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whatsk-poppinhomies · 22 hours

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Pairing : Yandere!Lee Minho x F!Reader TW : yandere themes ; basically a forced pregnancy ; late term pregnancy complications ; Minho is like, the worlds worst narcissist in this ; let me know if there's more ; Word Count : 6.9k A/N : The amount of research that I did for this one is crazy, but I also learned a lot so... building knowledge while writing fanfic is a plus! This request has been in my ask box for probably over a year and a half now, so... I hope that whoever requested it... I hope you enjoy! (Also, this was supposed to end WAY worse... But you all weren't ready to be sucker punched with sadness, so...) Request : Anonny : Pregnant with yandere leeknow/ yandere leeknow as dad Aaaangst

In The Beginning…

“Minho…” You called timidly from the bedroom, the way you called for him was about the same volume as when someone would talk regularly to a friend. When you spoke it was nothing more than a mouse-like whisper, always scared of what would happen if you raised your voice a little too much. Your doting boyfriend came into the bedroom, his hair tousled and wet from his shower, his eyes always seeming to carry a seductive look, dark and hungry for you at all times. “M-Minho…” You spoke his name again, this time more nervous now that he was standing in front of you.

A chuckle built in his chest as he sauntered over to you, water wrinkled fingers that were warmer from the hot water he had been standing under, trailed across your cheek, one finger slipping under your chin to tilt your head up as he towered over you. “Mm? What do you need, darling? Are you hungry? Thirsty? I know that last night was quite… exerting for you…” He teased, and you felt your body heat up at the mention of the sinful activities you had taken part in the night before.

“Uhm… n-no…” You stammered, blinking a few times as you seemed to lose your train of thought constantly when he was standing so close to you, looking at you as if you were a delicious meal that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “We… We didn’t use protection and… Usually you’d get me a… a plan B pill and… I just was wondering if you had gone and… and gotten it by now?” You were always so nervous around him, still not quite sure what made him tick. One second he was happy, or at least he seemed happy, and then the next he was going through an outburst that had you locking yourself in the bathroom until he came to the door apologizing and giving you the same spiel that he would never do it again. You hated when things got like that, you tried to avoid getting him to that point at all costs.

“I decided you don’t need it anymore.” Minho spoke nonchalantly, as if he was the one who could make that decision for you. Your mouth opened to protest, and he stared at you, waiting for you to say something, anything that would give him a reason to lash out. It’s like he wanted a reason, he wanted to go off on you, like he enjoyed seeing you scared, enjoyed being the hypocritical hero when he comforted you after making you cry. “Think about how wonderful it would be, to have a part of me growing inside of you… you’d be mine, all mine. You’ll never leave me…” His hands moved down to your stomach, as if there was already something in there. “I’ll pick up tests in about 2 weeks, I want to be right here when you take them and read the results.”

The First Signs…

Sitting at the dining room table, the chicken still in your mouth after you had taken a bite, an awful sensation washed over you. A sort of sickness that you couldn’t fight back, and an urge to throw up that you couldn’t breathe your way through as you usually would. “Mm’scuse me…” You mumbled through the palm of your hand that was clasped over your mouth as you ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you, not even bothering to lock it as your body practically folded over the toilet.

“Darling…” Minhos soft cooing from the other side of the door had goosebumps forming on your skin. When he cracked the door open, you could see a rather excited smile beginning to spread across his face. “Are you alright?” The juxtaposition of his expression and his words made your head reel. He looked too happy for someone who had just watched their girlfriend throw up all of their dinner. You nodded your head in response, making sure the contents of your stomach were cleared out before taking a few steps to the sink and washing your face and then rinsing your mouth out with water. “I thought you loved that chicken… Hmm, I wonder why it would make you sick all of a sudden…”

He stepped into the bathroom fully now that you were done being ill, the nausea seeming to be completely gone now, as if it hadn’t been there at all. You knew exactly what he was insinuating, and while it might seem that way, you weren’t ready to accept that it could be what he was thinking, you didn’t want to accept it. “I think they just changed the frying oil or something…” You excused, dabbing at your lips with a bit of toilet paper before exiting the bathroom, Minho right in tow. You couldn’t be pregnant, that would make him all the possessive, all the more obsessive and overbearing. You wouldn’t be able to ever leave, not that you were able to do that now anyway, but it would be so much worse. You probably wouldn’t even be able to look at the windows without him lecturing you. No… pregnancy wasn’t an option for you.

As you stood at the sink, getting a glass of water from the tap to wash out the taste, Minho stood behind you, his hands placed gently on your stomach. It was the softest he had ever touched you, but you knew that it wasn’t exactly for you, it was for the little demon spawn that he assumed was inside of you. “Does my baby not like the fried chicken? Hmm? Whatever you want, daddy will get it for you… As long as your mommy tells me.” How could he sound so sweet? It was gag inducing, how he pretended to be so caring when he was practically trying to hold you hostage using a potential child.

The next days were the same, the sudden nausea not even having the common courtesy to creep up on you, instead, hitting you full force, barely allotting you enough time to run to the bathroom or the trash bin to vomit. It didn’t matter what you ate, each day at the same exact time, it was always the same. You could see the light in Minhos eyes growing brighter each time it happened, but you were in denial, and you quite liked being in that state. You didn’t want to accept that there was a very real, very high possibility that you were now carrying his spawn. “I must be coming down with something…” You mumbled, resting your head in the palm of your hand, suddenly feeling exhausted, as if you hadn’t slept in days. It was another sign, another symptom, you knew that, but you hoped that Minho would overlook it.

“Well it has been 2 weeks, more than that actually, my darling.” The smile that he was was nothing short of sinister as he ran to the bathroom and returned with two boxes in his hands. You knew this time was coming, you had been dreading it, hoping that you would get your period at any moment now. It never came though, and you were terrified of what the tests would undoubtedly reveal once you took them. “I’m sure taking them would answer a lot of your questions… Here…” He slid the boxes across the table, but you refused to even look at them, instead staring out the window, trying your best to block out everything that he was saying. You didn’t want to be pregnant, not by him at least. How could you even be happy bringing a child into this type of lifestyle? “Darling…” He murmured the pet name softly, but rough hands suddenly gripped your chin, turning your attention to him fully. “Take the tests. Now.”

You huffed loudly, pushing yourself away from the table and snatching the boxes up before rushing to the bathroom. You knew well enough that if you didn’t get there in time and lock the door, he’d probably try to come in and watch you take them just to make sure you weren’t fabricating the results. It would have been a good idea, but you knew he’d notice. There was no way you could just run the test under the sink water and pretend they were negative. It’s not like he’d let you go if they were anyway, he’d just keep trying and trying… and once you started showing… He’d probably be more pissed off that you lied to him.

“You’re taking quite a while in there… Do you need help?” The question was genuine, but you glared at the door, knowing that he wouldn’t see it. It was the only time you could make those kinds of faces at him without being reprimanded for it. The tests laid on the back of the toilet seat, and much to your dismay, the second line showed up faster and darker than you ever expected it to. “Fuck!” You thought to yourself as you unlocked the bathroom door and flung it open, slipping past him as he rushed in. He was too preoccupied with being excited over the tests to focus on you, at least for right now. All you wanted to do was sleep and hopefully wake up from the nightmare that you had been living in for the last 3 years.

The First Trimester…

There was no bond forming. For the most part, you tried to forget that you were pregnant at all. It was easier during this stage. Other than the nausea and the exhaustion and the slight pulling and pinching sensations you’d feel in your lower back and upper thighs, all things that you could write off as any other reason, you didn’t feel pregnant. You were still in denial, you didn’t want this. Minho wanted this, and he was the only one happy about it. This was the happiest you had seen him though, he was absolutely elated, but he was also overly protective, which was becoming a real pain in the ass.

“I can get dressed on my own.” You muttered as he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to help you pull down your shirt after you had just put it on. “I really don’t like the hovering, it’s making me uncomfortable.” Were you allowed to be honest with him now? Would he excuse it as your hormones going crazy because of the baby? He wouldn’t yell at you, right? Not when you were in such a fragile state. He reached out further, grabbing your wrists, rather tightly, and pulled you towards him. Of course, he wouldn’t dare try to be so rough anywhere around your stomach, but everywhere else was still fair game.

“You’re carrying my child, and as long as you are, I can hover as much as I like.” He hissed, and even though you didn’t like his tone, you were grateful that he wasn’t yelling. “I know you don’t want it. You’d probably be overjoyed if you miscarried. I won’t allow that to happen though, so just be good for me, let me help.” His expression immediately shifted, his head tilting to the side as the most innocent looking smile had his teeth flashing up at you. It was like whiplash, it made your head hurt. “So what would my babies like to eat today, hmm? Are you craving anything in particular?” He cooed, although his attention was still primarily focused on your stomach.

Any other woman would want a man like him, a man that treated them this way and got this excited to find out they were pregnant. Any other woman could have him and all of his psychopathic tendencies. “I’m craving a nap.” You snapped, and you watched his nostrils flare out at your disobedient tone, but he didn’t say anything, instead getting off the bed and yanking the covers back for you, waiting for you to climb onto the mattress before carelessly throwing them back over your body. “Thank you.” You mumbled, rolling over onto your side so that your back was to him, tucking the covers around your chin and squeezing your eyes shut. It wasn’t just the raging hormones that tired you out, it was Minho too, him more than anything honestly. Living with him, well, no, not living, being stuck with him, was the most exhausting thing ever.

“I’ll wake you up for your vitamins and for lunch.” He said sternly, more like a strict caregiver than the father of your unborn child. You hated him. You hated that he did this to you, that he chose you to be the object of all of his desires. Why did he choose you? He still hadn’t told you why, he just insisted that you were the one that he wanted. Now you were carrying his child, and you feared that you’d truly be stuck with him forever. What did you do to deserve that?

The Second Trimester…

Most women would get an ultrasound at around 9 weeks. However, you had yours at 20 weeks. You didn’t go to a doctors office, instead, Minho had the doctors come to you. Even still, he didn’t want you leaving the house. Before the doctor was even allowed to see you, he had to sign an NDA, with Minhos reasoning being that he was an idol, and he didn’t want the public to know about his fiancées current condition. You still didn’t know when you had gotten engaged, but apparently it had happened at some point before the doctor's arrival.

Seeing your baby on the screen made it impossible to deny that you truly were pregnant. It also made it hard for you to hate it as you during your entire first trimester. Was it truly the baby’s fault that their father was crazy? Did it’s fathers behavior make the baby inherently evil? No… of course it didn’t. The baby was still a part of you, and you were a good person. You wouldn’t allow your child to grow up to be like Minho. “It’s a girl.” The doctor said, pointing to the screen as if you’d understand what you were being shown, but Minho was mesmerized by what he was seeing, his jaw slacked in awe.

“That’s my daughter… Our daughter? Really? Is she healthy?” It was Minho asking all the questions that most women in your position would be asking. You were too caught up in your own thoughts though. A baby girl, you were carrying his daughter. She’d be more like you, right? Maybe having a daughter would change the way he is, he’d become normal, a man that you could actually love and welcome having a family with. He wouldn’t want his own daughter to be with a man like himself, right?

The doctor turned up the volume on the little tv, a rapid pulsing sound filled the room, both you and Minho were silent as you listened. “She’s healthy, very healthy.” The doctor said, smiling to both you and Minho. You were… happy. A single tear rolled down your cheek as you stared at the screen, watching the baby squirm around, and you couldn’t wait to be able to feel her moving beneath your skin. “I’ll print out the pictures and then be on my way. I’d like to make another appointment for next month though, make sure she continues growing the way she should. I also want some bloodwork from you…” He motioned towards you, and you swallowed thickly, looking at Minho who looked slightly annoyed at the doctor's pushiness. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong, we just like to make sure that there’s no underlying problems. Better to be safe, right?”

His words had you tensing up, your hands moving down to your stomach, rubbing over the small swell that had begun to form as your daughter grew bigger. “Why… Why would there be underlying problems? What could be wrong?” You squeaked out, not wanting to look up at the doctor, worried that his expression would give you a silent answer, one that you were scared to know. Minho was still, like a statue, only his eyes moving between you and the doctor, but there was no answer, just a soft sigh and a gentle tapping against your hand to try to calm you. The gesture was supposed to make you feel better, but you heard Minhos teeth gritting together.

“It’s just precautionary. This is your first appointment since you’ve gotten pregnant. It’s to make sure both you and the baby are healthy and that there are no problems now or in the future. From what I see though, you and your daughter are perfectly fine. You have nothing to worry about.” Your hand was held lightly by the doctor who offered you a reassuring smile, but before you could thank him, Minho was, quite rudely, ushering him out of the room and shutting the door. On the other side of the door, in the hallway, you could hear Minhos aggrivated voice, low enough that you couldn’t make out what he was saying, but you could feel it, reverberating through the walls and the floorboards. He was talking so fast that the doctor didn’t have a chance to speak, and before you knew it, the front door was slammed shut and then Minho was storming back into the bedroom.

“Touching you… Holding your hand… Who the fuck is that guy?!” Minho growled as he shut the door behind himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned against the door. “You don’t need any more fucking doctors. You were doing just fine without them. There’s nothing else we need to know anyway. Our daughter is healthy and that’s what matters. There’s no need to have some touchy ass fuckwad coming in here, looking at you… Ugh!” You could see the heat radiating off of him, he was beyond angry, he was absolutely irate, and while you didn’t want to push him any further, what the doctor had said prompted you to speak up.

“Min… Honey…” It was an attempt to soften him up, you never called him that, not unless you were trying to get him to agree to something. Most of the time it never worked, but it at least would keep him from going off as rashly as he would without the pet name. “What if there is a… a problem… I think we both should know. We don’t need to keep him as our doctor… We can find someone else… But I think the bloodwork is important.” You sat up on the bed, trying to get a better look at him, trying to read his expression, but he was completely blank. “Minho…” You tried to get his attention, unaware that you already had it fully and he was just deep in thought.

“No…” His hand was held out, one finger up to silence you as a chuckle was huffed out of his parted lips, his breaths coming faster and faster as he pushed himself away from the door. “I know what you’re doing. I know what this is…” The pet name didn’t work, nothing would work, he was already angry as it was and you were simply making things worse. “You want him to come back… You want him to take you away from me. That’s what you want. I know you! You’ve wanted nothing but to leave since you’ve been with me! He can’t have my fucking daughter! And he sure as hell can’t have you!” He climbed onto the bed, straddling you and holding your face between his hands. It wasn’t exactly painful, maybe you were numb to the pain it might have caused at first, but now you just found it annoying. “What do I need to do to make you stay!?” He shouted, his breath fanning across your face with every word. It’s like he was using all of the air in his lungs to enunciate every syllable.

“Minho, stop it.” You whispered, knowing that the wrong word, a wrong look, saying it in a way that he didn’t like, it would only have him spiraling deeper and he’d drag you right along with him. “Please… h-honey look at me… I’m not trying to leave you… I just want to know that me and the baby are healthy, that there’s nothing wrong. I don’t want anything to happen to either of us… I want her… Honey, I want a family with you…” Sure, you were really sugarcoating it to try to get him to calm down, but you also really needed to know that everything would be okay. The last thing you wanted was for something to happen to you and him blame your daughter for the rest of his life or vice versa.

His hands dropped down to your shoulders, his body now shuddering, although you didn’t know if it was because he was about to cry or if he was just shaking with anger. It was always hard to gauge his reactions or how he was truly feeling. It had you on edge all the time, and you felt like a tiny rodent, cornered by a feral cat. “Nothing is going to happen to either of you…” He mumbled, his head hung low, his hair curtaining his face. “Stupid fucking doctor, putting that shit in your head, scaring my darling…” This wasn’t what you wanted, his anger once again shifted towards the doctor who was just trying to do his job. “Do you really think I’d let anything happen to you and our baby?” You shook your head, of course he wouldn’t let something happen to either of you, not because he cared, but because he couldn’t fathom the thought of not owning you anymore. “You’ll be just fine, darling. You’re overthinking what that jackass said.” And with that, it’s like all of the anger washed away, a sudden wave of calmness rinsing him clean of the negativity. “Let’s get something to eat. My girls are hungry, aren’t they?” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before shifting off of you and off of the bed, grabbing your hand and carefully helping you up to your feet. The sudden shift had you feeling dizzy, but it was welcome, at least he wasn’t yelling at you.

The Third Trimester…

Something was wrong, although you weren’t sure what it was. The ongoing nausea, the headaches, the blurred vision, you knew there was a problem. All you could think of was the argument that you had almost 15 weeks ago, wanting to at least have bloodwork done to make sure you were okay, but of course Minho had denied you of the simple procedure. If anything happened to you, it would be his fault, but he wouldn’t look at it that way, no, it would be someone else’s fault, it always was whenever he fucked up.

“Someone’s tired…” He whispered when he walked into the bedroom where you were still laying. It’s not that you were actually that tired, you just couldn’t move without feeling sick. When he pulled open the curtains, you squeezed your eyes shut, groaning loudly as the bright sun only amplified the raging headache you were already suffering through. “Sorry, darling. Can’t lay in bed all day. Gotta get you up and moving. Come on.” He yanked the covers back and his eyes landed on your feet which had become so swollen you could barely even fit them in your slippers anymore. “What happened?” He whispered, although there was a slight panic in his voice as he gently grabbed your ankle and lifted it, looking over the extremity for any signs of injury.

“I think… I think…” You kept starting the sentence only to be left practically winded after only saying two words. “Problem…” You settled for one word, hoping that it would get your point across and that he’d take some kind of action. He blinked a few times, backing away from the bed, his hands running through his hair as he seemed to be fighting an internal battle with himself. “Please…” You pleaded, your hands cradling your swollen stomach. If not to help you, at least to help your baby who he seemed to want more than anything.

“Shut… Shut up! I’m thinking!” He screeched, suddenly pacing back and forth as his breaths came out sharply, sounding more like whistles as they came through pursed lips. “Why would you let this happen! What even… God dammit!” He shouted, his fist colliding with the wall in an act of frustration, and even though he was fully across the room, you jumped at the sudden act of violence. He would never hit you, no matter how mad he got he had never actually hit you, but when things got this bad, you always feared just how far he would go or how far gone he was. “What am I supposed to do?! Take you to the hospital?!”

Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what he was supposed to do to keep both you and your daughter from potentially dying. “If I could just… have her… get her out… we could be… okay…” You said breathlessly, and he whipped around in your direction, his eyes wild and crazed. It truly seemed like he was losing his mind. “Min… I don’t want t-… to die… please…” You begged, the sudden onslaught of tears only making it harder to breathe.

“Fuck! You think I want you to die!? You think I want that!?” He questioned, and soon his hands were back in his hair, tugging at the ends as he let out a loud scream. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it! It’s what you wanted to happen! You wanted to leave me so bad! You’d rather die than be with me!” He was once again blaming you, yelling at you for something that you didn’t even understand at the moment. You didn’t know what was happening, so why the hell was he attacking you for it? “Such a fucking bitch! God! Fuck! Get up!” You were being… belittled… insulted… cursed at for… dying? At least if you did die, you wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. You wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore. But did you really want to leave your poor baby with someone like him?

Getting up was a daunting task, it took you longer than it usually would just to swing your legs over the side of the bed. Every small movement made you feel like you had run a marathon, your breaths becoming more labored, your vision becoming spotty, and the urge to vomit became more of an oncoming threat as the bile from your otherwise empty stomach rose to your throat. There was no time to get to the bathroom, you weren’t even on your feet yet, and before you had any time to even warn Minho, you were doubled over, heaving up the acid that burned your throat on its way out. He watched, not coming close or helping you, but he watched, his lips parted and his eyes blinking rapidly as if what he was seeing wasn’t true. “Sorry…” The word was spoken in a single raspy breath, your head hung low with both shame, embarrassment, and pain. Your throat was scratchy now, and it felt like fire was being held against the back of it. Tears pricked your eyes and snot ran down your nose, stopping at your upper lip, and you didn’t even have the energy to wipe that away.

“What happened…?” He asked, his voice once again soft, laced with the false tone of worry. It used to make you think he cared, but now you knew it was an act. It was all an act. “Let’s… Let’s go…” He said, his voice wavering. He truly didn’t know what to do, but he knew that he didn’t want to do this. It’s not like he had a choice though. You looked awful, like you were already standing at death's door, and that terrified him. He had seen you sick before, but he had never seen you like this. “C-Can you walk? Do you need… Uhm… Shit…” He was tripping over his words, but when he saw you try to get up on your own, he rushed over, his arm wrapping around you.

Looking at you this close, he could see that your face was swollen too, and beads of sweat lingered on your forehead. “She hasn’t moved… Min… I’m- I’m scared…” You whimpered, and he pulled you closer to him, letting your body fall against his side, trying to take all of your weight as he walked you towards the front door. “Min…” You breathed out his name, your head falling against his shoulder. He hummed to let you know he heard you, grabbing everything he needed with one hand as he walked through your shared apartment. “If you have… to save any of us… save her… save the baby…” You wheezed, all of your weight falling against him, everything that he had been carrying was dropped immediately to catch you.

“No… no no no! Stop talking like that! Stop it!” Minho shouted, his voice trembling from the sobs he tried to hold back. “I’m not losing either of you, dammit! I-…” He sniffled softly, and while your eyes had been closed the entire time, trying to block out the light that shone through the window in the living room, you could feel his eyes on you. “I love you… You know that, don’t you? I’m not… If anything happens…” The thought was stopped before he could get the words out, but you were stuck on the three words he had said prior. Love was such a strong emotion, you hadn’t felt loved the entire time you had been with him, and he had never said it before now either. Did the thought of you being gone forever make him change? If you did make it through, would he go back to the way he was before? Maybe death was the only escape…

I’ll Make You Stay…

There was no way the doctors would make him choose… It couldn’t be that serious. You were absolutely fine, right? He hadn’t noticed anything wrong until today… or were you just that good at hiding things from him? Why would you hide something like this from him? Were you afraid of him? Why were you scared of his love? He just loves you so much! What’s wrong with that? He wanted you to be with him forever, he wanted you to be his darling, why did you make it seem like that was so awful? He’d show you that you could be happy, that he could make you happy, you just had to stay with him, you had to stay.

“Why can’t I go in?” Minho asked once again to the nurse who slipped out of the room. Each time he said it he was more irritated than the last. He just didn’t understand. What could be so wrong that he couldn’t be there for the birth of his daughter? Every time, the nurse would just sigh, getting more agitated with him. “I’ll just go in then. You can’t keep me from seeing her. That’s my wife, that’s my daughter! If you won’t tell me what’s going on then I’ll just-“

The nurse cleared her throat, although it sounded more like she was groaning. He tried not to let it bother him the way it usually would. He had far better, far more important things to worry about than the bitchy attitude of the nurse. “She didn’t want me to tell you. I’m trying to respect her wishes. She wanted to be alone.” The nurse explained, but it only stirred up more questions in Minhos now overactive mind. What was the reason behind you wanting to go through this alone? Did he not have a say in being able to watch his daughter be born? It was unfair, and once everything was over with, he’d be having a talk with you about how rude and humiliating it was for him to sit out in the hallway while you were delivering his child. He opened his mouth, not even to speak, just to breathe, and the nurse started talking, as if she assumed he was just going to continue complaining. “Both of them are not well. The last thing I wanted to do was go against what could possibly be her last wish. Are you understanding now, sir?”

Your… last wish? It sounded like you were dying… It couldn’t possibly be that bad… Is it? Why would you want to be alone during a time like this? How could you leave him this way? Do you not even care about his feelings? It’s like you want to make him miserable! All he wanted was to have a family with you, to make you stay with him forever, and now you’re trying to get away by dying!? You were so selfish! Why couldn’t you just be healthy?! He had done everything right. He made sure you ate and had your vitamins and did daily exercises and that you always got enough sleep. If anything happens to you and the baby… It would be your fault! It would all be your fault!

“An early blood test would have shown that this was a possibility. It would have potentially kept this from happening. If she was getting proper appointments, this would have been caught before it got this bad. Who was her OB?” The nurse asked, her clipboard resting against her forearm, her pen held in her other hand, as if she was waiting for the information to jot down. The mention of your doctor had his mind pausing for a split second… This is why you needed the bloodwork done? Why had no one told him that back then? Why was he not informed of the risks that would come along if the bloodwork wasn’t done? This still wasn’t his fault though… No, the doctor should have talked to you and him more about the benefits of getting early bloodwork done.

It was the doctors fault… If he hadn’t been so touchy with you, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal for him to come back and do the bloodwork. It was all the doctors fault, and if something were to happen to you or the baby… Minho would make sure that the doctor paid for it. He told the nurse the doctor's name, trying not to let his smile break through the mask of sadness that he was wearing, but it was hard. The thought of getting that guy to potentially lose his job, it was nice, and he couldn’t help but feel a little… overjoyed, knowing that if anything were to happen to you and the baby, it wouldn’t be in vain, at least the doctor will suffer as well. “I guess I’ll… wait out here…” He said, the frown once again returning to his face as he dropped down into the chair beside your door. It was still hard not being in there with you, knowing that so many people were looking at you, touching you… He felt like he was going to lose his mind, and the only way that he was keeping himself slightly sane was by constantly telling himself that he could potentially lose you and his daughter if those doctors didn’t help you.

He was in and out of sleep the whole time, his head falling against the wall and his eyes drooping shut, only for them to shoot back open whenever an alarm would go off, looking up at the light above your door to make sure it wasn’t for your room before drifting back to sleep once more when he realized it wasn’t. It had been hours, he finally stopped counting after the seventh, when the door finally opened and one of the nurses, different from the one before, walked out. There were dark circles under her eyes, she looked frazzled and exhausted, but there was no urgency, there was no sadness… Was everything okay? Would he be able to keep you and his daughter? “Sir…” She started, and Minho sat up straight, his eyes hopeful as he looked up at the nurse. “I don’t want to sugarcoat anything, I don’t want you to get excited just yet… Although your wife and the baby are… alive… That doesn’t mean that things are… okay.” It was like all of the hope was drained from his body immediately, even after hearing that you were alive… How could you still not be okay?

“Well… what’s wrong? What happened? I mean… I need some information here!” He was trying not to get worked up, but the way the nurse seemed to be beating around the bush was highly aggravating. For Christ's sake, he’s your boyfriend, the father of the child, and she was talking to him like he was some nobody. He deserves… No, he needs to know what happened! “How is she not okay? Is the baby okay? Come on, tell me something, dammit!” He didn’t care if she was tired, or if she was emotionally worn out after helping you. That’s her damn job, and part of it is telling him what the hell is going on.

She sighed loudly, clearly not happy with the way that Minho was talking to her, but he didn’t really care for that either. He wasn’t even allowed in the damn room, the least she could do was tell him what had gone on while he was locked out in the hallway. “The mother had preeclampsia which advanced to class one HELLP, which I will not go into full detail about, a simple google search will tell you what it is, but I will say that she had the most severe case of HELLP that I have ever seen in my years of working here. We were at a point where we worried that we would have to choose whether she lived or the baby lived. She had to have blood transfusions before we could even deliver the baby, she was in the early stages of kidney failure, and while we were in the process of trying to help the mother, the baby went into respiratory distress. We had to do an emergency c-section, which wasn’t easy because we were worried about hemorrhaging, which did in fact happen. The baby is currently in the NICU, she is underweight, we have to do tests to check her platelet count, she’ll most likely be in the NICU for a couple of weeks, and that’s minimum, especially if her platelets aren’t normal. The mother needs to stay because we have to make sure she doesn’t have any other underlying health issues, and we need to monitor her closely because the first couple days after delivering a baby with HELLP syndrome could be fatal. So yes, the mother and the baby are alive… But they are in no way, shape or form, okay or healthy enough to come home anytime soon. Does that answer your questions, sir?”

Minho didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know where to start. He didn’t understand anything that had been said to him, all he knew was that it was bad and that you wouldn’t be going home with him. How could you let things get this bad? Why didn’t you tell him? Surely you must have felt ill or something when this was all going on? And that damn doctor… Why did he have to touch you? Why did he have to make him so angry? If he had just been a normal doctor, he would have been allowed to come back and do your bloodwork. This all could have been avoided! It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t! How was he supposed to know that something like this could happen?! He had never read anything about this online! He didn’t know something like this could happen! It wasn’t his fault!

“Anyway…” The nurse spoke once more, taking Minhos silence as an opening. “She’s resting, they both are. There’s going to be doctors in and out of the room constantly, so, if you’d like to go in there, you can, but I wouldn’t expect to get any rest. If I were you, I’d honestly just go home, get some sleep, and come back in the afternoon. They’re not going anywhere, it’s going to be a long road ahead of the both of them… And you need to get as much rest as possible to prepare for it.” And with that, she walked away. He was left alone in the hallway with his thoughts, the faint sound of a heart monitor beeping just beyond the closed door to your room was the only sound he could really focus on.

You were alive… You had stayed… You weren’t leaving him. He would have his family, and he would have it with you, his perfect darling. Nothing like this would ever happen again, he had his baby girl, and he had you. The two of you were all he needed. Once he had you and his baby back home, he’d make sure he never had to let you out of his sight again. You were going to stay with him, he would make you stay. That’s why he wanted the baby in the first place, and in the end, he still got exactly what he wanted.

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elaci · 3 days

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Just Friends

Patrick and you are just friends, so he shouldn't get this jealous when you get sick of his games and decide you'll spend the night with Art instead.

cw; spitting, degradation, rough sex, choking, unprotected sex, creampies, ruined orgasms

Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | 18+ mdni — special s/o to the anons that helped imagine this up

It’s demeaning, really, the way Patrick Zweig watches you from the other side of the room. You can barely see him, shadows and party-store strobe lights displace his expression for seconds at a time, but when you do manage to hold his gaze long enough to make out the sharpness in it, your skin crawls. Through his eyes, you're no better than the last of his conquests.

You still like the heat of his hatred, though, especially when it's his best friend's lap you sit on. Art Donaldson has an arm around your waist, fingers dug into your side, the pressure light yet insistent. His face is flushed against your neck; lazy kisses pepper your throat. He wouldn't be marking you up for the world to bear witness if Art knew you belonged to Patrick first, but the brunette had insisted you were just friends, it was nothing more than a casual night or three. Now, he gets to watch as Art's free hand trails up the inside of your thigh, waging war against his urge to have you ride his fingers in the middle of the crowded living room.

Art's eyes are closed, lips wet against the expanse of your throat as he sucks a hickey into your skin-- your eyes are locked on Patrick's, who stands across the room, jaw clenched tight and hand wet with the spill of beer from his plastic cup. A sea of bodies act as the barrier between you two, dancing and grinding against each other in the same show of college-aged lust you're exhibiting with Art's hand trailing that little bit further up your thigh. You watch Patrick swallow and take a step back, ready to turn away, but something deep inside of you aches to be seen. You use a hand to lift Art's chin up so that you can plant your lips to his in a bruising kiss. Your blonde tryst responds eagerly, parting his lips, letting your tongue dart in to explore the seam of his mouth. His eyes flutter shut but yours stay open and stuck on Patrick, who doesn't blink as he watches you share spit with his best friend. He looks like a different man.

You pull away from Art slowly, dragging your teeth over Art's lip before leaning back in with purposeful abandon and you can almost swear you see him shudder in turn. One of his hands has slipped under your shirt palming your breast, his thumb rubbing a taut nipple through your bra. The contact makes you moan involuntarily, but it does nothing to distract you from the intense stare of Patrick Zweig who is still watching you. It takes all the restraint you possess not to look back, to ignore the piercing stare that could burn a hole right through the side of your skull. Instead, you give Art a soft but sultry smile and say, "I'll get us another drink, and then we can get out of here?"

"Sounds good," Art gives you a nod and takes his hand from under your shirt so you can stand from his lap. You eye the growing tent in his pants that he has to readjust to sit comfortably, and you smile as you turn to walk to the kitchen while Art follows you with his eyes.

You slip behind a corner into the kitchen where half-emptied bottles of nondescript booze and solo cups of mixers sit precariously along the countertops. You grab one of the bottles and two cups that you hope are clean and start to pour a drink for you and Art. You need this, a good orgasm or two to get your mind off of Patrick and his incessant proclamations of 'just being friends'. You'll fuck Art as a 'fuck you' to Patrick and move on to the next guy that won't make you cum half as well as either of them can. But the bottle is plucked from your hands, spilling over as it's placed down harshly and you're suddenly pressed against the edge of the countertop by someone much larger than yourself, their chest pressing against your upper back, crotch against your ass, arms boxing you in on either side.

This isn't Art; he's too coy for something this crude. This guy, who smells like cigarettes and a deodorant you've smelt too many times before, leans forward until his lips brush against your ear. His breath is hot, fanning your skin in ragged waves. Him. "So are you gonna fuck him?"

"Fuck you, Patrick. We're just friends," you parrot his own words back to him. Just friends, he had said whilst knuckles deep in your pussy, begging you to sit on his face only a moment later. Just fucking friends.

"That's what I thought," he exhales, and his voice is low, rough. You shiver, goosebumps prickling on your arms. The pressure of him on your back slackens and you twist, turning around only to find yourself still boxed in, but face to face with the source of your every wrongdoing, Patrick fucking Zweig. The grin pulling at his lips makes him appear predatory, almost feral. It's an animalistic thing; the look he gives you, hungry and angry and desperate. Like he wants to devour you in whole and spit you out just to taste you again. "Let me rephrase: have you fucked him already?"

No. "Yes." That answer comes quickly enough, even if it sounds a little pathetic in the face of Patrick's glazed eyes. Your hands rise of their own volition, landing on Patrick's chest and trying hopelessly to push him back. "Now get off me."

He doesn't budge, instead leaning in until you can feel his breath ghosting across your lips, noses bumping together lightly, "you're a fucking slut," he smiles, and you want to slap the grin off his face, want to claw into those beautiful eyes of his for looking at anyone but you. You hate him, you hate him with everything you have, you hate that your heart is slamming against your ribcage in response to his words. He's so close he can probably hear it, feel it, taste it on his lips and feel it in his hollowed bones.

You slip a hand from his chest down to the bulge of his jeans; he's hard, and you palm him through the coarse denim. "I'm the slut?" you bite, "what about you, Patrick, huh?" You squeeze him harder, feeling him twitch underneath your touch, "what are you then?"

One hand snaps from the countertop beside you to your throat, fingers digging in hard enough to start hurting. "I'm one minute away from fucking you stupid on this goddamn counter, that's what I am." When you don't dignify him with a word in response, he continues, lips barely an inch from yours. "You'd like that wouldn't you? You just won't fucking admit it."

You’re a moment away from spitting in his smug face when Patrick takes the hand against his crotch and uses it to pull you out of the kitchen in a swift but forceful motion. You trip over your own feet with the speed that he drags you, his grip unrelenting, but you’re able to glance into the living room as you pass to see Art talking to someone you don’t know. You try and get a look at your replacement, but Patrick is too fast, his grip on you only tightening as he takes you upstairs and starts checking doors for a room to push you into.

A chorus of “ooh la la” erupts when Patrick swings open a bathroom door to find a group of people smoking weed on the floor in front of the toilet. You could use a toke right about now. Patrick huffs a half-assed ‘sorry’ before pulling you to the next door and trying it- there's a click and before you can register his success, Patrick is pulling you into the empty bedroom and subsequently pushing you against the back of the door as it shuts. Your hand flies to the door handle in instinct, searching for a lock to turn and ensure your privacy, but it's futile when Patrick has a hand clamped over the handle to keep you from playing with it.

"Let someone walk in," he says. "Let them see just how fucking desperate you really are," he reaches a hand up and grabs your hair, yanking it backwards to expose more your neck. "Just how bad I wanna ruin you."

You slap him hard across the cheek. The sound reverberates through the room as Patrick turns his head only in the slightest to rub the sting away. Though his shock is short lived, he steps closer, forcing you back against the door until you hit the wall with no space left for retreat and he's pressing his lips to yours in retaliation, licking over and over at your bottom lip until you finally give up and kiss him back. This is worse than the stinging cheek of a slap, the wrung heart of knowing you want this more than a drunken clumsy night with Art Donaldson: you want the anger and the hurt and Patrick is kissing you like he loves you just to taunt you. To torment you for being weak enough to let him. For wanting the man that you hate to fuck you against the door. And you do. You want it so badly it hurts more than your ego.

"Fuck you," you speak against his lips.

His reply is a hand to your jaw, rough and mean and lifting your head so he can access the bites left behind by Art in the living room. He dips his head down and licks across every last mark his best friend had bitten into you, painting over Art's spit with his own, staking his claim like a dog with a bone. "Tell me to stop," he breathes out, mouth still glued to your throat.

"Fuck you."

You don't have time to think before Patrick is grabbing at the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down to pool around your ankles; your legs instinctively curl inwards to cover yourself but Patrick pushes your knees apart with both hands and lowers himself between your thighs. He pulls one of your legs up, rests it over his shoulder and looks up at you with darkness in his gaze. Though he's the one on his knees, you're the one at his mercy. His lips curve up at you again and he bites into the flesh of your inner thigh, making you hiss out a gasp at the sudden pain.

"Tell me to stop," he repeats in a growl.

"Fuck you," you spit in return.

"Say please."

Your eyes flutter shut in defeat. "Please."

"I told you," Patrick presses an almost sweet kiss to your clit, "that you're a fucking slut." He moves his tongue back and forth between your folds, and you let out a soft moan, your hips rolling instinctively forward to meet the invasion. You can't help it - you love his tongue, he knows that - you'd beg for it when you were sweeter on him but now... now, all you're capable of doing is arching your hips further into his mouth, hand flying down to the mess of curls atop his head in an attempt o pull him impossibly closer to you.

"Please, please, please..." Your hips thrust harder into his mouth with each syllable that leaves your lips, growing close to sweet release. Patrick moans softly and licks over the sensitive bundle of nerves buried within your folds. You pull hard at is hair, you hope it hurts, you need to be as close as physically possible to him, need it to connect you completely.

And then it happens. It happens in a cold second, one moment you're building to orgasm and the next you're feeling wipe his mouth and stand up with no orgasm from you to show for it. You don't move at first, frozen solid and waiting for something to happen. But nothing does, and when you realise he hasn't moved either you force your eyes open, squinting past the black dots dancing across your vision to find him staring at you with a wide smile.

"What the fuck, Zweig?" you demand, though it comes out more pleading than anything. Your voice cracks. It's embarrassing.

"Art wouldn't have made you cum either," he shrugs, an evil look on his face- you want to cry. You want to shoot your hand down and finish the job off yourself but you know Patrick would never let that happen; he nods to the bed against the wall. Some strangers bed; a full length mirror sits opposite it.

"Don't tell me this is some sick punishment." God, you wish he would stop smiling.

"Just get on the fucking bed."

“F—”

“Fuck me, yeah I know. Move your ass before I fuck that too.”

Your plain lust makes it difficult not to oblige, and you’re walking over to the edge of the bed and sitting down before you can register yourself doing so. The sheets are a dark blue and smell like detergent and dryer sheets, so the thought of fucking on a strangers dirty sheets are calmed as Patrick traipses towards you.

He lands between your legs, eyes darting down to look at your glistening cunt before taking in the rest of you. With a simple nod, he orders your top and bra off, and you’re naked before a ‘fuck you’ can leave your lips. Patrick remains fully clothed, but you think he likes that contrast, that aspect of control. You’re so cock-hungry you let it pass, because you can see the tent of his jeans and there’s little you wouldn’t do to be full of Patrick Zweig right now.

“Open your mouth,” he speaks down at you.

Your lips part, head tilted back ever so slightly as your tongue lolls out of your mouth. Patrick spits directly onto it, the very same saliva that had just mixed with the lust of your pussy now lace your tongue and spill down to your lips.

“Swallow.”

You do, Patrick loves the sight. So much, in fact, that he wastes no time in pulling you to your feet just to press a wet kiss to your lips, swap some more spit, and then turn you on your heels and push you face-down into the mattress of the poor soul who owns this bed. You land with a whine, and Patrick lands a spank to your ass in a silent order to get on your hands and knees for him.

You comply without even thinking, curling your body in the perfect angle to allow Patrick easier access to your aching entrance. Looking forward, you watch yourself in the mirror, a mess of everything you shouldn’t be doing, and Patrick: a mess of everything you should. He lines up behind you and moves to push inside of you, but his hips halt before he makes contact.

His eyes flit up to meet yours in the mirrors reflection. “I don’t want to ever see you with another guy like that. No one but me, you got it? You need to be fucked stupid to understand who you belong to? Sure thing. You need dates and kisses and to call me your fucking boyfriend so you don’t chase the next dick that’ll fill you up? Whatever. As long as it’s me.”

You nod. You want it. You don’t deserve it but you crave it.

Patrick slowly pushes himself into you until he’s fully seated inside you; you let out a groan as you adjust to the stretch of his size. You’ve never quite gotten used to how big he is. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation and he takes that as his cue to start moving. He pulls almost all of the way out of you, eyes stuck on the sight of his cock covered in you.

“Did you just ask me to be your girlfr—FUCK.”

Patrick slams his hips forward and you feel his entire length split you open on the spot. You cry out, loud, long and ragged breaths leaving your body as he begins to pound into your body again and again in quick succession. His hands grip your waist harshly, fingers digging deep into your flesh to make sure you stay in place on the bed.

When you finally do manage to relax, pleasure begins coursing through you like waves on the shores of some vacation beach you couldn’t name. Patrick takes your hair in one hand and continues his bruising grip on your waist with the other.

The repeated snapping of his hips against yours is brutal, skin against skin and sweat permeating the room's heat. With every thrust you’re pushed forward, your eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. You’d lay your head down to rest against the sheets if Patrick wasn’t fisting your hair so tight, pulling your head up to stare at yourself getting wrecked on his cock.

He leans forward, chest pressing against your arched back, a harsh bite to your earlobe, and then the growling words— “could he fuck you stupid like this?”

“Yeah,” you manage, tone dripping with an aching need.

“Yeah?” Patrick loosens his grip on your hair and instead snakes his fingers around your neck, squeezing each side of your throat in such a way your head already feels light. He pulls you up, your back flush against his front as his cock still drills into you; he squeezes further. “Shut the fuck up.”

Patrick trails his hand from your neck to your bottom lip and slips two fingers inside your mouth as he fucks you. You’re full of him from both ends, tasting his fingers and taking his cock in its entirety like you were fucking made for it. There’s something about being taken apart so thoroughly that nearly pushes you over the edge of your climax, though it’s not until Patrick slips his hand, fingers wet with your spit now, down to your clit and starts rubbing it in quickened circles that you’re really melting into his touch.

It isn’t long until you lose your mind, legs trembling underneath the weight of such overbearing pleasure. Patrick’s the only reason you stay upright, holding you against hisself as his hips start stuttering and he falls over that same precipice you just did.

With one last hard thrust that near sends you delirious, he spills into you, filling you up so full with his seed that you already grieve the inevitable loss of it when he pulls out and insists on watching it leak from your pussy in a display of his hood on you.

For now, though, you revel in the haze of laboured breath and the warmth of his sweat-glossed chest against your back. You can feel his heart beating against your shoulder blades in a rapid drumming rhythm. You watch yourself in the mirror, plugged with Patrick’s cock as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder in turn— he’s never done that before.

“Did you mean it?” you ask through raspy breaths, barely above a whisper.

“That you’re a slut?” Patrick grins, biting over the spot he had just kissed, “yes.”

“That you want to be exclusive. More than ‘just friends’.”

“I just came inside of you, I’m still fucking inside of you. We aren’t just friends.”

His voice is thick and hoarse, you can hear the smile forming on his face in spite of his efforts to keep his expression blank. You want to say something more, tell him a million different things that should probably wait until he isn’t plugging you with his cum, but your thoughts are cut off by a heavy knock at the door and the call of your name.

It’s Art, and he’s turning the doorknob.

And his best friend is still balls deep inside of you.

#patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x reader #challengers smut #challengers 2024 #art donaldson

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n0tamused · 2 days

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Hiya!! I have a WuWa request, how about Reader stargazing with Jiyan and them talking about some deep topic of ur choice while stargazing? Only if you’re up for it tho! Don’t push urself. Have a good day!

A/N: Thank you for your request anon! I hope you enjoy this :)

Contents: Jiyan x GN!Reader, angst and sadness

Low calls of an owl echo over the breath of the breeze, the soft sighs of nature enveloping you in its embrace. Your head is supported by the lush grass, and Jiyan’s bicep that he insisted you lay on. His tone was low and a soft timbre compared to its commanding tone when he was performing his duties. Jiyan’s body exudes warmth and comfort, and in all the ways you needed him, he was there.

“You shouldn’t be so reckless..” He’d mutter, golden eyes dark from drinking in the serene, dark scenery up above. Little stars were freckled across the sky like little faded droplets of milk, counting up to billions of the same, yet not one less beautiful than the other.

The towering mountains sprouted from the ground so high, long rocks fingers reaching as far as possible, as if trying to grasp the fading lights and the moon itself.

“I know.. I try, Jiyan. Yet, I really can’t just stand by and watch, especially when I see you in the midst of it all, surrounded or cornered..” you respond back, quiet, not willing to disturb this serenity.

He hums, wordlessly in disagreement of your response yet he can’t bring himself to say anything in that exact moment. His mind is plagued by images of your exhausted form slumping behind a fallen tree trunk, and skin grimy with sweat and dirt.

“I know you mean well, and you are doing your best. Yet, you are not a Midnight Ranger, love, you are not a soldier. This.. battlefield is not your place to be in” Jiyan says, his gaze leaving the midnight sky and falling on you, seeing the way your nose curved and how your eyes were much darker in the absence of a lamp or a fire. “I am the General, the leader of these men, and I don’t need you to step in for me, love..”

He sees your eyes lower to stare at nothing in particular, lashes fluttering while your throat bobbed with unease. His words rang true, but you couldn’t find yourself accepting them.

“I need you alive... and I need you safe. While I can do my absolute best at shielding you while you are here, I cannot stand true to my promise to you if you’re jumping head first into hot water. Not when you do so behind my back”

“Jiyan… “ you sigh, trailing off, your lips opening and then closing as you try to pry your brain for a response that would get him to be more lenient, to see your side too.

“I know..” you say, your eyes finding his as you turn your face towards him. “I know.. I know you are doing your best, and I don’t wish to burden you with my-” “You are not a burden” “I know, Jiyan- let me talk.. please”

His lips press into a firm line and he gives you a small nod, encouraging you to keep going while his eyes apologize for cutting you off. One hand came to trace your cheek, he was almost laying on his side now.

“I don’t want to make your time more difficult, especially not when we’re in the middle of a battle. But don’t send me back to the city, please.. I can’t bear not being close to where I can see you. I am still useful here, perhaps not as a professional warrior or a soldier or a gunner, but I can help and I can learn too.. You talk about your promise to keep me safe, but what about our promise to stay alive... and with each other?”

Your question renders his thumbing of your cheeks slow before his fingers stop altogether in tracing your features, instead cupping the side of your face in his calloused palm. “I haven’t forgotten about that..'' he simply replies, the heaviness in his chest too great, making him unable to sigh to rid himself of it. Fatigue hangs heavy over your heads, but neither of you are willing to cut the conversation or this moment short.

“Don’t send me back.. There is nothing for me there..” Not without you- it goes without being said, and he feels it in his bones that he can’t argue with you on this, you’ll both remain stubborn on your stances. He knows he’ll have to put restrictions on you, to keep you safe, but until then he’ll enjoy this night of reprieve with you. The tent he sleeps in feels like a bed of nettles without you, and the way he’s comfortable laying on nothing more but this lush grass speaks volumes of that. He does not feel cold or irritated. Jiyan is at peace.

But he has to send you back, he tells himself, but not yet.. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, until you forget about this conversation, and until the next cargo drop off comes in. Then, he’ll send you back.

“And we will be together, my love. You must be patient. You are my northern star in these dark nights, are you aware of that? The most precious person to me, one I hold within my heart itself.. I can’t afford to lose you..” he whispers to you as you watch him with pleading and loving eyes. You tip your chin up, brushing your nose against his and with that simple motion he is leaning in to grant your wordless wish, satiating your desire for closeness with a kiss to your lips.

The arm underneath your head stirs and he wraps it around his shoulders, bringing you in closer, flush against him, and you’re wrapping your arms around him and kissing him with fervor and unspoken love. Closer, closer, stay with me, don’t leave..

He holds you with such tender touches, holds you like you may fade away like sunlight before the long night, feather light touches tracing your cheeks and chin and moving towards the back of your head. He pulls away for a moment, his forehead pressing against yours as you both inhale the same air. “I love you” - it’s you who blurts it out before he gets the chance to do so, and his eyes widen with surprise. His heart drums in his chest, and he presses his lips to your again, in search of water to quell his worry, and for a forgiveness. Every note of love is interwoven in his actions, his touches and his kisses. Were the world any less cruel, it would have granted you two the eternity of this night, to forever be here and watch the skies in tranquility.

Black night covers you both in a blanket of stardust and far galaxies, bringing you safety if only but this night alone, undisturbed by monsters or people. And as Jiyan pushes himself to his elbow to loom over you, chasing your lips, a lone star flies across the vast sky, flickering out and leaving behind a silver fading tail.

Maybe.. just maybe, the universe heard your wishes.

#-better an arrow than you #Jiyan #Jiyan x reader #Jiyan x you #jiyan x yn #jiyan x gn reader #gn reader #jiyan angst #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #wuthering waves x yn #wuwa #wuwa x reader #wuwa x you #jiyan imagine

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bamgyw · 2 days

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ the first night ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

flee from sexual immorality. every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body. - 1 corinthians 6:18

warnings: nothing too smutty yet. suggestive, let's call it that. mentions of abuse and violence. a/n: i'm realising its a little slow burn but that's better for the tension building. there's fingering in the next part, just bear with me. also, might be corny at times. i dunno. sorry. this is a part of a longer work ♡ go to the beginning here

soobin's room was a shithole. it had a correctional feel, with sparse furniture and an austere, almost monastic approach to decorations –not one poster, not one framed picture, not one item that didn't have a practical utility– as if he hadn't had an interest in his life.

it freaked beomgyu out how clean it was, and how earnest; everything that was worth seeing could be spotted with a single glance. simple. soobin had shamelessly exposed the stark core of his existence, that is, a plain wall and the depressive charm of a victorian orphanage.

the mattress was rigid, too. unbending. it defeated the whole purpose, beomgyu thought. it irritated him, that someone would make a mattress so hard it was almost a prank item, and that someone else would be stupid enough to buy it. he was sure soobin’s stepfather thought it built character, or some bullshit of the sort.

beomgyu lay there, sprawled out like a starfish, staring up at the ceiling. he couldn’t sleep. not a wink. his stomach was killing him, or maybe it was his liver, or his kidneys – hell, he couldn’t tell anymore. everything just ached, like his whole body was one big bruise.

his dad hadn't just kicked him out. that would have been too kind. no, his dad had kicked him out after beating the shit out of him. real old-school, no-holds-barred kind of beating.

half of his internal organs might have been bleeding out in that moment, but whatever. beomgyu, stubborn as he was, refused to go to the hospital. he hated the clinics, the cold tools, the patronising doctors. he could already picture them, their eyes widening as they examined him, enumerating the parts of his body that were just about to give up. he was dying, he really didn't wanna know.

they would ask who had done that to him, and if he was sure he didn’t want to press charges. as if. as if he could ever bring himself to do that.

he couldn’t sue his father, he never would. even if his body was falling apart and in ruins. it was their thing. the beatings, the fights. the twisted ritual that kept them tied together. to snitch on his dad would be to betray him, to shatter the only fragile bond they had left.

so there he was, sleepless in soobin’s room, rolling around in the concrete mattress helplessly, restlessly, until he got so bored he couldn’t stand it anymore.

the room was dark and quiet, the kind of quiet that presses down on you, heavy and suffocating. he needed to get up, to do something, anything to distract himself from the pain and the mess in his head.

he decided to go to the kitchen. maybe a glass of water would help, or at least give him something to do. as he got up from the bed, he didn’t worry too much about waking soobin. he knew he very rarely slept. he needed to be alert every second, like closing his eyes would make him too vulnerable.

that was one of the things that fascinated beomgyu about him—how soobin carried that crippling anger with him everywhere, but he never complained, never erupted. if beomgyu’s dad hit him, beomgyu would hit back, an eye for an eye. but when soobin’s stepdad hit soobin, he would just stand there, stiff and quiet like an ancient tree, never saying a word in some militaristic vow of silence.

the hallway was eerily silent as beomgyu made his way downstairs, each step echoing in the stillness of the night. he moved cautiously, aware of how the house breathed around him, the creaks and groans of the old wood floors amplifying in the quiet. he didn’t mind the silence though; it gave him space to think, to let his mind wander even as his body throbbed with pain.

he still tried to make as little noise as possible. the last thing he needed was for soobin’s stepdad to wake up and find him rummaging through the kitchen. that man already had a hair-trigger temper, and beomgyu didn’t need another beating tonight. he moved like a shadow, each step calculated, avoiding the spots he knew would creak the loudest.

reaching the kitchen, a thought crossed his mind. if he was lucky, he might just figure out where soobin’s stepdad kept the expensive whiskey. the good stuff, the kind that could numb the pain, at least for a while. he knew he had a hidden stash no one could access, soobin had told him. it was a small, fleeting hope, but it was something to do. a quest to keep him entertained.

slowly, he eased open each cupboard in the kitchen, the hinges protesting with a drawn-out creak. he peered inside, squinting to make out the shapes in the dark.

but a fleeting glimmer caught his eye, halting his breath for a moment. someone, two eyes in the dark. he gasped, startled. he only began to calm down when eyes started to make out the figure. he cursed at himself for being too jumpy. it was just one of those ceramic figures of virgin and child.

he looked around the room. his eyes had become used to the dark enough for him to guess the shilhouettes. anywhere he looked there was a porcelain veiled lady carrying her holy baby, an agonising jesus on the cross, some martyr saint immortalised in art with the object that gave them death.

everywhere blood, everywhere tears, everywhere fire, swords and stained white cloths. he couldn’t see them properly in the gloom, but the white of the eyes fixated on him so eerily it felt assaultive.

"fucking hell," beomgyu breathed out. that room was like a souvenir store at the vatican. soobin’s stepdad had amassed religious imagery with borderline obsession.

he must want redemption really bad, beomgyu thought. he must have done something unforgivable and now he's trying to buy his way into heaven with catholic merchandising.

the watchful gazes and the silent judgement were starting to weigh down on him, and he was about to give up, thinking maybe he’d better just head back to bed. but in a sudden, careless movement, he turned around and bumped into something soft and warm. a body of flesh. the stepsister.

in a split second, he realized the situation and acted purely on instinct. his hand shot out and clamped over your mouth, muffling any potential scream that might shatter the silence. "don't yell, please don't yell... i'm soobin’s friend." his voice was a harsh whisper, almost a plea. slowly, cautiously, he reached out and flicked on the light switch, still keeping his hand firmly over your mouth. "don't be scared." he murmured, more to himself than to you.

as the light finally flickered to life, it illuminated the room with a harsh, revealing glow. he saw you for the first time.

fuck. his breath caught in his throat. slowly, he released his grasp. he almost felt sorry to have touched you. like he could've stained you, somehow. like he was a foul moth and you were the sunlight.

it all made sense now. why your father guarded you so closely, as if he was keeping something holy. this was the secret they had shielded him from, the thing they didn't want to share—soobin and the stepdad. the face of a doll, with moonlit eyes and sugared strawberry lips, sweet enough to taste. an angel of a girl.

"you're not a kid," he breathed out, the words almost a whisper of disbelief.

you remained silent, standing there, paralysed like a scared rabbit ready to bolt. your instinct to flee would get triggered at the minimum movement from him. he could see that, but he couldn't fight the force –call it divine, call it gravitational– that kept pulling him towards you.

he reached for your hand, and you tried to get away. but he was quicker, seizing your wrist firmly. it didn't hurt, though. he was tender with his grasp. you weren’t used to that. with the slightest pull you could've freed yourself, but you chose not to.

"please, stay with me for a bit," he said, his voice almost as gentle as his touch. "talk to me."

you should’ve flinched. you should’ve yanked your hand away and stormed up to your room, locking the door behind you. but you didn’t. you allowed his grasp on your wrist to shift, to evolve at beomgyu’s will until the handcuffed enclosement turned into his hand sweetly holding yours.

"why?" was the only thing you could muster.

"because i can't sleep," he said, the words falling from his lips. ‘and because i want to look at you forever, christ.’ he thought before calmly adding, "my brain... it thinks too much at night. doesn't come up with the most pleasant thoughts, either. everything's too silent."

"that means you feel guilty." you said.

"yeah," he nodded. he was feverish. thirsty. "exactly."

"i feel like that too," you said. “sometimes.”

beomgyu thought he was going insane. that you weren't even real. some imaginary angel his mind had made up to comfort him just a little. it was the house, he thought, it was like an asylum. the light was too bright, too white. everywhere he looked, jesus christ or the virgin mary would return his gaze. the whole place was designed to keep him away from you, he thought, paranoid. but you didn't fit there. you felt warm and honeyed and lovely. you just didn't belong.

your hand was in his, as secure and mellow as your connected gazes, and he would rather die than let go of it. but he took his other hand up to your face, caressing your cheek with the back of it. it was scorching hot, rosy pink and glazed like an apple.

“you’re very pretty.” he mumbled, almost a purr.

“you can’t say that.”

“beautiful eyes, too.” he said. “sad.”

"my dad doesn't hesitate to hurt people." you said, trying to warn him away. you felt too cozy under his touch to push him yourself.

"i don't care what happens to me." beomgyu said, letting his hand travel to your neck, your hair, you cheek again. he would explore as far as you allowed him to. "but i wouldn't want him to hurt you."

"then leave." you said. but you didn't care what happened to you, either. he could see it in the worry of your eyes. it wasn't a fear for yourself, it was an all-embracing need to protect.

beomgyu shook his head slightly. "i’ll take the blame."

"he will say i brought it upon myself. that i looked for it." you said. "he’ll call me the whore of babylon and make me suffer for it."

you didn't seem as frightened as you seemed certain. not a lost bunny, not the distressed victim. you were aware of your actions and their consequences, intellectually and matter-of-factly. and for the first time in his life, beomgyu held something beautiful and felt not the need to destroy, but to save.

"your daddy can try." he said. "i have a dad of my own, and i know how they are. it’s just hubris. don't be so scared of a man who collects figurines of jesus christ like they're funko pops. he's the one who's terrified, don't you see?"

you smiled slightly, and he liked it so much. how the formerly strained and full of fear muscles of your face relaxed into that adorable grin. how he had done that to you. he was so satisfied, so proud of himself for getting an angel to smile. he wanted to do that forever.

he tried to stop himself from staring at you, fearing you'd get intimidated under his hungry gaze. that you'd fear him. but he couldn't quit. you were his new thirst, his desire unlimited, a beautiful wet dream stranding right in front of him.

that stupid white nightdress was giving him such a hard time, too. the two necklaces you wore, so pretty and delicate. the first one, fastened and secured close to your neck was the pearls. he didn't know if they were real or not, he was just some brute before a siren. second was the rosary beads in rose mother-of-pearl, loosely draping over your chest to fall under the fabric of the nightwear, wickedly hidden from beomgyu’s sight.

he assumed they were the kind jewel you never took off. he liked the idea. they seemed so easy to pull on, to hang on to. so ornamental over a naked body. so fucking pretty.

his hand travelled up to the rosary beads, almost with a brain of its own. you swiftly moved your own hand over his to stop him, but you ended up softening your grip and letting him do as he pleased.

“do you sleep with these on?” he asked, softly. "it’s dangerous, you know? you could choke."

“i take them off.” you said. “i just wasn’t going to bed yet. i can't sleep lately. like you.”

of course. you were just like him. morphed by your hostile environment into a broken half-human. an incomplete being, hollow. but still so beautiful and gentle. unlike him. he had felt his void with hatred, while you had maintained yours clean and unpolluted. he wanted to fill it with kisses, with caresses, with words of praise.

he began to lean in.

your breath hitched. he was so handsome, painfully so. plump lips, elegant cheeckbones. you liked him. you wanted to keep looking at him, to have your hand reach for his face and feel his skin, too. you wanted to never stop him from leaning in and to let him kiss you.

but the realization of it all sent a wave of panic through you, because you knew you couldn’t—shouldn’t—like him. you got away. "i really should leave," you said, but it came out more like a whisper, more like a plea.

still holding the beads, he took his hand to your cheeks again. you leaned in to his touch a little, but you didn't give in completely. you had led a life of strict restrain and soldierlike discipline. you had the willpower of a hundred trained armies.

yet that didn't make it hurt less to let him go. you grabbed his hand and put it down with a slight shaking of your head.

“please,” he begged one last time.

you began to walk back while facing him, as if to make sure he wouldn’t follow after you. beomgyu's heart ached with each step you took away from him, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he watched you disappear into the shadows.

but a stupid thought, impulsive and idiotic came to you. in daddy’s house —the house of god— it was the type of idea that could get you killed. you swiftly approached him, almost unnoticeably, like a ghost. when you found yourself before him, you tiptoed slightly. you pecked his cheek. then you disappeared.

"good night," beomgyu whispered into the dark. he felt a pang of emptiness, like that feeling after a good dream slips away in the morning.

before his mom left his father, she had taken him to the ballet a few times. he remembered a specific one, in that moment. la sylphide. mom had loved that one. he felt like the lead, a man whose name he couldn't remember, kissed in the night by some magical being but waking up to nothing but her memory.

he was spaced out as he headed back to soobin's room, lost in his own thoughts. pushing the door open, he found soobin sitting up on the bed with the night lamp casting shadows over his unreadable face.

"why're you still up?" soobin asked him, his tone as flat as the mattress.

"just grabbed some water," beomgyu replied, keeping it simple.

"is everything alright?"

beomgyu gave a nod, not really knowing how to approach the subject. if he should even talk about it, if he would be capable of speaking without giving out too much. he slipped under the covers, giving soobin a subtle signal to switch off the light. and just as the room started to dim, he spoke into the darkness. "i saw your sister."

soobin's strained response came out after an exaggerated stretch of silence. "she's not my sister," he muttered.

beomgyu let the quiet hang for a beat before adding. "she´s beautiful.” he said. it came out as an accusation towards soobin.

soobin said nothing. the rustle of sheets is all that broke the silence as he rolled on his side, facing away from beomgyu. in the stillness, beomgyu drifted off into sleep, like touched by a divine calmness. soobin, however, remained awake.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part (really soon !!)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ none of you have let me know if you think reading about booty sex is gross yet

#we're working up to it please just hold it #i stan our attention spans we got this team #incoming depression sex yay !!#beomgyu #beomgyu angst #txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu x reader #txt x reader #beomgyu fic

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aphrodisiaxcunt · 10 hours

Text

Silent, huh?

Cheater Gojo angst

Cont: Cheating, angst, heavy on angst, f!reader, sad ending, mentions of cheating, death, fuck you I'm sorry :(

Word count: 1.3k

You couldn't believe your eyes. Eyes that were wide staring at your phone, a photo your friend sent you plastered on the screen. What. The. Fuck.

It wasn't just any photo. God, you wished it would be any other photo right now.. but, alas, you couldn't have even that peace.

The photo your eyes were glued onto was that of your boyfriend kissing another woman. Outside of his car. In the driveway of her house.

What. The. Fuck.

You could feel the anger seeping to your fingertips, urging you to smash your phone or..or throw it or anything! Just a small release to your overflowing pot of hate you feel towards your boyfriend right now.

The anger gets redirected back to your head as you hear the keys of your soon to be ex-boyfriend jingling against the lock of your shared house, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.

"Hey, sweetcheeks, I'm home!"

Fuck. His voice made you want to rip your ears off, the disgust fills your gut as your body starts feeling too heavy to stand. You sit down on the bed, gripping your phone in your hands right as Satoru walks into the room, looking for you.

"Heyy, silent, huh?~" Satorus voice drips with honey as he walks from the bedroom door to press a kiss against your forehead.

Finally, it's just too much, your eyes sting and dwell with heavy tears that are threatening to fall. The sickeningly sour feeling of betrayal pulls your lip back in a snarl, and you suck in a shaky breath of air from between your teeth.

"Don't touch me, Satoru..."

Satoru steps back, shock written on his face, and he tilts his head down to look at you.

"Woah, where'd that come from..?"

"Cut the crap... Who is she?" You snap, standing up from the bed and shoving your phone into his face.

Satoru feels the blood drain from his face, appearing somehow even paler than usual as his eyes land on the picture on your screen. His throat drying up as he gulps and his lips twist into a nervous smile.

"I can explain—"

"Yeah? You can explain? What good fucking explanation can you have for this?!" Your interruption smacks that stupid smile off of Satorus face as you point at the screen of your phone.

"Listen‐ Listen baby it wasn't anything serious I promise-" Satoru could feel tears forming in his eyes as he looked at yours falling down your cheeks, fuuuck..He really fucked up.

The guilt building up in his eyes in the forms of tears just makes you pull out a choked laugh from your throat.

"You're crying? Seriously, out of the two of us, you have no right to cry about this!" Your voice is shaky when you yell at him. Your lungs feel like collapsing in on themselves, and every single blink forces more salty tears to coat your cheeks.

Satoru couldn't do anything but press his lips together. The fear that if he tried to talk his own tears would finally break out, and he'd suffocate on his words, overwhelming every sense in his body.

"I want you out of this house, I never want to see you again.." The lump in your throat would feel like it's growing at every word, your voice trailing off to silence as you speak.

Satoru couldn't even answer you. The only thing he could do was just stand there and do nothing, only being snapped back once his phone started to buzz in his pocket with incoming calls and messages. The silence being broken down by his phone felt like how nails on a chalkboard sounds like, just growing worse and worse on every buzz. It's not quite bad enough to actually break the moment just there to worsen it, little by little, second by second until—

"Fuck, baby I- I gotta check it out.." Satorus voice is the first to actually snap the moment in half, like scissors cutting a string being stretched to its limits.

You turn your head away, crossing your arms over your chest as he takes his phone out to read the numerous messages that had been ruining your dramatic moment.

"It's Nanami, they need me in Shibuya for something..I'm sorry, can we please talk about this when I come home..?" His voice was pleading, nearly breaking into a whine as he put his phone back into his pocket.

You sigh.

"Yeah..Fine, let's talk when you come back. But this doesn't mean I hate you any less." Your words sunk into his guts like a punch. You hated him.. Maybe, no, definitely, it was deserved, but hearing his loved one, his girlfriend, the love of his life, say it so coldly to his face was agonising.

Satoru wanted to reach out to you, grab your hands, and pull you in, but both the urging of his peers and the hatred in your eyes just pushed him out. He would just deal with this shit going on in Shibuya and come back to you.. You'd be there waiting for him, definitely, you promised to talk to him once he came back so of course you'd be there!...Right?

It had been a while since you could gather up your own ego to see Satoru, around a month and a half, you'd guess.. You had picked up sunflowers on your way to see him. They're his favourite flowers, after all. You didn't exactly know why you even wanted to please him so bad by bringing flowers, come on, he was the one who cheated on you. But you had decided to at least try and be nice and push through this.

You hadn't really had any contact with him after he left you standing in your room alone. You had broken down very quickly after he had teleported away, gathering yourself for what felt like and probably was hours before falling asleep. Only to wake up alone at around midnight and continue crying into the mattress. Sometime in the morning, a sweet lady from your neighbourhood had come to the door to ask if you were okay. The wailing of your broken heart leaking from your throat probably kept the poor woman awake, and she didn't want to be mean..

Fuck, you felt so overwhelmed. The beating of your heart against the inside of your chest ringing all the way up in your ears as you clutch the flowers in your tight grip. You force yourself to suck in a deep breath before walking up to Satoru. Finding courage took you forever before you could even think to spit out something, anything just say anything. God, you must look awkward just standing there, SAY SOMETHING!

"Hey. Sorry I haven't.. Come see you.." You could barely even hear yourself talk over the loud thumping of your pulse in your ears. Your eyes felt so heavy from crying and the lack of sleep and seeing Satoru wasn't doing any good.

"Soo, how have you been?..Sorry, stupid question..Uhm...Fuck, I don't know what to say.." Your heart shattered at the silence that was meeting your minoscule efforts to a conversation. Gripping the flowers tighter and turning your gaze down, trying to hide your forming tears before chuckling to yourself.

"Silent, huh? Satoru?..." You whispered, pulling your sleeve over the palm of your hand to wipe away the tears before they had a chance to fall.

You couldn't say anything else, so you decide to just sit down by him and place the flowers over the dirt covering him, or whatever remained of him under there. Leaning your head against the cold marble headstone and pulling your legs against your own chest.

"You know Satoru, I don't actually hate you.." Was all you could muster from your lips before having to bury your face into your knees, biting into your lower lip in a silent cry. A cry that would slowly chip the silence away and break out in whines and sobs.

#gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk fanfic #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk satoru #satorugojo #angst #cheating #bad ending #angst with a sad ending #female writers

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blossom-hwa · 3 days

Text

manège | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader genre: fluff, a little angst and comfort, ballet dancer!taehyun and pianist!reader warnings: n/a word count: 1.4k notes: — this pairing's been on my mind for a good year or so, so I'm very happy to have finally written something for them :) please note that I've only been doing ballet for a couple years now, so if I've used any terms incorrectly, I'm very sorry! — for some clarification, mc and taehyun go to an arts school, and mc volunteers as one of the pianists for the ballet studio Taehyun finds his way back to you, again.

TXT Masterlist

manège: a classical ballet term for “circular,” which describes a series of steps done in a circular pattern around the stage

. . . . .

"...Taehyun?"

The question of his name is quiet enough that if he hadn't noticed the opening of the door in the corner of the mirror, he would have missed it. As it stands, his mind barely processes your voice emerging from behind the door, and it takes a moment to shake off the double tours and pirouettes before he can even recognize the face appearing in the mirror. He blinks sweat away from his eyes. "Y/N?"

"It's late," you say, stepping into the empty studio. "You're still practicing?"

As one, you both look at the clock hanging on the wall. It's long past eight, when Taehyun initially told himself he'd stop—long past nine, even.

Suddenly all of the exhaustion of the day seems to hit him at once. His muscles ache, sweat keeps dripping down his face no matter how much he wipes away, and there's a small but consistent flare of pain in his calf that he should really stop and massage out. Really, he wants nothing more than to just sit down against the wall, or maybe even flop onto the floor and stare at the ceiling while seeing nothing at all. He's been here since eight in the morning and his body clearly knows it.

"Yeah," is all he says in lieu of articulating all of this, though, because his throat feels gravelly and words are hard. "What are you doing here?" he asks instead. It's at least as fair of a question for you as yours was for him.

"I had class," you say. Taehyun takes in your leggings, the loose T-shirt almost covering your shorts, and remembers yes, there was a lower-level class held almost immediately after you got off your shift. "I stayed after to practice."

He frowns. "For almost five hours?" You were playing the piano for his company class until it ended at three. Your adult beginner class ends at four thirty, and it's past nine.

"Not ballet." You shift the weight of several books in your arms, and only then does Taehyun see their worn paper bindings, the music markings on the covers, and remember that people practice things besides dance. "Evaluations coming up. There was a free piano in one of the empty studios."

Ah. Taehyun nods. And then the room falls into silence again, broken only by the sounds of your breathing.

"So." You walk to the empty piano in the room, placing your books on the top before looking at him expectantly. "What are you working on?"

It takes him a moment to register your words, to understand that you're not telling him to leave or go home or get some rest. All of which he should do, but the looming specter of the showcase next week won't let him. "You're not going to tell me to go home and rest?" he asks regardless, and even though his throat squeaks a bit after spending so many hours in silence, you don't laugh. Not at that, anyway.

"Well, would you have gone home if I'd said you should?" you reply, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head and a smile curves his lips when you give a little laugh. "See?"

"Point taken," he says, and when you laugh again he laughs too. "Grand Pas Classique," he answers your original question. "For the showcase. Next week."

Your mouth parts in a little 'o'. "This one?" you ask, playing out a short melody. He nods. "Can I see?"

He should. He shouldn't. He at once wants to but doesn't, wants to let the melody sing in his blood as he double tours and entrechats around the room, spinning and leaping across the floor, but he also knows that you're here. And if Taehyun is his own harshest critic, he becomes even harsher when someone else is in the room.

You look at him, though, and he looks at you, and he knows that you see him for himself. See the sweaty hair matted into clumps, see the muscles aching behind his skin, see the work put into every effortlessly pointed toe and graceful finger as he takes his beginning position in front of the mirror. And when the music begins to play, the melody spilling into his ears and then into his blood, he looks into the mirror and smiles not because he has to, but because your watchful eyes will never hold judgment. Will never hold disappointment. Will only ever see him, see Taehyun Kang the person and not Taehyun Kang the dancer, and will cherish him for it.

When he's done, the applause of one person cuts through the labored silence of his breathing, and it's enough to keep the smile on his face, to let his muscles finally relax, to wipe the sweat from his brow and sit down. Or—not really. He's still a little too wired to sit, but he leans against the wall of the studio and gestures to where you sit at the piano like it's the most natural position in the world, ready to play but not. "Show me something," he says when he has enough breath to speak. "What are you working on?"

There's a moment when you're flipping through your books, skimming pages filled with music and your careful notes, where Taehyun loses himself, for a moment, in you. When you squint at a few pages, then put the book back on top of the piano, then position yourself at the keys. The preparation—the careful placement of your fingers just as deliberate as his pointed toes and graceful hands—the moment where time holds still, before you give in to the song in your mind and your heart and allow the music to flow through your veins.

It all comes back to you, Taehyun thinks as your fingers waltz and whirl across the keys, dance in enchanting patterns of black and white. From him, to you, back to him and then to you again—in manège, arabesques and jetés leaping about the stage, coming away from the center only to reach it again the way everything always returns to you. Your voice, your music, always there. Always constant. Pulling him back to earth when he threatens to topple over the edge, never once wavering in your strength or patience even when you see the worst parts of him over and over.

He's sitting down by the time you stop playing, fingers gentle yet unyielding against the piano, coaxing a last, wavering echo from its depths before your hands rise, suspended in the air, then fall to your lap. When you look up, the fluorescent studio lights seem to burn your figure into his vision, like the afterimage of a lightning strike behind his eyes. "That was beautiful," he says, and he means it in more ways than one.

And you accept the praise in more ways than one, in the smile on your lips, in the twinkle in your eyes, in the moment where you sit down next to him, back against the wall, and let him lean his sweaty head on your shoulder with no complaint about how gross it must feel. "Thank you," you say, and when you do, the melody racing through his veins finally calms.

It's almost ten, now, the clock still ticking away on the wall. But you make no move to get up and neither does Taehyun, even when you murmur "Home?" in a voice that only makes him lean further into you, even when he makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. In the end, it takes nearly twenty minutes for you to finally pat his knee and say get up, Taehyun. And then he disappears to change and wash up and collect his things, and maybe in the shower he can feel himself beginning to fade away again, but then you're standing right outside the locker room and when he slips his hand into yours, he comes back to earth. Manège. Circling you, always. Leaving. Returning. Orbiting. Joining.

Music dancing through his blood and yours, a song that he will always be able to follow back home.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

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doukeshi-kun · 1 day

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Dad Nikolai is definitely the type of dad to walk around shirtless all the time especially during the summer. Like he's the dad that while all the kids are outside playing, he's chilling, not a shirt in sight. Sun's out, tiddies out. Gimme his breasts pls 🙏

𝙙𝙖𝙙!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨

replies ✥ oh hell yea tiddies outttt

contents ✥ fluff, suggestive , oc kids (yuri, mari, karol), fem!reader

Nikolai treats you like a queen.

His words and manners are enough proof that he sees you as one. You could not remember how many times have you felt so down about your appearance, especially after three pregnancies. But Nikolai would always be there, hands slithering on your body, tracing your curves and folds and fleshes and bones, with his lips uttering how beautiful you are.

And he is such a great father as well. He makes sure your children all tell you how beautiful and pretty and cute you are. Yuri is a good boy—he always says nice things to you. Mari wants to be as pretty as you—she said. And Karol... Well, he often compares you with his favourite Hot Wheels cars, so you take it as a compliment.

It's summer. The sun is bright outside. It is a little windy, it is such a nice weather to chill. You are standing right outside your house, monitoring Yuri and Mari who are gardening. They seem to be focused on choosing between succulents. Yuri has taken a new interest these days and you are more than happy to support him—and Nikolai is always eager to play with Yuri, despite the boy's annoyance.

“Dad, dad! Bell man gonna come! Just waaatch!”

“I don't understand you, Karol...”

You hear your husband's voice and you turn to the side, seeing Nikolai's pinky getting pulled by Karol who is excited about some 'bell man'. Nikolai notices you and mouthes 'Help me' with a pleading pout.

However, your eyes are wandering away.

You know Nikolai likes to be shirtless—and this man is a nudist after 2AM—but there is just something else about his look right now.

Shirtless, black shorts, hair in a bun. His chest is toned, with lines of his muscles. His shoulders are just as broad as you remember.

You do not know if it is hormones or you are just attracted by how good of a father he is, but he definitely stirs something in you. You find yourself to be staring hard at his physique—has he exercised or something? Why do his arms look so strong and firm? Why does his waist look so huggable? Are his muscles already looked that toned and visible?

“Pervert alert.”

You swallow nervously when you realize that he is standing beside you. A timidity creeps up, and it feels like you two are young again. Nikolai grins, leaning closer to you. You feel your cheeks heat up and you lightly shove him by his chest, although it does nothing to nudge an inch of him.

“Aww, you shy now?” He teases again, holding your wrist and keeping your hand close to his body. Your fingers are brushing against his bare skin—he is slightly sweaty and he feels warm. Nikolai smirks, pressing your hand so you would palm his chest. “Come on, don't be shy. We've been together for years, my love.”

You pout, pinching his chest lightly. Instead of wincing, Nikolai only laughs, enjoying your reaction. “You’re so fun to tease. Always the same face. Never get tired of it, you know?” He says as he gives your ass a light smack, which you do not mind as much—he is always touchy. But his hand is lingering on your rear for a little too long.

He gives your ass a good squeeze, causing you to squirm and hitting his chest lightly. “D-Don't do that here... The kids—”

“Kids, go inside right now!” Suddenly Nikolai shouts at them and they immediately turn to both of you. You click your tongue in annoyance, attempting to pinch his stomach, but God—his body is firm.

“Don't listen to your dad. He's being stupid again.” You reply, assuring your kids that Nikolai is just joking. Both Mari and Karol are clearly confused but Yuri has the nastiest look on his face, which makes Nikolai cracks a wheeze of laughter.

“Isn't he always stupid though?” Yuri says. Karol gasps, looking at his big brother in disbelief.

“He is?!”

“He is.”

“I don't think daddy is stupid! I think he's just... mmm... selective smart!” Mari says and Nikolai cheers. He gets to his little princess and carries her up.

“Oh, my little flower! You really are your daddy's defender! Mwah!” He kisses her cheek, making Mari giggle. You smile to yourself but your smile falters into a shriek of embarrassment when Nikolai suddenly turns to you, saying, “It's okay, love. I'll carry you like this too.” He winks.

“Stop it,” You huff but your mind is already wandering elsewhere when you are starting to imagine how nice it feels when he wraps his strong arms around you. Your face heats up and you gaze away, trying not to look at your husband's flirtatious smile any longer.

“Bell man!” Karol suddenly shouts excitedly and both you and Nikolai turn to the gate, seeing Karol waddling to see an ice cream bike passing just in front of the house. The man on the bike is ringing a bell—a gesture to attract attention.

“Karol, don't go to the road!” Nikolai barks sternly as he puts down Mari. Yuri is already on his way to hold back his little brother who is excited for some ice cream when the ice cream man parks his bike right outside your yard. Mari looks at both you and Nikolai before grinning and following his brothers, seeming to want an ice cream too.

“Well, guess I have to buy ice cream for everyone,” Nikolai mumbles to himself. “Look after them for a while, sweetheart. I'm gonna get my wallet.”

“And... get your shirt,” You playfully smacks his chest, squeezing it. “Don't wanna have those aunties gawk their eyes on my husband now, do we?”

“Possessive, I like that,” Nikolai smirks as he slaps your butt lightly. “This is all yours, honey. No one has a chance, alright?” You giggle as you shove him back lightly, urging him to get inside and get dressed. Nikolai still has that perverted grin on his face as he walks into the house.

You turn to your kids, expecting a wholesome scenery of your kids choosing ice cream for each other, but all you see is Karol standing on the bike with the ice cream man—not even Yuri or Mari is stopping him.

©doukeshi-kun 2024 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

#道化師-jest❃ུ۪ #nikolai gogol x reader #bsd x reader #nikolai x reader #bsd imagines #bsd nikolai gogol #bsd fluff #nikolai fluff #nikolai imagines #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader

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xazse · 13 hours

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the afab gojo x male reader is so good ! but i lowkey want gojo to get his lick back and make male reader jealous like i get it’s unrequited but i lowkey feel like mreader is attached to him a bit.

IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I REALLY WANTED TO GET THIS OUT TO YOU BOTH ON TIME SO I APOLOGIZE IF THIS IS RUSHED. SO HAPPY YOU LOVED MY AFAB<333 I HOPE YOU STILL LIKE AFAB GOJO!!

Idk about you but I feel like the best revenge is to slowly drive the other person insane.

Male!reader is a scumbag and might not align with you, like forreal scumbag!

Warnings: Fem!Satoru x Male Reader, Pussy-eating, sexting, jealous!reader, mean!reader, patheticmale!reader

Oh m!reader is most definitely in love with Satoru, that night When you were fucking Suguru he realized how much you would ramble on how much you hated Satoru’s guts and the only thing he’s good for is his body and pussy. But he seen the slight light in your eyes when you were describing him, by the end of the night Suguru just wanted to go home , he hadn’t even realized you were involved with Satoru so he felt like shit by the end as well, so ready to go home and tell Satoru to avoid you like the plague.

Satoru does eventually start to slowly distance himself from you, no longer is he blowing up your phone wondering where you are, he’s barely responding to your messages, and he most definitely stopped begging you to see him and look at him. He finds himself not entertaining your attempts to make him jealous or angry. He does work on himself, meaning he’s buying a new wardrobe and posting cute selfies, basically in your words auctioning himself off to other people.

You do notice the things he’s doing, ignoring you in favor of other people who aren’t even worth his time or yours. Two can play that game, Satoru is clearly going through something and needs a little convincing to get him back in the right mind, so you’ll give him the space he so clearly fucking needs, and it’s most definitely not gonna drive you crazy.

A week later your at a party, attempting to look for someone even as half as pretty as Satoru, he’s also present, so beautiful and a beaming smile gracing his face, he looks a little brighter, and it’s definitely not because of you. He’s with his usual group of friends, looking so dull compared to him. There’s a hand behind his back, seemingly going up and down in a soothing motion, you follow the hand and you scoff loudly from across the room.

A dude who looks plain and most definitely not Satoru’s type.

You see Satoru peek at the man and give him a kiss on the cheek whilst he whispers something in his ear, a giggle leaves his pretty pink lips before he’s departing somewhere. You’re quick to follow him outside to talk.

“What’s with you lately? Why are you avoiding me? And who’s that dude in there?” You pester Satoru with endless questions, not letting him even get a breath in.

“He’s someone I’m talking to right now, and why are you so worried?” Satoru glares, his eyebrows furrowed and yet you still find him to be so pretty when he’s frustrated.

“Not worried , just wondering why you aren’t picking up my calls.”

“Been busy, enjoy the party.” Satoru is quick to push through you and back to party, forgetting what he came in the kitchen for. He peers over his shoulder to see you standing there staring daggers at him with an expression he doesn’t recognize, oh you’re fucking pissed. It makes his body shiver and his cunt clench around nothing, he wants to see just how much he can push you.

One night while Satoru is alone in his room he does the unthinkable, he props his phone up and spreads himself wide in front of his camera, his pretty pussy on display, he grabs his favorite dildo and begins working it inside of himself, slow and steady is how he starts, he makes sure the video gets everything, every sound, every movement is captured. The dildo reaches so deep while it stretches his hole and makes him so wet, he’s heaving as he continues to abuse himself to completion. When that’s all done with he sends it to you, but he makes it look like it wasn’t for you, an accident is what he wants you to think.

A few hours later Satoru’s doorbell rings and to his amazement it’s you, looking a fucking mess, dressed like as soon as he sent the message you were out the door and on your way to his place. There’s a fiery but pathetic look in your eyes.

“Toru’ please” your voice sounds raw as you beg?

And a few minutes Satoru has you on your knees eating him out, you flatten your tongue and lick a stripe up his pussy, you’ve been wanting him for as long as he’s been torturing you, starving just to even touch him a little bit. You’re ravenous with your tongue work, licking up all his essence as it seeps out of him.

Satoru is rough with his hands, shoving your face even deeper so you can lick all the parts of him, he snaps at you to suck on his clit, and you listen like the obedient thing you’ve become, he’s moaning and mewling so cutely, you’ve missed his sweet honeyed voice, though he isn’t yelling your name you’ll take what you can get.

Your balls feel heavy when you unbuckle and pull your pants down to rest around your thighs. Fat cock already fully hard you begin stroking yourself slow and steady, precum already dripping you use that as lubricant. The burn in your body ignites, the combined sucking on Satoru’s clit and jerking your cock off feels so damn good, everything feels right, but also twisted.

#zsworks #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #afab gojo x male reader #afab satoru #fem!satoru #female satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #afab gojo smut #dom male reader #male reader

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golden1u5t · 2 days

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show me how you do it | a.h x f!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: smut

ꨄ summary: aaron makes you pleasure yourself in front of him so he can show you how to properly get yourself off.

"Aaron, this- i can just get you off, we don't have to go all the way." You breathe, pulling back from his lips and sliding off of his lap. Aaron's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he sat up and pushed his hair back.

"Oh, I thought- do you not want to do this? If you're not comfortable then we don't have to." He reached out and timidly placed his hand on your exposed thigh. You set your hand on top of his and glanced around the room before looking back at him. You could feel your body heating up under his gaze, more than it already was.

"No that's not why, i want to do this. it's just that i can't-" you huffed in frustration as you thought about all the times you've laid in bed trying to get yourself off but nothing ever happened. "i've never had an orgasm, i can't have an orgasm. i just think it'll be quicker if i just get you off and get it over with."

you cringed the second the words came out of your mouth and so did aaron. his lips turned downward but he didn't say anything.

"i didn't mean it like that! i just- i didn't-"

"it's okay, honey. i understand." he paused and moved his hand from your leg. you frowned, thinking that he was upset. aaron moved off the bed and sat down on the chair at the foot of the bed. "show me how you do it."

you turned around and stared at him, confusion spread across your face. you started to move off the bed but aaron put his hand up, signaling you to stay where you were.

"i don't understand."

"touch yourself, let me see how you do it, honey." you squirmed from how he was looking at you, never had someone to look at you like that before, but still found yourself stripping the clothes from your body. aaron hummed contently and sat back, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you settle back into the bed and shyly spread your legs.

you trailed your hands over your breast and gently picked at your nipples, a soft sigh leaving your mouth and your eyes closing. you ventured further down and ran your fingers through your slit to gather your arousal before rubbing small circles on your swollen clit.

god, this was the best sight aaron had ever seen, your hand between your thighs and your chest rising and falling with every sharp intake of air. he was achingly hard, his cock strained against his sweatpants and he couldn't help but reach down and palm himself.

he couldn't tear his eyes away from your cunt, especially not when you ease your fingers inside and the sound of your slick traveled to his ears. you opened your eyes to look at him and whined, thrusting your fingers deeper.

a few minutes passed and nothing had happened, you were starting to grow frustrated and aaron could sense that. you watched him stand up and push his sweatpants and boxers down, softly moaning at the sight of his cock, tip red and leaking.

you pulled your fingers out of your cunt when aaron move on top of you and sat up on your forearms.

"let me help you, honey." he took your hand in his and guided it back to your cunt, he pressed your fingers against your clit and helped you apply the right amount of pressure. even though he was doing the same thing you had done, it somehow felt better than when you were doing it.

aaron pressed his lips to yours and moved his hand off of yours, he pressed his fingers against your entrance before slowly pushing two in at the same time. since you had been fingering yourself just a few minutes before, there was little to no resistance when he slid his fingers in.

you arched into him when he started to move his fingers, you moved your hand from your cunt and wrapped your hand around his cock. aaron groaned but still took your hand off of him and placed it back on your clit.

"pay attention to what i'm doing," his fingers brushed against that spongy spot in your cunt and started to press your fingers down on your clit so you would start back. "you'll need it for later."

#golden1u5t #myrarants #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #dom aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader smut

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vivian-pascal · 1 day

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Bloody mess ║part ii ║

the unknown stranger.

vampire!joel x f!reader

summary: When Joel caught you snooping around when he told you not too, he decides to show you a little secret of his.

warnings: threats, some description of Joel's body and face structure as non-human, mentions of sex, clit rubbing, dirty talk joel, slight tap to readers core, reader is a virgin, controlling behavior from Joel, dark!joel, degrading, pushing and shoving, knife use, lil bit of soft!joel, talks of masturbation, flashback to f!masturbating

warning: if you're not comfortable with these topics, don't read!!

"Where are you taking me?" You stutter as he pulls your arm harder. You yelp in pain as his other hand grips tighter. His sharp nails digging into your fragile frame as he pulls and shoves you up the stairs.

"Since you never listened, I have to teach you how." Your face goes into a confused frown as you get to the top of the stairs. You try to release your arm from his grasp but it's no use. He laughs at your failed attempt and leads you too his room.

He opens the door and pulls you inside. You marvel at the decoration in his room. You've never seen anything more fantasy like in your entire life. He shoves you onto his bed and looks down at you. You notice that his room has no light whatsoever, just little candles lit around the room.

"Now, darlin'. I need you to stay here for just a moment, if you move, i'll know." He stares deep into your soul and for a moment you see his eyes flicker red. You nod with a confused look as he quickly hustles out of the room.

You take this moment to look at where you are exactly. His curtains are drawn just like in your room, he only has pale sheets on his bed. He has a wine glass that's completely empty on his side stand and a single candle lit.

The door opens and you know he's back. You look in the direction of the noise and sure enough he's there. Walking towards you with a smirky grin on his face. He comes up close to your face and grips your chin. He yanks your face upwards and stairs at your pulse points.

"W-What are you doing?" You grit through your teeth as he pulls your chin back into place. "Oh nothing." He smiles darkly and stands up before you. He stares down at you and scoffs. "Pathetic." He grumbles as he walks away and heads for his dresser.

He takes something out of the drawer and you see something sharp. Your face contorts into fear as you realize it's a knife. "Don't, please." He looks over at you from where he's standing and frowns.

He carries the knife too you and puts it under your chin. "What? You're scared of this little thing?" He scrapes it against your delicate skin and you squint your eyes closed. You teeth chatter in fear as shivers run down your body.

He chuckles at your state and takes the knife from your skin as he inspects it. "Tsk tsk, such a sweet thing you are." You watch him closely as he turns the knife side to side, watching the blade sparkle in the candle lit room.

He takes a deep breath then walks around the bedside and looks out the window. "You know, I don't think I've had a precious little thing like you here in years." Your breath hitches in fear, what does he mean?

He turns back around and is sat next to you within seconds. "How did you-" He grabs your chin and forces it towards his face. "We don't ask questions sweetheart." He grins and holds the knife to your neck once more.

You heart pounds against your chest with how close he is. You feel a tingly sensation in your lower stomach just begging for something. For him.

Something about him and his aggression towards you, makes you get butterflies in your stomach. You don't know why you have this feeling because of how utterly rude and humiliating he is with you but you like it.

He smirks at your shocked state and picks his knife from your neck. He throws it across the room and grabs onto your arm. You hesitate to pull back but then you remember the knife and what he told you earlier, don't resist.

He lies you back against his bed as he lies down next to you. He turns over and looks at you. His hand slowly makes its way to your thigh as he massages it.

You gasp in shock at what he's doing, but you enjoy it. He notices your shift and gradually maneuvers his hand to your waist. "J-Joel." You say with a hint of fear as he pulls down the waistband of your pants.

You look over and into his eyes. "What are you doing t'me?" He notices your slight hesitation and smiles down at you. His hands reaches over and cups your cheek. Why is he being so nice?

"M'just showing ya something that'll make you wanna be closer t'me, you know? I mean, you have to be comfortable with living here with me somehow right?" The words repeat in your head, surely your not going to be here forever. You nod your head slowly as his hand continues down.

Your hand reaches up and you look at him with fear as he reaches into your underwear. "I-I've never been touched there before by someone." Your breath hitches in your throat as his movements stop completely.

He looks at where his hand is currently sat and then too you. He stares at you for a moment before he smiles. Something in the way his eyes sparkle with darkness and lust, makes you feel that tingly feeling again.

"That's alright sweetheart, you'll enjoy it, I promise." He winks at you before his hand buries deeper into your panties. His hand reaches your core and puts a little pressure on your clit. You gasp at the contact.

You've had sex ed before in the QZ, they taught you the basic things like how babies are born and how to protect yourselves, but they never really taught you anything about someone else making you feel good. You recently found out about masturbation from a friend in Jackson.

She was about 10 years older than you so she was quite experienced before the outbreak, she taught you all the female parts and things. You had already known some but you didn't realize what they produced in a woman.

You tried to masturbate that night after she told you what to do, you hadn't really felt anything and then you did. The sensation was overwhelming and new, you've never felt anything more enjoyable.

You look back at Joel as he slowly massages your clit. Rubbing it in slow circles while bringing one of his fingers over you're hole. "You ever had somethin' in here?" He taps your entrance and you shake your head.

His eyes widen in lust as he groans. You moan when his fingers begin to speed up their movements on your clit. Rubbing faster and harder as you shakes and squirm from the sensation.

"There ya go baby girl." That nickname. You've never heard anything so beautiful yet dirty. He sends you over the edge with a small tap to your pussy. You wail out at the feeling. Your vision goes blank as he continues to rub over you in shallow movements.

You watch as he removes his fingers from your pants and sticks it into his mouth and groans at the taste. You've never seen anything more unusual than the man before you.

"You alright sugar?" He soothes your cheek with his thumb as you nod your head. He smirks as he gets up from the bed and begins to walk to the door. He wipes his hand with a cloth that was sat on your dresser near the door and the turns to you.

You rest your elbows up behind you to see him better. "Where are you doing?"

He looks at you and smiles. "To leave you be for now, let some thoughts sink into your head yeah?" You nod and look down at your feet.

He opens the door and begins to walk out. "Wait." He stops in his tracks as he turns and looks at you. "Thank you for that." You stutter as your face turns a shade of pink. He smirks and chuckles.

"I think there'll be more you'll be thankin me for darlin'." He gives you a wink and shuts the door.

What does he mean by that?

tags!!

@guelyury @livingonthehems @ursagittariusgirlfriend @iamsherloocked @heartpascalispunk

@kotourasan123@brittmb115 @littlevenicebitch69 @sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts

@morallyinept @magpiepills @javierpenaispunk @rav3n-pascal22 @yorksgirl

@itsokbbygrl @mountainsandmayhem

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #pedropascal #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #vampirism #vampire #this was a giant accomplishment for me to finish this chapter #I'm so proud!!!#<3

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crowwbones · 2 days

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Burnt Leaves

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GNC Reader

SFW / Fluff & Comfort / No Dialogue / TW: Drug abuse mentions, mildly unhealthy coping with insomnia, one off-handed joke about dying

Summary: You deal with plenty of bullshit as is, and insomnia is just the straw threatening to break your back. You have your ways to deal with it, though. Seems like the skull masked lieutenant needs a new coping mechanism as well.

I may write more if people actually enjoy this, also i wrote this at like 3 am and i am dealing with insomnia myself, pls excuse if it sucks lmao

Being in the military was probably your best option. You weren't small or weak, you had quite a ways to go, sure, but you held your own. That's what initially impressed your training captain. You had a drive despite being depressed as shit. Which, maybe you lied to your recruiting officer. And the doctor. And your training sqaudron. But what's a little lie compared to staying in that drug den you reluctantly call home?

The harsh drills and tense, full body aching was nothing to you. Not compared to watching your mother be strung out on a stained, burned, broken couch while being left in the drug dealers care. Hell, or even when you had to help her find a dehydrated vein with a short and dull needle. Perhaps something that you considered a life saving skill, but it made you feel disgusting if you thought about it for too long.

You've been shifted around a few bases when you were needed, seeing as you were sort of an everyman. Excelled in the maintenance of weaponry, one hell of a mechanic, and maybe a few things you knew how to do that were definitely against the Geneva Convention. To be fair, though, if you had to decide between dying and using a makeshift gun that was severely out of regulation, you'd take your chances in court.

But all of this shifting around and half assed childhood you had lead to even more goddamn problems you didn't need. Often, maybe every few nights every single week, you dealt with insomnia. Bad weeks had you trying to fight the uncomfortable disorder every night, but you lucked out with having to deal with it half the time usually.

It was always so uncomfortable. The inside of your skin felt like it was covered in small pyramid-shaped cones that pressed into every nerve where there was pressure. Your eyes were heavy but never heavy enough to induce sleep. Your mind would never fog up the way it was supposed to. And it drove you absolutely crazy.

You had a few ways to deal with it, as most chronic sufferers do. Sometimes you accepted it and laid there until pure exhaustion won. Your worst option.

Most of the time, though, you'd already spent a few hours hoping, tossing and turning in restlessness before getting up. You'd lace your boots and try to walk it off. Speed up the exhaustion process manually. And it worked maybe 50 percent of the time. And you'd collapse back into your bunk, shoes still on and pillow over your head, and get just enough sleep that you wouldn't hate yourself in the morning.

And the nights that even that didn't work, you'd find yourself in the kitchenette of the rec area. You'd stare desperately at the coffee pot you were using to heat up water while you waited to choke down a bland, bitter chamomile tea. You couldn't stand tea on its own. You didn't have a sweet tooth, but you could accept when something needed a little bit of sweetness.

This often settled you down enough. The overwhelming tired made you cry in the barely lit room while your tea steeped, palms pressed into your burning eyes as you wished you'd just fucking sleep. And you'd stop. You'd drink your tea. And get enough sleep to function.

And you fell into this pattern and habit.

Until this one mother fucker.

See, you ended up being called in to aid in the upkeep up vehicles and guns at a fairly large base that served as home grounds to plenty of "real soliders". You didn't pay mind to many of them, but Captain Price's team at least treated you decently since you were the one making sure their guns jammed significantly less. However, Ghost creeped you the fuck out.

That teams lieutenant was horrifying to you. He stood way too tall, was way too broad to move that fucking quietly. He held this awful aura to him that was completely unreadable. And he barely ever spoke to you in a way that didn't feel like a back handed... well, you wouldn't even call them compliments. The man would stare more often than breathe, just watch you move about your job from the doorways and wait for you to notice he was there before declaring that he would have been able to kill you six different ways by that point. You've been able to get that number down to four, at least.

And for some reason. This also included your overstimulated and tired crying time at the coffee pot at 2 a.m. as well. It seemed like it was his third time just watching you when he spoke up for the first time, mostly just asking what the hell you were doing. You'd jump out of your skin, a blessing of a feeling if it didn't shoot unnerving shivers down your spine, and stammer out a half coherent response about tea leaves. And then he just... stood there. Watching you drink your tea and then leave after you were done.

At some point during this routine, he'd started to invite himself to sit across from you at the small table. He never really struck up conversations, though you swore you could see amusement in his eye as you made faces at the bitter tea. He knew you were burning the leaves, but he couldn't tell you that. Listening to another person rip into him about being British was very low on his to-do list.

This became comfortable. You began to tolerate his shadow-like presence. Maybe even enjoyed the silent company. You could guess that he was suffering the same just from how tired his eyes looked past the mask. Maybe he too found solace in a shared solidarity that you two really haven't expressed. It was bittersweet. Two barely functioning and sleep deprived people finding a space to relax, lit only by a half burnt out overhead lamp. Maybe, even if a bit selfishly, you had begun to go a little morr often judt for the company of a man you didn't know the actual name of.

Ghost never left before you, but only arrived after you began heating some water. He never had a cup himself, sat himself in the same chair, and limited himself to a handful of yrs or no questions a night. You didn't mind.

But he once again found a way to disrupt this routine.

You were reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet above you, your other hand grabbing the coffee pot of hot water. You heard him move, which honestly should have been your que to turn around, and you felt him standing directly behind you. He covered your hand on the handle with his much larger one and practically forced you to let him grab the pot. He grabbed two mugs and moved off to the side, only meeting your eyes when you didn't move.

What ever fucking compelled him to do that, you had no idea. You were staring with bloodshot eyes and still even had your hand vaguely where the pot was. He simply nodded his head to the table and turned back to the mugs.

Guess you weren't making your tea? Deep down, thr angsty teen part of you hoped it was the forever sleep kind of deal. But that was dumb, so you shook your head a little to ignore that.

Ghost set your mug down on the table before sitting himself across from you, lifting his mask up enough to take a drink.

You've yet to see him do that, so your brain was just kind of off at this point. You stared, not that you meant to, as the man replaced his mask and set his mug down, staring back at you with a quirked brow. You looked down in a daz3 before grabbing your own mug, taking a long sip. Did he make a different kind of tea? Why the hell did it taste so... so much better? Your confusion actually earned you a small laugh from the other, a quiet, muffled chuckle from under his mask. That shouldn't have given you butterflies. He still scared you, after all.

He never explained himself, but from then on, you left the tea making duties to him and he didn't seem to mind. You fell into the pattern of getting there before your insomnia got into full swing every night, starting the water and getting the mugs. Then your midnight partner would show up and handle the rest.

As much as the mask gave you the creeps, it was growing on you. Like the previously bitter tea.

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mrs-takami-keigo · 2 days

Text

Motivation

Main Pairing: Hawks/Fem!Reader

Story Rating: Explicit! 18+

Genre: Smut, just pure Smut

Words: 2.2K

Sweat trickled down your body as heavy breaths came out of your slightly parted lips, chest falling with each deep exhale. The gym was stifling; suffocating even if all that covered your body was a sports bra and biker shorts. You could feel your mouth get dry with each shaky breath. Dropping your stance, you walked to the bench behind where the black duffle bag you brought sat grabbing your bottle of water.

“I see you started without me chickadee.” With the bottle still attached to your parched lips you looked at the male that just entered the room, nearly spitting the water back out. Hawks was finishing his hand wraps, pulling the last tiny piece with his teeth, all the while staring at you with those brilliant golden flecked eyes. The rate of your heart quickened and your knees became weak, as he kept walking closer. His attire was simple, wearing sneakers and a pair of basketball shorts that hung almost too low on his hips and a tank top that showed off the lean definition of muscles on his arms.

“Hello, is anyone home?” The feeling of his knuckles knocking on the side of your head was enough to bring you back out of the daze.

“HA HA you’re very funny Hawks, what took you so long anyway? I’ve been here for about forty-five minutes.” Putting the water bottle back in your bag, you fixed your own hand wraps seeing as how they came loose while you worked on the punching bag.

“Would you believe it if I said there was traffic?” Hawks pushed his shoulders up, cocking his head to the left showing you his signature smirk.

“I would if we lived with flying cars, birdman, now give me fifty push-ups since you want to be such a smart ass.” Pushing his shoulder as you walked past him laughing at the annoyed face he made. Hawks had known you were going to come to the gym at the agency and asked you to help him with some boxing training. The both of you knew he could brush up on some combat skills seeing as his wings could only do so much for him in a fight.

By the time you were done with his warm up you could tell he was ready to call it quits. You were sure he was ready to walk out on you when he had to do battle ropes. After counting his last sit up, you bounced up from the floor standing in front of him, your hand reaching out,

“Come on, let's spar!”

He watched you in disbelief, “You have literally pulled every ounce of energy out of me and now you want to practice hand to hand?” His rough hand grabbed yours as you pulled him to his feet but little did you know he was going to use his wings to help give himself a boost. With your own strength and his wings, it was as if he weighed nothing making him crash into you. Before you realized it, your back was on the cold black floor mats and his sweaty chest was pressed against yours, a strong arm wrapped around your waist and a knee trapped in between your legs. It wasn’t until your eyes started to open did you realize they had shut.

Once your sight came into focus all you saw was a mess of soft blonde hair falling forward framing Hawks face as the ends tickled areas of your face. It felt like time had slowed for a minute as your gaze looked over every aspect of his face. He was always a gorgeous man to you but you never wanted to admit that, no you were too scared of ruining the relationship you already built. His own roaming across your face, fierce eyes watching as that pink tongue of yours peaked out ever so slightly to lick those plump lips he had been dying to touch.

Your eyes met his as both of your breaths synchronized, shallow and shaky, chest heaving as one. Hawks shifted his weight from his knee that was in between your legs to the other but as he did that it brushed against the already sensitive core. You couldn’t fight the small whimper that came from your throat. Noticing what you just did, your hands shot up to cover your mouth. But it was too late. Hawks heard it and he felt something stir in him. Smirking he moved that cursed knee again only this time with intent, letting it press firmly against your cunt giving it a light nudge. Staring back at him eyes wide while the hands covering your mouth tightened to stifle the moan that evidently was heard by the man above you.

“Well, well what’s this now?” The blonde went to remove those hands silencing the sounds he desperately wanted to hear from you. Grabbing both your wrists he pinned them above your head with one of his wrapped hands pressing firmly against them.

“Seems like someone is getting excited.” Hawks had moved his face down to whisper in your ear. The light hair from his beard brushed against your skin causing your body to shudder under his.

“Fuck you Keigo.” You started to wiggle trying to get out of his grasp. Oh, you wanted it, you wanted him just not in the agency’s gym. You felt his grip loosen on your wrists letting you break free from his grasp.

“Only if you want to, baby girl.” The heat in your cheeks started to rise when it hit you that he was dead serious. You knew the difference between playful Hawks and the serious Keigo, and right now he was Keigo.

“Hawks we are in the middle of the gym at YOUR agency, I think it’s highly inappropriate, don’t you?” Pushing yourself up on your elbows, he was still hovering above you, leaving you with very little room.

“See now dove, that's where you’re wrong.” Before you could even blink a red feather flew off from his right wing going towards the door behind him. Peering around him you watched as the little feather pushed the lock on the doorknob before hooking its base in the ring that hung from the string of the blind, pulling it down.

“It’s not inappropriate since it's my agency.” Taking the back of his hand he brushed it against your hot cheek. “What would be inappropriate is if I did this without your permission. Just say the word and I’ll make that feather unlock the door and we could leave this here on the mat, your choice.”

Just the thought of having Hawks throw you down on this mat and letting him have his way with you was enough for you to make your choice. “No one will come in, right? Are you sure that door is locked?”

“Oh, princess, I'm positive it's locked.” That devilish smirk appeared across his lips again and you’re sure you felt your damp cunt clench. Grabbing the back of his head you slammed your lips against his. Hawks didn’t hesitate to kiss you with the same fire as you did, leaning forward Hawks laid you back down never letting his plump lips leave yours. Wrapping both arms around his neck you pushed your chest up into his, earning a groan from the hero. Hawks licked your bottom lip seeking entrance into your mouth before biting down on it.

Moaning into the kiss you parted your lips letting his skillful tongue slip past your teeth. God the way his tongue moved with yours only led you to think what they would feel like as it licked your slick folds.

Hawks took his right hand letting it roam down your side with a ghost-like touch. The feeling of his rough hands on your exposed skin had you rolling your hips on his thigh looking for something to relieve the tension he had started to build inside of you. Hawks grabbed the back of your thigh, wrapping it around his slim waist while his hand made its way to your ass before giving it a hard squeeze.

Breaking away from your lips he started to kiss down your neck, gently sucking on certain parts. His other wandering hand came back up to grab your jaw firmly making you turn your head to the side.

“Baby girl you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Gasping as you felt his lips brush against your ear as he whispered those sinful words. His tongue peaked out giving your neck a swift lick followed by a gentle bite of his canine teeth. You weren’t sure what heaven felt like, but dammit this must have been close. Hawks released your jaw to let his slightly calloused hand drag down your chest to rub against your fabric clad breasts. His thumb tracing circles on your nipple, hardening it.

“How long I wanted to kiss you. Shit dove, I've even dreamt of how these lips of yours would feel, and this is way better than that.” The man's lips brushed against yours with each word he spoke, it was a tease. He went back to kissing your neck before nuzzling his nose in your hair.

“How long I’ve wanted to feel your smooth skin on my fingertips.” The hand that was fondling your breast moved, skimming your exposed stomach before landing on the waistband of your shorts. Those sinful lips returned to your ear as he snarled.

“How long I’ve waited to have you whimpering underneath me as I showed you what pure euphoria felt like.” So lost in his voice you didn’t even notice he had both hands on your waistband until you felt the yank of his hands pulling off your shorts, taking your underwear with it. With your bottoms by your knees he lifted your legs in the air pulling them past your sneakers, throwing them somewhere behind him. Hawks grabbed hold of your calves before placing them on his shoulders. He gave your legs a small tentative kiss, hooded eyes staring into yours. You felt him guide his hands down your shins, stopping at the middle of your thighs. You were burning up, your cheeks were flushed, heavy pants coming out of you making your mouth dry. All you wanted was him, you wanted to feel him on you…in you.

“Fuck baby look at that. Is that all for me?” Eyes watched as he took his pointer finger gently, swiping it between your folds. It was then you realized just how wet he made you. You moaned at the sight of him taking that coated finger to his lips, his tongue giving it a seductive lick, Hawks hummed.

“I always imagined how you would taste but damn little dove I never imagined it would be this fucking good.” Taking his entire finger, he placed it in his mouth, eyes rolling in the back of his head as he savored the taste, your taste.

“K-Keigo Please..” Those were the only words you could form, hoping the man in between your legs would just give you what you want.

“Please what baby girl, you have to use your words.” Hawks was now back to hovering over your heated body, making sure to not touch you.

“I want to feel you please!” Arching your back attempting to feel some part of him touching you. That devilish smirk grazed hislips; god did you love that smirk. His hand was beside your head, arm muscles flexing as it helped keep him above you. You felt one of his fingers from his free hand caress your cheek, agonizing slow as it made its way down your soft cheek. Then down your neck against your rapid pulse, across your chest. He ran it between your breasts slightly pulling on the sports bra. Down your stomach before reaching his destination.

Slowly he let his middle finger press on your bundle of nerves. It felt exhilarating like he pressed a button that sent you into overdrive. Observant eyes watched your reaching, how your body arched against him. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a shuddering breath falling from those bruised lips. Your hair was around you, creating a halo effect, small moans making themselves known with each swipe of his finger against you.

Haws was sure he was looking at an angel. An angel that he so desperately craved. The finger that was torturing you with each movement went slightly lower, brushing against your entrance. A gasp was heard through the room as your eyes shot open, your hands shot up to press against his chest.

“Inside…” It was a whisper but Hawks heard you and had no choice but to oblige. Slowly you felt him slip a finger inside of you. Your inner muscles wrapped around him, inviting him to keep going. With a shuddered breath Hawks slid one more finger inside, watching as both his fingers were disappearing into you.

You were watching him as he stared at your pussy, swallowing his fingers. His rhythm at first was slow, in and out. But you didn’t want to be slow , not now at least.

“Faster please.” Gold eyes flicked back towards your face, pupils blown at your request. Who would Hawks be if he didn’t grant you your wishes. “Oh fuck-” His speed quicked, like you had asked. His thumb was playing with your swollen clit with each thrust of his fingers.

The sensation had you seeing stars behind your eyelids. The sounds of your slick and the moans he pulled out of you on top of his primal growls above you were too much.

“Come on dove,” You hadn’t even realized that the man above you leaned down, his sinful mouth pressed against ear. “Cum for me.” He growled out the last part of his sentence. You arched as a wave of white heat soared through your veins.

“That’s a good girl.” His fingers slowed their pace, riding you through your orgasm. “God you are so fucking enchanting.” Your lower half jumped with every slow thrust, over stimulated by his touch. Opening your eyes, his golden eyes were all you saw. You were sure your eyes reflected his own, covered by pure lust and admiration.

Hawks pulled his digits out of you when you caught your breath again. You moaned at the loss of him filling you. Raising your hands you carded your finger through his hair, slightly tugging, causing the man that had your full attention to close his eyes. A shuddered breath fell from his lips as you continued to tug.

“Fuck baby.” He leaned down again, his mouth hot on yours as his tongue danced with yours. You moaned against him as he slid his body in between your legs. You felt him rut against you, his bulge pressing against your overly sensitive clit.

You bucked against him, feeling yourself get worked up again. It was like you were denied water your whole life, and Hawks; Hawks was the oasis that you so desperately wanted to drink from. He continued to thrust against you, and you met each and everyone. Your nails racked against his back leaving marks in their wake as you did.

“I’ll be sure to make sure you won’t be able to walk tomorrow if you keep that up baby girl.” He growled against your lips. Tugging on his hair again he let out a hiss from between his teeth. He knew you were competitive and with how he had wrecked you, it was only fair you did the same.

“Bring it on bird boy.”

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