharply inhale at the cool air hitting in your nipples, the rest of you trembling at the prospect of being so bare in front of him. God or prophet, you didn’t know. All that you know now is that there was no coming back from this. 

“My good girl,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. “My best girl.”

You whimper when you feel his tongue on your jaw. His kisses are tantalizingly slow. Teasing. He marvels at the flutter of your lashes in response to his touch. 

He had tried to deny those feelings in the beginning, but he couldn’t help it anymore. He feels as though he’s created you. He liked you delicate, lace winged. A butterfly caught in a jar.

Suguru thinks this is fair. He has always believed in fairness, and although one might argue that his philosophy is a direct contradiction to that, he could beg to differ. Different people had different values, that was all. You just happened to have an advantage in the hierarchy he holds in his head. A precious thing, his treasure. 

When he turned his back on Jujutsu society by becoming a curse user, he would avenge the suffering of the sorcerers around him. Years of adapting to the taste of shit and vomit would eventually earn him something that made it all worth it. He’s convinced that something was you.

He was your savior, therefore you were his blessing. It was only fair that he could take you the way he wanted. You were meant to be found by him. You were meant to be kept. 

You barely put up a fight.

You whimper when he parts your legs with his hands and finds you embarrassingly wet. Every stroke of his hands on your inner thigh has you twitching involuntarily. 

“Oh,” he coos. “Look at that.”

You look away in shame, trying to close your legs, but he forces them open with a bruising grip. Your heart drops to your stomach. 

“What’s wrong, baby? You want to be good for me, right?”

You nod without a word, trying to control your breathing. Your brain is telling you that you want this — you’d wanted to be his from the moment you saw him. Your body tells you the same, but dread creeps up your spine.

You gasp when he grazes your clit with his fingers. He plays with it, stares at your cunt through your underwear like it’s a prize.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid. I’m the only person in this world you can trust.”

He slips your panties off easily and you wince at the sound of your wetness sticking to the fabric. He applies more pressure to your bud, distracting you with his mouth on yours. You mewl into his mouth without realizing and he grins against your lips, slipping his tongue inside. 

When you feel a finger push into your walls, you convulse in surprise, though you don’t pull away like he expects. You merely clutch him harder, your hands wrinkling the sleeve of his haori. 

“Shit, you’re tight,” he rasps. “No one’s been here before, is that right? Just me?”

He groans when you look at him with innocent eyes and nod meekly. Of course he would be your first. You were nothing but a wounded dog when he found you, barely had a life of your own before he took you. You were pure and the world was keeping you for him. It was meant to be.

“S-Suguru…” you breathe. He’s pulled you into his lap now, your cunt getting his kimono wet. The slick of your cunt around his finger is enough to make blood rush to his cock. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles. In one fell swoop, he takes you in his arms and carries you to the futon. You squeak in surprise at being lifted off the floor so quickly and so easily. 

He takes the pause in his actions to undress himself, slipping off his robes, and when you see the thickness of his length prodding against his toned stomach, your mouth goes dry. 

“C’mere,” he beckons. You obey.

He kisses you sweetly on your mouth and then down your jaw, squeezing your breasts. Your breath hitches as he takes the time to rub his thumb over your nipples. Suddenly, his teeth graze your chest. Biting, tasting. Forbidden fruit.

You let out a quiet moan and he chuckles. “So sensitive.”

Without a warning, he plunges two fingers into your cunt and you nearly cry out. There’s a choked noise, something in between pleasure and resignation. It’s all too much. When he adds a third finger and feels much less resistance, he laughs. 

“Taking me so well. You’re doing so good,” he encourages before lapping at your chest again. When his fingers curl at just the right angle, your vision starts to get fuzzy. His thumb on your clit only intensifies the feeling.

“I c-can’t—”

“Hm? Use your words.”

“I’m… I’m gonna…”

His movements still and you nearly scream. He pulls back to see tears brimming your eyes and he kisses them away gently despite his cruel smirk. 

“Nonono, please—”

“Please what?” He feigns innocence. 

You bite your lip, your face too hot to feel comfortable expressing what you want. You feel the ghost of your curse wrap around your throat again. Once again, you find that the ticket to salvation has silky black hair and snake eyes. The artillery of a fallen angel disguised as something pure.

He can tell you’re frustrated but too afraid to voice it. You’re as pliable as he knew you would be. Endlessly easy to coax a reaction from. 

“Do you expect everything to be handed to you? Just because you’re mine?” he taunts. 

His. His. His.

You shake your head, whimpering. 

“Then ask nicely, baby.”

Your cunt is on fire even though he isn’t touching you. When he strokes your lip and pushes his thumb into your mouth, you let him. Your tongue tickles his fingertip.

“Ah, so you still have a tongue. You can still speak.”

He laughs when you pout.

“Please touch me,” you say, your voice as quiet as a breeze.

“What was that?” He grins even wider. 

“Pleasetouchme,” you whimper, your voice light as air.“Please… please make me cum.”

“Good girl,” he chuckles, licking into your mouth. His fingers fuck you in earnest now. You feel so full that your eyes roll back. It’s cute.

Poor thing. Suguru is a patient man, but he’s not sure if he has it in him to wait. He could make you cum three more times so that you’re truly ready for him, but he doesn’t want to. He supposes that if he breaks you, you’ll thank him anyway. No one else wants you more than him, you had to understand that. 

His cock throbs at the sight of you coming undone. It’s nearly animalistic, like provoking violence from weak prey. Cataclysmic like a falling star. He’s consumed with it, with the fact that he can do this to you and no one else can. 

He fingers you through the aftershocks, too, until you sob loud enough that his other hand has to cover your mouth. You squirm underneath him, shaking your head in desperation. 

He admires the slick of sweat on your chest, your glowing figure. When he releases you, he thinks briefly that you’re on the verge of passing out. But you tremble, rapidly breathing, eyes unfocused as your lashes flutter. 

Suguru licks you off of his fingers and you stare in horror, returning to yourself.  It makes him giddy, how even your spirit is infinitesimal.

“You taste so sweet,” he purrs. He kisses you roughly, tongue prying your mouth open and making you moan. “See? Sweet. You’re perfect.”

He likes seeing you all flushed. Glaze on your cheekbones. He thinks he should make you his wife, memorialize your fucked out form with a commissioned painting and hang it above his bed. A good luck charm among the talismans. You look too good to ruin with his cock, but he knows he’d already taken all of you anyway.

He’ll put you back together after. Pamper you with yuzu slices in a hot bath. Play the part of a boyfriend instead of a master.

He pins you down even though he doesn’t need to. You let him settle in between your thighs, his aching cock slapping against your stomach. 

“So cute when you’re scared,” he chuckles at the look on your face.

“It’s… big,” you say meekly. 

“It’ll fit. It won’t be so bad, yeah? I changed my mind about punishing you for trying to run away.”

Panic paints your features.

“I wasn’t trying to run away! I promise.” Your lip quivers again. Maybe he should make you beg.

“Is that right?” He leans in, precum spreading on the skin above your cunt, tip grazing your clit just slightly. You bite your tongue so you don’t moan from the sensitivity.

“Yes. I want to stay.”

“And why’s that?” he jeers. 

“Because— because you’ve given me everything.”

He waits for you to elaborate.

“Because I’m yours. I’m…  your good girl,” you slur through tears, voice above a whisper.

“Poor baby,” he hums. “Of course you are. Always will be.” Whether you like it or not.

You moan at the same time he prods his tip inside. When he sinks in even further, right to the hilt, he becomes delirious with need. It takes everything in him to not pound into you recklessly.

“Pretty fucking cunt,” he groans. “So warm.”

More hot tears, but your dread is replaced with rapture. He fills you up, already poking at the most sensitive spot inside of you. Your body ripples with pleasure as he moves and digs into your guts, an ocean of tender heat.

It’s a branding. You don’t exist if it isn’t for him.

“Suguru,” you moan. 

He kisses your neck, teeth hard on your flesh. Pulling it taut while his tongue rolls in it and leaves mouth-shaped blessings.

His hips drive into you with more force, cock reaching places that your fingers could never reach. You shut your eyes and phosphenes float through the static of blackness. They linger when you open them again, Suguru’s face illuminating in grainy color.

It takes you a bit to realize his mutters, the way he’s babbling through moans.

Good fucking girl. All mine forever. I’ll die with you.

You let out a pitched moan as Suguru wraps his fingers around your throat. Every part of your body feels like it’s bursting. You cum like that, your walls outstretched by his thickness carving you out in the shape of him. 

“Take it,” he grunts. “Take my cock. Fuck, I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

He’ll probably obsess over your cunt for ages. The face you make when you’re being used. Your ragdoll body.

His bun had come undone. Even if his cock wasn’t in you, your stomach would ache from how beautiful he looked. Eyes focused on you, nearly deranged at the way he was blistering you raw. The cascade of tears down your cheeks. It made him impossibly hard. 

He pulls out quickly to flip you onto your stomach so he can rut into you from behind. The angle makes it so that his cock is even deeper. 

“Oh, Suguru��”

“Yeah, baby? Gonna cum again?”

You whine, all high-pitched and girlish. 

“Tell me you’re mine. That you’ll never leave me,” he grunts.

“I’m yours,” you hiccup. “I’ll n-never leave you.”

Your cunt was starting to burn, even with how wet you were. Suguru cums with a rough thrust at your words, nose buried in between the lovebirds littering your shoulder. You’re full of him. He doesn’t stop, his dick still hard inside you. 

“Shit,” he hisses, looking down to see his cum oozing out of your pussy, all mixed up in your arousal. “How are you still so fucking tight?”

He grits his teeth when he feels you squeeze around him. You can barely form words now, crying as you can feel yourself about to cum again. 

“That’s it,” he pants. “Cum for me, princess. Cum on that cock for me.”

You’re twitchier this time. Your moan tapers off into squeals as you bury your tear-stained face into the pillow. He follows after you with a gasp, his large body covering you like a cocoon. 

He kisses the nape of your neck. Between your shoulder blades. His cock stills inside you, but he doesn’t pull out until he softens completely. When you stop shaking, he turns you over. 

“There’s my angel,” he says fondly. “Thought you passed out on me.”

You shake your head. He smiles lazily, leaning to kiss you all over your face. 

Your bones feel like jelly, but you still switch your positions with intent, and to your surprise, he lets you. Naked and breathing heavily above him, you examine him with his hair spread out on the pillow, cheeks flushed and cherubic. He almost looks innocent. 

He groans at the way your leaking cunt grinds on his crotch, prompting him to get half-hard already. He grabs your hips at the same time you grab the base of his throat. He laughs. 

“Do you feel powerful?”

You blink twice and your eyes glaze over. 

In your vision, you see Suguru’s face flashing you his usual grin, this time showing all his teeth as blood drips from his chin. When you look down at your hands, they’re saturated in the same red. He kisses you despite it all and you understand. 

“Yes,” you breathe. “I do.”

[httpsserene]

I love your entire page, so I was thrilled to see that your requests are open. May I request a story with Daniel Ricciardo x Reader? Perhaps something where the reader is experiencing a moment of low self-esteem, comparing herself to his ex, and feeling down since they've recently started dating, yet the fans want his ex back. When Danny is dominant it makes me melt so perhaps a smut that is center on body worshipping yet leads to crazy back shots/missionary. He made you come multiple times and despite you trying to tap out , he’s not stopping anytime soon creating a big creamy mess 🫠

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝟐

Summary: She’s the least favorite Formula One WAG. At first, she was optimistic, the fans would eventually get over it and maybe even start liking her—but she now knows that was a pretty naive thought. She’s constantly compared to Daniel’s ex-girlfriend—she’s not as pretty as her, she’s not as supportive as her, she’s not as popular as her, etc. Unfortunately, in a moment of low self-esteem—she breaks and thinks maybe the fans are right. Daniel, with a sixth sense of knowing when you’ve lost your mind, comes home and sees you gathering every belonging of yours that’s migrated to his apartment like you’re breaking up with him. He tries to change your mind with his words, but that doesn’t quite reassure you completely; so he has no choice but to do it with his actions, too. Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!black-coded!reader (her skin is described as brown) Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. no beta we die like men. no srs it’s barely edited. angst with a happy ending. hurt/comfort. dom/sub undertones. arguing. breaking up/making up. those three little words. attempt at humor (a lil bit). implied subspace. insecure!reader. body worship. vaginal sex. oral sex (female receiving). online hate. overstimulation. protected sex. aftercare. this is dirty, i am so sorry. Word Count: 5k words.

Author's Notes: okay it's a couple hours late, but i was hit with a little creative genius and i think you guys will really enjoy this one! and it's the longest one too! an entire five-thousand words wow. aren't you glad i added more to this masterpiece.

let me know what you think! xxxxx

prev 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

You’re trending on Twitter. No—not for one of your TikToks that you hope went viral, but under the hashtag #breakupwithherdaniel. Fans have decided to start a movement to make signs to take to the next Grand Prix, with pictures of your face posted next to that hashtag. In all of the tweets, they’re commenting on how they wished Daniel and his ex were still together, or comparing you to her, and saying that you’re toxic—you! In this situation, where none of the people online personally know you and take to bashing you on the internet; you are the toxic one! And that’s the last straw. You start packing your shit up into bags and whatever boxes you can find. A large amount of your belongings have migrated to Daniel’s apartment, even if you don’t officially live with him. You’ve been dating him for just over six months, and the entire time your relationship has been public his fans have harassed you.

They prefer his ex over you, it’s that simple. It probably doesn’t help that you’re not like one of the white models everybody thinks f1 drivers should date, but enough is enough. It didn’t bother you at first, you thought with just a little time everyone would calm down but the opposite has happened. They’ve only gotten worse and things have escalated to the point where it’s affecting your career and—you can’t take it anymore. And, maybe they’re right. Daniel doesn’t deserve to date a girl who can’t take the harsh eye of the media and fans. He’d be better off without you, and he might certainly be better off with his ex. She was there in his darkest times and his brightest successes. They ended on good terms so with a little charm, Daniel wouldn’t have a problem with getting back with her, surely. 

You’re throwing your bags on the living room couch, pulling a suitcase you left here from when you last traveled with him to throw your shoes into. And then, you hear the door open. 

Daniel’s happy voice carries to you from the entryway, “Baby, I’m home! I stopped at the store to pick up a slice of your favorite cake, because I know you’ve been needing some cheering up—”

You hear his steps halt as he sees you in the living room, bags and boxes filled to the brim with your stuff. 

“Baby?” Daniel asks, “What’s this about? This is late for it to be spring cleaning.”

You shake your head, swallowing softly as you turn to meet his eyes, “I’m leaving, Daniel.”

“What?” Daniel says confused.

“Don’t make it any more difficult than it needs to be,” you start, unable to fight back your tears any longer, “Just let me get my stuff and leave.”

Daniel rushes to you, pulling you to look at him, holding your arms still when you try to push him away from you.

“You’ve got to give me more than that. You’re leaving—why? Is it something I did? Did I say something? How long have you felt like this? I could’ve—I can fix it, baby. Don’t leave me,” Daniel pleads, his own eyes radiating how hurt, confused, and disbelieving he feels, “I thought we were strong? We’re the closest to being perfect, I thought. We barely argue; and even when we do it’s resolved properly. I don’t yell, I don’t talk to other women, I don’t ignore your calls or messages, I’m not possessive, I’m not crazy–what can I do? For you to stay, what can I do?”

“Nothing, Daniel. You can’t change my mind. But—it’s not your fault, okay? It’s me,” you cry harder when Daniel scoffs at your response, “I’m serious, Danny. It’s my fault.  I can’t take it anymore okay? You’re better off without me; I’m a distraction, I’m not as supportive as I should be, I’m not your type–you’d just perform and be happier without me, okay?”

“Fuck no,” Daniel emphasizes, “Who the hell is telling you that? Because I know you seriously don’t believe that. You’re the best thing to happen to me in my entire life, baby. You’re not a distraction, you support me tirelessly, and you sure as hell are my type. I can’t keep my hands off of you, you scold me all the time for that so, how can you say that ‘you’re not my type?’ I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you, ask anybody, baby.”

You groan angrily, “Not anybody! Have you asked your fucking fans? They sure as hell think that I’m the devil reincarnated. I can’t do anything publicly without being verbally harassed for it. I can’t dress the way I want to, I can’t act the way I want to, and I can’t even go to work! Your little fangirls are affecting my career—and I can’t do it anymore. They’ve won. I can’t take the judgment anymore, not for me just existing. You’d be happier with your ex, just like they want you to be.”

You and Daniel stare at each other silently, the air tense. 

“What do you mean,” Daniel pauses, his jaw tightening, “What do you mean they’re affecting your career?”

“They’re threatening to fire me because of my image. They’re saying I’m smearing the company's appearance,” you sigh out, picking at your cuticles anxiously. Daniel grabs your hands, stopping you.

“I’m going to kill them, baby–”

“Daniel!” you cut him off, aghast.

“No, I don’t care,” He dismisses, “The nerve of them to convince you that you’re not good enough for me. I should’ve kept asking you if you were bothered by the negative attention, but ever since you told me that you could handle it, I never checked in. And, I failed to see that it was getting worse. Worse enough to make you think that you need to leave to escape it. I’m going to embarrass those fans publicly and I’m going to get the team to back me up. As far as your job, I always hated them anyway. I never liked how they would deny your vacation time even though you had the days—you should quit.”

You stare at him deadpan, “Daniel Ricciardo. I’m not quitting my job and I am also still leaving.”

“Mhm, no,” Daniel scoffs hysterically, “You’re not breaking up with me. And, you would have a better reason to quit, if you stayed with me. I’ll retire you and make you my trophy wife, please.  Seriously, babe. Don’t leave. I should’ve dealt with the fans earlier, I know—it’s my fault that it even reached this point. Please, just stay with me.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, crumbling into tears again, “They all seem to think your ex is a better fit and…I think I agree with them.”

Daniel gathers you into his arms, tucking you into his shoulder, “Baby, I broke up with her for a reason. And, I’m glad I did. All of those chronically online fans have no clue about why I broke up with her. I couldn’t imagine going back into that relationship, especially now that I’ve found you. Let me prove it to you, baby.

You sob, “How are you going to prove anything to me right now? Can I just be dramatic for a little longer?”

He laughs, giddy at the sound of your usual antics, “Well, I am going to set the media on fire with the language I use to address how the world has been disrespecting you. But first, I’m going to take you to bed and remind you what you’d be missing out on if you left. What other man could learn to know you as intimately as I do, hm? C’mon, baby—let me prove it to you. Let your body decide.”

Leaning back to look at him through your tears,  you think,  fuck it, why not?

Daniel presses you into the bed; you whine out desperately when he breaks the kiss, your eyes focused on the plush warmth of his lips as you try to chase them. The eagerness of your actions only dawns on you as you see his lips shift into a smiling laugh then, the embarrassment washes over you; honestly, you think, you can’t act like you can’t live without having his lips touching yours—he might find your yearning repulsive. Did his ex act like this for him? What if that’s why he broke up with her—

“Heyheyhey—don’t hide from me, baby,” Daniel coos concerned, his hand gently coaxing you to turn your head and meet his eyes, you didn’t even notice when you moved to hide your face with the pillow; he continues, “Where’d you go just then, pretty girl? Please tell me, baby, don’t hold it in.”

You meet his troubled gaze, and the love and care you see pouring out causes fresh tears to dance across your waterline. Through your blurry sight, you see Daniel’s brow furrow saddeningly as he carefully pulls you up into a sitting position and holds you tightly as you cry into his shoulder. His left hand massages the back of your neck, and his right hand finds a calming rhythm as he rubs your back. Your tears taper out quicker, and you wonder if you’ve exhausted their supply from the crying you’ve done today.

You draw back from his embrace, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand, and your voice shakes and cracks as you begin to speak, “I’ve never been this insecure about myself. I couldn’t give a single fuck about what people say or think about me. But, today? It was just too much, Danny. Seeing all of your fans tear down every aspect of me; my personality, my looks, my body—why? And, they’re doing it under the reasoning that, I’m not good for you. Like, you’re not a grown man, who can decide who he wants to date? I support you quietly and loudly and’ll do it forever, but that’s not enough for them. And, today, it felt like it would  never be enough.

“So, when I saw them making signs, t-to…to encourage you to break up with me,” Daniel muffles a sound of hurt in his chest, “I was humiliated. I-I, didn’t want that sort of attention for you, they should be focused on your racing, not your undeserving girlfriend. And, I thought I’d make it easy for you and leave.”

“Baby, no…”

“You’re such a good boyfriend, Daniel. It would be so much easier for you to end this relationship and go back to your ex, or date some other girl that satisfies you and your fans—”

“Babe, no,” Daniel cuts you off, his tone hardened, “The only person that needs to be satisfied with you is me. And, I am. The opinions of those fucking idiots don’t matter to me, and they shouldn’t matter to you. Because that’s all they are: opinions, and they’re absolutely stupid opinions, at that. They’re comments have done the complete opposite of convincing me to leave you. They’ve shown me that I need to let you know how much I want you with me—they’ve made me realize that I need to let you know that I love you.”

Your eyes widen, your breath stuttering. It’s the first time, he’s said it.  Daniel loves you.

Sobbing softly, you murmur, “I hope you’re not only saying those three words because you think it’s going to make me happy. Because, I do love you, too.”

Daniel laughs wetly. “I’m saying that I love you now because you need to know that. I would’ve preferred to say it under different circumstances but, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m ridiculously in love with you. And—fuck everybody who’s saying you’re not good enough for me. If anything, I’m not good enough for you. I haven’t even won you a trophy, yet.”

You stare at him in disbelief, “Shut the fuck up. You’re everything to me. You could be driving the slowest car on the grid and I would still be celebrating your last-place finishes like you’ve won the championship.”

Daniel stares at you silently and you nearly fear that you’ve broken him. He sighs out lovingly before, leaning down and pressing kisses across your entire face to wash away your tear tracks. He finishes with a barely there kiss to the tip of your nose and asks quietly, “Let me show you that I love you. I don’t think saying it is enough.”

You look at him. You find what you’re looking for because you agree, “Okay.”

Daniel perks up, “Okay?”

You nod, slowly sliding down to rest on your back against the bed like you were before. “Yes.”

Your boyfriend shifts to kneel in between your legs, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, and once he gets confirmation from you, he smoothly pulls it off of you, dropping it off the bedside. His hands spread across the expanse of your abdomen and move to rest on your waist as he buries himself in the length of your neck. He nips kisses and presses of tongue along your brown skin, surprising you often with the ache of teeth and suction to bloom bruises. When he slides downwards, he paints your collarbone and decolletage loosely, the irritated flesh only sends flares of pleasure across your nerves. Daniel huffs in frustration as the straps of your bra disrupt the smooth skin across your shoulders, and he pulls you upwards to arch into him as he slips his hand underneath to unclasp the closure. You’re brain comes online to help him remove the offending fabric as you shrug out of the straps and desperately fling the bra to a corner of the room you can’t care to look at.

Daniel hums thankfully and resumes tracing along your shoulder, down your arms, and to the bones of your wrists and tips of your fingers with gentle hands followed by his lips. 

He swallows before speaking, “Whenever you’re splayed out so prettily underneath me, I forget how to act. The cloudy look in your eyes, your chest covered with my love, the muscles in your shoulders and arms relaxed and syrupy—so fuckin’ sexy, baby.”

You can’t find the words to respond to him because your entire body sings out when Daniel’s lips suction around your nipple. You feel his tongue swirl around, wetting it before his teeth join in and scrape softly against the sensitive bud. He releases you and even though your eyelids have fluttered shut at the feeling, you feel him watching you as your back rises off the bed and your head falls back. His hand finds its place right underneath your breasts, and he pushes you back down into the mattress and holds you there as he continues the assault of his lips on your chest. You can only cry out with every tug of his teeth, every suckle of his lips on the surrounding skin, whimpers choked down as his mouth ravages you entirely. Your hand flies to Daniel’s hair for purchase, and to press his head further into your chest, but he pulls away.

“Forgive me—but I love your chest, baby. I love how you let me take naps on them and play with my hair, I love the feeling of them in my hand, I love making you scream every time I play with them. And, you taught me that the only answer to ass versus boobs is both of them. Because, I would willingly suffocate in either of them, and all of you.”

Your chest heaves as you try to regain some air in your lungs, but Daniel doesn’t let you breathe for a second, “One day, I hope you let me fuck your pretty chest.”

Your mouth drops open, as you flounder for the air and words required to respond to his statement.

“Another time, though. May I take off your pants, baby? I  need to fuck you.”

“Yesyes—please, hurry up,” you rush out, already moving to shimmy out of your bottoms, Daniel tugging them off roughly when they get caught around your ankles. The strength he uses slides you down the bed a little, and you can’t help but muffle a gasp underneath your hand. 

He pulls your hand from your mouth in an instant, “No. Not tonight. I let you get away with hiding your sounds from me before, but I need to know how good I’m making you feel,” he pauses to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist and continues, “Be as loud as you want, love.”

You nod jerkily, and Daniel lowers your arm to rest against the bed carefully, before he shuffles down the bed, resting on his stomach and spreading your legs to drape along his shoulders. He starts with your right leg; nipping at the bone of your ankle before following with a soothing touch of his lips, and moving upwards, biting and kissing along the muscles of your calf, the inside of your knee. He slows when he reaches the plush meet of your thigh, taking his time biting the muscle and laving over the teeth marks he leaves with his tongue. He repeats the treatment along your left leg, ignoring how he can see the wetness dripping out of you, darkening the fabric of your panties. 

“Love your legs, baby,” Daniel breaths shakily, “Calves, and thighs, muscle, and all plush skin. If I could choose how to go out, it would be in between them. Doesn’t matter if they’re around my waist, or my head—it’s fucking paradise, baby.”

Your thighs shudder as if they’ve heard his words, and Daniel notices immediately. His hands move to grasp them and let his thumbs dig into the fresh marks he’s added against your brown skin. You keen airily, your thighs attempting to shut, but Daniel’s hands keep you spread with little effort. He leans down and hides his smile by pressing his mouth to your panties. He proceeds to noisily kiss along your covered cunt, dragging his tongue and nose through the soaked fabric, humming amusedly when your hips buck down onto him, one of his hands shifting to press your pelvis to the mattress.

You’re mortified. Daniel’s pretty much making out with your cunt over your panties, and he seems to be enjoying it as much as you if the way his hips are rocking along the bed is any telling when you raise your head to stare down at him. His eyes shut as he loses himself between your legs; he looks blissed out and you drop your head back against the mattress, bringing your hand to tangle in the mess of his curls. He pulls away with a grunt and you tug at his hair annoyed, sitting up slightly to see what he stopped for—

His eyes are wild, drenched with lust. Daniel doesn’t waste time pulling your panties off, roughly tugging the fabric covering your cunt to the side, tucking it in the dip between your groin and thigh. You see his eyes roll back slightly at the sight of you before he shuts them and dives forward to bring his mouth down on your cunt. His tongue pushes inside of you sloppily and his nose makes sure your clit is always receiving attention. The only option you have is to choke on your moans and grasp for stability in his hair and the sheets of the bed. Your tummy undulates at the pleasure racketing up your spinal cord, it’s too much to process already. And in a split-second, Daniel’s tongue is exchanged for two of his fingers, your cunt thoroughly soaked with a mix of your wetness and his spit, and the stretch is mild, more of a welcomed soreness than pain. Daniel’s eyes open to watch your face closely, you’re too busy moaning to verbally assure him to continue, but he understands (the continuous desperate roll of your hips against his grasp is a helpful clue). 

He massages his fingers into you rapidly, brushing along the sensitive wall along the top of your cunt—and it dawns on you very quickly that you are going to cum. He must see the realization wash over your face, or through the signs of your body, but he avoids your g-spot to scissor his fingers inside of you to stretch you out, a third joining the rest when you huff down at him angrily. The new stretch quiets you, loud whines and moans hushed for a moment as you savor the ache. Yet, you quickly hunger for more, unapproving of the sudden gentleness Daniel exhibits.

“Danny, please,” you cry, “C’mon—fuck me, already. ‘m gonna cum.”

He pulls his fingers from the grasp of your vagina and manhandles you onto your front, stomach flat against the bed. With firm hands, he pulls your hips upwards, one hand sliding down your back to deepen the arch and push your ass further out. The insecurity and shyness you had earlier have dissipated; you’d like to be fucked, now. You spread your knees wider and rock back even more.

“Fuck,” Daniel croaks out, and he rushes to grab a condom from the nightstand. You’re sure he’s relatively quick about the entire ordeal; of losing his pants, grabbing the condom, and rolling it on himself, but it feels like ages, and you can’t help but huff out angrily. Thankfully, you feel his left hand come back to rest on your ass and feel the head of his cock tap along your cunt. 

Your hole parts for him prettily and Daniel sinks in smoothly, not stopping until your ass meets his hips. You whine softly, the ache of him finding a home within you will never lose its luster. Daniel shudders behind you, the grip of his hand on your ass shaking—his breathing heavy as it echoes around the room. 

“Fuck,” Daniel moans again, “Love your cunt, pretty girl. Hot, wet, and tight,” he falls forward, and nuzzles into the hair at the nape of your neck, before pressing a kiss at the back of your neck, and rising again, “‘s so good…I-I can’t find the words right now.”

You giggle softly into the bed and Daniel takes the green light when you press back against him. He begins to thrust into you, hard enough to punch the breath out of your lungs. He’s never fucked you this forcefully before; his motions are erratic, yet somehow he’s nailing the spot inside of you with every other pass of his hips. The sound of your skin meeting manages to be hidden by the screams and moans you manage to release when you find enough air in your lungs. Daniel’s other hand wraps around your front and presses down on your pelvis, tightening your inner walls. And, your vision whites out.

Your legs give out and you feel yourself slouch into the mattress, but Daniel is quick to hold your hips up for you and continues to rail into you, not allowing you any respite. You can hear yourself babbling, but you can’t make out what you’re saying. The heat of Daniel’s chest radiates over your back and you feel his breath wash over your spine, his endearments and praise you hear but can’t understand as the pleasure has blinded your senses. What you can feel, is how his thrusts continue and don’t slow. 

You regain control of your body when he rotates you onto your back, he only pulls out briefly while he grabs a pillow to shove underneath your hips before he falls back inside of you. At this angle, Daniel feels larger than life, knocking against buttons inside of you you’re sure he’s only ever discovered. It’s too much. He fucks into you slowly, the press of his cock slow but strong, the motion pushing you up the bed slightly.

You gasp, moans erupting out of you when you attempt to speak. You manage to keep your eyes open long enough to look at Daniel and see the pleased smile on his face. He moves one hand from your hip to cradle your cheek and swipes a tear that escaped from the corner of your eye away. 

“Oh,” Daniel hushes you softly, “Gone for me already, aren’t you?”

“T-t-oo much,” you stutter, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, “ feels s’good.”

He chuckles quietly, the noise fading into a moan as your cunt clenches around him, “Too much or it feels good, pretty girl? You’re going to have to pick one.”

Daniel’s thrusts get rougher, and he stops pulling out nearly all the way and focuses on digging into you deeper; making sure to drag himself along that place inside you with every thrust. Your scream breaks as soon as it leaves your mouth, the unyielding stimulation feels white hot. You take a shaky hand and drag it down Daniel’s chest, from his tattoos to his abdomen, and push against him while simultaneously trying to raise your hips away from his.

“No, baby,” Daniel coos down at you, knocking your hand away from his abs, and continuing to press inside of you, pulling your hips down, “Don’t run from me. Take it. You know what to say if it’s too much for you.”

You do know what to say. But, the knot inside your tummy starts tightening again, and the overwhelming amount of pleasure isn’t too much. You can take it. Daniel rocks down to kiss you, but you’re too out of it to exactly figure out how to make your lips work, and his eyes shine. He moves to bite at your neck, you feel him speaking against your skin and it takes a few listens to realize he saying, “I love you,” over and over again. His thrusts get choppier and you know he’s close when his hand slips down to play with your clit. This orgasm feels different than the first. It feels like it burns your nerve endings with just how powerfully pleasurable it is. You can vaguely feel Daniel collapse against you as he rides out his climax, but you’re more concerned with the absolute ecstasy you find yourself floating in.

You blink a few times and you fail to adequately process what’s going on around you. You feel Daniel pull out of you, rubbing soothingly along your hips and thighs as he massages any soreness away. You can’t make out his words, but they sound warm and loving making you feel light and fluffy. You don’t recall him moving from the bed, but he suddenly has a warm rag pressed against your inner thighs to clean you up, and your ruined panties are gone. When he tries to wipe against your cunt, you slam your legs shut, jerking away from him. He doesn’t force your legs back open, but he eventually manages to clean up enough of your wetness that he’s comfortable to wait until you’re clear-minded. 

Daniel pulls you onto his lap and continues murmuring words of affection into the air, you feel them vibrate through his chest. You begin to rise out of whatever state you were in and shift in his lap, “Danny,” you try to speak, but your voice cracks roughly. He’s quick to grab a bottle of water on the nightstand and opens it for you, helping you drink as your arms are still too shaky. 

“When did you grab the water?” you question softly, you down nearly the entire bottle, and move to snuggle back into his chest, bringing your shaky hand up to trace his tattoos. 

“You don’t remember?” Daniel questions calmly, watching as you shake your head in dissent, “I think you were a little out of it after that orgasm. You melted into the bed—I couldn’t get you to say anything.”

“Oh,” you offer, looking up at him to read his face. You find nothing but love, so you figure it can’t be a bad thing.

“Do you know what subspace is?”

“No?”

Daniel nods understandingly and changes the subject, “I got this piece of cake for you earlier at the store. Can you eat it for me now and drink a little more water, baby? I’ll put on that crime show you like too.”

You agree to eat and drink as long as Daniel does too. Your hand shakes as you try to bring the fork to your mouth so you let Daniel feed you, he seems more than happy to do it for you. You kind of like it anyway, him taking care of you. You feel like your normal self halfway through the second episode of the show playing on the TV. You slide off of Daniel’s lap to sit beside him and focus on the show, pulling the blanket up to cover your legs, the plot of the show finally being processed by your brain.

“I’m going to go grab something from the living room, okay?” Daniel checks in on you, waiting for you to answer affirmatively, “Finish up that cake for me, love.”

You hum, grabbing the container from him and continuing to munch along as Daniel does what he needs to. He reenters the room with one of the boxes you had packed away. Daniel doesn’t look at you, he just opens up the box and starts putting all your belongings back to where they used to be. He pulls one of your heavier sweaters out of the box and moves to hang it up in the closet.

“No,” you say, voice scratchy. You watch Daniel turn to face you slowly like he thinks you’re going to tell him that you’re still leaving, 

“That sweater doesn’t belong in the closet. It gets folded and placed in the bottom row of the dresser.”

Daniel sighs relieved and smiles at you, “Okay. What about this one too, where does that go?”

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorrari @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea @tallrock35 @iloveyou3000morgan @smartstupyd @spideybv28 @lh383 @loomiscorpse @hiireadstuff @namgification @gg-trini @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @multi-fandom-rando @sweatrevenge5436-blog @bokutos-babyowl @oliviah-25 @landoslutmeout @love-simon

© httpsserene 2023

[ventismacchiato]

stuck with you — windblume !

˗ˏˋ profiles ´ˎ˗

yn — main vocalist which makes you the most popular member. you go viral every other week for getting into petty arguments on twitter and weverse with scaramouche. should definitely learn media training because you tend to rant about him too much during lives. ‘compilations of scaramouche and yn bickering’ are super common. you’re also the only member to release a solo album which gets you guys a lot of new fans. became an idol after being a trainee for way too many years, which is why you’re salty about scara debuting so quickly when he became an idol trainee after you. [🍰]

xiao — main dancer. choreographs a lot of the dances if not all. very introverted in public but talkative in behind the scenes vlogs with his group. xiao stans have it hard because this man hardly posts anything. fans call him the dad of the group because he’s always sneaking food onto everyone’s plates and keeping them hydrated during practice. when you guys first debuted everyone thought he was mean and cold when really he’s just a quiet sweetheart. has a tattoo sleeve that the fans haven’t seen the entirety of yet, jungkook vibes in that sense. most expensive photocards after you, the one of him in cat ears and winking goes for hundreds. [🦊]

lumine — leader of the group and one of the only responsible ones. strict about keeping everyone on schedule and trying to appear presentable at music and award shows. tries to drag you all to the gym at five in the morning but to no avail. she vlogs her gym routine and whatever member she dragged that morning is usually seen in the back sitting on a yoga ball the entire time, talking as she runs miles on the treadmill. always setting trends for workout routines and makeup looks. once it touches her face it sells out. her twin is also an idol so they both do a lot of tiktoks and videos together. it siblings. [☀️]

fischl — one of the lyricists for the group. so chronically online. she’s always active at odd hours of the night and interacting with her fans. posts the most too, so fischl biases are always full with content. wears an eyepatch as part of her idol persona, and still manages to perform with it on. will do book club livestreams where she’ll talk about her current favorite book with her fans for two hours or more. lumine has to shut the live off everytime because she will just keep yapping. [🦉]

venti — writes most of the group's songs and runs production. most unserious member and should really attend a public image class because he does not know how to be a celebrity. fans are constantly finding vapes in the back of his photos and videos of him drunk at award shows. went viral once for showing up to a music show high off his mind but still managing to perform. will dye the ends of his hair different colors every comeback from his fan’s requests. loves to go live and sing covers for whatever people ask for. he does qnas and takes the tmis too seriously. [🌱]

yoimiya — visual and vocalist, will bring out her guitar during concerts a lot. the only member who will go to the gym with lumine. became an idol because she used to busk in her hometown and got picked up by your manager while she was on vacation. would be the type of idol to adore fancalls and do decorating photocards on livestreams. gets invited to a lot of variety shows and was probably a judge for a survival show at one point. [🧨]

windblume —one of the idol groups underneath sakura entertainment,  a six member mix gendered idol group known for their whimsical and indie comebacks every year. think of txt’s brand when it comes to your guys’ style of music. have been a group for about three years. members range from 21-22. their debut album Temptation got them to their popularity today. fandom name: bloomies

stuck with you !

masterlist — next

for my nonkpop fans the emojis are their assigned ones for when people post their livestream quotes, will make more sense later 😓 and weverse is basically twitter but just for idols to interact with fans

tried not to describe yn too much because i want it to be inclusive, any photos showing yn are just to depict the pose! not gender, race, or body type 🙏

spent way too long making custom instagram templates and for what help so pls look at them xx it’s so u can visualize what these 2d mfs wud look like in this au

pls lmk in the masterlist comments if i can use ur username and make you a fan in the au!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — it’s my exam week so all i have to give you is profiles for now </3

taglist is closed!

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @sheraeera @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @kitsuvil @iheartpieck @crystalcrys @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @crucnhice @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @scarasmood @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @lilachasawesomehair @xxrexx

[lemonlover1110]

can we get Toji reacting to reader's pregnancy

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Ever since finding out that you’re eating for two, you’ve found yourself distressed. Not because this isn’t something that you were planning– Well partially because of that, but mainly because you don’t know what your boyfriend thinks of having more kids. You don’t have the heart to tell him that you’re expecting.

You don’t know how you’ve never had this conversation before, especially since you’ve started to talk about getting married. You know that he has a teenager, and probably he’s done with that part of his life. You also know that you’d be delighted to have kids, but if Toji wouldn’t want to have a child, you’re okay with that too. Your pregnancy changes everything though.

“Aren’t you two here early?” You ask, staring at the front door as Megumi and Toji walk in. Toji has a frown in his face while Megumi walks ahead, not a care in the world. You notice a stain on his school uniform and you tell him, “Put it in the washer, I’ll take care of it, Megs.”

“No, he can deal with the consequences of his actions in his little vacation.” Toji quickly speaks up, making you cock an eyebrow. You look back and forth between Toji and Megumi, hoping someone is going to fill you in. “Go to your room, Megumi. I can’t stand to look at your face anymore.”

“What happened?” You direct your attention to your husband since Megumi listens to his father and goes to his room. Toji sighs, walking over to you and pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t tell me he–”

“Got into a fight. Got called in the middle of work to deal with his ass– Hey, at least he won.” Toji can’t help but chuckle because even though he’s mad, part of him still feels oddly proud. His kid is somewhat of a troublemaker, but hey, at least the kid can fight. He says something that makes the thoughts of worry that you pushed to the back of your mind, come back and even stronger. “Just glad I don’t have to deal with this much longer.”

“Right.” You awkwardly laugh. You follow Toji to your living room, and take a seat beside him on your couch. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, you do this all the time, but Toji immediately knows that something is off. Your face wastes no time in telling on you.

“You okay? You look a little off.” Toji comments, throwing his arm over you and bringing you closer to him. You’re a little far today when you’re usually all over him. The man loves his personal space, but not when it comes to you. 

“Weird day… Weird week.” You mutter the last part, but Toji hears it loud and clear. He kisses the top of your head before asking,

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He proceeds to kiss the top of your head, and you bite down your lip. You have to tell him eventually, and you know that maybe this isn’t the right time to tell him, but he senses something is up.

“What do you think about having kids with me?” You speak a little fast, and if he wasn’t listening closely, he would have to ask you to repeat yourself. Toji takes a moment to think about it, acting perplexed. His silence is killing you and just when you’re about to repeat the question, he speaks up.

“Is this about the pregnancy test I found in the bathroom?” Toji mentions, and your eyes go wide. He’s known? He’s known all this time? He ends up kissing the tip of your nose before pecking your lips, “I’m happy with anything as long as I get to do it with you.”

“What about the comment that you made–” You begin and he interrupts you. 

“Was about Megumi, I’m making sure this one isn’t a troublemaker.” Toji clarifies as his hand goes to your lower abdomen. “I’m excited about this. I was wondering how long it’d take you to share.”

“Next time, speak up, I was scaring myself to death.” You lightly slap his chest, and he chuckles. You’re glaring at him, while he smirks at you. “You’re in so much trouble right now. Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

[windichimes]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ɢᴏᴊᴏ ʜᴄꜱ

warnings: yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, threats

note: he’s so pretty and annoying and i’m weak for him 😞

art credit: ma10ba (twitter)

Limitless – Gojo Satoru

obsessive, possessive, annoying

Once Gojo enters your life, he becomes a permanent fixture. He’s everywhere, and wherever you go, you're bound to bump into him. It’s like he has a sixth sense (or eyes) that lets him know when you're out and about. As soon as you take a step into a public area, there he is, materializing out of thin air with a grin on his face.

He's shamelessly vocal about his affection for you too, and anyone who stands remotely close to is bound to get insights into your relationship. What’s more is he’s always clinging onto you at every opportunity. Walking? Might as well do it while holding his hand. Sitting on the couch? He's got you pulled against his side, and if he's in a mischievous mood, you'll end up in his lap with no means of escape.

It's not just private displays of affection either, Gojo is just as affectionate in public, if not more so. His hand always finds its way to touch you, whether it's wrapping around your waist, resting on your thigh, or simply brushing against your arm. He's clingy and possessive, always seeking your attention and affection. The worst, really.

He's the embodiment of perfection – the strongest – and he knows it. People would do anything to be in your place, he often tells you.

“Admit it, you're secretly finding me irresistible, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes. Go on, say it. Make my day.”

You're stunned into silence by his audacity, your eyes wide open in a mixture of bewilderment and surprise. For all his claims of having good vision, it seems he’s selectively blind to your glaring distaste of him.

“When was the last time you went to the optometrist?”

Gojo laughs before scoffing in mock offense, putting a hand to his chest in an exaggerated manner. His eyes sparkle with unabashed delight.

"I’ll have you know my vision is perfect, unlike yours, which is clearly clouded by your denial of your undying attraction to me.”

“No, I’m seriously worried–”

You’re interrupted when Gojo unceremoniously slings an arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side. His touch is too comfortable for your liking, and he pinches your cheek with his free hand, a large, infuriating smile on his face.

"And it's not just your vision that's a little off," he chides, flicking your forehead lightly.

“Your memory, too. It’s like you’ve forgotten about what I said about sticking close to me.”

His smile becomes sharper, predatory, as he brushes his fingers lightly over your cheek, tracing a path towards your jawline before grasping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Remember that next time. Kay?”

Gojo's mind can't comprehend rejection, it's a concept foreign and alien to him. From birth, he's been pampered and given everything he desires, so when you refuse to give yourself to him, it's as though you've thrown a wrench in the well-oiled machine of his world. At first, he's confused, uncertain of how to react to your resistance. However, he eventually comes to the conclusion that he can’t let you go. This realization is swift, and it's a chilling acknowledgement of the twisted dynamic that's taken root in your relationship. To Gojo, losing you is not an option, no matter the cost. In his mind, you belong to him, and he'll stop at nothing to ensure that you're firmly ensnared in his grasp.

You’re his, can’t you see that?

[cinnahoons]

three shots, lemon drops

idol!sim jake x fem!reader; wc 3.0k; genres fluff, established relationship; warnings suggestive!! they make out, mentions of alcohol, v touchy a/n ib twitter shenanigans regarding jake on live but i'm a slow writer so this is late! oops

Jake is pushing it.

He’s situated in front of the camera he’d set up, swaying around in his chair as he watches comments sprint across the screen, including a barrage of messages like Hello from the Philippines! and blink if you see this. He’d taken to Weverse tonight, dragging you into a little studio with him the second he’d arrived at the company building, and suddenly the warning text that Jay had sent you thirty minutes ago started making a lot more sense.

Jake leans closer to the screen as you sit on a couch behind his camera, his lip becoming trapped between his teeth in concentration. You sigh, already imagining the thousands of messages flooding in, no doubt fawning over your boyfriend’s tendency to appear maddeningly kissable.

“Jake, I love your lips,” he reads out, leaning back into his chair with an amused smile playing at his mouth. He lifts a hand, strong fingers coming up to rub softly at the rosy skin he’d been chewing at. “My lips?”

You have to suppress a snort at the obvious fanservice, ignoring the irritation that starts to claw at your gut. You’re used to this—the flirting, the bold advancements on the part of his fans, his reciprocation. It is his job after all, to sell the fantasy. And you know he enjoys it, finds genuine hilarity and fondness in being able to make his fan’s days. It’s never really bothered you, because you’re secure enough in yourself and in your relationship with Jake, despite it being a secret to the public, that it doesn’t keep you awake at night to know he spends his time making other girls believe they have a chance.

Besides, they might know how it feels to flirt with him, but only one person knows the smell of his bedsheets, the warmth of his skin.

Tonight, though—tonight, it’s getting to you, because you’ve never really had to be in the room to witness any of it. Jake typically goes live when you’re not around, to spare you even though he knows it doesn’t usually bother you. Clearly, him having been dropped off tipsy after his dinner with Jay changed his mind, because he’d insisted that you wait for him while he does his live. You’re mostly trying to make sure he doesn’t say anything he shouldn’t.

There’s a lazy smile on his face, one that quirks up at the corner. His eyes fall on you, sluggishly, like they’d been doing all night. It makes your skin prickle, but you make a motion for him to look back at the camera. 

“What’ve you guys been up to?” He asks, running a hand through his rich brown hair. You’re trying to busy yourself as you wait, scrolling on your phone while he talks. But his eyes keep flickering up to you, a little glassy, and surely that must be coming off strange to the viewers. You wonder what they’ll all take to Twitter to rant about tonight—will it be that the company should stop sending in staff to control the members’ every word? You stifle a giggle at the thought.

It’s not funny for long, though, because then Jake keeps talking.

“No, I’m not drunk,” he comments, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He pauses. “Well. Only a little.”

You groan quietly, making wild motions above your head as if to ask him: why would you admit that? He only gives you another look, his lips twitching before he looks back at the camera. 

“Sorry, guys, I’m a little distracted.”

“Jake,” you hiss, making sure to keep your voice quiet enough that you won’t be heard over the live. Jake’s mouth slips into a slow smile. He leans back into his chair, the lids of his eyes lowering slightly as he stares at you.

You squirm in your seat on the couch. Something in his gaze is a little dark, a little loopy. Almost like he’s imagining something his brain can’t comprehend in its current state; like if he tried too hard his eyes would cross with desire and he’d probably say something he shouldn’t.

You look down at your phone, trying to get his attention off of you. It works, at least for now. He continues to read comments off the screen.

“You had steak for dinner? Me too,” he murmurs, palm pressed against his face. “Oh, jajangmyeon, nice.”

It goes on like that for a couple more minutes. You think he’s finally settled down, that the little alcohol he’d drunk had finally faded away enough to render him at least slightly sane. The hour keeps ticking away, so much so that you’ve even started thinking about what you’ll make yourself as a snack tonight before bed, and how you’ll be able to work around Jake’s schedule tomorrow to meet up with him for lunch. That is, until:

“What’s distracting me?” Jake chuckles, fixing the sleeve of his brown jacket. “Mmm…if I told you, then you’d know.”

He’s teasing them, riling them up so they’ll spam him with a million questions from a million different girls who want to be the one he confides in. Your gaze flickers up from your phone, watching him carefully.

“Not related to the comeback,” he says, shaking his head a little too seriously. You’re getting the sense that he’s up to something, unsettling you enough to make you put your phone away. 

“No, not a staff member,” he chuckles. His voice has a lilt to it, one that gives away that he thinks whatever he’s doing is funny. You stand up from the couch, because he’s started to actively ignore the concern painted on your face. You don’t want to accidentally alarm the viewers, so you try subtly to gain his attention.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, slightly panicked. “Don’t say anything stupid. Your managers are going to kill me.”

Jake finally looks up then, through his lashes. There’s a delightful flush to his cheeks, a playfulness in the way he casually drags his eyes up and down your body. He sucks in a little air through his teeth, his tongue playing at the inside of his cheek as he glances at the screen once more.

“You think it’s Jungwonie? You guys are so funny.”

You tiptoe closer to his camera, not caring that your shadow is now visible on the wall behind him. He’s going to say something.

Jake is grinning now, and then he turns back to you, letting out a long, dragging sigh.

“I’m not into sharing, so you’ll just have to trust me, guys.” He cocks his head, eyes half-lidded. “My girlfriend is hot.”

Your jaw drops.

The rest of your body moves at its own accord. One of your hands reaches over his laptop to clap over the camera, and the other hand presses frantically at some buttons on his keyboard, wasting no time in ending the live. You’re frozen there, body tipped over his setup with your eyes practically bugging out of your skull.

All the while, Jake is leaned back in his chair, a leisurely smirk playing at his lips.

“Don’t look so happy to be mine.”

Your hand falls from its position, and you stare at your boyfriend in shock.

“What the fuck?”

The situation is settling in fast, like a brick to the gut, and you’re already starting to spiral just thinking of the fallout. You ignore Jake’s stupid face, pacing around the room in panic, a hand reaching up to rub against your eyes.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. Oh my god, the company is gonna hang both of us. I should’ve—I should’ve just listened to Jay when he texted me not to let you go live tonight. Jake—” you whirl around, doubling down around the corner of Jake’s desk, walking up to him in anger, “everyone fucking knows now. There’s gonna have to be so much damage control.

Jake only stares at you for a moment, the smirk from earlier faded away. It’s left something darker in its place—a little more raw, a little more real. He shrugs, his eyes boring into yours.

“So what?”

Notifications start going off on both of your phones. Jake silences his without even blinking, but you snatch yours up furiously.

“What do you mean so what? So this,” you grit, holding up your phone. “You think I’m worried about myself or something? We can take the heat from your company, but everything else? That’s only going to you. What the hell were you thinking?”

Silence. Jake takes the phone from your hands gently, switching the ringer off wordlessly. He puts it next to his, seemingly uninterested in any protest on your part (there comes none). 

“I was thinking,” he starts, looking up at you from his seat, “that I’ve been wanting to do that ever since my driver dropped me off and I walked in to see you looking like that.” He motions at your outfit, his other hand rubbing small circles into his lips. 

“Besides.” A smile creeps onto his face, and he reaches out, tugging lightly at your hips, causing you to stumble forward a little. His head rests at your stomach level. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous, baby.”

You blink down at him, shocked, blush spreading across your skin at a furious pace. So he’d noticed it, then, the irritation that you thought you’d hidden well. In fact, he’d been hoping for it. That’s probably why he’d insisted that you wait for him while he went live. He’d really bit the dust as soon as he walked into the HYBE building.

“Jake,” you warn, although there’s no real conviction behind it. You’ve lost all the anger from earlier, replaced by something weak. “This is bad.”

He hums distractedly, dipping his head to mouth at the fabric of your shirt. You can feel the warmth of his lips at your stomach, feel him smiling gently against you. 

“Really bad,” he murmurs.

You breathe out slowly, your breath stuttering for no reason other than nerves. Jake looks up at you anyway, the tipsy glimmer to his eyes reflecting your own rosy face. He furrows his brows in a way that makes your heart ache, it’s so adorable.

“You want me to stop?”

You consider it for a moment. The other members, the company, everyone is most definitely trying to get a hold of you both right now. But then you’re looking back at Jake; at the wanton look in his eyes, and you find yourself shaking your head, lowering yourself into his lap without so much as a little sigh. You know you’ll both be getting a mouthful later—but for now, it doesn’t matter.

He smiles at you dazedly, planting firm hands on your hips to keep you steady. He lifts a hand up to brush a lock of hair from your face.

“Need you to say it,” he murmurs. 

You lean in, the air escaping your mouths mingling between you.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Jake seals the distance between you instantly, his lips meeting yours in a feverish kiss. For a moment you feel weightless—like it’s just you and him, entwined in midair with nothing but an ache in your lips and sweat beading on your skin. And then he’s moving, his hands sliding down to grasp your thighs as he noses at your jaw, littering kisses down its side and along your neck. He grounds you with the weight of every press of his full lips against your burning skin, and you can’t help but to tangle your fingers in the soft brown locks that sit at the nape of his neck.

“So pretty, baby,” he mumbles against your neck, the low rumble of his voice causing goosebumps to erupt on your arms. “Lucky I’m yours.”

A giggle tumbles out of your mouth, soft and earnest, and you can feel Jake’s teeth against your skin as he breaks into a grin.

“Mine,” you singsong, leaning your head back a little as he continues to mouth down towards your collarbone. “And they all know that now.”

Jake snorts. 

“And you always tell me it doesn’t bother you when they flirt.”

He lifts his head up a little, moving to the juncture between your jaw and your neck.

“It—doesn’t.” The last part comes out through gritted teeth, because suddenly Jake is sucking a hickey into your skin, color blooming in his wake. You hiccup on a breath, your eyes glassy as he pulls away to survey his work.

“Now you’re gonna be more distracting.”

You drop your head onto his shoulder in shame, heat rushing to your cheeks as he giggles in your ear. 

“Since when have I made such terrible decisions?” You whine against the fabric of his shirt, your voice muffled. 

He laughs, breathy, swaying you around on his lap.

“Hey, I’ll take the credit for this one.”

Your head shoots up, eyes narrowing as you smack his arm softly.

“Damn right you will. I was talking about letting you drag me into this room in the first place.”

Jake lifts his arms in surrender, a coy smile on his lips. He shrugs, and then he cocks a brow.

“Were you being serious about Jay texting you?”

You nod, fiddling absentmindedly with a button on his shirt.

“He said, and I quote: Be careful about letting Jake go live tonight, he’s extra stupid when he’s tipsy.” 

Jake stares at you blankly for a second.

“That fucker.”

You laugh, leaning in to press a kiss against Jake’s cheek. His dramatic act crumbles instantly, a smile forming on his face.

“He was right, though,” you say. The smell of Jake’s cologne drifts up from his neck, your eyelids fluttering helplessly in response.

“Not as right as the angle of my arm when I shove it up his—”

“Okay, stop talking about Jay—” you breathe, shutting your eyes, “and kiss your girlfriend.”

Jake shuts up, fast, one of his hands twitching against your thigh.

“Yes to both,” he replies, the other hand coming up to rest in the hair by your ear, tugging forward gently so your lips are touching. “Top ten words ever spoken, actually.”

He captures your bottom lip with his own, soft and languid. There are a million and one ways you could react to how good he is, but you settle for just touching him, fingers brushing along his neck, rubbing in small circles as he cups your jaw. His teeth scrape lightly against your lip, and you gasp quietly, your jaw falling open just that little bit more—pliant. He takes the chance to lick into your mouth, searing, the palm of his hand warm and strong against your cheek. The hand on your thigh crawls up your hip, slipping under your shirt just enough to rest atop the bone there, moving no further. He thumbs gently at your skin, drawing a low whine from your chest as he continues to kiss you.

Jake’s eyebrows furrow gently, lost in the sensation of your lips slotted against his. There’s a moment where he’s breathing hard against your mouth, having pulled away from you enough to have you panting not barely an inch from his face. His eyes rove over every part of you he can see, down to where you sit on his lap, his thumbs pressed into the dimples of your hips. You have to resist surging forward to kiss him again, momentary embarrassment at your inability to be disconnected from his lips for more than a minute vanishing almost as fast as it came on. You can’t blame yourself—the fans were right, after all, to point out his lips. They’re as soft and capable as they appear on camera, if not more.

A shy smile creeps onto Jake’s face.

“I love you, Y/N. Whatever happens, it was worth it.”

You sigh, a lovesick giggle threatening to jump out of your mouth.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Exist.”

You smile at him, your nose scrunching up as you lean in once more to give him a long, chaste kiss, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek.

Suddenly, there’s a bang. The door to the studio swings open, revealing a completely unimpressed Jay, his arms crossed over his chest. Jake breaks away from the kiss, and you turn a bewildered head to face the intrusion, your lips raw and glistening from earlier events.

“Thought so. Could you two stop eating each other's faces for a minute so we can go deal with the consequences of your actions?”

You blink in embarrassment, trying to picture the no doubt saucy image of you perched on Jake’s lap looking like you’d just given a vacuum a run for its money. It’s humiliating.

“That’s not—we were just—”

Jay snorts, eyeing your neck with amusement.

“I can see your hickey, Y/N.”

“My bad,” Jake chimes in, a dopey smile on his face. You cast him a sideways glare before turning around again to flash Jay a sheepish grin. He shakes his head.

“I should’ve known you’d be no help against his evils. You’re both equally airheaded.”

“Okay, rude—”

“Just get over to the meeting room already,” Jay interrupts, a sort of fondness underscoring his tone. “The internet is falling apart.”

Jake throws his head back in his chair, groaning, pulling you against his chest in the process.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles into your hair.

“Jake. The media’s already all over this.”

Always the voice of reason, Jay is.

“Fine. One more kiss.”

“Sim Jaeyun,” Sunghoon’s voice screeches from the hallway outside the studio, followed by the loud stomping of his feet. You suspect he’s running.

Jake’s head launches up at a comical speed, you and Jay both laughing at the mildly fearful expression on his face.

“He’s coming,” you call, sliding off his lap onto slightly wobbly legs, reaching out a hand to your boyfriend. He takes it, grumbling.

“Can we just say I was talking about Layla or something?”

“You called me hot.”

“Oh, right,” Jake says, taking your hand softly as he starts for the door. “Definitely not Layla.”

tags! @junityy @hittoki @neos127 @iuwon @tyunni + ty to @/junityy and @4xiaojun for helping me when i was stuck ily guys 💓

[pucksandpower]

Eurovisionaries

Charles Leclerc x Monegasque singer!Reader

Summary: the “Charles Leclerc competes in Eurovision” fic no one asked for but I wrote anyway

Warnings: none that I can think of

“Why is Charles Leclerc trending in the music section?” You wonder aloud, eyes narrowing as you see the pop-up notification on your Twitter.

Opening the app, you’re met with a tweet from an official Eurovision updates account: “🇲🇨 #Monaco: Eligible to Compete in the #Eurovision Song Contest 2024.” Below it, Charles Leclerc, Monaco’s pride and F1 sensation extraordinaire, has replied to the tweet with a sly “I’m ready 🎤.”

You can’t help but laugh. The thought of Charles taking the Eurovision stage is hilarious. You respond to the tweet, “Ever considered a duet? Though I would advise keeping your day job for now 🏎️😉.” Notifications instantly start pouring in, a flurry of likes and retweets.

Your phone buzzes, a call from your manager, Rosa. “Did you see the Leclerc tweet?” She starts without preamble.

“Of course. The entire principality probably has by now,” you chuckle, imagining the reactions of Monegasque citizens.

Silence. A beat too long.

“What?” You probe, sensing her hesitance.

Rosa exhales deeply, “The Monegasque Eurovision committee called me.”

You sit up, “About the tweet?”

“More than that. They’re seriously considering him.”

“For Eurovision?” You're incredulous, “He’s a racer, not a singer.”

She hesitates, “That’s where you come in.”

A long pause ensues. The weight of her words settles around you. Rosa is never one for jokes, especially when it comes to your career.

“They want you to team up with him,” she continues, breaking the silence, “He can compose and play but they need a voice. Your voice.”

The gravity of the situation dawns on you. Representing Monaco in Eurovision is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity but with Charles? Someone you’ve only admired from afar on the circuit?

“What if it doesn’t work out?” You voice your concerns. “Our styles, our personalities ... they could clash.”

“It’s a risk, yes. But it’s also an opportunity. Both for your career and for Monaco,” Rosa reasons.

You look out of the window, the streets of Monaco stretching below. The pride of representing your nation battles with the uncertainty of this potentially bizarre partnership.

“I need some time, Rosa,” you whisper.

She understands. “Take all the time you need. But remember, some of the best things in life come from taking the most unexpected turns.”

As you hang up, Charles’ tweet flashes on your screen again, the confident smile in his profile picture making you wonder if this journey is one you should embark on.

***

“Are you sitting down?” Rosa’s voice is tense, filled with an urgency you rarely hear from her.

You shuffle around in your apartment, finding a chair by the window. “I am now. What’s up?”

She takes a deep breath, her exhale echoing over the line. “The committee’s made their decision. They want Charles Leclerc for Eurovision.”

You almost drop your phone. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was,” she replies, her tone betraying her surprise as much as yours. “And they want you to partner with him.”

The world seems to blur around you. Images of the grand Eurovision stage, the cheering crowds, and a sea of flags swirl through your mind, and the idea of standing there, alongside someone like Charles, is surreal.

“This is ...” you trail off, searching for words.

“Insane? Unprecedented? A media goldmine?” Rosa supplies, ever the pragmatist.

“All of the above.” The weight of the offer hangs between you, punctuated by the distant sounds of Monaco outside your window.

“What did you tell them?” You ask, after a moment of heavy silence.

“I told them we’d think about it,” Rosa says. “But darling, this is huge. For your career, for Charles, for Monaco!”

You sigh, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I’ve never even met him. What if we don’t click? What if we can’t perform together? What if—”

“What if you soar?” Rosa interrupts gently. “What if this is the push both of you need?”

You consider her words, the promise they hold. But the fear remains. “What if I fall?”

Rosa’s voice softens. “Then you get back up, just as you always have. But you won’t be doing it alone. You’ll have all of Monaco behind you.”

The conversation weighs on you long after you’ve hung up. Charles Leclerc, Monaco’s golden boy, and you? It feels like a dream, one you’re not sure you want to wake up from.

That night, as Monaco’s lights twinkle beneath your apartment, a notification lights up your phone. An email with an official Monegasque Eurovision committee letterhead:

We are pleased to extend to you an official invitation to represent Monaco at the Eurovision Song Contest 2024 in an act alongside Charles Leclerc. Details to follow.

The reality sets in. And it terrifies and thrills you in equal measure.

***

“Are you the singer?” The voice unmistakably belongs to Charles, though softer than the confident tone you’ve heard in his interviews.

You turn, your heart doing a tiny flip. He’s leaning against a grand piano in the center of the room, looking more perfect in casual jeans and a t-shirt than he has any right to. You have to remind yourself to breathe for a moment.

“Are you the racer?” You shoot back, attempting to mask your nervousness with humor.

He laughs, “Touche.”

Both of you approach the piano, the room filled with an almost tangible tension. He extends a hand. “Charles.”

You shake it, feeling the calloused fingertips, likely from handling the wheel so often. “I know. And you probably don’t know me, but ... it’s Y/N.”

“I’ve heard your songs on YouTube,” he admits, releasing your hand. “You have an incredible voice.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, surprised and flattered. “You … drive really fast?”

He laughs again, easing some of the tension. “I try.”

The two of you start the rehearsal, with Charles taking the lead on the piano. The notes are hauntingly beautiful, full of emotion. You find yourself getting lost in the music, your voice blending seamlessly with the tune.

But suddenly, Charles stops playing. “Sorry,” he says, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I’m not used to this. Playing in front of someone.”

You blink, taken aback. “You’re not used to performing?”

“Not like this. Racing, I get. This is … different,” he confesses, running a hand through his hair.

You nod, understanding his fear. “Let’s take it slow. We have time.”

He looks up, his eyes searching yours. “Do we? Eurovision is just around the corner and I will be away a lot of the time for races.”

You take a deep breath. “Every journey starts with a single step. Let’s just focus on today.”

You play and sing for hours, taking breaks when needed. The connection, while still tentative, starts to form. By the end of the session, a shaky version of your Eurovision song emerges.

“I think … I think we could actually pull this off,” Charles admits as you pack up.

“With a lot more practice,” you reply, smiling.

He grins, the confidence you expected from him back in full form. “Challenge accepted.”

Walking out of the studio, you can’t help but feel a tiny flutter of excitement. This partnership, as unlikely as it seemed, might just work.

***

“I’ve never been to this bistro,” Charles admits, looking around the quaint little place you’ve chosen.

“It’s a hidden gem. My little escape in Monaco,” you reply, sipping your tea. “Sometimes the noise of the city gets too much.”

He nods, fidgeting slightly. “I get that. For me, it’s the track. I love racing but our world can become ... suffocating sometimes.”

The vulnerability in his words surprises you. You’d always seen Charles as a fearless driver, not a man who needed an escape.

“You know,” you start, “I always thought you loved the thrill, the fame.”

He chuckles, but there’s a shadow in his eyes. “I love racing. The fame, not so much. I love the fans. I love Ferrari. But it’s overwhelming at times. Especially when the car is underperforming.”

You feel a connection in that moment, the shared weight of expectations. “Music is my escape. But sometimes, the pressure to always be on, to always perform ... it’s draining.”

He looks at you, a new understanding dawning in his eyes. “I never thought about it that way. We’re really quite similar, aren’t we?”

The conversation flows naturally after that, moving from work to personal interests. You discover shared hobbies, like a love for old movies, and differing opinions, like his disdain for pineapple on pizza which you adore.

“Pineapple on pizza is a crime,” he declares, feigning outrage.

“You have no taste!” You retort, laughing.

The afternoon slips away, the two of you lost in conversation. It feels like two old friends catching up, not two professionals thrown together by fate.

As you leave the bistro, Charles hesitates. “Would you like to come to a race sometime? See the action up close?”

You smile, touched by the offer. “Only if you come to one of my performances.”

He grins, “Deal.”

In the days that follow, your rehearsals gain a new depth. The newfound friendship seeps into your music, turning the notes and lyrics into pure emotion. The song evolves, reflecting the story of two individuals finding harmony in the most unexpected place.

Rosa notices the change too. “There’s a spark,” she comments one day, after a particularly moving session. “Both in the music and between you two.”

You blush, dismissing her with a wave. “It’s just the music.”

But as the days blur into nights and rehearsals become more intense, you can’t help but wonder if there’s truth in Rosa’s words.

***

“Is it always this chaotic?” Charles whispers, leaning close so only you can hear as you both step backstage of a popular talk show. Bright lights, cameras, and a bustling crew create a vibrant atmosphere of controlled chaos.

“Welcome to my world,” you reply with a smirk, feeling the familiar adrenaline of a live performance. “A bit different from the paddock, isn’t it?”

His eyes sparkle with mischief. “Just a tad.”

A producer approaches, positioning you and Charles for the interview. As you settle onto the couch, Charles’ arm grazes yours, sending an unexpected jolt of warmth up your arm.

The host, a vivacious woman named Martina, begins, “We have Monaco’s sensational Eurovision duo with us today! Charles Leclerc and Y/N Y/L/N. Tell us, how has this partnership been?”

Charles shoots you a glance. “Unexpected at first, certainly. But every moment has been an adventure. We’ve learned from each other and it is reflected in our music.”

You nod, adding, “It’s been a blend of two worlds. And the result is something neither of us anticipated but we have come to love.”

Martina’s gaze flits between both of you, sensing the underlying tension. “There’s undeniable chemistry between you two. It’s clear to me even now. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Your heart races and you see Charles shift uncomfortably. The question, though posed in jest, holds an element of truth that neither of you has addressed.

“We’re focused on our music and representing Monaco to the best of our abilities,” Charles replies smoothly but the tips of his ears redden.

Martina, sensing a scoop, presses on, “But off the stage? Any sparks?”

You force a laugh, trying to diffuse the situation. “We’re just getting to know each other. Our priority is Eurovision.”

Once off the set, Charles runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as his way of dealing with stress. “That was intense.”

“It’s just the beginning. The closer we get to Eurovision, the more questions like that we’ll get.”

He stops, turning to face you, his eyes intense. “What if there is some truth to their questions?”

The air grows thick, the world narrowing to just the two of you. “Charles ...”

He takes a step closer, his voice dropping. “I can’t ignore it anymore. Every time we’re together, there is this pull.”

Your breath catches, the confession echoing your own feelings. “I feel it too. But right now, everything is so complicated.”

He nods, looking defeated. “I know. Let’s just ... focus on the music for now.”

***

“Are these feathers?” Charles asks, a touch of panic evident as he examines the ornate costume handed to him.

“Welcome to Eurovision,” you say with a wry smile, adjusting the shimmering fabric of your own dress which seems to be a riot of sequins and colors, reflecting the vibrant spirit of the competition.

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “This is a bit different from my usual race suit.”

You laugh, playfully nudging him. “Just wait till you see the pyrotechnics.”

The two of you stand backstage as acts from different countries, each more extravagant than the last, parade before you. The dazzling array of costumes, the eccentric set designs, and the sheer scale of the event are overwhelming.

Charles, sensing your nervousness, takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve got this.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. The tension between the two of you has only grown, making moments like these all the more intense.

Suddenly, a voice announces, “Next up, representing Monaco, please welcome Charles Leclerc and Y/N Y/L/N!”

Your heart rate spikes. Charles leads you to the stage, the grand piano at its center surrounded by a sea of lights creating an ethereal atmosphere.

He starts playing, the haunting melody echoing in the cavernous venue. As you join in with your vocals, the world seems to fade away. It’s just the two of you, lost in the music.

The song builds to its climax. You move closer to Charles, the emotional depth of the lyrics pulling you in. The final note lingers and you find yourself drawn to him, your faces mere inches apart.

The audience, sensing the electricity between the two of you, erupts in a frenzy of cheers, pulling you back to reality. You share a charged glance with Charles, the applause deafening.

The performance, though only a few minutes, feels like a lifetime. As you walk off stage, Charles wraps an arm around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “We did it.”

You bury your face in his chest, the heady mix of adrenaline and emotions making everything feel surreal. “We really did.”

***

“And the winner of the Eurovision Song Contest 2024 is ...” The host’s voice draws out, adding to the tension in the room, “Monaco!”

The words hit you like a tidal wave. The arena explodes in applause and cheers, bright lights flashing everywhere. Confetti starts to fall and the air is pure magic.

Charles, equally stunned, turns to you, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Is this real?” He breathes, pulling you into a tight embrace.

Overwhelmed, you cling to him, the weight of your accomplishment settling in. You won Eurovision.

Breaking the hug, Charles lifts you in sheer joy, spinning you around, the world blurring past. Both of you are laughing, tears of joy mingling with the glitter on your face.

As the celebrations continue, you spot the Italian competitors cheering raucously. Somehow, they’ve managed to pull out a Ferrari flag, waving it as proudly as if they had won.

Charles notices too, laughing. “They really do love their racing.”

You smirk, nudging him playfully. “Or maybe they just love their racer.”

The moment is interrupted as you’re whisked away for the winner’s interview and your encore. But the mania doesn’t stop the two of you from sharing stolen glances and smiles.

Later that night, as the euphoria begins to die down, Charles finds you on a balcony overlooking the city. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?” He murmurs, joining you by the railing.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “Winning was the dream. I didn’t think about what would come after.”

He chuckles, “You and me both.”

The night stretches before you, the city lights twinkling like stars. You lean into Charles, drawing comfort from his presence. “What now?”

He takes a moment to think. “Now, we take on the world together.”

***

“I wrote something last night,” Charles says hesitantly. The two of you sit in his apartment, the aftermath of your Eurovision win still a fresh memory.

You tilt your head, intrigued. “For the piano?”

He nods. “But it’s more personal than anything else I’ve composed. I was thinking ... maybe you could add lyrics to it?”

Curious, you watch as he moves to the piano he has against the wall, his fingers delicately dancing on the keys. The melody is raw, filled with emotion. It speaks of longing, of new beginnings, of unspoken feelings.

It’s beautiful.

“That’s incredible,” you breathe once he finishes.

He looks up, vulnerability evident in his eyes. “It's how I feel. About all of this. About you.”

The confession hangs in the air, a delicate thread connecting the two of you.

“I’ve been feeling the same,” you admit, your heart racing. “I wrote some lyrics too. But I didn’t have the melody for them. Maybe ...”

You share the words you penned down, the emotions you felt towards Charles clear as day. Together, the two of you create a song, a musical odyssey of the path you’ve walked together and the deepening connection between you.

Hours pass, the world outside forgotten. The song takes shape, evolving with every note and word.

Charles breaks the silence, his voice soft, “This is special.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the moment. “It is.”

He moves closer, the space between you disappearing. “Every moment with you is.”

Your heart flutters, the intensity of his gaze making you breathless. “Charles ...”

But he silences you with a gentle touch, his fingers brushing your cheek. The world seems to stand still as he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s a new beginning, a promise of what’s to come.

***

“I’m so nervous,” you confess, wringing your hands. The roar of the crowd outside, waiting for the Monaco Grand Prix to begin, is deafening.

Charles pulls you into a comforting hug. “It’s just singing the national anthem. You’ve performed on much bigger stages.”

“But not in front of the entire racing community and Monegasque royalty,” you counter. The idea of serenading the beginning of Monaco’s most prestigious race, especially with Charles being one of the contenders, fills you with anxiety.

He smirks. “You’re worrying about a three-minute song when I have to race for nearly two hours?”

You punch his arm playfully, “Oh, hush. You love it too much to complain.”

His expression turns serious and he takes your hands in his. “It’s just like any other performance but this time, for our people. Focus on that.”

His words sink in. You’re not just singing for the crowd. You’re singing for Monaco. For Charles.

As you step out, the sun glints off the polished cars lined up for the race. The noise is deafening but one look at Charles, his eyes filled with pride, grounds you.

Drawing a deep breath, you begin. Your voice, clear and strong, rises above the commotion, capturing the spirit of Monaco. The crowd falls silent, lost in the beauty of the moment.

When you finish, the applause is thunderous. Charles rushes over, lifting you off the ground in a bear hug. “That was incredible,” he whispers in your ear.

You laugh, the tension from before dissipating. “Now go win the race.”

He winks. “Only if you promise to sing for me every time.”

***

“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t tweeted that day?” Charles muses, lying next to you on a grassy hill overlooking the city. The stars twinkle above, the night air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.

You chuckle softly, turning to face him. “I would probably be preparing for another solo concert but not much would change for you. You’d still be busy reveling in your racing glory.”

He grins, playfully nudging you. “So you admit I brought excitement to your life?”

You roll your eyes. “Excitement, chaos, media frenzy ... take your pick.”

Silence settles between you two, comfortable yet filled with words unspoken. The city lights below seem distant, the world reduced to just this moment.

Charles breaks the silence. “I can’t imagine my life without you now.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at your heart. “Neither can I. It’s been a wild ride.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “A ride I would relive in a heartbeat.”

“Charles,” you begin, gathering your thoughts, “we’ve been through so much together and I cherish every moment. But we also need to think about our future. The media attention, the expectations ... it’s a lot.”

He nods, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know. But we'll face it together. Like we have from the start.”

The promise in his voice fills you with warmth. “Together,” you echo, sealing the commitment.

***

“You’re not serious,” Silvia’s voice cuts through the room. “It’s the biggest sponsorship event of the season. For Ferrari! You can’t miss it.”

Charles looks torn, running a hand through his hair. “It’s Y/N’s first major solo concert. She’s been there for me, every step of the way. I need to be there for her.”

You feel a pang of guilt. “Charles, I understand the importance. If you can’t make it—”

He interrupts, looking you straight in the eyes. “This isn’t just about the concert. It’s about us. About our priorities.”

The room is thick with tension. On your side, Rosa, always the mediator, attempts to defuse the situation. “There must be a way to do both.”

Charles shakes his head resolutely. “I’ve made up my mind.”

Silvia looks at him, her eyes pleading. “You know the implications of this, right?”

He nods, swallowing hard. “I do. However mad the sponsor may be will be worth it.”

Later, the two of you find a quiet corner.

“You didn’t have to,” you whisper.

He pulls you close, his touch reassuring. “But I wanted to. More than anything.”

You look up, eyes glassy. “Why?”

“Because,” he starts, searching for the right words, “these races, these events ... they will always be there. But moments like your concert, they are once in a lifetime. And I don’t want to miss a single second of our journey together.”

The emotion of his words takes your breath away. “Charles ...”

He places a finger on your lips, silencing you. “I love you.”

The words hang in the air. Voice choked with emotion, you reply. “I love you too.”

***

“Do you ever think how surreal all of this is?” Charles murmurs, both of you backstage at the 2025 Eurovision finals, invited back as guest performers. The arena pulsates with excitement, the memories of your victorious performance still fresh in many minds.

You laugh, adjusting your dress. “Every single day. Especially today, coming full circle.”

He takes your hand, the spark between you as electric as ever. “It feels like just yesterday we were thrown into this wild ride.”

A stagehand signals that it’s almost time. The two of you take your positions, the familiar chords of your winning song filling the air. The audience roars in approval, their cheers echoing the joy of that fateful night.

As the final note lingers, you turn to Charles, preparing for the bows. But he isn’t sitting behind the piano. Instead, he’s down on one knee, a small velvet box in hand.

The realization hits you like a tidal wave, your hand flying to your mouth in shock.

Charles speaks loud enough for the world to hear, “From the moment we met, I knew my life had changed forever. I can’t imagine a day without you by my side. Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

Tears stream down your face, every emotion amplified. “Yes. I want that more than anything,” you manage to whisper.

He slips the ring onto your finger and the world fades away as his lips find yours. You see the Italian delegation cheering wildly out of the corner of your eye and can’t help but laugh. The hosts may have changed. The competitors may have changed. But the love of Italians for il Predestinato will always live on. They’ll have to get in line, though. You just officially claimed the title of his biggest fan.