#'it will be here if you‚ always‚ no matter what'
Text
Unmistakably Yours - G.S.
Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 4.5k
A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.
Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.
He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.
Because you weren’t here.
“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left.
Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you?
With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-
“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”
“Where is she?”
---
It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse.
Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything.
Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly.
One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.
He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?
Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere.
God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-
That was when you felt it.
The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe.
You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words.
Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.
“My love?”
Satoru.
It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought.
Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go.
All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own.
A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back.
“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms.
It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you?
Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru.
“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him.
He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-
Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.
Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.
You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by.
Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend.
“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”
Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core.
Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”
There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra.
Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.
Shit. He’s lost it.
Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you.
Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.
Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?
Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?
And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him.
Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.
The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.
But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.
Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.
It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.
Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-
“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”
With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker.
“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”
You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”
“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now.
“But-”
“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”
Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.
Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”
“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”
And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down.
Rip!
It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity.
He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor.
“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”
That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”
Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.
Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts.
And it was so unfair.
Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were.
And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt.
Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used.
And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now.
“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.
“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”
He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you.
And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything.
“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”
“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”
You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance.
But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.
Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier.
“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”
And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.
You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close.
“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer.
But it wasn’t fast enough.
Not for Satoru, at least.
Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-
That cheat.
You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard.
Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time.
“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-”
One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth.
Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything.
Desperate. Violent, even.
So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of.
And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue.
“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes.
Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild.
Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then.
You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time.
You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”
“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”
“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum.
He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.
Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive.
Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice.
And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick.
God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy.
And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs.
“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…”
“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”
“But-”
God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t.
Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him.
Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break.
It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks.
“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.
He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.
Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.
“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”
You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”
“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”
“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”
And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face.
If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting.
“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.
And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”
At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow.
Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet.
“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic. “I’m…”
“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.
It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.
“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”
“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”
And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut.
Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it.
Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-
“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”
Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”
And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.
Pretty. Always so fucking pretty.
And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.
Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.
“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”
It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind.
“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”
The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain.
And then it’s black.
---
“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”
Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so.
And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.
Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?
“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”
A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel?
Plagiarism not authorized.
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Grid Kid
"Hey, think I could meet your parents?" Logan swears he's never felt such happiness at hearing that, it was stupid, but Logan technically told the media he had two sets of parents. It always confused people until they saw the pictures and it suddenly became clear.
"Yeah, but which set?" You cock your head to the side and smile. "Can we get them out of the way, they scare me," Logan had to control the smirk as he nods his head. Yeah, Nico and Jenson could be pretty scary to meet two World Champions, but also people considered Nico to be terrifying. "Nico won't be that bad," Logan comforts, as you roll your eyes.
"Please, what'd he say when you told him you finally asked me on a date?" Logan grumbles under his breath and you move climbing in his lap, "Hmm what was that?" Logan giggles as you grab his face smiling placing a soft kiss on your lips. "It's not important what he said, besides, Jenson will be there so he can keep Nico under wraps," You giggle as Logan's fingers dance along your sides.
"Okay, okay, so when should I meet them?" Logan thinks before looking up, smiling brightly.
-----------------------
"Logan, this is so not appropriate," You groan, as you stare at all the Legends surrounding the Williams F1 car. "It's perfect, Jenson is here, and so is Nico, and besides Nico would rather die than act out in front of all these people," You turn, seeing Nico cock his head staring at you, Jenson next to him talking to Nigel Mansell.
"Logan, look it's Nigel Mansell," You whisper, eyes wide as you stare at one of the F1 legends. "Yes, he used to drive for Williams," Logan whispers, and you narrow your eyes as Logan blushes, "Sorry, I know you know that," Kissing your temple you giggle and bump your hip into his.
Now you've caught the attention of both Jenson and Nico, and feel the need to pull away from Logan, but he refuses to let you budge. "Come on, Nico! Jenson!" You've always found them attractive, but in this moment they screamed protective parents and you felt like dying for a different reason.
"Logie, hi, love," Nico smiles, pulling Logan away and kissing his cheek and hugging him as you nervously shake Jenson's hand introducing yourself. Jenson smiling, "Thank you," Jenson whispers, but he doesn't elaborate, you know what he means.
Logan has been having a tough season, one not of his own doing, or something he could fix easily. "So, this is who you're dating," You feel yourself stand up straight at smile as Nico takes you in, he smiles, but it feels like he's scanning you.
"You are just," Logan and you both hold a breath as Nico starts to smile. "So cute, oh my god, how'd you land a someone like them," Slapping Logan on the chest, he makes a soft oof sound, Jenson chuckling and rubbing Logan's hair, Logan leaning into Jenson who whispers soft words, Nico pulling you into a hug.
"Protect him, yeah?" Nico asks, and you nod your head. You'd always protect Logan, he was from the sunshine state and literally was ray of sunshine, he just needed people to believe in him. "He's a soft child, a child thrown to the wolves. Part of me still wishes I drove," Nico grounds, knowing he and Jenson would never allow this to happen.
"He'll be okay, really, no matter what happens. He adores you two, besides, he's stronger than he looks," You smile, and Nico makes a face. "Darling, to much information," Your face turns red as you try to find the words but Jenson laughs loudly. "Nico, stop teasing the kids," Logan groans and leads you away, Nico waving his hands around at his best friend, Jenson just rolling his eyes.
#f1#formula 1#f1 fandom#formula one#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 scenario#logan sargeant#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant x you#logan sargeant imagine#logan sargeant fic#logan sargeant fluff#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#logan sargeant blurb
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hii again!! I’m here to request a Drabble/headcannon (doesn’t matter to me :3) where the reader gets approached by two strangers n one of them goes ‘hi my friend thinks you’re cute’ and motions to their friend next to them even though the jjk men (yuta and Megumi but feel free to add anyone else!) is literally RIGHT next to them (this happened during lunch a week ago n all my friends laughed at me 😭😭😭)
WHEN A STRANGER CALLS YOU CUTE IN PUBLIC!
featuring: gojo satoru. fushiguro megumi. yuuta okkotsu. itadori yuuji.
n. hi baby! i supposed you’re the same nonnie that requested the stalker one? thank you for trusting me with your requests cause yours are always enjoyable to write and your ideas are *french kiss*. i hope ya like this one and please if you have any ideas you wanna share, hmu! ill always write yours bby. mwaah xoxo
hey, excuse me! my friend thinks you’re cute . .
ITADORI YUUJI. you exchanged a surprised glance with itadori, who cracked a smile sheepishly. "oh yeah? thanks," he replied, clearly missing the implication. the stranger nudged their friend, urging them to speak up. "uh, yeah," offering a nervous smile. "you're really cute."
your boyfriend only chuckled, oblivious to their intentions. "right? my girlfriend is the cutest!” he said proudly, pinching your cheeks infront of them. “yuu, we’re in public..”
the strangers shared a bewildered look, realizing that their attempt to strike up a conversation with you had been unintentionally thwarted. "uh, yeah, you’re really lucky," the stranger managed to mumble before they awkwardly excuse themselves and slipped back into the crowd.
you and itadori watched them go, bemused expressions on your faces. "did you catch what they were trying to do?" you asked, stifling a laugh. itadori shook his head, still clueless. "nah, but it doesn't matter. i already know who the cutest one here is," he said, planting a kiss on your cheek, causing you to giggle at his oblivion.
GOJO SATORU. before you could respond, gojo stepped forward, subtly clearing his throat. you shot him a puzzled look, wondering what he was up to. “yeah? well, she's taken," declaring at once, voice laced with amusement as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
the strangers kept eyeing you curiously, seemingly undisturbed by the statement he made. "oh really? too awful," one of them remarked, maintaining a smile.
gojo raised an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing glance with you. it was clear they weren't getting the hint. with a sigh, he cleared his throat again, this time louder, as he firmly took your hand and started to lead you away. “sorry, folks, but we're kinda busy," your boyfriend said with a charming smile, gently steering you in the opposite direction.
as you both walked away, gojo grinned down at you. "just making sure they know who you belong to, darling,” he said, pulling you closer as you continued your walk through the path.
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. you immediately glanced nervously at megumi beside you. however, your boyfriend remained silent, his expression unreadable as he gazed at the strangers.
unsure of how to reply, you gave the stranger a hesitant smile. megumi didn't express his jealousy, but it was obvious that he was still very much in the dark about it. the stress was literally radiating off of him. "um, thank you," you managed to murmur, feeling awkward under megumi's scrutiny.
the strangers seemed unfazed by megumi's silence, continuing to chat amicably with you. they asked questions, trying to engage you both in conversation, but megumi remained aloof, his attention solely focused on you. you glanced at him, catching the tightness in his jaw and the furrow in his brow. he was clearly uncomfortable, but he didn't make a move to pull you away from the strangers. rather, he only stood there, sulkily contemplating.
sensing his unease, you subtly shifted closer to him, hoping to offer some reassurance. megumi glanced down at you, his gaze softening ever so slightly before returning to the strangers, "hey, you done talking?" he shot at the strangers with thinly veiled irritation.
he then sighed, a hint frustration crossing his features. without another word, he gently took your hand and pulled you away from the conversation, his grip firm but not forceful. as you walked, you stole a glance at megumi, finding his expression softened slightly, his jealousy dissipating now that you were out of the strangers' reach. “i didn’t feel it like has to be said, but,” a tint of red swelled on his face, his eyes denying your gaze. “yeah, you’re always pretty. and if you need someone to say it, just,”
“just ask me, okay?”
YUTA OKKOTSU. you responded with a timid smile, sensing yuuta's comforting presence beside you. he let out a soft chuckle, his laughter soothed the situation as you thanked the compliment. "i appreciate it.”
yuuta's casual reaction didn’t appear to dismiss the strangers, as they continue to strike up a discussion as though you’ve been friends for years. while yuuta stays a silent yet watchful presence, they kept the questions going.
after a while, yuuta's smile widened, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he glanced at his watch. "it was fun talking to you guys," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "but me and my girlfriend need to be somewhere else."
you blinked in surprise at his sudden intervention, but the strangers took it in stride and finally offering their farewells. after they walked away, you turned to yuuta, curiosity piqued by his unexpected assertiveness.
"you’re not going to say anything about it?” you commented, impressed by his ability to not get jealous or anything else in between. yuuta brushed your hair, his gaze warm with affection. "cause they weren’t wrong though. you are the cutest.”
@uzurakis — reqs are open! <3
#.writing#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fluff#megumi fluff#megumi fushiguro#megumi fushiguro x reader#fushiguro x reader#megumi x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo fluff#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru#itadori yuuji x reader#itadori yuuji#itadori x reader#yuji itadori#yuji x reader#yuuta fluff#yuuta okkotsu x reader#okkotsu yuuta#yuuta x reader#itadori fluff#jjk gojo
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you’ve been acting strange. spencer is determined to find out why.
cw reader is sad, hurt/comfort, spencer is a sweetheart
Spencer first notices it when you’re all in the round table room one morning, briefing for the day’s case. You contribute to the conversation, respond when you’re spoken to, but there’s still this faraway look to your eyes, like you’re not truly present.
The next time is on the jet. You’re sitting next to him, like always. He asks you a question but you don’t answer him. In fact, he has to repeat it multiple times before you say anything back, and even then it’s like you aren’t really focused on what he’s saying.
He doesn’t decide to do anything about it until it affects your decision making out on the field. Because of your delayed reaction, you nearly get shot by the unsub.
That night, when you’re at the hotel and have gone to your respective rooms, Spencer fidgets in bed for about an hour before he finally gets up and goes to your room. He knocks on the door before he loses his courage to do so.
When the door swings open, you stand there in front of him, eyes squinting against the bright light of the hallway.
“Spence?” you mumble.
“Hi. I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he says, rocking on the balls of his feet.
Your eyes narrow as you cross your arms over your chest. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’ve been acting off,” Spencer blurts out before he can stop himself. “Ever since yesterday morning. I just—I’ve been worried about you.”
“What do you mean, off?” you ask, instantly on the defensive.
“Well, you haven’t been really present. There always seems to be this glaze over your eyes, like you’re not really… here. And yesterday, on the jet, I had to repeat a question six times before you actually answered me.”
He can hear the hitch in your breath. “Spence, I—”
“And today. I mean—You almost got shot, for crying out loud! All because you were too lost in your head and didn’t react in time. I… I almost lost you,” he finishes quietly.
“I’m okay,” you say softly.
“Are you? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Spencer asks, hesitantly reaching a hand out to rest on your shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.
You nod, tears pooling your eyes. “I know,” you whisper.
“Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“I—I don’t really know, honestly,” you say, letting out a teary laugh. “I’ve just… I’ve been feeling sad, I guess. And it’s stupid, because it’s not even about anything in particular, but it’s like there’s this crushing weight on my chest, and it—”
Spencer doesn’t let you finish. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, giving you a light squeeze.
“I’m here for you. No matter what, okay? Please remember that.”
You freeze for only a moment before you let yourself melt into him, arms slinging around his shoulders as you bury your face into his neck, a small sob escaping you.
“Thanks, Spence,” you mumble into his shirt, voice cracking.
“Always.”
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x you#criminal minds one shot#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds angst#matthew gray gubler#mgg#my writing
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Let me take care of you
Alexia x teen!reader
Angst with some comfort at the end. TW for car accident and kinda a rough family life but nothing too crazy. Based on that request I posted yesterday :)
Masterlist
“Has anyone seen Chiquita?” The captain wasn’t really directing the question at anyone in particular, just whoever was nearby and willing to listen. You were never late. The fact that you hadn’t arrived at the stadium yet was weird to Alexia. You were always early. Really early. Everyone knew you tended to be anxious about being late to things and constantly overcompensated by making yourself far earlier than anyone needed you to be.
Cata seemed to be one of the only few that heard her question in the chaos of the locker room . “We still have twenty minutes before we’re even supposed to be here. I’m sure she’s on her way, half the team isn’t here yet, there’s plenty of time.”
“Yeah but we all know how weird that is for her, she’s always really early, maybe I should call her?”
“Ale,” Mapi laid her hand on the blonde's shoulder in an attempt to calm her nerves. “I’m sure she’s just running a little late. She’ll probably walk in any second now.” The unsurety was clear on Alexia’s face, not quite believing her best friend’s words. “Give it a few more minutes and if she’s still not here, then give her a call.” Alexia nodded, still full of tension but doing her best to remain calm.
She knew that logically everyone was right. It was still early. She had no reason to be worried about you. Most of the other younger girls weren’t here yet either, why wasn’t she worried about them? But not only was it unusual for you to not be unhealthily early to everything, it was even more unusual that you hadn’t texted her. You always let your captain know if you were running late, even if it still put you at your destination thirty minutes early, you were constantly worried about being late.
The usually calm and collected captain, had her foot bouncing rapidly as she sat in front of her locker, subconsciously biting at her nails and getting herself worked up over you. She couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander to the absolute worst possible reasons you wouldn’t be here yet.
“Hey, Ale, I’m sure she’s fine. But why don’t you give her a call, just to calm your nerves?” Mapi knew the woman well enough to know that no matter what she said, her words would mean nothing to Alexia when she was already this worked up.
The blonde responded with a quick nod while she frantically pulled up your contact. She had already had her phone in hand, checking constantly to see if you texted her, so it didn’t take long to get her phone ringing. All it did was ring. It felt like a lifetime had passed before she heard the sound of your voicemail.
The sound immediately made her panic, even more than she already had been. It didn’t help when she saw the same look of panic cross Mapi’s eyes as well.
“Guys, she probably just isn’t answering because she’s driving. She’s still not even late yet, don’t worry.”
“No, Cata! (y/n) always answers if she’s driving! Her phone is connected to her car so she can’t miss it.” Alexia was practically yelling, not out of anger, just because of how worried she was.
“And we know she always gets bored when she’s driving! She loves having someone on the phone!” The fact that Mapi was taking this just as seriously as Alexia was a red flag to everyone. Clearly if the two of them were both this worked up, they had a good reason to be.
All your teammates could do to make sure you were okay was continue blowing up your phone with calls and texts, praying they’d get any kind of response. Even if it was just that your car had broken down somewhere or that you were sick in bed, at least they’d know something horrible hadn’t happened. The unknown was what killed them. They had no idea where you were or what was going on and there was nothing they could do about it.
When the time came that you were officially late, Alexia came to the conclusion that something was officially wrong. There’s no way you would be late. Ever.
She rushed to get herself game-ready so she could spend the rest of the time before the match tracking you down. Her ponytail was sloppier than she ever let it get on game day, but at the moment she didn’t care, you were the only thing on her mind.
You were basically a younger sister to your captain. A mix between her younger sister and her child. She was protective over you, even more than she was the other younger players. You were only 18 and had bonded so closely when you joined the team, she couldn’t help but think of you that way. The two of you were extremely similar and she wanted nothing more than to protect you from the world. She didn’t want you to have to face the same criticism as she always did, even if it came from yourself at times.
The captain decided that she needed to track down the coaching staff and let them know what was going on. Soon they’d be looking for you anyways when they realized you were gone, so she may as well let them know now in hopes they’d have some way of helping.
Mapi was following close behind her as they ran down the hallway to the offices, bursting through the door the second they reached the right one.
Jona still looked shocked from the captain’s sudden entrance when she started shouting. “Has anyone heard from (y/n)?! She’s still not here and she won’t answer our calls and nobody’s heard from her, I think something’s wrong!” The man still seemed stunned at her lack of composure while he tried to process her words, but the silence aggravated her further. “Can I please drive to her apartment and see if she’s okay? I’m really worried about her, she wouldn’t just do this.”
This only confused the coach, obviously shocked by her willingness to miss part of their game. “Alexia, you can’t just leave. You’re supposed to be taking the pitch to warm up in a few minutes.”
“I know, but I’m-”
“No. No buts Alexia. You’re the captain and you have a job to do. I know you’re worried about her, but we’ll have someone else look into it for you. We’re already unexpectedly down a player with (y/n) apparently gone, we can’t lose another one, especially not you. You go get ready. I’ll look into it.”
The two girls couldn’t decide if they were heartbroken or infuriated. Probably a bit of both. They were both worried sick about you and Jona’s answer only frustrated them more. How were they supposed to play a game when they had no idea where you were or if you were even okay?
...
The game started rough, to say the least. Not for the team as a whole, thankfully. The team itself was doing just fine. But Alexia… Alexia was doing poorly. To anyone else, it looked like her brain wasn’t in her head. And to be fair, it wasn’t. It was on you. You were all she could think about, not even caring about the passes she missed and chances she didn’t take. She was trying so hard to get her head in a better spot, to convince herself that she was overreacting but she just couldn’t do it. The other girls seemed to be able to set it aside and focus on the game, holding onto their trust that whoever was tracking you down would do their job, but not Alexia.
The second the whistle blew to signify half time, the captain found herself jogging straight to Jona to see if he had an update on you, but he spoke before she could even open her mouth.
“Alexia we’re subbing you off, it’s clear your head’s not in the game, you’re like dead weight out there.” It was clear he wasn’t happy with her but for once in her life, she couldn’t be bothered about football right now.
“That’s fine, did you get a hold of (y/n)? Is she okay?”
“No not yet. She didn’t answer so we tried her emergency contact but-”
“Idiotas! I’m her emergency contact!” Alexia didn’t even bother hearing the coach’s response before she took off running to the locker room, praying she’d have a missed call or text from you. At this point, if she was already being subbed off, then she had no hesitation in going to your apartment to find her yourself if she had to, she just needed to know you were okay.
When she got to her phone, she couldn’t decide if the five missed calls from you made her more relieved or more worried. On the one hand, at least you were alive. But on the other hand, you knew she’d be at the game so the fact that you called her at all was weird. She pressed your contact as she fumbled for her bag, grabbing whatever she could before running down the corridor towards her car. Nobody needed to question where she was going or what she was doing, everyone understood.
As soon as she heard your voice on the other end of the line, the older woman let out a big breath and instantly froze in her tracks. “Dios mío, Chiquita, estás bien?”
Under any other circumstances you would’ve made fun of her for how frantic she was being, but at the moment you didn’t even notice. What started as an attempt to keep your voice steady and avoid freaking her out further, only turned into a choked sob, which did exactly the opposite of what you hoped.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened? Where are you, I’m coming.” The sound of your crying sent her back into motion, rushing to get in her car and start driving in the direction of your apartment, hoping that was the right way.
“I- I- I don’t know.” You shook your head rapidly, as if it would clear your mind.
“Breathe for me, it’s okay. I’m coming. Are you at your apartment?”
“No. No, I don’t know.”
“Did something happen on your way to the stadium?” Alexia had this sinking feeling ever since she first noticed you were late, somehow already knowing what your answer would be.
“Yeah. Someone hit my car, I’m not far from my apartment. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have distracted you from the game, but I just really needed you, Ale. I really need you here, I’m sorry, I’m sor-” Your own sobs cut you off, but it was maybe better than making her listen to the spiraling panic you were heading towards.
“Hey, it’s okay I’m only a minute away, I’m almost there, just please try to take some deep breaths.” Alexia had become just as panicked as you were but she was doing everything in her power not to let you see that. She just needed to see you were okay. So she continued speeding, following the route he knew you would’ve taken, keeping her eyes peeling for any sign of you.
It was only a second later when she noticed your car along the side of the road with the entire back bumper crumpled in. Alexia was flooded with emotions, relief that she had found you (or at least your car) but more panic now that she had seen what your car looked like. She slammed her foot on the brake to pull over behind your car and quickly spotted you, sitting on the curb in front of your car, knees pulled tight to your chest, sobbing. The sobbing wasn’t great but at least you were alive and relatively okay physically, it seemed like.
“Chiquita come here!” You hadn’t even noticed her pull up before he was engulfing you in her arms, pulling you in tightly against her chest, cradling your head while you cried. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. It’ll be alright, I’m here now, you’re okay” The longer you sat in her arms, your gasps for air became more and more sparse and her calming hands on you started to bring you back to your surroundings. Something about the way her hands drew light patterns over your skin always brought you back to earth, something she learned quickly when you started getting closer with each other.
You didn’t have the best relationship with your parents so it wasn’t all that unusual for you to go to Alexia, upset with something they said to you, looking for some love. It was part of what made the two of you so close. She was the calming parental guidance in your life that you didn’t have otherwise. The whole team was really, but Alexia just filled that motherly role in a way nobody else could, not even your own mother. So this wasn’t the first time she had to calm you down in a situation like this, and unfortunately she knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“Please talk to me, what happened Chiqui? Are you hurt?” her voice was soft and smooth and sounded like somehow it could solve all of your problems. It was impossible not to give in to her pleading.
“Ale, I’m fine,” your voice was quiet, full of insecurity. “My car isn’t though and my parents are gonna kill me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell them.”
“Tell them what? What exactly happened?”
“I don’t know, I was just on my way to the stadium and this car just came out of nowhere and hit me. I think they ran a red light or something, I don’t even know for sure…” you took a moment to look at your captain’s face, struggling to read her thoughts. She was trying to hide her worry from you, not letting you see how scared she was of the idea of losing you, even if she had you right here in her arms. “But I guess somebody called the police, and they came and dealt with all of it. They wanted to send me in an ambulance but I told them I was fine. And then I just didn’t know what to do so I freaked out and called you. And now here we are…”
“You know it’s not your fault, right? If he ran a red light, there’s nothing you could’ve done to stop that. Your parents should understand that.”
You scoffed at her. Normally you would never scoff at her or risk disrespecting anything the older woman told you but it was safe to say you weren’t totally thinking straight. “Yeah they should understand that but it doesn’t mean they will. They should do a lot of things. They’re gonna kill me, Ale”
Your voice was dripping in sarcasm but Alexia could hear the hurt coming through, especially as you trailed off at the end of your sentence. Something about your reaction felt more than just you being upset about your parents, she could tell there was something you were holding back from her still. “You’re not okay, chiqui, I can tell. Please just talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling.” She brushed your hair away from your face gently, just now taking a moment to take in your appearance.
There were minor cuts scattered around your face, much more than she realized. Up until this point she had been so focused on calming you down that she hadn’t noticed anything else. Small shards of glass lined the road underneath your car, presumably from where your tail light and back window shattered.
“I don’t know, Ale. I just don’t know how to tell my parent’s. They’re gonna freak out. What if they try to pull me from the team…”
“You’re eighteen now. They can’t do stuff like that anymore, remember. If they try to kick you out or anything, you can move in with me if you want, or I can help you find your own place. We’ll figure it out. But they can’t do any of that anymore, I promise.” She pulled away slightly, going to stand up, “Let’s get you back home so you can shower and get cleaned up, it looks like your hair is full of glass." The blonde just looked at you expectantly, assuming you'd move to follow her but was met with nothing in return.
You tried your best to believe what she said about your parents but you just couldn’t shake the worries. You were so used to your parents exploding at you over every little thing, always threatening to pull you from the team. Even if it wasn’t possible now that you were older, you still couldn’t shake the feeling. The idea made you resort back to your usual safety net of trying to protect yourself.
“It’s fine, I’m probably overreacting. I’m sorry for interrupting the game. I should probably let you get back to it. You can just drop me off at my building. Or I can walk too, it’s really not that far.” You started to push away from the older woman, away from the safety that she provided you.
Alexia grabbed your arm gently to keep you from pushing her away, knowing exactly what you were doing, but the small action made you wince. The second you noticed the pain shoot through your wrist, you tried to hide the look on your face, but knew you failed when you saw Alexia’s eyes go wide and immediately drop her hold on you. “What is wrong?! Are you hurt?!”
You used your hand that wasn’t currently throbbing to push her away further. At this point you’d reverted too far back into your own head to use any sort of logic. “Alexia! I’m fine! You don’t need to worry about me, I don’t need your help! Just go back to the stadium so you can still catch the end of the game.”
You should’ve known that Alexia wouldn’t be swayed by your outburst and that it only further convinced her that something else was wrong that you weren’t telling her. This wasn’t like you, at least not with her, and you both knew it.
“(y/n), look at me!” Her voice was harsher than it had been before, but obviously her soft approach was no longer working. “I have every right to be worried about you, you’re basically family to me and I think you know that.” Your eyes dropped, suddenly ashamed of how you were treating the person who cared about you most. Somehow you had to ruin this too. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not hurt,” as soon as your eyes lowered, so did her voice because she had been in your position more times than she could count and knew exactly how you were feeling.
Your lack of response was all the confirmation she needed, but to be fair, you didn’t lie to her. You truly hadn’t noticed how badly your arm had been hurting until she had grabbed you. It must have been the adrenaline or the shock from the accident but you had no idea how bad it was until now. Now that you noticed it though, it was killing you. Every attempt to move your fingers sent pain radiating up your arm and throughout that entire side of your body. You’d been lucky with injuries so far, so this couldn’t compare to anything you had felt before.
Your captain could see the way that tears started welling up in your eyes again and how you bit your lip to try to hold it all in. The look on your face only broke her heart further, wishing there was anything she could do to take away your hurt, both physical and emotional. “I don’t care if you don’t want my help, Chiquita, you’re getting it anyways. I hope you know by now how much you mean to me, so please, just let me take care of you.”
You nodded frantically at her, doing anything you could to prevent your tears from spilling out but knowing you’d fail the second you opened your mouth. You knew it was ridiculous that you were trying to stop yourself when she’d already had you sobbing in her arms just a few minutes earlier but something still made you hold back. At this point you were in so much pain though, you didn’t even care anymore, you just needed her help and you finally knew it.
Alexia engulfed you in a big hug once again, causing you to finally let it all out. It was like that was what broke the damn. You sobbed violently in your captain’s arms. The way you were acting now made your earlier crying look like it was nothing. It was the culmination of the shock from the accident, along with mixed feelings about your parents, your gratefulness for Alexia, exhaustion from the events of the season, and physical pain. So much pain. You couldn’t put any of your thoughts into words, other than crying and the occasional “Hurts, Ale.” You were a crying, whimpering, mess in her arms.
The Catalonian quickly realized that the extent of your reaction was now mostly being caused by the newfound pain in your arm and that treating your pain would be the quickest way to help you calm down. Whatever your injury was, it had to be somewhat serious or else you wouldn’t be crying this hard, so she knew she had to get you to a doctor.
When she started pulling away from you to stand up, you grabbed her shirt with your good hand, and yelled at her. “NO! Stay here, Ale! Please!” Heart wrenching was an understatement.
“I’m just trying to help you, Chiqui, we need to get you to the hospital so they can help with your arm, you’re in a lot of pain.” Somehow you could process her words enough to know she was right, letting up your hold on her shirt so she could stand and pick you up to bring you to her car. She was as careful with your arm as she could possibly be but still every step she took left you sobbing into her chest even more. “I know it hurts, you’re doing so great. We’ll be there before you know it.” Alexia continued whispering to you as she got you both in the car and started driving. Your captain had done this enough to know that it wouldn’t do much but at the very least it might slightly distract you from the pain you were feeling.
On your way to the hospital, she gave the club a quick call, knowing the game was over and wanting to give them the update that she was with you. She asked them to pass the message on to the rest of the team because she knew most of them were likely freaking out just as much as she was. You were the team baby, and everyone wanted to know you were alive and relatively okay.
When she glanced over and saw you staring off into space, tears flowing freely, curled up on her front seat, holding your arm to your chest, she knew she needed to call your parents. If nothing else, they could help figure out how to get your car off the street. And as much as you were freaking out about telling them, she thought it might go over better coming from her. It was clear you were in your own little world, not paying her any attention when she cradled her phone between her ear and her shoulder to talk to them.
As she filled them in on what happened, she knew that it was better that she was one bearing the brunt of their response instead of you. No matter how much she tried to assure them that it wasn’t your fault, they made plenty of comments about how you should have been more responsible or how she didn’t need to take you to the hospital because you were probably just overreacting. That one really killed her. How could they not believe you when she was sure they could hear you crying in the background? She had already been planning on having you stay with her that night but their reactions only sealed the deal. There was no way Alexia could send you back with them instead of coming home with her where she could take care of you and make sure you were safe.
...
By the time you really became aware of the situation again, you were sitting on a hospital bed in the emergency room. Alexia was next to you, holding your good hand in hers and you were suddenly feeling significantly better. “Chiquita! How are you feeling?” Alexia had immediately taken notice of the tiniest movements you made as you woke up and adjusted to your surroundings. You groaned when you realized how stiff you were feeling. Apparently getting hit by a car can do that to you. “Better than I did before, I guess. What’d the doctors say?”
She flashed a smile at you, one that told you you’d be okay. “Well they gave you some pain meds pretty quick, that’s why you’re feeling better. You broke one of the bones in your arm. They think it probably got caught on the steering wheel when you got hit. But it’s a clean break, no surgery or anything, just this cast for a while.” You followed her eyes down to your arm where you could see the cast poking out from the edges of the ice packs they had wrapped around it, trying to adjust it slightly so you could see what color they had used.
“Ale, don’t tell me they let you pick the color?”
Alexia let out a small laugh, her first one all day, at the way your usual personality was returning. “The pain meds knocked you out pretty good, they couldn’t trust you to pick one! You were hardly making sense, they had to ask me!” you looked at her suspiciously, knowing exactly what she would’ve picked.
“Don’t tell me you…”
“I almost did, but no,” she giggled at how well you knew her. “I was going to tell them Barca colors but I decided I better give you your favorite instead.” The older woman rolled her eyes playfully at you.
“Does that mean it’s-”
“Yes, it’s pink, chiquita.”
“Yay! Ale, thank you!!” you tried your best to pull her in for a hug which didn’t quite work from your spot on the hospital bed. When you decided to give up and settle back into your spot, you met her with a more serious look. “Thank you for everything, Ale. Really. Thank you for leaving the game to take care of me, I know I should’ve called my parents but I just…”
“I know, I know. You don’t have to thank me. But will you please sleep at my place tonight? You need the rest and I just want to make sure you’re taken care of. I already talked to your parents for you. They’re dealing with your car, so that’s all taken care of. Just please, let me take care of you.”
Neither of you expected you to give in to her offer so easily but there was no way you could turn her down after everything she’d just done for you. Sometimes the idea of letting her take care of you was too much for you, but not right now. You finally had come to terms with how much you needed her and there wasn’t any way you’d mess that up now.
Any feedback and requests are always welcome!!
Masterlist
#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas#woso imagines#woso x raeder#alexia putellas imagine#woso one shot#barcelona femeni#barca femeni#woso x reader#woso imagine#espwnt#futfem#wosoreadingalexia#wosoreading24/7
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HALF OF YOU
PAIRINGS: tashi duncan x f!reader, art donaldson x f!reader, patrick zweig x f!reader
SUMMARY: No matter how bright Tashi Duncan shined, her best friend, Milan Mikaelson, wasn’t far behind. Though seeming second best, Milan would never let that define her career. Holding as much fame as Tashi, Milan encountered Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. Would this encounter change the trajectory of her life, and would it completely alter her relationship with Tashi Duncan?
WARNINGS: challengers spoilers, reader is milan mikaelson, sexual situations, language, angst, plot alterations.
WC: 3.9K
NOTES: hey y’all!!! so excited to be posting the first chapter of this story. manifesting my edits are all good LOL. enjoy! 💋
READ BEFORE THIS: INTRO
____________________________________________
CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTIONS AND EMBARRASSMENTS
US OPEN TOURNAMENT- 2006, 2:00 PM
Sitting down on the hot bleachers, I put my sunglasses on and adjusted the braids in my hair. Sucking on my teeth and brushing my fingers across the hem of my uniform skirt, I let my eyes gaze at the large crowd of people accumulating.
Damn Tashi, you always know how to make a bang.
Crossing my arms and softly laughing, I let my mind wander back to my match yesterday.
I had lost to the girl who would be playing Tashi for the championship. I really don’t know if that was a good or bad thing. On one hand, I lost from a bad call when I was so close to the end. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have to battle my best friend and get absolutely decimated, as she would say.
As I continued to lose myself in thought, two boys, blonde and brunette, moved through the growing crowd and sat in front of me.
You’re kidding me.
Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson—the “fire and ice” duo—had just won their doubles match, if I’m not mistaken. How could I be when their trophies were sitting right on their laps?
There's still a ton of seats open, and they choose to sit here?
Rolling my eyes and crossing my arms, I pushed my sunglasses up, waiting for Tashi to come out.
Staring at the door to the locker rooms, I clicked my tongue in boredom before grabbing the tournament pamphlet to look at everyone’s stats.
“Don’t you wanna meet Tashi Duncan?”
My ears perked at this as I put the pamphlet down and narrowed my eyes at the brunette boy.
Whoever said eavesdropping was a bad thing…
I had to hold in my laughter as they began to talk about Tashi and how she was the entire package. Telling her this later would be the highlight of my week.
“What about Mikaelson, you know her?” Patrick asked as he slung his arm around his companion.
I froze at this and tilted my sunglasses down to better see the two of them.
“Of course I know her. Have you seen her play? She’s fucking hot.” Art added with a smirk as he attempted to whisper, failing miserably.
My face heated up at this as my eyes narrowed at the boys.
Do they not realize the person they’re talking about is behind them?
“Agreed,” Patrick started as he pulled his friend closer. “She’s also got a fat ass.” He laughed as Art chuckled along with him.
Gag.
Closing my eyes and pretending I didn’t hear that, I heard cheers and claps from around, signaling that Tashi had come out of the locker room. The chair umpire immediately began to talk about her stats and how she was the best female player in our division.
I happily clapped as I beamed at my friend, her eyes scanning the crowd and locking with mine, a large smile playing on her features.
“Fuck, did you see that? Tashi Duncan just smiled at us…” Patrick exclaimed in awe as he pushed Art in the chest.
“Shit, I missed it.” Art complained before leaning back and adjusting himself in his seat.
I almost had to cover my mouth to hide the vomit that was about to let loose.
Dumbasses.
After a few minutes, Tashi’s match began, of course, in her favor. Everything was perfect: her serves, backhand, line receives, counterattacks, and every single step she took.
I smirked widely as I watched Tashi decimate the bitch who, unfortunately, decimated me.
Patrick and Art watched Tashi in awe for the first ten minutes of the match while commenting on how amazing a player she was.
I snorted at this, wondering how long it would take to notice who was sitting behind them.
On the next serve, Tashi’s opponent hit the ball out, but the line umpire declared it as in.
Standing up immediately, I pointed a finger and yelled at the top of my lungs.
“What?! Come on, Tash, don’t take that shit!”
Everyone else agreed with me as the crowd began to roar in protest of the shitty call.
Lost in the moment, I hadn’t realized that Patrick and Art had turned around and stared at me in horror and awe.
“Oh,” I started and took off my sunglasses. Did I yell in your ear?” I looked between them before looking back up at Tashi.
“Fuck, you’re-“ Patrick started in a slightly panicked state before I cut him off.
“Milan Mikaelson? Yeah, I’m guessing you two know me.” I spoke with sarcasm as I kept my eyes trained on Tashi and her opponent.
Caught.
“Shit, I’m real sorry for what I said, I-“ Art started before I placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him, eyes still not leaving the game.
“Don’t sweat it, was too focused on the game to give a damn.” I lied straight through my teeth as I pretended to act nonchalant.
I could feel both of their eyes staring long and hard at my hand lingering on Art’s shoulder before I took it away to throw my hands in the air and yell as Tashi locked in another point.
“Come on, Tash!” I yelled and clapped with the roaring crowd, boys still looking back at me.
Sighing, I crossed my arms and looked back down at them. “Take a picture, it will last longer,” I spoke in annoyance before sitting back down and putting on my sunglasses.
All I could hear were muffled whispers and attempts to counteract my statement before they turned back around and shared we’re fucked looks.
Stifling my laughs, I angled my eyes back to the match.
As Tashi continued to hit the ball effortlessly for the rest of the match, her win came almost naturally.
Standing up and yelling, I quickly ran down the bleachers, feeling two pairs of eyes following me. I stood against the fence and clapped loudly while Tashi caught my eyes after her victory yell and smiled widely at me.
I jumped up and down with all the fans cheering with their signs and matching t-shirts.
Running around the court to thank everyone for coming, Tashi came over to me and grabbed my hands.
“Tashi! I’m so proud!” I yelled and bounced on my heels, extremely happy with my friend's success.
“My biggest fan.” She smiled and reached over to hug me before letting go and continuing to thank everyone.
Smiling proudly at her, I pushed my braids behind my back and took off my sunglasses. Turning around, I looked back at the sea of people cheering for Tashi before my eyes landed on two figures.
What a mystery those two are…
I smirked proudly at them as their eyes shifted between Tashi walking back to her locker room and myself standing by the fence.
Patrick leaned over to Art and whispered something as their eyes darted between us. I could only see Patrick's smirk and Art’s growing grin at his friend's words.
Snorting to myself, I turned around and put my sunglasses back on.
“Fucking morons…”
—------------------------------------------------------
ADIDAS BRAND PARTY - 2006 8:00 PM
“Tashi!” I exclaimed as I weaved through a crowd of familiar and influential faces to ambush my best friend.
I could see her bright smile miles away as she turned to meet me at the edge of the dancefloor, engulfing her in a hug.
“Milan, I was wondering if you weren’t coming.” She laughed as she wrapped her arms around me and returned my hug.
Pulling away, I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “Tashi Duncan, my best friend, thought I would miss out on this?!” I questioned as I gestured to the bustling party. "You must be crazy if you think I would miss out on anything that concerned you and your tennis career,” I snapped at her with a knowing smirk.
“I’ll have you know I was late because my mother insisted on making me change ten times.” I rolled my eyes and tilted my head to where our moms were conversing. I stuck my nose up and closed my eyes, annoyed at the memory of how nagging my mother was when getting ready for the party.
Immediately, she raised her hands in defense and raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, Miss Mikaelson, didn’t mean to assume.” She laughed before crossing her arms.
I watched her expression change slightly as her eyes softened and lips parted.
“I watched your match yesterday,” she said, lightly treading. “I’m sorry about the loss.” She finished and brought a hand to my shoulder, rubbing it gently with a sad smile.
Flashes of my match fluttered back into my mind as a small pit formed in my stomach.
I shrugged this off and took up a carefree attitude, whereas my insides were screaming.
“It was a shitty call, what can I say? That bitch had and has nothing on me.” I smirked and made sure not to falter, but secretly, the loss had internally crushed me.
Tashi laughed, brought her other hand to my shoulder, and bent down to level our eyes. “Don't worry, I decimated her for you. Plus, at Stanford, the both of us will be fucking up bitches right and left.” She shot a cocky smirk at this as I gave her one back in turn.
Stanford. The next four years of my life with Tashi Duncan would be the ultimate dream.
Right?
I extended my pinky to Tashi with a slight wink. “Promise?” I bit my bottom lip and smirked at this familiar gesture between us.
As long as I can remember, Tashi and I have made over a hundred pinky promises. Our first one involved her letting me borrow her Barbie doll while we played house and my promise to return it. Since then, it’s been a norm between us.
I felt the confidence radiating from Tashi’s grin as she moved her right hand from my shoulder to interlock our pinkies.
“Promise.” She repeated and swung our interlocked pinkies back and forth.
I laughed like a child all over again before quickly raking my eyes across the entire party. As I scanned the crowd, I let go of Tashi’s pinky and leaned in to whisper.
“Lots of important people here, I see,” I whispered as Tashi’s eyes followed mine.
“And familiar faces too…” She responded in a lower tone, angling her eyes to an older man by the beverages.
“Shut up!” I gasped before looking back at Tashi. “Is that Mr. Reynolds?!” I asked in shock at seeing our fifth-grade English teacher.
“Yup,” Tashi responded, standing straight as she crossed her arms. She studied the older man as he scanned the beverages offered. “He was always my favorite,” she quipped, not needing a huge explanation for why he was here.
At this, I burst out into laughter, as did she.
“I thought he died years ago.” I clutched my stomach before placing a hand over my mouth and muffling my small laughs. “Wait, that’s not nice. I mean, I thought he passed on peacefully years ago.” I corrected in a serious tone as I watched the older man before glancing at Tashi and bursting into laughter again.
As I laughed with Tashi, I felt a burning feeling on the back of my head.
Was someone staring?
Wiping my eyes carefully to avoid messing up my makeup, I slowly turned around and almost froze as I locked eyes with the person, or should I say persons, staring at Tashi and me.
Oh, hell no. Is that who I think it is?
Quickly, I turned back around and whispered to Tashi in a hurried tone.
“Tash, is that Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?” I looked her in the eye as they narrowed at the mention of the “fire and ice” duo’s presence at the party.
“Oh yeah, they’ve been staring all night.” She smirked and looked between the two of us. “Frankly, I don’t blame them.” Her smirk grows even wider, mirroring the Cheshire Cat.
Biting my lip, I remembered my earlier encounter with the two tennis players. I shuddered as I remembered their smirks and remarks about Tashi and me.
“Tash…” I said warningly, pointing my perfectly manicured finger in her face. “Please tell me you don’t have one of your ideas in mind.” I slightly scolded her, studying her face to see what she was thinking. “Those two are complete and utter idiots.” I continued as I shook my head.
She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and whispered back as she lowered my finger and sucked on her teeth. “Do you really need to ask this?” She questioned with an air that spoke obviously, are you stupid?
“And believe me,” She started and moved to fix the straps of my dress. “I know exactly how they are…teenage boys.” She snickered wider at this as I rolled my eyes.
I huffed loudly before grabbing a piece of my hair to fiddle while I groaned. “But Tash, it’s our summer before we go to college. No boys.” I retorted as the music in the background got a little louder.
Grabbing my hands, Tashi dragged us to the middle of the dance floor and forced me to dance. “First of all,” She started as she twirled me around, “This was never a pinky promise.” She spoke, wrapped her arms around my neck, and swayed us to the music.
Fuck, she got me there.
“Second of all,” She continued before touching my neck to untangle my necklaces while swaying with me. “I know you’re internally drooling over Art Donaldson. He’s exactly your type, and he’s going to Stanford.” She laughed to herself as she worked on my necklaces.
Fuck x2 can’t deny that.
I rolled my eyes and turned away, knowing I couldn’t argue either of those statements.
“You’re crazy…” Was all I could protest.
Untangling my necklaces, Tashi clapped and smiled brightly at me before putting her hands back on my shoulders. “This is gonna be a great start to the summer.” She grinned like a mad woman as we kept dancing across the floor.
After dancing, mingling, and trying not to focus on the two hard stares hitting Tashi's and my head for the entire night, I decided to go to the beach.
“Hey, Tash, I’m going to the beach for a quick breather. If my mom asks, I’ll be down there. Come down if you need anything or if I miss something interesting.” I smile gently at her while I take my heels off.
“Got it. Be safe.” She waved before going to get pictures with her family.
I smiled at her before walking to navigate the path to go down to the beach, pretending not to notice the two pairs of eyes following me.
—------------------------------------------------------
10:00 PM
I wonder how long I had been down here listening to the sweet waves ripple against the hot sand. I almost feel as if the ocean is calling me.
Imagine the escape of living on a secluded island where nothing mattered. Not school, not tennis, and not the future.
Especially the future.
Staring at my newly manicured nails, I continued to get lost in my thoughts while the ocean rang in my ears.
Shit, I’m over everything.
I reached a hand up to my mouth and began to bite one of my nails.
Do I even wanna go to Stanford?
Practically gnawing at it, I can feel the acrylic wearing off.
Doesn’t matter because I’ll be with Tashi… right?
SNAP
“Fuck…” I muttered to myself as I broke off a nail, leaving a tiny bit of blood seeping from my nail bed.
Rolling my eyes, I held onto the broken nail and rested my head on my knee as I watched the ocean.
“We’re not interrupting, are we?” I heard a deep voice ask behind me, making me let out a small yelp and nearly fall off the rock.
Quickly turning around, I was met with two, unfortunately familiar, faces.
Why now?
Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson stood before me, shoes in one hand and cigarettes in the other. Frankly, I had no idea which one spoke, and I had no care to know at this rate. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, and they disturbed that.
“What the fuck,” I explained as I stood up from the rock and patted my dress down. “Do you know how rude it is to sneak up on someone?” I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes as I looked between the two boys sheepishly standing before me.
“Shit, really sorry, didn’t know you were here,” Patrick spoke up as his counterpart dropped his cigarette from his lips upon seeing me study his stature.
Bullshit.
“Hm, okay, well, I’ll be going then,” I exclaimed, irritated, as I bent down to grab my heels. “I hope you two have a grand time.” I sarcastically quipped as I went to walk past them and go back up the path to the party.
“Wait,” Art, almost panicked, stood before me with a lopsided grin as he flicked his cigarette bud beside him and treaded lightly as he motioned to the chairs near the rock I had just occupied. “We’d love it if you joined us, just for a chat.” He had a genuine smile on his face now.
Are they serious?
Before I could open my mouth, Patrick beat me to it as he walked to sit in one of the chairs Art motioned to.
“Yeah, just to talk. You're one of the best players in our age bracket, and it would be a real treat to get to know you as an apology for what happened earlier.” Patrick added and smirked so wide I could feel pure smitten radiating off it.
They are serious.
Both boys were now staring at me, gazes identical in pure amazement, awaiting my response.
Fuck this. Fuck me. Fuck x3.
Sighing softly and crossing my arms, I dropped my shoes, returned to the rock, and sat down.
“You get five minutes,” I spoke curtly as I looked between the boys, waiting for one of them to speak up.
Art took this chance to open his mouth, but before he could begin, I held a hand up to stop him.
“Oh, and there’s no need to introduce yourselves. Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig, the “fire and ice” duo.” I spoke unenthusiastically, keeping my eyes on Art for a little longer before angling my expression to Patrick.
Both boys stared at me with slight smirks as I adjusted my dress and grabbed a piece of hair to play with while they continued.
“Well, Milan Mikaelson,”
I inwardly shuddered as he spoke my full name.
“During your match, I thought that call was fucked.” Patrick spoke up and got right to the point. He laughed as if he remembered it as a fond childhood memory.
Almost instantly, Art chimed in to add to his friends' thoughts, a bit too eager for my liking. “I mean, that Anna girl could barely serve your entire match, and then that?” He stated as he shook his head, acting like he was scolding my opponent to her face like a coach.
My eyes lit up at this. They knew how to crack me. Bring up my pride and losses, and I’ll talk your ear off for hours.
“I think the official was blind because that bitch’s ball was totally past the line,” I explained matter-of-factly. “Did you see the way he hesitated before calling it? He probably had it in with her.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms in annoyance at the memory of the loss.
“Still, you were fucking amazing out there. How did you get your backhand to be that powerful?” Art quickly added and leaned forward in his chair as if moving closer to me would allow him to understand my words better.
I let a slight smile adorn my features as I studied his position.
Fuck x4.
For the next four minutes, the three of us talked about tennis and our matches throughout the tournament. Though brief, I could quickly tell how these two relied on each other and their sport. It was definitely the glue for their friendship. I could also tell how they hung onto my every word, like a toddler waiting for his mother to let him out of the time-out-chair.
Checking my watch, I stood up and looked between the boys.
“Though this was fun, your five minutes is up.” I flashed my watch at them with a subtle smile before bending down to grab my shoes.
When I bent down, I could hear some rushed scuffles and whispers. Standing back up, I saw that both boys were also standing, very tense, might I add.
“How can we contact you to do this again?” Patrick asked with a smirk, which I presume was a signature for him.
Raising an eyebrow at him, I crossed my arms and looked between him and his blonde companion.
“Who said I wanted to do this again?” I asked as Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets with a defeated grin while Art let out a muffled chuckle.
“Come on, this was fun.” Art added and took a cautious step towards me. “Can we get your number?” He asked as he studied my face with the cheekiest grin he could muster.
I laughed at his question dryly before pointing my finger between the two boys. “We? You think I’m gonna get between this? Hell no.” I replied, walking past them to the stairs and back to the party.
Immediately, I could feel their eyes staring into the back of my head, and I wondered if they would beg or plead.
They better not.
“Come to our hotel,” Patrick yelled, making me whip my head around. “We have beer,” he grinned once he saw my interest somewhat piqued.
Fuck x5.
“It’s not far from here. We can talk more.” He gestured between the three of us and then pointed up to the party.
This made me look back to the party, about to question what he meant before Patrick chimed in.
“We talked to Tashi earlier and told her the same thing. Would be fun getting to know the beautiful golden tennis girl duo.” He chuckled as I watched his eyes flicker from my face to my lips.
This made my face heat up, but I would never reveal that. Teenage boys don’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing they have any sort of effect on me.
Clicking my tongue, I nodded at this new piece of information.
Tashi did say she had a plan in place. This could be fun.
“Maybe,” I replied as my eyes shifted between the boys.
You’re not easy, Milan Mikaleson. Remember that.
“Depends on my mood.” I finished and shot them small smirks before walking back up the stairs, not giving the boys a moment to retort.
As I walked back to the party, my eyes shut as I felt a headache coming on.
What the hell did I get myself into?
#challengers#challengers fanfic#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader#tashi duncan#tashi duncan x reader#zendaya#mike faist#josh o'connor#fanfic#best friend relationship#romance#challengers movie#challengers 2024#challengers x reader
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Headcanons of the boys while you're pregnant bc my hormones are crazy and want me to get pregnant again so I'm doing this instead.
My period hit an hour after writing this so that explains it.
Draco Malfoy
Stressed omg. Like he wants everything to be perfect
Will hire help when he's away at work just so you don't have to do anything. Cleaning? Maid. Cooking? Personal chef. Even a chauffeur
I, for some reason, feel like he'd handle your mood swings the best. Always so calm, no matter if you're crying, yelling, or stressed.
1000% helping with the nesting period. You're ready to set up the nursery, he's with you, picking out things and setting it up. Will also hire someone to do a cute mural on one wall.
Lowkey will cry by himself when you're sleeping about how happy he is that he's having a baby with you. Like will sneak off to the nursery, sit in the rocking/gliding chair with the ultrasound and smile as tears fall.
Will buy all the types of ultrasounds at one of those places that does it. Normal, 3d, video, getting a recording of the heartbeat(even putting it in a bear). Anything and everything.
Tom Riddle
I'm gonna be honest, I don't think he'd be the best. Like at least not emotionally.
I do feel like he'd get 10x more protective though.
Won't let you leave the house without him. What if something happened to you?
Will help you with everything physically. Like will help with building things for the nursery and doing anything tedious so you don't strain yourself.
Will make sure you don't eat any junk food. Always on top of your prenatals. Making sure you're eating 3 square meals a day and will make sure none of it is food you will puke, making sure if you do puke from the food, you never eat it again.
But when it comes to your mood swings, I don't see him being any more gentle with you than normal. Will probably just remind you it's pregnancy hormones and that everything's okay, but that's about it.
Mattheo Riddle
Doesn't know what to do. Panicked at every new thing happening to you.
Will go to every appointment and ask a million questions every time to the doctor.
Does find your pregnancy cravings amusing and will try them with you, even the gross combos. Will also try to get them for you, no matter the time of day.
Almost like Tom in the protective part, like not letting you leave without him or someone else.
Tries so hard with your mood swings. He doesn't understand how to calm you down. He understands it's pregnancy hormones, but doesn't understand how you're crying over a dog video and doesn't know how to calm you down.
Will not let you do anything for the nursery other than pick out items. Will bring a comfy chair in the room or set up the rocking/gliding chair first so you can sit in it and tell him how you want everything, where you want everything placed, all that.
Blaise Zabini
The best. Omg. He's already so sweet, and this will just turn him into the sweetest boy ever.
Already buying matching outfits for all of you the day you tell him you're pregnant. Also buys you the cutest maternity clothes, you're almost disappointed when they don't fit anymore after the baby.
Loves indulging in your cravings. Even if it means getting up at 2am to go get ice cream because you want this specific ice cream, not what we have in the freezer.
Will talk to the bump at night so baby will recognize his voice. Also loves feeling the kicks. Also buying a doppler so you two can hear the heartbeat whenever you'd like.
Didn't understand the nesting period at first, like why are you cleaning and stressed about getting everything ready? We still have two months. Once he learns, he is off his ass and helping with everything.
Also like Tom with the meals and prenatals, but doesn't mind junk food. Just tries to get you to eat healthier food first, but baby's in charge here, he knows if baby doesn't want it, you're not eating it and would rather have you eat cheetos and candy than nothing.
Lorenzo Berkshire
Cries when you tell him you're pregnant, partly from happiness, partly from 'holy shit we're gonna be parents'. Cries when he sees the ultrasound too.
So doting. Asking every 5 minutes if you need anything, water, a snack, a massage, cuddles?
Handles your mood swings pretty well. He just wants to find out what the problem is. How can he fix it? Hugs? Cuddles? Kisses? You wanna go get some treats or snacks or food?
Obsessed with your bump. Paying for the top top top maternity photographer so he has high quality pics forever. Buying cute maternity clothes that show off your bump.
Will let you help with small things for the nursery, like putting up decorations on the shelves and wall and rug just so you can feel like you helped without doing anything too tedious.
Will get you a pregnancy pillow but gets so jealous of it when he realizes it's pretty much impossible to cuddle you with it. 'Am I not comfortable enough?' Glares at the pillow when you're not looking like it's a real person.
Theodore Nott
Smiling like an idiot when you tell him. Hugging you so tight, he's nearly crushing you.
Already like your personal chef, but he's researching the best meals for pregnant women and making them for you. Lowkey almost feels insulted if you throw any of them up but has to remind himself it's not you or him, but the baby. Will whisper to your bump when your sleeping too about 'how dare they? that was excellent food?'
Speaking of, is big on talking to the baby, like he'll come home and lay or sit down with you and talk to the baby about his day. Not even directed at you and if you make a comment, he'll jokingly say smth like 'hey, I'm talking to the baby, not you.'
As soon as you get the furniture for the nursery, he's setting it up. You don't even have to ask and it's most likely done without you knowing. Like you'll walk into the nursery and all the furniture is ready to go, you just need to decorate and rearrange.
Will have a shelf dedicated to yours and his old baby stuff too, just so there's a little part of you two with the baby always.
Finds your mood swings funny and tries not to smile, but you can tell and it makes it worse. 'cara mia, why are you crying? it's just a commercial.' He'll say, but wrap his arms around you anyways to comfort you.
Taglist:
@jeannie-beannie @yourenogoodforme @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff
@soaked4abby @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @motherfing-stargirl @brittney-121
@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddlesbitch @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236
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TIME | knj
pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc
genre: smut
word count: 13.0k
summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.
pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join
warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink
note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3
The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do.
The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs.
Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man.
There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President.
You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.
You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay.
Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.
It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.
Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother.
All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet.
He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment.
He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you.
You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.
And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts.
Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again.
Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same.
He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.
And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did.
And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left.
“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”
It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it.
You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but.
You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all.
The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you.
That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both.
Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress.
“An hour, huh?”
He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it.
“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress.
“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?”
Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth.
“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.”
The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers.
And you do.
The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you.
He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.”
The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart.
“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?”
He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all.
Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen.
The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t.
All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning.
Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees.
Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts.
“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air.
You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.”
Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand.
“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted.
You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.”
Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.”
A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.”
“Sit.”
That half of you wins. That easily.
You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical.
Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.”
“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.”
Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now.
Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream.
“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.”
You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that?
“For me?”
“Yes, for you. For your mother.”
You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely.
“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.”
From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.
Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied.
He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris.
For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort.
For your dream.
For your children.
Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.
How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children.
Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you.
“Namjoon, I—”
“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.”
Our hotel.
You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true.
And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him.
Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.”
You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.”
It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life.
Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets.
Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.”
The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into.
He’s the stone and you’re the mountain.
And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so.
“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins.
“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?”
You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.”
Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.”
You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake.
“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.”
It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child.
And that’s precisely what you need at the moment.
“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?”
Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally.
“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.”
“That’s my nice girl.”
Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?”
You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist.
“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?”
A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth.
The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly.
And so you squeeze his throat.
Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally.
That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now.
Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out.
You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you.
Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.
“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.”
Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again.
You can’t help it.
Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.
You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there.
“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more.
You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.”
Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.”
You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure.
You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.”
Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted.
“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.”
The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with.
“What plans?”
He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.”
You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?”
“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.”
You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.”
The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail.
He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance.
Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?”
You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it.
“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited.
Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved.
You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality.
Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it.
To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges.
“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.”
Oh, he’s a myriad of things.
Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.
He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.
And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that.
“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum.
Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch.
Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention.
“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.”
Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name.
“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice.
Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.”
You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue.
“Will you tell me now? What you planned?”
Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.”
You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off.
Anything.
Anything for your husband.
And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue.
“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”
Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.”
Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life.
Most strangely, it heightens the experience.
“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds—just touching you there without giving you any friction.
The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily.
“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.”
Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume—the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy.
“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?”
He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow.
“I was your bad little wife.”
Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?”
He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain.
You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest.
“I choked you.”
Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him.
“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more.
You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you.
Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him.
“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.”
Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks.
Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again.
Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?”
You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer.
You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth.
“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.”
He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken.
“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?”
You nod. “I do, Daddy.”
A hum. “Will you do it again?”
You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.”
Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy.
Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come.
And another thing.
“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples.
That, too, will ring in your veins.
You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him.
“I love you, Namjoon.”
He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?”
You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.”
When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown.
“Take this off. Now.”
And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you.
Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter.
“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.”
Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years.
Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you.
Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret.
“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.”
Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.
A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his.
You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it.
“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.”
Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you.
“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.”
Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed.
He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning.
Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even.
And so you give him your consent.
“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.”
Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.”
And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.”
He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?”
You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.
The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement.
“Ready?”
Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.”
It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?”
Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips.
You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is.
Groundedness is what you’re missing.
The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying.
You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head.
He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you.
“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.
“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses.
That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you.
That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again.
Another thing for him to tame.
Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response.
“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over.
Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff.
“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last.
It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color.
Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now.
Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness.
He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?”
You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.”
His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.”
You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.”
Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?”
A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.”
A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?”
An inhale of breath. “Paris.”
Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek.
“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.”
Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him.
“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles.
“I love you, Namjoon.”
A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream.
“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.”
He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there.
“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.”
There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.
“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.”
You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat.
“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.”
He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple.
“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.”
He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder.
You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps.
And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision.
“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.”
You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek.
You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum.
It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it.
Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this.
“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.”
Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris.
“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do.
You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.
Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art.
Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand.
He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up.
“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.”
You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten.
“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek.
“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?”
He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection.
You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful.
“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.”
Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable.
He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming.
“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.”
Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed.
Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out.
You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him.
“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?”
As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision.
“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.”
“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?”
It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead.
“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.”
Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm.
“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him.
“Can’t. Gonna come.”
“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.”
Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him.
Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.”
You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe.
When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can.
“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.”
He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak.
“I love you.”
You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly.
“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.”
You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower.
You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head.
“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along.
You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.”
Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.”
Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate.
“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?”
Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout.
“Perfect,” you whisper.
Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality.
You trust him.
Forever.
𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.
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#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#namjoon x y/n#namjoon x oc#namjoon x you#btscreatorscorner#bts smut#bts imagine#namjoon imagine#namjoon scenarios#namjoon fluff#kpop smut#knj x reader#knj#kim namjoon#namjoon
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ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS ! ( TROPICAL + SIDEREAL ) (i)
important information. masterlist. find me.
important note: when i say beauty indicator, fame indicator etc, i don't mean that just because you have that placement you'll have said thing. your efforts in real life are more telling of your future than a chart. only when you are in alignment with the universe that you will be able to achieve your true potential.
feedback is welcomed and appreciated! have fun <3
SIDEREAL OBSERVATIONS !
— moon in 2nd house people usually pursue their career in a field different from what they were taught in their younger years.
— saturn dominant people should never start their own work or stand in places of leadership. saturn is the hard-worker; i do not mean to put saturn-ruled people down, but it's a matter of what you can do best. and saturn dominant people are best with executing the orders that are passed to them in a precise and calculated manner.
— on the other hand, sun dominant people should enhance the energy and strength of their sun by adopting more and more positions of leadership, because they are simple meant for the stage!
— rahu dominant people can NEVER get along with sun dominant people and this is a fact! the sun person will always find the rahu person's addictions to be extremely infuriating.
also, since the sun is a planet which is easily polluted, it is better for sun dominant people to avoid close relationships with rahu dominant people.
— anuradha people are very spiritual! i think many of them can also be huge radha devotees since (anuradha = anu + radha = after radha)
— mercury dominant people will almost always want to be around someone, or want to have a sidekick, or somebody who stays with them. this is due to mercury's nature as a child; and a child never wants to stay alone.
— mercury dominant people should always be friends with their resident sun doms because the sun person encourages the mercury person to have a fixed identity and helps them to adopt sincerity. sun dominant people dislike being copied, or copying anyone else, and they encourage this behaviour in the people they are close to!
— venus dominance in itself is a huge indicator of fame, wealth and success. not to say that venus guarantees anything on its own, but if it is in good dignity, or favourable to a venus dominant person, then said person goes a long way in life!
— rahu nakshatra people can be very gullible at times! rahu people should work on strengthening their sun because otherwise their rahu placements are going to make them spend their whole life in delusions. sun stabilises the rahu energy and ensures that the native does not get too carried away.
TROPICAL OBSERVATIONS !
— cancer placements are so hated here, oh my god? if any of you were even slightly aware, then cancer is not actually just all about mother, baby, crying, emotions and soft uwu culture;
cancer is the first water sign! this is the sign where the understanding of the true nature of the world first begins to set in. this is the sign which provides emotional insight and the pathway to the universe. cancer is where the dust begins the settles down after fire's recklessness, earth's desire and air's light-heartedness.
— taurus placements have long necks! they should definitely try necklaces and jewels on themselves!
— please stop sexualising every scorpio placement, scorpio is not just about sex, even though its transformative nature is closely bonded with it.
scorpio also highlights wisdom and the maturity to stand up and fight. coupled with plutonian energy, scorpio people never give up easily! due to this, they are also often very understanding people. that is, if they take the struggle they face positively.
— leo and sagittarius people attract blessings when they have fun! these are the type of people to manifest accidentally, so be careful with what you say, even when you're just doing it for fun guys!
— aries moon people are actually very pretty! i mean, personal opinion tbh, whatever you guys think goes. beauty is subjective, anyways.
— if you have mars, mercury, saturn or moon in 3rd house, coupled with an afflicted moon, then it's going to be impossible to focus on one thing. stability is extremely hard to achieve and retain.
— the planets and signs in your third house are telling of younger sibling, and the planets and signs in your eleventh house is telling of your elder siblings!
— if many of your placements fall into your 3rd/11th house, then you have important karma with your siblings. never ignore them, and always nurture them, no matter however hard it is. better clear the karma out before it strikes you way harder in the future!
— people who have a lot of 2nd house placements should always be careful with what they speak.
#astrology#astro observations#astro notes#vedic astro notes#astrology observations#astrology tumblr#appearance astrology#astroblr#sidereal astrology#vedic astro observations#vedic astrology#astro community#astrology placements#astro posts#astrology readings#astrology synastry#nakshatras#tropical astrology
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Midnight
Valkyrae x male reader
1.7k words
It’s kinda obvious. The usual suspects are at the table, some drinking, talking, others eating. You’re not at that table. To be completely fair with yourself and with the circumstance, you were not going to stand any chance if she asked. Rae barely did, to begin with. It was more of a gaze, a hand on your thigh, and a signaling squeeze with her nails. You’re here for nothing else, in any event; that’s what you are to her. You came to terms with that long ago.
And it’s pretty fucking obvious, by the way. People know you two go missing often. Expect it. The fact that her clothes are nothing but pure convenience adds on to the evident scenario. It’s all an excuse: an excuse for a shirt, an excuse for a skirt—why even bother to sew pockets on it anyway—
She’s leading you around a hallway, then up some stairs. It’s all rather lavish for a streamer house. Only the place itself looks grand and expensive, however; there’s a mess just about everywhere. Everyone you know has come and gone, eaten and napped and drank to varying degrees. You were, of course, invited last minute. Quite literally. It’s close to midnight and they had started to gather by dusk. And it’s only when she’s bored, you dare say even a little desperate, that she texts you. Parties like these, anyway, still have a long way to go.
Consider yourself her intermission.
Rae doesn’t bother to get in a room and hide away from accidentally prying eyes. At this point, you try to recall, who hasn’t caught you two yet? It’s a fucked-up thrill to now hope for, admittedly.
She gets a hand under the hem of your shirt, ghosting around you until finding grip by the small of your back. Her nails dig into you like before. The smirk at the corner of her lips indicates she likes that, always has. See, Rae has you pinned against a wall. There’s a part of her that would enjoy being greedy and would like to bide her time, taking every sweet little second to undress, tease, caress. More often than not, however—as is the case today—she leans towards the frantic and frenzied. It’s concept versus practice. All that teasing and flirting on the phone always gets her so worked up that by the end Rae is nothing but a wet, needy mess. She’s ready to get fucked and you always find yourself at her beck and call.
Her breath clashes warm against yours while her other hand toys at your front. As her thumb plays with the elastic waistband of your shorts, she looks down. The bulge is—inevitably, dutifully—visible. Rae gets a playful knee between your legs so that her thigh brushes and incites it further.
There’s a back and forth you play out, somewhat theatrical, and mostly for her entertainment. She starts with some fleeting kiss that’s less of a brush and more of a quick peck-and-smack before pulling back. Light and lascivious. You play it out for the sake of doing so. A you’re late from her makes you respond, simply, by looking at your watch with dramatic intent. Oh, I should apologize? You, a tad defiant (which is, as it happens, unintended, though it works out). She scoffs, of course, and pulls the waistband lower. It’s taut and at that point of no return—between your hips and the rest of your legs—as Rae still keeps those nails on your back sharp and prickling. Yes, you should. Her hand at the front runs cold down your stomach and past the yielding fabric. The base of your cock is warm, stiffening further when her cool touch wraps its commanding grip around you.
There’s not much teasing after that. Again: Rae is needy.
However much control she may have in the circumstance, whatever say in the matter, most of it melts away with little resistance once she crouches down to face your length. With your waistband sitting comfortably around your thighs now, you assist Rae: she’s eager (see also: salivating), causing disarray in her hairstyle as she gathers it all up onto your awaiting palm. You’ve played this game before. Once you have proper grip, her lips part. You enjoy the image for a second too long when her expectant eyes gaze up, imploring. So you bring her in. The slow approach is, really, the crux of all this. She texts you, calls you. Tells you when, where, and how she wants it. But the moment—down to the literal second—when she resigns any and all sense of control, she hands it all to you. All of that authority. All in the grip of her hair.
Yes, you’re the one against the wall, and yes, Rae’s the one with her hands on your thighs, holding on like her life depends on it, but it’s you who’s setting the pace, thrusting slow into her warm, slick mouth. Rae’s lips envelop you in full, down to the base, as her tongue runs circles under your shaft to make further mess of all the dripping spit. Every so often, a gag, accompanied by this light moan with every breath she takes up at the tip. Pulling her away, a trail of spit bridges between you and her lower lip. It falls right on her chin. Rather indecent.
Rae stands, shimmying and hiking the short skirt up her thighs and plump ass. It sits nicely atop her hips, around her waist. “Put it in me, please.”
She’s one to put it in herself, in any case. So you bend your knees, sliding your back down the wall. Rae turns and you align perfectly. Considering the amount of spit, it takes nothing for it to slip in. One clean motion and you’re surrounded by heat; the glide is pure vice.
“Fuck—” You, voiceless.
Whichever bits of hair were previously gathered with your fist fell a tad coiled and intertwined down her back. It really is that simple. On queue—because Rae knows what she’s doing—she flips a strand over her shoulder to join the rest of her frizzed locks. Because you also know what you’re doing, your hands bide their time, knowing how desperate she can get. The way she pushes back on your light thrusts, onto your cock, is her tell.
Your palms land on her plush and rippling ass first. You’re barely fucking up into her as Rae backs onto your hips. When her head drops back a bit—hair draped over this sinful arch of her back—Rae pats your thigh. “What are you waiting for?” Looking back and swaying her hair.
Your hands clutch her ass harder before letting go. The makeshift ponytail that you manage is disheveled and messy, but it gets the job done. “For you to say it,” you admit. With one committed thrust, you sink all the way inside her folds. Covered, wet. The fist around her hair pulls slow, steady, as Rae further arches and bends and keens.
The best part of all of this is how you both have it down to, largely, a routine. All of that teasing hours before while she got ready: photos and texts and short but dangerous clips of everything but her face. Then while you got ready, all because of the expectation and promise. Rae would send a photo with the phone at a dangerously high angle—could see all the way down her tiny top. You’d send something equally incriminating and before you knew it (and you knew), you’d get the call. She isn’t one to invite over text; that’s all just to start. Rae’s one to call simply because, yeah, she gets off on that vocal confirmation—on the sound of your voice falling deep and serious and saying yes, I’ll be there in a few. Implied under all that hush-toned discussion was the obvious rest.
Now, the real best part of all this is how she began taking pills, what, two weeks ago? It’s not something you’re able to pinpoint anymore. You have literally lost count.
Some way, somehow, Rae’s the one against the wall now. Her chest is willingly pressed against it as her open palm fails to find any grip to hold on to the flat surface—at this point and in a different setting it would be the sheets, a pillow. Her other hand works the pads of her fingertips on her warm, sopping wet clit. If it weren’t for the music and noise downstairs, you figure, it would be downright audible.
And she doesn’t have to tell you that she’s cumming. Her fucked-out cunt pulses around the nonstop fucking of your cock. You also catch her free hand, fingers bracing against the solid surface, attempting to divert all of that energy onto something.
Though she does tell you that she’s cumming, anyway. “I’m—fuck—” A sharp inhale, followed by a relieved exhale. “I’m cumming.” Rae tenses up. It’s this high-strung, pent-up shudder that finally finds its path of least resistance—everywhere. Her whole body quivers when you push your length inside of her in full. You feel her fingers shock-still against her nub, pressing tight and firm.
Once she subsides you realize you’re not long for it either. The pull-back out is something of an impossibility; you’re overstimulated at this stage. Your hands have been everywhere: around her waist, grasping at her hips, pulling all of that lush hair. And your eyes just get everything, don’t they? Rae’s face every time she ventures a look back, her now blush-red ass from the constant thrusts, and that desperate, telling hand that let you confirm her inescapable orgasm. There’s certainly more there but your vision turns to haze. You fuck her again and again.
Then you cum.
The thrusting is uninterrupted and messy and delirious. Hot white paints the inside of Rae’s pussy as it likewise escapes out with each and every plunge into it. You’re not even able to state it, let her know it’s coming. You just fuck and fuck and fuck. Incessant. Until your legs just about fail.
~
And they nearly give out while coming down the stairs. You’re shaky and weak. Drained. Rae takes everything—not like you’re unwilling, this has been established. But here you are: the steps lead directly towards the foyer of the compound and she’s showing you the door.
Rae gives you a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I’m busy all day.” You respond plainly.
“It’ll be late. Late late.”
You nod slow, hands in pockets, turn. “Sounds good.” And walk away.
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I wanted to vent, but also ask an honest question. Since I was a teenager, I always wanted to work on character design. And one thing that always caught my attention was how I always preferred male character designs over female ones. My first thought was that I was always more into androgynous fashion and more masculine styles. But time passed and I came to the conclusion that it wasn't just that, and it seems that male characters can always be different things: fat, thin, handsome, ugly, short, tall, young, old, etc. and female characters, for the most part, fall into two categories: cute or sexy. I wanted some tips on how I can make female characters with more interesting designs, without having to fall into those two categories. I love your work and you managed to make someone else like the three musketeers <3<3
Hello ! That's definitely a good question and something I think about a lot. The bias towards beauty is very strong in character design and it takes a conscious effort to diversify output in that regard.
That sort of advice might be a bit obvious, but one habit I picked up from the director on my first feature film gig was to actually "cast" characters. Without reference, we tend to go for the kind of symmetrical face and "average" features mostly out of stylistic habit. I like to look at character actors with distinct faces (I like this pinterest page that has a lot of faces in one place) but also just acquaintances or pictures of random crowds.
When designing a character, at first I'm always building a big reference board trying to decide what Type of Guy (gender neutral) I'm going for, trying use photos rather than other people's art, because I want to rely on automatics and graphic symbols as little as possible. Whether I'm designing a man or a woman or other, I use references of fashion styles and people across the board in terms of gender so I keep the scope open. Sometimes a character ref board for me will be a picture of one of my aunts next to a bunch of screenshots of Columbo.
In my experience, a lot of the times, it's mostly about going with styles and archetypes the same way you would for a male character, and switching it up somewhere along the way by looking at real women in your life and beyond as a grounding mechanism. Sometimes that will mean changing almost nothing, because the borders between genders and how you characterize them is blurry and fluid, and sometimes it will mean using features that are uniquely tied to some sort of female experience.
I enjoy realism and I think getting more proficient at it did help me diversify my designs (I find that more difficult to do with more minimalistic styles). Still, I am mostly a fantasy artist and in my case that comes with some amount of stylization and idealization of shapes and looks. I'm far from perfect in my biases and I'm not going out of my way to draw "ugly" characters because that doesn't mean much to me ; I try to draw inspiration from the faces of every day people and I associate it with my love for fashion. It's also worth noting the work I post here for fun is a lot more hash tag aesthetic than the stuff I do professionally where diversity is much more important.
I don't know if any of that is relevant but that's definitely an interesting topic ! I'd love to know others' perspective and tips on the matter.
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“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 4
one || two || three
synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list.
pairing: seijoh4 x gn!reader [ oikawa, iwaizumi, mattsun, maki ]
warnings: mature content. MDI. cursing, suggestive language, mild objectification, the word “dick” said over a million times lol this chapter is basically bigdick!4 supremacy, corny behavior, camboy!maki, slight mentions of degradation, iwa’s is the shortest (I’M SORRY), some minor errors probably and i think that’s it :] !!
notes: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT :'))) life was kicking my ass and the last thing i could think about was getting metaphorically dicked down lol but hope you enjoy, thank y'all so much for your patience, and the last couple parts coming soon!
tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy, @captaincyberqueen , @tsukiran
OIKAWA would be the reason the list even exists, let’s be honest.
But, for the sake of the plot, we’ll pretend otherwise.
Once again, without fail, after another grand win for the great king, he’s swarmed by his devoted groupies—Shoving their phones, gifts, and themselves in his face hoping to catch even a sliver of his attention.
And once again, you stood on the sidelines, impatiently waiting for him to leave the spotlight; irked your soul sometimes.
It’s not that you were against him being praised or anything, even though his head was fat enough to begin with, you loved the admiration people had for him. But there’s a fine line between being a fan and being a straight-up weirdo.
And right now, they’re tap-dancing on that line something fierce.
“Tooru!~ will you sign right here?”
One pulled down the collar of her shirt, exposing more of her breasts that were pushed up damn-near to her chin whilst wearing a sultry smile. You caught a small glimpse of panic flash across his features before he covered it with a nervous laugh, eyes subtly shifting over to you as he replied. “..How 'bout a photo instead?”
Things went on like that for the next few minutes. Someone would even take it a step further by flat out asking for his number, or if he was single. They already knew the answer to that, it was the same every time, yet they continuously tried their luck as if someday, through the power of delusion and manifestation, his answer would miraculously change despite you always attending his practices and his games, wearing his spare jersey, holding his hand, shoving your tongue down his throat, didn’t matter—Them hoes were relentless.
But, so were you.
“Oh, Tooru!~ If you don’t wrap this up, you’ll be walking home!~” You sang, mirroring the tone of the girl from earlier. The semi-empty threat made the setter perk up like a hound, eyes wide as that same panic returned as well.
Although this time, he wasn’t so quick to play it off.
“U-Uh,” he squeaked, then immediately covered by clearing his throat. “Yes, uh, well, it’s been great chatting with you all tonight. Thank you again for your love and support for the team, it's always appreciated. I hope you’ll continue to cheer us and myself oninthefuture—WAIT! [____]-chan! Don’t leave, y’know my poor legs won’t survive the walk back! Baby, c'mon, wait up!”
Oikawa whined as he scrambled to catch up to your retreating form, no longer concerned with the crowd of disgruntled faces he left behind as they watched their object of affection slip away yet again. A small part of you wanted to turn back and stick your tongue out at them in petty victory, but you refrained. The sound of their great king pleading for your attention was satisfactory enough.
You barely made it outside before his long arms wrapped around your front, locking you to his chest as he leaned almost his entire weight on you. You could feel his heart thrumming against your head as he panted. Eventually, he huffed, no doubt pouting as he gently swayed you in his arms. “You’re mean.”
Keeping your gaze forward, you frowned. “And I have the right to be. You said you’d tell some of those ‘fans’ of yours to chill out—it’s getting way out of hand, Tooru. That one girl practically flashed her damn tits at you, and you gawked like a virgin.”
He chortled, incredulously, “I did not! She caught me off guard..!”
“And yet, you rewarded her with a photo instead of calling out her inappropriate behavior. Make it make sense.”
You attempted to shrug him off only for his hold to tighten, spinning you around to gaze at you with chocolate brown eyes resembling that of a puppy out in the rain—One of the unfair tactics of Tooru Oikawa to get back on your good side. You had full intent of ignoring him, standing your ground…but how could you possibly stay mad at that adorable face?
Easy. By not looking directly at it.
“Nuh uh. I don’t think so,” you gently pushed away the setter’s face, earning another whine in protest. “You’re not getting off the hook that easily. I’m really upset with you.”
“Buh I dinit do anyfing,” he said through smooshed lips.
“And that’s the problem. You need to set boundaries with them, Tooru. Things’ll only continue to get out of hand the longer you enable it. Next thing you know they’re clawing and biting at your flesh so they can take a piece of you home with them under their nails and in their teeth.”
Oikawa grimaced, leaning back. “Ew. Graphic. They’re fans, baby, not rabid animals. I think you may be exaggerating.”
You cocked a brow. “Am I now? Well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
—
The team had never seen their captain move so fast in their entire season. This was the first time he’d just straight up avoided his entourage and head straight for the showers after practice, scurrying off like his ass was on fire. Questions would spark around the gym about this drastic shift in behavior.
“What’s his deal?” One player voiced. “Usually he sticks around at least another hour to entertain his cult.”
“Not sure. After our last game, he’s been skittish.” Another replied.
A third jumped in after taking a swig of his water. “Think it’s got something to do with that..thing we saw the other night?”
The small group thought back to when all of their phones went off at the same time, social medias in a frenzy about their very own star player. At first glance, they figured it was just highlights of their game, specifically highlighting Oikawa. But, upon further inspection…it was something else entirely.
'Tooru Oikawa. 6’3ft King of the Court, and also our hearts. Being notoriously known as the campus pretty boy, loved by many and envied by the rest, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to consider him the blueprint—The default setting of everyone’s wet dream. He’s a tall, talented, smooth-talker with playful eyes and a panty-dropping smile, a textbook definition of ‘Prince Charming’. Everybody and they mama, daddy, even bald-headed granny would kill to jump this man’s bones. Many would see him as the romantic type, but there’s something more…unhinged hidden beneath the pretty-boy persona. After much debate, our beloved setter is to be dubbed a whole SWITCH, no nintendo. At first he’ll play the dominant role, but edge him long enough and you’ll bring the Great King to his knees, quivering, drooling, you name it. He’s shameless. 9.5/10 - half a point deducted for his inferiority/superiority complex. Get some therapy, babe. ♡’
They didn’t think much of it at the time, when it came to their attention whore of a captain, it wasn’t completely unexpected, especially if his groupies had anything to do with it. The players looked at one another, then back at the gaggle of hormones waiting for the brunette in question by the doors. It was unanimous.
“Yep.” “Uh-huh.”
The third player snorts. “‘bout time it sucked to be him for once.”
When Oikawa eventually exited the locker room, he did everything in his power to appear small, tip-toeing across the floor with his head down and shoulders hunched in crouching tiger-like fashion. He would’ve gotten away scott-free…if not for his petty teammates.
“See ya tomorrow, captain!”
It bounced off the gym walls, the setter grimacing as his devoted followers instantly looked in his direction, predatory gazes stunning him like a dear caught in headlights. Oikawa shot the players a nasty glare over his shoulder, flipping them off and continuing for the exit. He attempted to stiff-arm his way through the hoard, ducking and dodging their grabby hands and shutting down their…bolder advances.
“Tooru-chan!~ Let me show you what I’m capable of, I’ll have you begging in no time, just say the word!~”
“Unhinged men are so my type—Step on me, spit on me, call me names until I cry, I want it all!~”
“I bet it’s bubblegum pink, right? Does it curve to the left or right?”
Oikawa blanched. “Ladies, please, this is ridiculous! You all know I’m in a relationship with-”
“They don’t have to know.”
One had tried reaching out to touch him, but was quickly thwarted when the setter grabbed her wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough to get the message across—Too far. Everyone came to a hush at the sudden display, cowering slightly at the intensity that pooled in his eyes, dark and cold as he fixed the whole group with a stern expression. You were right (obviously). Things escalated the second they were given an inch, with complete disregard to his boundaries and what you meant to him.
These weren’t fans. Not real ones, at least.
Oikawa deeply exhaled through his nose, calming himself down to keep from saying something he’d regret. Releasing the girl’s wrist, the setter gently moved her out of his personal space, resadjusting his bag and sporting a rather disinterested expression.
“It appears you all have misunderstood your place. I’ll forgive that disgusting comment only once. But, if this obscene, rude, and down right shameful behavior continues, I’ll have no choice but to inform the coach of your harassment and have you banned from future practices and games. Do I make myself clear?”
When you arrived to pick up Oikawa per usual, you were surprised to see that he was already waiting for you, not a single group ie in sight.
Skeptical, you looked around as you approached him, thinking those buzzards were still in listening distance, just waiting to pounce. But, when all you’re welcomed with was a big hug and kiss, you relaxed. Oikawa pulled back and gave you a sheepish smile. He explained everything that had happened, rubbing his the back of his neck in embarrassment. When he finished, he looked down at you with those same puppy eyes he gave you the other day.
“Please don’t say I told you so?”
You cooed, reaching up to fiddle with his hair at his nape. He leaned into your touch, content. Until you said, “I told you so.”
He frowned. “You’re MEAN.”
Once IWAIZUMI learned it involved Oikawa in any way, that’s all he needed to know to have no interest in the list. Sort of like Sakusa, if the topic gets brought up, he finds himself tuning out. The last thing he needed was to get dragged into whatever mess his dumbass best friend got himself involved with. But, unfortunately for him, one doesn’t simply choose to be on the list…the list chooses you.
And one afternoon, the former ace was the unlucky winner.
‘Hajime Iwaizumi. 5’10ft hunk made of pure Husband Material. We’re talking the man who’ll open doors for you, pull out chairs, hold your bags without fuss, give you massages, cook you hearty meals, the whole nine yards. With that information in mind, you can’t tell me he’s not an absolute DOG in the bedroom. I’m talking about a man who’ll bully your insides, manhandle you and call you his “favorite cocksleave” or his “pretty little whore”. He’s the type to say the nastiest shit in your ear and tease you for the cute reactions you’d give him before shoving his tongue down your throat, while his dick kisses your appendix. Definitely a Hard Dom who only rewards good behavior, so if you plan to be a brat to this man—Good luck. But, as soon as he’s fucked that attitude outta you he’s back to being such a sweetheart! So so so attentive, so devoted, and will do anything for you. He’s God’s favorite. 1000000/10.’
“Oh? .. Hey, babe.” You said, curiously. Iwa grunted in response. “You know that list thingy Oikawa-?”
“Nope.” He easily answered, eyes focused ahead and he continued bench pressing the heavy bar.
You slap his chest. “You didn’t even let me finish!” He responded with a playful smirk, making you lightly slap him again.
Straddling his lap while he pumped iron was routine. It consisted of him doing what he does and you keeping him company, soaking up his presence until you inevitably left for your next lecture. Sometimes you kept count for him, other times you’d happily just be a distraction; today you did both.
“Haji,” you whined, wiggling a little. He ignored you on purpose, stubbornly refusing to indulge the topic. But that didn’t deter you from pestering him. “Ha-ji-me!”
“Ba-by-doll,” he echoed, grunting shortly after when he placed the heavy weight back on the rack, finished with the set. Panting, he sat up and readjusted you in his lap, hands resting on your thighs as he finally looked at you, amused at your scowl. “I don’t get why you’re so interested in that shitty list.”
“I’m not…until now.”
“Why?”
Turning your phone screen to show him the updated post, Iwa’s eyes scanned it before his brows furrowed in confusion, then tightened with irritation, jaw clenched and annoyance clear on his face. He let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes to unsee it and merely laying back down on the bench. “Block them.”
You gaped. “What? No way!”
“It’s nothing but perverts with too much time on their hands,” he grunted, lifting up the bar and beginning his set. “It’ll rot your brain. Or what’s left of it, anyways.”
With a dramatic gasp, you retorted with, “Jerk. I’ll retweet and tell them you also love sucking on toes, how ‘bout that?”
Iwa paused mid-push. He eyed you from his laying position, voice dangerously low as he said, “Try it and I’ll bench press you next.”
“Hm.”
Through squinted eyes, MATTSUN briefly scanned the bright screen of Maki’s phone displaying the updated post that started circulating around their group for the past few minutes. Without much reaction, one would think he was too buzzed to be able to even comprehend it.
But he understood all too well.
‘Issei Matsukawa. 6’2ft lazy ass with a third leg. Doesn’t matter if he looks like he uses 5-and-1 body wash, he smells DELECTABLE. And don’t get me started on the gray, low-hanging joggers he usually wears around campus—He needs to be arrested walking around with a concealed weapon in those sweats—sir, put it in me AWAY. The literal embodiment of “If it slaps his thigh when he walk, I’ll listen when he talk.” The ultimate brat-tamer tbh. You can’t get under his skin, he’s so nonchalant and laid back, your attitude would just be foreplay for him (HIS FREAKY ASS). And if you think he’s already big on soft??? Bitch. Gon head and call outta work for tomorrow. 50/10.’
“Uh..congrats?” Kindaichi gave an awkward thumbs up.
Maki snickered, tongue in cheek. “Yeah, man, how’s it feel being ‘dick of the week’? They’re even givin’ it nicknames ‘nd shit.” He scrolled further into the depths of debauchery. Peering from over his shoulder to see for himself, Kunimi‘s face scrunched in mild disgust.
“Someone called it ‘The Door-Knocker’? Fucking cringe.”
“Fucking retweet.” The strawberry blonde hummed in approval. “Oo, I like this one—‘The Punisher’. That’s badass.”
Yahaba snickered only to then start choking on his drink, snatching Kyotani by the front of his shirt for support as he hacked for air. The wing-spiker merely glared, winding his hand back to beat the shit out of his back. “Ack! Kyo—fuc-! BRO STOP.”
“I’m helping.”
“You’re killing me!”
“Same thing,” he grunted.
Mattsun snorted, taking another swig of beer. After skimming through the thread, he lowly drawled out, “Cool, I guess. No big deal.”
He didn’t know much about the list, only that if you ended up on it you were pretty much an ace in the game of dick-slanging. But, he didn’t need some thirsty randoms on the internet telling him that he fucks. He had you to attest to all that, and your opinion was the only one that truly mattered. Not that either of you would kiss and tell.
His friends, on the other hand, felt otherwise. As far as they were concerned, Mattsun was a single man. And right now, he was shitting on a blessing sent from the gods. Maki halted his sip to eye his best friend, beer can lowering suspiciously. “No big deal?”
Mattsun shrugged. “t’s what I said.”
Yahaba finally caught his breath, chiming in with a winded, “Yeah right…you’re probably itching to check your DMs. Tell me ‘m wrong.”
“Ok. You’re wrong,” he replied, chugging the remainder of his beer can before crushing it. Yahaba went to argue, but Mattsun cut him off by speaking through a burp. “Don’t got the energy…to entertain someone who just wants my dick.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘Door-knocker’?” Kunimi teased.
“I thought it was ‘The Punisher’..?” Watari asked, uncertain.
“I saw ‘Horse Cock’ on there.” Kindaichi grimaced.
Mattsun shook his head. “Whatever. Point is, ‘m not interested in racking up my body count anytime soon, so those DMs will just go unanswered. Hell, maybe even deleted.”
“Bullshit,” Maki challenged. He points an accusing finger. “There’s another reason. It’s ‘cause you’re already screwing around with someone, aren’t ya?”
A silence fell upon the group, all eyes instantly honing in on the taller male with metaphorical ears raised high in scandalized curiosity, some (read: Kindaichi and Yahaba) more obvious about it than others. Mattsun merely gave a halfhearted shrug, neither denying nor confirming the information. “Aha! See, see, look at ‘em, dodging the question! He’s so cuffed.”
“No shot,” Yahaba deadpanned, “mister ‘Noncommittal’ himself?”
Mattsun glared. “Oi. I commit to stuff.”
“He’s gettin’ defensive.” Kunimi pointed out with a wry grin.
“Must be true, then.” Kyotani nodded, mischievous glint in his eye.
The others hummed in agreement, theorizing about his type in partners and how there could be a potential special someone in their senior’s life, while the bastard behind it all watched smugly on the couch, sipping his drink like a gossiping old biddy. Mattsun squinted in annoyance at his best friend. “Et tu, dumbass?”
Maki raised his hands, “Hey, don’t get mad at me. You basically told on yourself. No guy in their right mind would ever pass up on that many opportunities unless he’s A) Stupid, B) Aro/Ace, or C) Spoken for. Now, my vote’s between A and C, but feel free to update me on your sexual orientation.”
Mattsun flipped him off, sporting a sarcastic expression.
His phone then began to vibrate on the table. As quickly as they looked at the former middle blocker, everyone’s gaze shot toward the offending device, then back on him; expectantly. Despite his calm exterior the brunette felt his heart-rate spike, brow twitching at the childish looks and jeers he started getting, borderline peer-pressuring him to pick it up.
After a few seconds of continuous ringing, Kunimi huffed in mild annoyance for him to, “Answer it, already.”
Maki added fuel to fire by saying, “Unless you want one of us to answer for you-” Mattsun snatched the phone off the table.
With the grace of a gorilla, he stood from the couch and quickly shuffled to the corner of the room. Answering it, he cleared his throat, face flushing at the chorus of snickers coming from behind him as he greeted you with a simple, but elated, “Hey.”
“Hey, ‘sei!”
“Hey,” he said again, breathing out a small chuckle. “Can’t sleep?”
You responded with your own chuckle. “Yeah, actually. I was wondering if you’d wanna maybe…ride around with me? I’m thinking McDonald’s. Oo! Or that wing place by campus, y’know, the one with the teriyaki flavor you liked? I think they don’t close until, like, 2am. Or…was it 1am?”
Mattsun snorted at your rambles, leaning against the wall as he let you continue. Unbeknownst to him, the guys were practically stacked on top of each other, stretching their ears to hear your voice. From what they could pick up, you sounded so upbeat, animated as you spoke. They watched in awe as their senior barely spoke but was engaged in whatever you were saying, nodding along and humming to let you know he was still listening. If he wasn’t faced the other way, they were certain they’d see a smitten expression on his face.
“Mhm.. mhm. Yeah, ‘m sure that squirrel really appreciated you sharing your almonds, baby.”
“BABY???” The group exclaimed.
The brunette jumped slightly, completely forgetting where he was for a moment there. He briefly looked over his shoulder before turning back towards the wall with a groan—Every single one of those bastards were either grinning or gaping in shock. Mattsun cursed under his breath. You made a noise of confusion.
“Are you with the guys? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt! We can totally chill another night if you-”
“Nah, was just about to leave. Think I’ve entertained these assholes long enough.” He grumbled, walking over to grab his jacket, but not before thumping Maki on the head; the latter hissed through his teeth in pain as he held the throbbing spot. “Rather be with you anyways. I’ll send the address, lemme know when you’re outside.”
“O-Oh, okay then!” You giggled, flattered. “I’ll see you soon. Love you!”
He turned back to look at the group, smug as they still watched him with disbelief painted on their faces as Mr. Non-committal was ditching them to hang with his commitment. Like he tried to tell them before, he didn’t need some thirsty randoms on the internet. He had you, and that’s more than enough.
“Love you too, [_____].” Then, he walks out. Leaving the room in even more chaos compared to when he first answered the phone, immediately on his ass as the scrambled after him for answers.
“[______]?????”
Who would’ve guessed their sweet, beloved volleyball manager from high school was the one getting visits from “The Punisher”.
Within his inner circle, MAKI is usually overlooked. He’s not popular like Oikawa, nor jacked like Iwa, and he’s doesn’t have the whole ‘sexy aloof’ vibe like Mattsun. He’s just…tall. And funny—The ‘Pete Davidson’ of the group. At least, that’s what your friends called him. Somehow, once again during your outing with them at the mall the topic of your relationship became the focal point of the conversation, stretching their brains for why you were so enamored with a guy like him.
“He gotta be packin’. Like, I’m talking anaconda.”
“Type shit. Y’know what they say about them tall and skinny ones.”
You rolled your eyes, wry smirk spreading across your face as you busied yourself sifting through a clothes rack. The conspiratorial discussion had been going on for the past ten minutes, throwing anything and everything at the wall until something stuck—Meaning, waiting for you to confirm. “[_____]. Be honest. It’s ‘cause of his dick, right?”
A lady standing on the other side of the rack gasped in shock, face twisting up in revulsion as she clutched her purse before stomping away, scandalized. You snorted, peeking over your shoulder to raise an eyebrow at them while they struggled to suppress their childish merriment at the poor woman’s embarrassment.
“Quit it before they kick us out.” You attempted to sound stern, but there was no hiding your own amusement. One friend playfully nudged you while the other began to snicker. “And no, it’s not because of that. It’s a bonus, though.”
The first gasped, then exclaimed, “So it is big!”
“’m not finna start with you,” you replied looking back at the clothes, pretending not to know them as nearby customers gave the side-eye. Neither one paid any mind as they continued to gossip. “We have this conversation every time we go out. Give it a rest.”
“Not until you tell us what you see in him.”
“I mean, I get it, but then I look at his friends and…” she hissed through her teeth, shaking her head. “I’m just saying. You fumbled.”
“I’m not taking that from someone who slept with a door dasher just because they got the restaurant to put extra sauce in your bag.”
The guilty party gaped, “It wasn’t included in their instructions, they were a real one for that!”
“Still don’t know why you did it,” the other friend sighed. “The food was cold, and I’m certain they took some of my fries.”
“Shut up, we’re not talking about my poor life choices, we’re talking about [_____]’s.”
“Fuck you,” you laughed. “You two need to get off my man. You haven’t even properly met him yet. He’s a sweetheart, he treats me like royalty, and I don’t care what y’all say, that man is fine.”
“Please. You’re just dickmatized.”
“Enough about his dick already!”
Your outburst drew the attention of a nearby employee; the store manager. Even though she wore a professional smile, you could see death in her eyes. With a nervous smile, you gave an apologetic wave before quickly grabbing your friends by their arms and escorting yourselves out before you got banned. Your closet was getting full, anyways.
“Look…I know the guys I’ve dated in the past were…questionable. But, I really like this one. And I swear the pictures I showed you don’t do him justice, his goofy ass just never sits still.”
They looked skeptical, having heard that one before. You huffed.
“Alright. How about I invite him over tonight? That way you have a chance to get to know him better. And if you’re still iffy, then…then you’ll have to get over it because you love me dearly and want me to be happy and just because you don’t think he’s attractive doesn’t mean I don’t, he is very gorgeous to me-!”
“[_____], honey, breathe.”
You stopped to inhale, then concluded with a small, “Please?”
They exchanged another look of skepticism, until the second added one condition. “He better not show up empty-handed.”
—
When the doorbell rang, the mood instantly shifted in the room, your friends going silent and gazes sharp as they looked at your door. Unbeknownst to all of you, on the other side of the door, Maki shivered, confused where that sudden chill came from. You gave them an eager, though strained, smile before scampering over to greet your awaiting guest. Upon opening the door, your smile slowly dropped at the sight of Maki sipping out of a large styrofoam cup with the words 'Big Gulp' written on it, dressed casually in sweats and a beanie, appearing very empty-handed.
After he swallowed, he gave a drawled, "Yo."
Your eye twitched. "Takehiro." He hummed, taking another sip of his drink. "Remember that important thing we discussed over the phone? Literally the only thing I asked you not to be when you got here?"
He thought about it, taking note of the daggers you were shooting at his cup. Maki made a noise of realization. "Oh, right. I bought snacks too, buuut I accidentally ate ‘em all on the way. My bad. But, look," he shook the cup, "technically still not empty-handed."
A small part of you wanted to be mad, frustrated at the least...but there was no hiding the giggle you rewarded him with, of which turned into more giggles. With sigh, you stepped forward to wrap your arms around his middle in a hug. "You’re so dumb."
"Missed you, too." He playfully rolled his eyes, returning the hug and craning his neck to kiss your forehead. The two of you stood there for a moment, just basking in each other's warmth. But, the moment was short-lived when he gave a long, exaggerated exhale through his nose before murmuring, "Ready?"
"...No." You groaned.
"Damn, do they bite or something?"
"No, they’re just...unfiltered. I love them, don't get me wrong, but they can work on your nerves to an olympic degree. You'll see once we get inside...They're gonna ask about your dick, by the way. Just ignore it."
Maki snorted, bewildered. "I'll try my best."
"Also...try not to mention that...other thing."
"What other thing?"
"You know," you raised your brows, looking over your shoulder in case they were eavesdropping before softly continuing, "that post."
It took a second, but he eventually caught on to what you meant.
‘Takehiro Hanamaki. 6’0ft shameless manslut (affectionately) who’s taken the campus by storm with his rather...interesting side hobby that pretty much has every student reaching for their wallets and switching to incognito mode on their browsers. Who would’ve guessed that lanky, low-eyed beanpole had the talent to film such erotic content and put a whole industry to shame with just his smartphone and a couple LED lights? After getting past the paywall and binging his videos (for research) it’s safe to say this man is very much a power bottom, maybe even a top depending on his mood, with a fowl mouth that’s not afraid to moan like a porn star. Best $200 I’ve ever spent (FOR RESEARCH). Highly recommend if you’re interested in having the best guided orgasm of your life—Link is in the thread! Get that bag, king. 10/10.’
A shit-eating grin stretched across his face instantly. He bounced his eyebrows, leaning down to teasingly say, "Ohh. That post. What? Don't want 'em to know how I make my living? Or, you scared they'll find out you're my number one supporter, always touching themselves just behind the camera-"
"Hiro!" You hissed, face set ablaze as you looked over your shoulder again, anxious. He found your reaction cute, using the straw in his cup to poke your cheek. You huffed at him. "I don't want them to pry. I doubt they've seen it since they go to a different uni, and I'd like to keep it that way. Okay?"
He easily shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
You exhaled, relieved. “Thank you.” You turned to head back inside, knowing your friends were just itching to bombard Maki, however you were stopped when he grabbed your arm.
“But.”
“…But?”
“I’ll let the dick-related questions slide and keep my side hustle under wraps, but you have to do something for me in exchange for my good behavior.”
You tilted your head, nervous. “Like what?”
His grinned mischievously, eyes half-mast as he used his free hand to hold your jaw, making you gasp softly when he tilted your head back. “Instead of being behind the camera in my next video…my number one supporter has to be the star.”
You rapidly blinked, heat traveling throughout your body once you registered his words. Fumbling over your own, you didn’t have time to protest when the door behind you opens wide, revealing your impatient friends. Maki let go of your jaw and settled for wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he waved at them with the hand that still had the large cup in it.
“‘sup.” He flashed them a sly grin. Maki took in their shocked faces, hoping they were a good sign as he introduced himself. “[_____]’s told me a lot about you guys. Hope you didn’t mind me crashing your get together.”
They absolutely did not mind.
You weren’t lying—Those pictures you showed did him dirty. Nothing could’ve prepared them for the uno reverse that was Takehiro Hanamaki. From his lax posture and cozy demeanor, sleepers build and cute smile, it’s no wonder you were drawn to him. Plus he’s funny with a big dick (allegedly)?????
After you composed yourself, still reeling from your conversation earlier, you eventually mustered up a triumphant smile at your friends as they gaped up at Maki, speechless. “So? You guys still think I fumbled?”
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likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!
#🍁wasabi#SEIJOH 4 FOR 4#WITH A LARGE FRY AND DRINK PLS#hq#hq!#hq smut#hq scenarios#hq x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu smut#haikyuu scenarios#oikawa tooru#iwaizumi hajime#matsukawa issei#hanamaki takahiro#the fuck-it list
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bts when their independent soulmate suddenly wants to be babied
pairing: bts x reader
genre: fluff, soulmate au
warnings: none
masterlist
💜Namjoon
he would already be babying you. say no more. you need your blanket pulled up, oh, he's got that. you need your soda can opened, here you go, already opened. will even hand feed you food from his plate as you sit, curled up on his lap. has been waiting for you to ask him to take care of you, even if he already has been (discreetly). will dress you in his clothes because he knows you love the feel and scent of them.
💜Jin
he would be all up on that. has been preparing for this day. makes breakfast in bed for you and bundles you up in your shared bed with all of your favorite snacks and drinks near by as well as matching hair bands so your hair isn't in your face. makes you cute snacks and will cuddle you as long as you like. he will do anything to make you smile and listen to your every word.
💜Yoongi
has already been babying you since day one. love at first sight without a doubt. "you're my soul". has the innate desire to provide for you in any way including opening up all of your drinks and already knowing what you need before you do. listens to your body language. would be the one to let you lay on him so he can massage your body. loves taking care of you and will pout if you don't let him
💜Hoseok
loves taking care of people he loves, especially you. wouldn't need a second sound out of your mouth besides "please" before he is up on his feet and getting whatever you need. would take this as the time to pamper you with all of your favorites and procure matching pajamas out of no where for you. would paint your nails and do your hair. would hand feed you if you let him.
💜Jimin
is also a baby who loves to take care of his soulmate. would double his efforts to take care of you to the point where he might be overwhelming to others, but never to you. would hand feed you and help you drink. he wants you to be able to depend on him, no matter what is going on. will go out of his way to get to you with a call of his name. loves when you cling onto him and will kiss you any chance he gets.
💜Taehyung
would go all out in excitement. has been waiting to baby his baby forever. would take you to an all-inclusive spa and pay for everything you wanted. would spoil you (like he always does but shush). would do whatever you needed knowing you were probably stressed out or anxious about something to let him baby you. wouldn't let go of your hand knowing that you crave affection.
💜Jungkook
expect endless cuddles and kisses. literally. would be kicking his feet in excitement. has been trying to take care of you and baby you since day one since your younger than him. there is no way he is letting go of you or letting you leave your shared bed. will puff up your pillows for you and make sure you have your favorite blanket on you (the one that smells like him and is so soft)
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Buckle Up and Enjoy the Ride
Pairing: Dominant! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader
Summary: There are many things Leon uses his belt for — some of which involve you.
Content & Warnings: 18+ Consensual kink, belts, bondage, impact play, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving).
Authors' Note: Happy AO3 Posting Anniversary to my lovely friend, AliBelleRosetta / @alibellerosetta! 🎉 I’m so glad to have met you and cheers to many more fulfilling creative writing experiences. Here’s my naughty little gift to you, enjoy! 🎁❤️ (P.S. I tried to wrap Leon in a box, but he wouldn’t let me, lol)
AO3 Link
Leon’s always been a practical man with a penchant for multipurpose items. The more ways he can use an item, the better. This often means leaning heavily into his creativity, something which he prides himself on.
Take, for example, his trusty belt that has served him well through countless missions, slinking over his slim fit jeans or tactical pants, resting just above a certain pair of assets. That very same belt which he has secured over his navy blue suit trousers, whenever he needed to head into the White House for a formal function. In a pinch, he could use it as a makeshift weapon, vicious and deadly in his hands. However, there are other uses for it that he would much rather keep private, like a clandestine secret shared only between you and him.
When the layers of clothes shed off, so does his prim and proper golden boy veneer, which he wears like a mask around strangers and friends alike. The only time he lets loose is around you. You kneel down obediently before him when he unbuckles his belt, knowing full well what is to come next. He teases you by running the smooth, supple leather against your lips, the natural grain against your skin. You close your eyes and sigh, breathing in its warm, earthy smell — the smell of him.
He likes to take his time to play with you. Frequently, you find your wrists tied to the bedpost, the firmness of his belt restricting you from moving too far, separating him from your touch. Meanwhile, he does what he wants with your body, exploring every dip and curve with his tongue trailing along your bare skin. It’s only a matter of time until you feel his hot, shaky breath against your mound, and with a feverish hunger, he takes your pussy into his mouth, lapping at your clit as you squirm against him. You feel the leather around your wrists tightening and creaking under the strain of your pulling. He holds your hips down firmly with his hands and continues as you cry out his name.
Sometimes, after a bout of relentless teasing, or if you’ve done something particularly naughty, he rips his belt off, pulling it taut between his hands as you hear it snap to attention. “Wanna play?” he smirks at you.
Bending you over the mattress, he doles out a few experimental taps with his belt on your ass, just to warm up. Gently rubbing its soft, fleshy cheeks, he whacks you properly this time, adjusting the intensity to how you react, timing it perfectly with every gasp and hitch of your breath, as pain mixes into pleasure.
“You like that?” he growls, voice thick with lust, in between sharp smacks. Your ass is sore and marked up red; you’ll be feeling it tomorrow. But every wince is a hushed whisper of what took place the night before, and every imprint an insatiable reminder of who you belong to.
Other times, when you’re both too horny to wait any longer, he throws you onto the bed, wrapping the belt around your waist roughly. You’re on all fours, and he listens out for your word before tugging at you forcefully, leather bound around his hand and wrist like a leash, as he yanks your pussy back onto his hardened cock, stretching it out as you take in every inch of him.
He rails you into the mattress deeply; you can feel his cock twitching and dragging along your sensitive walls. He savors every moan and scream in ecstasy that he manages to draw out of you, until your throat is hoarse and you’re nothing but a whimpering mess beneath him.
There’s a loud rap on the front door and he throws a towel around his waist, answering it top naked, as if to spite whoever it is. Turns out it’s another noise complaint from the neighbors from hell, so it’s back to keeping quiet and stealthy.
He fits the belt across your mouth and you clench down on the strap. His hips snap against yours, fucking you at a merciless pace as if he had never stopped to begin with. Teeth marks show on the gummy leather which he’ll wear like a badge of honor, a lucky charm he’ll never lose in a fight.
Your words are muffled, when in actuality you’re uttering a string of curses and his name over and over like a prayer.
“What was that again, sweetheart?” he grits out, teetering on the edge, yet signed off as usual with his irresistible cocky grin.
You want to wipe it off his smug face, but as he brings both of you over the threshold where you’re riding on a high, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy headcanons#leon kennedy imagine#resident evil#porcelainscribbles
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E. Engstler NSFW Alphabet
A/N: Haven’t seen anyone do this yet. lets mix it up.lmk what ya think and apologies for any mistakes!
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
She’s an angel when it comes to aftercare.Asking multiple times if she was too rough with you and no matter how much you insist you can do it on your own,she always cleans you up. “Uh uh. You stay right here I got it baby.”
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Emily’s an ass girl. I said wtf I said. She’s always grabbin on your ass. Loves rubbing it when you’re cuddling and dont get me started on when she’s fucking you from behind. The sound your ass makes when she’s hittin it from the back drives her crazy. As for you,her hands(quite literally) have a chokehold on you. All she’s gotta do is move her hands in a certain way and your mind just fixates on it.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
She’s addicted to making you cum. She wont stop until you’re gushing all over her fingers,tongue,strap,etc. Your taste is something she can’t live without.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory,)
She’s not really super secretive about what she wants to do with you. If it’s something she wants to try she’s gonna tell you straight up.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Oh she definitely knows what she’s doing. The best sex you’ve ever had in your life was from her. The way she fucks is unique,but she can lay it down like her strap is attached to her body.
F=Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Doggy. Like i said a few letters ago she loves the feeling of your ass bouncing against her.And in doggy,she can still get up in your ear and talk to you,pull your hair,and reach around and play with your clit all she wants.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)
Not much laughing during the act but afterwards she’ll have you cracking up. Usually saying something dumb like “I hope I wont lookin’ at you all crazy I was really into it.”
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
She always says “The only hair you’re gonna find is on my head” so do with that what you will.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
You mean everything to her so she fucks you like it. She takes her time to warm you up before she even takes off her own clothes.When she’s putting her strap in you, she holds you really close and kisses you while she slides it in. “There it is…That’s my fuckin’ girl.So pretty for me.”
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
She doesn’t touch herself much. Maybe on certain occasions like an away game she’ll call you and you get off together. But not much other than that. She has great self control.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
She’s pretty big on asphyxiation. She loves to choke you. Especially if you’re in front of a mirror,she loves seeing your eyes glaze over in the reflection and feeling how tight you get when she does it.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Yall have pretty much done it all over the apartment. But her personal favorite is in the shower.The warm water running down your bodies while you kiss and touch all over each other,the way she presses you against the shower door. Theres something about it thats so hot to her.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
The sounds you make get her so riled up,but it’s one particular sound you make every time she hits your g-spot,it almost bottoms her out she loves it so much.“Oh my god,fuck. Make that noise again baby,I love it.”
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Anything either of you are uncomfortable with you wont do.Pretty straightforward.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
She loves giving you head.Every single time she does you damn near have to push her off you to get her to stop. The sensation of her piercings just intensifies it too.So anytime shes licking up your slit,or sucking your clit you can feel them<3
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Definitely depends on the mood. If you’re feeling really intimate,she’ll fuck you nice and slow and deep. Taking her time to fill you up to the hilt. But when she’s angry or really fired up,it’s game over for you.She’ll have your eyes in the back of your head within seconds. Just pounding away at you like you’re her favorite sex toy.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
There’s not really much time in either of your schedules for quickies so you don’t really do them often. Unless it’s right before a date or an important event and you have some time to kill.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)
Both of you agreed to be pretty open minded with a lot of things,including things that involve your sex life.So she’s almost always down for experimenting.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Baby,she’s an athlete. She can go for however long she pleases. She even teases you about being able to keep up after a couple rounds. “No way you’re tappin’ out on me already? C’mon gimme one more.”
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Most of the toys that you own she uses them on you. Of course you can use them whenever you want but she prefers to help you out. Like if its a vibrator she’ll sit you between her legs and keep it right on top of your clit while she teases your breasts and talks you through it.“I know…I know baby. You’re doing so good for me. Makin’ me so proud.”
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
She loves teasing you. When she does it she’ll do something real subtle like “accidentally” resting her hand waay too close to your inner thigh. Then when you call her out she’ll play dumb.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
She’s more of a talker than anything.But she prefers when you’re the one getting loud for her. “Dont cover your fuckin’ mouth lemme hear it. Let everyone know whos fuckin’ the shit out of this pussy.”
W = Wild card (a random
headcanon for the character)
Okay..personally I feel like she’s really into phone sex. Like i feel like a broken record when i say that she loves being verbal with you. And she thinks it’s so hot that she has the power to get you off even when you’re miles away from each other. Of course she’ll always leave you anticipating what she’s gonna do to you when she comes back. “Hope you don’t have anything planned cuz once I get home I’m tearin’ that pussy up.”
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
She’s not on some wimpy dick shit. When she says she’s packing,she doesn’t just mean there’s a strap in her pants. That thing got some size to it. Her biggest one she has in “the shoebox” is an 8 inch. (It’s also your personal favorite :) )
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
She can be hard to read sometimes,but when her sex drive is high,you can tell because she gets really handsy. Not just the usual touching but she’s constantly grabbing your ass ,kissing all over your neck,she can just be straight up pussywhipped sometimes.
A/N:Yay you made it to the end!! This is my first ever time writing one of these so I really hope you liked it. If you have any requests my inbox is always open. I love youu<3
-S🩷
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pining ㅤ ⊹ ㅤ all of enha
gnreader ㅤ୨୧ㅤ 𝓒ontent . . .ㅤ friend!enhypen, pre relationship, this is a revamped post from when i first started my account, sunoo's the craziest one here for sure, a singular death joke, not proofread so pls ignore typosㅤ──ㅤ 817 ( 🗒 )
lee heeseung refuses to let you carry anything. he’s made it a habit of grabbing anything that you’re holding and carrying it himself. whether it be shopping bags, your purse, a stuffed animal that he won for you, or groceries, he will be carrying it all. sure, it may be a little hard carrying 15 different bags of groceries up to your apartment but he doesn't mind. even as you complain, saying that you feel bad that he has to carry everything when you can help, he'll just laugh you off, asking you to let him do this for you. you do a lot for him (unbeknownst to you) and this is the least he can do.
park jongseong asks for your opinion on almost everything he does. he'll ask you if he should buy this shirt or that one, watch looks better, what he should eat. it’s like he lost all ability make choices for himself after he gained feelings for you, only trusting your opinion. maybe it's because he wants to have things that you like, who knows. what everyone does know is that the contanst buzzing coming from your phone? jay. he's most definitely texting you about whatever it is he feigns needing help choosing, but he can't help it if your opinion is the only one that matters to him.
sim jaeyun loves to go shopping with you; he literally begs to be able go even if you tell him that you're just going to window shop. not to mention the fact that he is so serious about shopping; he’ll put his phone on do not disturb, giving you his full attention. when you ask him was store he wants to go to he'll shake his head, claming that this trip is for you and if he reall needs something then he can go on his own time. he always ends up buying your stuff for you, waving you off as he gives the cashier his money.
park sunghoon calls you every single night just so that he can fall asleep to your voice. in the beginning he asks you about your day, listening intently and asking follow up questions. he wants to hear your voice for as long as possible, especially when he went the whole day without talking to you. when you ask about his day, though, he gives you the most basic answer possible and moves the conversation back to you. and every morning, without fail, he claims that he didn't mean to fall asleep but your voice is way too soothing for your own good. you figure that he's not telling the full truth after you hear him say goodnight and he doesn't hang up the phone.
kim seonwoo takes more pictures of you than he does of himself. you swear when you caught a glipse of his gallery you saw an album named 'yn' that featured over seven thousand photos of you. which yes, you saw correctly, he has a very full folder full of pictutes of you. most of them aren't even good but he would rather die than delete the ten, nearly identical, photos of you laughing or the blurry video he got while you were ugly crying because of some movie. he also uses them to tease you—laughing when you tell him to delete it. yeah.. he's almost all out of storage, at this point he's going to buy a burner phone just for photos of you.
yang jungwon loves to texts you updates about his day. if you think jay texts you a lot, oh man, jungwon beats him by twenty miles. he'll tell you his plans who they're with, what he's planning on eating, the cute cat family he saw on the street (pictures included). this man tells you everything, every thought he has it feels like. honestly, he only bothers going out so that he has an excuse to text you, it makes him smile brightly at his phone when he sees your responses. when you start sending him updates about your day? he gets so happy, it's his favorite part of the day to hear from you now, nothing else could ever compare.
nishimura riki does not know what personal space is. he's always touching you in some way, even if it's subtle, like your shoulders pressing together when you're sitting on the couch, watching a movie. when you walk somewhere together, you have to push him away multiple times because he's practically on top of you with how close he is. when you're hanging out with friends, he tends to wrao an arm around your shoulder or lean his head against yours. your friends tease him for it, saying that he's practically apart of you now. he glares at them playfully, gripping your hand in his as he pulls you away (he just really wants to be alone with you).
#ㅤ⠀ ૮꒰ ˊᗜˋ ꒱ა ♡ ㅤ⠀#enhypen x reader#enhypen x you#enhypen x y/n#enhypen fluff#enhypen headcanons#enha headcanons#enha x reader#enha x you#enha fluff#enhypen imagines#heeseung x reader#jay x reader#jake x reader#sunghoon x reader#sunoo x reader#jungwon x reader#niki x reader#riki x reader
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