I Seriously Cannot Believe That Yoonbin Left Treasure 13 I Am Absolutely Gutted That I Won’t Be Able

also: what happened to the anon who told me they were going to request heaps? I have one request from them and am having trouble on writing for it.

Anon if you’re reading this, please send in more requests for me to work with!!! I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring you or anything!!

Liv……this senario with Levi.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZTdbjkgnB/

vi i have been hanging onto this ask for SO long hoping that one day i would be strong enough to write this into a full fic but i need the world to see into your big sexy brain bc this is DELICIOUS

glass houses levi ackerman/f!reader (aot) word count: 1.2k tags: en ess eff double yew, age gap, voyeurism, stripping, mentions of masturbation

18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

Older neighbour!Levi who has all of his things unpacked within the first few hours of moving in, cardboard boxes broken down and tucked neatly away as quickly as they appear. You don't even really notice it happen; one day the apartment across the courtyard between your buildings was empty, and the next he's there.

So can you really be blamed for the fact that you aren't expecting a spectator when you start to peel your clothes off in front of your open window after a long, gruelling day at work? Your bones are weary, your shower is calling to you, and your neighbour is watching you undress.

The thin silky robe you pull on after you duck down out of sight feels insufficient to cover your body after you've been spotted--the humiliation leaving you feeling acutely bare as you peek your head up over the windowsill enough to see if he's still looking as raptly as he had been a moment prior.

He is.

At least he seems to have a sense of humour about it, if the wry little smile he shoots you with his hand placed over his eyes in a faux-display of coyness is anything to go by.

He doesn't have much by way of decor or furniture--a minimalist if you've ever seen one--but everything he does have that you can see from the vantage point of your own apartment is tasteful and expensive. It's one of the first things you notice when you risk another glance in the direction of his apartment the next morning, the second is a fleeting glimpse of him with a mug in his hand--and the sighting has you skittering quickly away, your heart pounding in your chest as rapidly as it had been when you weren't wearing any clothes, in spite of the fact that now you're fully dressed.

You're not sure what makes you do it again that second night. Maybe it's the cheap wine you've been drinking, maybe you're lonely, maybe you're craving that same adrenaline rush that you'd felt the night before when his eyes were the only thing on your skin.

You take your time undressing in front of your window this time, putting on a bit of a show. You know he's there even without looking. You'd caught a glimpse of him, on that same spot on his couch, with another glass of red wine in his hand--but more than that you can feel his eyes on you again.

It feels even better than it did the first time.

It becomes a routine after that. Your new neighbour settling in with his glass of wine every night to watch you painstakingly strip yourself bare for him. It feels like an eternity passes as you're slowly pulling off every article of your clothing until there's absolutely nothing left, and somehow every night that eternity seems to pass a little faster--leaving you with the feeling that you wish it had lasted just a little bit longer. That his stare had lingered on you just a little while more.

He never touches himself. No matter how tantalizingly you let your own touch linger on your body, how gently you graze the soft dips and swells of your own form. It drives you crazy, leaves you panting and moaning as you fuck your own fingers in the the privacy of your bathroom a short time later--but somewhere distantly you recognize that maybe that's the point.

The day you (inevitably, finally) meet him face to face in the little courtyard nestled between your homes you're taken aback by how handsome of a man he is up close.

He's older than you--that's certain now that you see him in all his glory--but he's aging gracefully. Time has exceedingly been kind to the angular, symmetrical lines of his face.

You don't know what to do. Or say. Part of you wants to turn heel and run for it, but instead you just laugh--breathy and light in the afternoon air.

"Hi," you say through your giggles, a hand reaching up to cover your flushing, burning cheek.

"Hello," he greets you with a polite dip of his head and a little smile of his own.

You tell him your name. Because what else are you supposed to say to the man who's been watching you get naked for the past 9 days? Who's watched you work your own nipples into sensitive little peaks just for the thrill? Who's seen you trail your fingers down down down between your legs under the guise of pulling off your panties?

"I'm Levi," he says, and hearing the way he says it nearly makes you tremble. Watching his lips form the shape of his own name makes you ache in the deepest part of your core.

"It's nice you meet you," you say softly.

Properly, that is.

He smirks slightly, then he hums.

The air between you feels too thin, too charged for a first meeting, too familiar for two strangers to be sharing between them.

"Have you lived here long?" Levi asks, and you have the fleeting thought that if he doesn't stop talking soon you're going to get to used to it, too attached to the very sound of it.

"Two years," you reply. "I moved here when I graduated college and started working."

He makes a little sound of recognition befitting of the small talk the two of you are sharing, but his gaze is piercing. He's appraising you. Sizing you up. Undressing you with his eyes in the same way he's watched you do with your own two hands.

"Well," you clear your throat, taking a step back towards your building, "I guess I should-"

His hand moves quickly, extending towards you. You pause, staring down at it, and the little card tucked between two fingers as he holds it out in your direction.

You pluck it slowly from his grasp, and turn it over in your hand.

Levi Ackerman, CEO ACKERMAN CORP.

You swallow as you read the credentials on the business card. The name, the title. The email address, office number, and fax details. Finally, the neatly scribbled series of digits on the lower righthand corner of the simple but tastefully designed card.

"My cell number." Levi anticipates the question before you can voice it, and your eyes flicker up toward him, greeted with a gaze of molten steel that threatens to drown you under it's weight. "If you ever need anything, or would like to grab a drink."

"I'm not much of a red wine fan," you say, setting out with the intention of levity but the words are too breathless to be teasing.

He smirks, clicking his tongue behind his straight white teeth. "I'll get you anything you'd like."

Your heartbeat thrums under your skin.

"Alright, Mr. Ackerman."

"Levi," he corrects you pointedly.

"Levi," you repeat, and you like the way his name tastes on your tongue. You wonder if he tastes just as sweet.

You turn towards your building, pausing once you take a single step away.

You turn back, glancing at him over your shoulder. He's already started in the direction of his own building.

"Levi?" you call towards him and he pauses, turning back to face you once more.

His brow quirks curiously.

You smile.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood."

Being John’s little wife was the best thing that ever happened to you. John is ten years older than you. He’s big, broad-shouldered, every move he makes shaped by military discipline. But when it comes to you… everything softens. His voice, his touch everything about him turns gentle. You are his everything, and he never lets you forget it.

For example, he always wakes up before you, slipping out of bed quietly to make your coffee. He prepares it exactly the way you like, just the right amount of sugar, the perfect splash of milk. Then, he brings it to you while you’re still half-asleep, hair messy, eyes barely open. He just smiles, handing you the cup. “Morning, little lady,” he murmurs, his voice warm and drowsy.

If you’re busy during the day, he never disturbs you but he never really leaves, either. He lingers close, a quiet, steady presence. Sometimes, he brushes his fingers over your shoulder, presses a quick kiss to your temple. If you’re reading, he rests his head on your lap, just to be near you.

When you go out together, he’s always protective. His hand stays on your waist, guiding you through crowds, making sure no one bumps into you. If he spots a small chocolate he knows you love, he buys it without a word and slips it into your bag. “Saw this and thought of you,” he says simply, but the warmth in his eyes makes your heart melt.

When you get home, if you’re tired, he even kneels to take off your shoes for you. “My little wife’s had a long day,” he teases, then scoops you up in his arms and drops you onto the couch. He massages your feet with those big, calloused hands of his, smirking as he says, “These tiny feet walked too much today.”

At night, if you can’t sleep, he always notices. Without a word, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’m here,” he whispers in the dark. “I’ll always be here.”

And in his strong, protective arms, you feel like the safest person in the world.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Thank you for 200 followers, gonna cry ( ╥ ᴗ ╥). This is John by the way.

Professor SUGURU with his student next! honestly idk what he would teach though

-uncreative anon

✤ PROFESSOR GETO ✤

Hahaha, I love how this has turned into a series. This university really needs to do better background checks or something because they've got an awful lot of scummy professors on their payroll.

I decided Suguru is gonna be a Philosophy/Ethics professor because of his whole moral dilemma in the show. I also really just wanted to use the Nietzche quote. I've gotta say this series excites me. What teacher will violate reader next?

CW: non-con, student/teacher relationship, PIV sex, drugging, choking, sugurus obsession with monkeys, professor gojo oml he's a menace someone lock him up

Nietzche once wrote “Man is more monkey than any monkey.”

A monkey can not think or act beyond primal instincts because they do not have the mental capacity to do so. Humans do, yet we choose to act on our urges anyway. In that way, humans are more monkeys than monkeys because we choose to be monkeys.

Suguru hated monkeys. 

Men who chased pleasure aimlessly, following their greed or lust like a dog on a leash. They were the reason humanity could never progress past its greatest challenges. No better than scum.

He thought that he was above them, once. 

But then he met you.

Suguru wasn’t terribly fond of the vast majority of his students. The college age demographic was full of monkeys. Entitled children who devoted their weekends to drinking and fucking each other like animals rather than studying, then come crawling to his office on Monday morning begging him to please change their grade. It made him sick.

You couldn’t be any less like them.

A brilliant young girl— one of the most promising he’s ever taught. You were leagues beyond your peers in your ability to grasp philosophical concepts. He rarely ever found a student whose arguments were even compelling, yours interested him.

He called you into his office after grading your first essay of the semester because he was almost certain you’d plagiarized it. He scoffed to himself as he read it, thinking it was a particularly poor effort at stealing. Most students at least knew to dumb down the work a little so it sounded like it was written by a college student. 

But when he called you in and began talking to you about the paper, it was clear that you actually had an incredibly firm grasp on the topic. What was supposed to be a 15 minute meeting turned into an hour long conversation about transcendental idealism. It only ended because he realized he was late for his next lecture. 

He let you out of his office with a newfound fascination. 

-✤✤✤-

It was you who approached him for your second meeting. He received an email from you about a week later:

Hello Professor,

I hope this finds you well. I wanted to say thank you again for the conversation we had the other day. I really enjoyed it. I was wondering if I could ask for a favor.

I’m working on my senior honors thesis this year and I’m in the process of looking for a thesis supervisor. I was wondering if I could speak to you about my topic and see if we’d be a good fit. Even if you could point me in the direction of someone else who could help me, I’d be incredibly appreciative. 

Thank you,

(Y/N)

It’s a bit embarrassing how quickly he responded to set up a time and date. The prospect of mentoring you for the whole year; of having a set chunk of one-on-one time every week where he could pick your perfect brain and stare at your pretty face was mortifyingly intoxicating. 

He laid in bed that night, mulling over the morality of his desire for you. There was no doubt in his mind that he shouldn’t feel this way about a student. He has the power advantage in the dynamic, not to mention the fact that he’s nearly 10 years your senior, it’s wrong in every conceivable way to look at you with anything other than platonic affection. He doesn’t need to be an Ethics professor to know that.

But as his hand travels past his boxer waistband that night, it’s your face he imagines.

The two of you meet and quickly decide that you’ll work well together. You fill out some form and discuss your topic which is, rather ironically, the ethics of love and sex.

He feels as though the universe must be teasing him.

Still, he persists. Anything for his favorite student. You submit your thesis proposal and the work begins.

You meet every Monday and Wednesday after lecture—though he encourages you to stop in whenever you’d like. You read through your work and he challenges your ideas, watching you carefully as you write and rewrite, completely oblivious to the depraved fantasies playing out in his head. He’s grateful that his boner is hidden by his desk as you look up at him with those lovely eyes of yours and talk about sexual desire as innocently as the weather.

The moment you leave his office he’s locking the door, closing the blinds and unzipping his pants. Thrusting erratically into his hand as your name tumbles from his lips.

As he wipes the mess off his hand he reminds himself that the need for intimacy is a sentient desire. It's human to crave deep connection.

 It’s a weak attempt at making himself feel better.

But he can’t stop. He’s enraptured by you. Your beauty, your personality, your mind—each time you laugh, speak, cry, he falls in love a little more. It’s maddening, his desire for you. It haunts him every time you open the door to his office.

-✤✤✤-

He was standing with Satoru one day outside of the biology building as he ranted about some kid named Yuji. He wasn't really paying attention, he was staring at you as you laughed with your friends across the quad.

Gojo huffed indignantly when he realized he wasn't listening. Nudging him to pay attention to him until he noticed what he was staring at.  

His blue eyes lit up mischievously.

“Oooooh, someones got a crush~” he sang, elbowing him playfully, “She’s awfully cute. How old is she? Sophomore? Junior? Senior?”

“What? No she’s-“

“ A freshman,” He gasps dramatically, “Suguru, I didn’t take you for a cradle robber-“

“Shut up.” he snaps as his friend cackles, “I’m supervising her senior honors thesis, freak. That’s all.”

Gojo scoffs, “I’ve known you too long to believe that bullshit. The last time I saw your eyes light up like that was when we read Allegedly of the Cave in high school.”

“It’s Allegory of the Cave-“

“Whatever,” he waves, “What I’m saying is she’s making you feel things.”

Suguru looks away with a frown, not wanting to dignify his claim but also incapable of denying it. Gojo sits back smugly.

“I know all that ethics stuff is important to you and I don’t pretend to know much about it, but I do know about biology and I know that science says it’s in our DNA to want to procreate.”

Geto squints, “Exactly what are you implying Satoru?”

He shrugs, “It’s not your fault if you have urges. It’s a basic principle of life—the sky is blue, the grass is green, and men want to fuck pretty women.” 

Geto scowls, “You’re disgusting.”

But his words stay with him.

-✤✤✤-

The year goes on. Before he knows it, the spring semester is ending and it’s time for you to present your thesis to the panel. 

He’s upset that he won’t be working one-on-one with you next semester, but you’ll be in grad school for another four years. He’ll still have you in his classes most likely, and you’ll do your dissertation at some point, there’s no doubt you’ll want to be mentored by your favorite professor again.

He leans back in his chair, smiling at you proudly at the end of your second to last meeting.

“You’ve done well (Y/N),” he says, scrolling through the lengthy document on his laptop, “This is an impressive piece of work. You should be proud of yourself.” 

A soft blush blooms on your face, “Thank you Professor, I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

He shakes his head “The pleasure was all mine. If this is your thesis I’m excited to read your dissertation in a few years.”

“Ah, about that…” you laugh sheepishly, “I’m actually transferring for grad school. I got a decent scholarship from another university near where I live, I wanted to be a little closer to home.”

Geto’s heart drops to his stomach, he has to take a moment to recover from his shock before he can manage an answer.

“I see…” he mumbles, swallowing thickly, “That’s…disappointing”

You offer him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll still keep in touch of course! I’ll give you updates on how I’m doing.”

He hums. There’s an awkward silence that feels like it lasts an eternity. When the silence becomes too painful to bear, Geto clears his throat and closes his laptop.

“I’ll see you on Monday for our final meeting. Please make sure you bring paper copies of your thesis. I’ll hand them out to the panel on the day of the presentation…” You nod and gather your things, clearly eager to get away from the tension-thick room. You wave goodbye before quickly scurrying off.

He doesn’t even remember the drive back to his apartment—he’s in his office one minute and the next he's on his bed staring at the ceiling. 

Changing schools? After a whole year with him you were just going to leave? Don’t you realize that he’s devoted all he had this year to making sure you reached your fullest potential? That’s what love is, isn’t it? The mutual sacrifice of one’s self for the other? 

What if you go to this new school and another Professor decides to covet you? A pathetic monkey who could never love you like he could. You’d be dirtied by their touch, their ideas. The thought makes him sick.

Never has he met a woman with a mind like yours, he likely never will again. Now that he’s seen heaven, how was he supposed to go back? 

He needs you like he needs oxygen in his lungs. He loves you in an instinctual, carnal way that can’t be explained. He wants to take you, claim you, and keep you away from any other man who may try to steal you away from him.

His mind drifts back to Satoru’s words:

“It’s just a basic principle of life…”

Maybe he was right. Maybe the way he felt went beyond the bounds of morality.

-✤✤✤-

You walk into his office that Monday for your final meeting. It’s late. Everyone has gone home for the night so the usually bustling building is eerily quiet. Your professor emailed you earlier asking if you could change the time of your meeting, said that he had a mountain of papers he had to finish grading and it would be a huge help if you could meet a little later. 

Of course you said yes. Anything for Professor Geto.

He smiles as he opens the door, guiding you in with a gentle hand on your lower back. 

You notice that the blinds are drawn. It’s odd. He never has the blinds drawn and it’s already dark outside, but you don’t question it too much. You’re just glad that the tension seems to have dissipated from the last time you saw him.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet a bit later with me. I really appreciate it.” he says as the two of you settle in, “Do you want something to drink?”

You smile, “No problem, and yeah. That would be great actually.” 

He hums, walking over to the kettle on the other side of his room to put water on. “Did you bring the paper copies?” He asks.

You nod, fishing through your bag and pulling them out.

“Perfect, could you put them in the bottom drawer of my desk please? I don’t want to lose them.”

You swiftly obey. When your back is turned he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the white pill he bought off a monkey in his ethics class who desperately needed a passing grade. He plops it in the cup with your tea bag, watching it fizz away in the hot water. 

He walks back to his desk and places the mug in front of you. 

“It’s hot, let it cool down a little before you drink.” 

You nod, thanking him as he takes his seat.

He walks you through some of the logistics of the presentation—where it will be, who will be on the panel, what you can expect before and after—all while keeping a careful eye on your cup. He starts to worry that you won't drink from it, but sure enough, just as he finishes you bring the mug to your lips. 

The drugs kick in almost immediately. He watches in awe as your eyes blow wide in fear, unsure of why your limbs have given out on you. He catches your head before it can hit his desk, fingers caressing the soft skin of your cheek, pants tightening around his growing erection.

A pang of guilt twists in his gut at the way you stare up at him, teary eyes blown wide in fear and confusion, silently pleading for him not to do this.

It’s almost enough to stop him.

Almost.

He lifts your body up and gently places you on top of his desk, your arm can only twitch weakly in protest as he lays you down on a pile of ungraded finals. It seemed like the monkey had made good on his promise and gotten him the right dose—just enough to make you pliant. He wanted you to be awake and conscious for this.

His eyes rake over your body as he works on taking off your shirt, revealing your soft torso inch by inch. Your body is sinfully perfect, even better than he’d imagined it would be. He’s gentle as he handles your smaller body, incredibly so. He refused to rape you like an animal. He was going to make love to you softly, reverently, until you lived and breathed him just as he did you.

A few whimpers fall from your mouth but he quickly shushes them with a kiss, wiping the tears from your droopy eyes with the pad of his thumb. His slender fingers toy with the waistband of your pants 

“You’re so lovely...” he breathes, ghosting his lips along your neck, “I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

Your jeans and panties are pulled down your thighs and calves until you’re completely naked and at his mercy. Your professor swallows thickly, dropping to his knees between your legs, holding them apart as he ghosts his lips over your cunt. 

“Oh (Y/N)...” he sighs, licking a languid swipe from the bottom of your slit to your clit and leaving a soft kiss over the little nub “You don’t have to cry, darling. I’m doing what’s best for you—for us.”

You whimper loudly. It seems like you’re trying to form a sentence but your lips and tongue are weighed down by the drugs. He smiles lazily and latches onto your clit, holding your hips steady as his tongue paints lazy circles over the delicate bud, sending shivers up your spine.

“I didn’t want to spring this on you, I thought that we’d have more time,” he mumbles into your now dripping pussy, “But when you told me you were to a school where I couldn’t protect you from all the filthy monkeys, I had no other choice.” 

Two of his fingers slide into your dripping cavern, thrusting back and forth slow and deep, exploring every nook and cranny of your tight cunt. Geto couldn’t wait to become familiar with it, to know by muscle memory where to touch to make you unravel. His hands travel to his own pants subconsciously as he thinks of all the ways he’ll have you—over his desk, on his bed, in the shower—he honestly didn’t care where it was as long as you were being worshiped by him and him alone.

He thinks of the students in his class—the boys who fucked different girls every night and then left without a word. Had those monkeys ever touched you? His heart sank at the thought. His poor, sweet girl, defiled by that scum. 

His blood boils as he thinks about it, fingers subconsciously pumping in and out of your cunt harder making you groan. In a way, this was the moral thing to do. Clearly you didn’t know what was right for yourself, he was just stepping in as an older, wiser man to protect you from harm. By taking you forcefully, he was saving you from the pain those other monkeys would inevitably cause you.

 He loved you. He’d cherish and take care of you until his dying breath. They wouldn’t. It might hurt you now, but eventually you’ll understand and be better off for it.

That’s what he tells himself as he lines up his cock.

You let out what he thinks is meant to be a scream, though it comes out as more of a loud groan. He smiles softly, kissing your tears away as he slowly pushes in, waiting patiently for you to adjust as he bottoms out.

“P-please…” he makes out in your cluster of mumbled whining. His heart hurts for you, it really does.

“This is good for you (Y/N). Don’t fight it. I’m gonna take care of you so well.” he groans, pulling his hips back slowly before sinking himself back into your warmth, establishing a steady, slow rhythm to get you used to the size. “You’re gonna drop out of that college for me and I’m gonna get you an even better scholarship here, alright? I know grad school is awfully expensive these days, and I can tell you from experience that untenured professors get paid nothing. It would be smart to start pinching pennies.”

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, tangling a hand in your hair ever so gently, “Here, you have me. Your favorite Professor, right sweetheart? I want to see you succeed. I’ll give my all to you—as a teacher and a lover.” his thrusts quicken and his eyes light up with something between madness and delight as you clench around him.

“I’ll take care of everything. I have no doubt that your dissertation could be groundbreaking with the right direction. I’ll line up a nice job for you here once you graduate, and then…” his hips slow as he stares deep into your teary eyes, heart pounding in adoration, “...I think it would be cute to have two Dr. Geto’s in the Philosophy department, hm?”

Your stomach threatens to empty itself. You try to kick, scream, fight, anything but your limbs won’t work. Whatever he gave you was strong. You glare up at him, the man you once admired, and with the last of your energy, spit in his face.

Geto blinks a couple of times, hand traveling up slowly to touch the saliva dripping down his nose. As his fingers process the wetness his eyes darken, blood boiling hot at the triumphant look on your face.

“...You little bitch.”

You don’t have time to process his words before his hand is wrapped around your throat and he’s pounding into you with reckless abandon. No concern for your pleasure or comfort, only meaning to establish his control.

“You want to spit on me after I offer you everything? I could ruin your life if I wanted.” he snaps, ignoring your tears, “I’ll tell the panel tomorrow that I found out you’ve been cheating. You’re worried about grad school? You won’t even graduate.”

His lips curl up menacingly, picking up the pace as his orgasm approaches, “Don’t think you’ll sneak into another university either. The academic world is small. I have contacts just about everywhere and it would be easy for me to get them to blacklist you if I felt it was necessary.” he grunts, “Yeah, good luck paying your loans without a–fuck- job.” 

His thrusts become sporadic and he pulls out, turning your body around so that he’s jerking himself off right over your face. He lets out a low groan as he cums, face relaxed in euphoria as thick ropes spray all over your face and mix with your hot tears. 

He pants, looking down at your cum covered nose and lips. You look…pathetic. Absolutely defiled, like you’ve been bred by some kind of animal.

By a monkey.

Suguru feels a twist of guilt in his gut. Wasn’t this exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t do? He let his emotions and desire control him—he hurt you. How was he better than any other rapist? 

It was for your own good he reminds himself. If the action is done with reason, then it’s a conscious decision. He’s not a monkey. He’s not a monkey.

He zips up his pants quietly and gathers his things.

“The drugs should wear off in about an hour, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.” he says, unable to meet your eye, “If you show up for the presentation tomorrow I’ll take it as an acceptance of my offer. If not… well, I suppose you’ll be receiving an email from the university within the next few days.”

He leaves without another word.

-✤✤✤-

He didn’t expect you to show up the next day, he really thought that he’d have to start preparing evidence to show the dean and other proctors, but to his surprise, you walked into the room right on time.

You were frazzled and looked like you hadn’t slept but you were there. You were accepting his love. He watched you giddily as you presented—very well, he notes, considering what happened last night. One of the other panel members nudged him and asked what was making him so happy. He just smiled replying that he was just so proud of his student.

Suguru holds the door for you as you walk out, squeezing your shoulder and congratulating you on doing such a good job before following the rest of the panel to determine the results.

After you get the good news, Suguru takes you back to his office because he has a “special present” for you.

As he spears you on his cock he thinks back to Nietzsche's words.

…Perhaps he was more monkey than he thought.

magnum reaction to their s/o crying

Sorry for not getting to this sooner!

Magnum Reaction To S/O Crying

He would be coming home from a late dance practice, he would enter the apartment expecting to see you greet him, but when he saw you weren’t there, he knew something was up. He heard sobbing from upstairs, he slowly went up the stairs, heart racing, and mind flooded with reasons why you could be crying.

Jihoon

He would run to you and engulf you into his arms “why, why, why, who made you cry?” He would pat your hair, and whisper “it’s okay” over and over again. Would get mad, at whoever made you cry and would hold a grudge against that person forever. After you stop crying y’all would binge on ice cream and watch funny cat videos. But you best believe that he will find out what made you cry.

Yoshinori

His heart would break into a million little pieces, would run up to you and rub your back, while wiping your tears and snot away with the sleeves of his jumper, would whisper sweet nothings into your ear in hope that the crying ceases, which it does, he’ll ask you to explain everything, while you do he’ll hold your hand and draw circles on it with his thumb, occasionally giving your hand a little squeeze, to remind you that he’s still there.

Yoonbin

When he opened the door to your shared bedroom, that’s when he saw you huddled in the corner, wrapped around in a blanket, he would quietly approach you and wrap you around in his arms, not saying a word, just letting you cry into his shoulder, while he rubbed your back, after your crying ceased, he would remind you that he’ll always love you no matter what and that he’ll be with you thick and thin.

Mashiho

When he entered the room a look of confusion took over his face, ‘what could have gotten you so upset?’ He would softly call out your name, not asking what was wrong, but if there was anything you wanted, not replying to this he just hugged you, patting your hair, after the crying ceased he would ask you what happened to make you cry, and if there was anything he could do to make you feel better.

Asahi

Would quietly walk up to you and hug you, he won’t even say anything, he’ll just hug you as tight as he can, and when the crying ceases, he’ll cut to the chase and ask you who or what made you cry, if he was the reason of your tears, he would remove that flaw completely from himself that very second. You two would spend the rest of the evening cuddling.

Doyoung

He was excited to spend time with you, as the two of you had planned a stay-at-home movie night, his heart started to break when he saw you crying. Questions flooded his mind, was he the one that made you cry? He wouldn’t even call out your name, he would just wrap his arms around you and rest his chin on your shoulder, at this point he was also crying. “It’s okay, it’s okay” he would whisper into your ear without knowing the reason for your tears, but that’s okay. After the crying ceased he would ask if he did anything wrong ugh poor bby if he did he would feel like absolute trash and probably feel guilty about it for the rest of his life, and do anything within his power to not to that/say that again.

Bad Taste

A commission I was allowed to post! I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you all enjoy reading it :D

WARNINGS: Yandere! Chrollo, PT member! reader, female! reader, explicit nsfw, casual sex, mentions of explicit violence, mentions of murder, mentions of character death, reader is kinda immoral but that comes with the pt territory, dubious consent

"You have bad taste, you know that?" You said, lying on your side, tired eyes slowly moving over every choice that had gone into the design of the bedroom. At first glance, you would've called the excess of gold and silver gaudy, but then there was that minimalist abstract painting in the corner, or the classical bedside table made out of gray marble, and you decided even that descriptor wasn't fully applicable. The maximalism of a rich hoarder, was the only term that felt somewhat correct. "None of these pieces work together."

Chrollo smiled as he looked up from his book, participating in your critique of his interior design skills. "I'd call it the curse of having many interests. If you ask me, committing to a single style or type of art when there is so much variety in the world is as much a sign of bad taste as you consider this to be."

"The art nouveau brutalist bathroom is an abomination, Chrollo."

"Or so you continue to remind me. Would you rather I hang the Klimt with the byzantine sculptures?"

"No. I'd rather you throw those away. Or sell them." You sat upright and pulled the sheets off your body, sitting on the edge of the bed so you could stretch properly, your fingers tapping against the side of the mattress while you thought of what you were going to do next. Shower or get dressed and leave?. "Such a waste letting them get water damage."

"Stop suggesting we have sex in the bathtub then."

"No." Something about the clumsiness of sex in bathrooms had always appealed to you, and if you liked seeing Chrollo with his hair wet while he was bent over you, who’d judge you? "I don't think I will."

"I figured."

You stretched your arms over your head, feeling a delightful pull on your sore muscles. You’d slept badly, you always slept too lightly when other people were around, but the calm and laziness of the morning made the slight exhaustion lingering on your body feel less bothersome. There was nothing on the agenda today, so you could truly just go your own way. Perhaps you’d train a bit later in the evening, or visit a botanical garden if the weather was nice. Visiting gardens was always your go-to activity on lazy days, since you always felt truly at ease feeling your nen curl around so many different specimens, all responding to your commands. Controlling flora was a tricky ability, especially in less habitable areas like the dusty deserts surrounding Yorknew, so to be in a location where nothing would ever be able to truly harm you was comforting. You didn’t know whether that comfort came from the security or the control. 

At the thought of your ability, you wondered when you’d use it next. The last time had ended a bit anticlimactically. You’d wrapped nettles around a man’s throat, only for him to suffocate and die in mere minutes, apparently allergic to the plant. You’d gotten in a bit of trouble, since he’d been meant to give information, but luckily his colleague knew enough to save your hide. When you’d started to master your own ability, you’d never considered allergies being relevant so often. 

You lowered your arms and rolled your shoulders, looking back at Chrollo who was smiling ever so slightly. “So when’s the next heist? Or are you leaving to find new members first?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You are under the impression that killing Hisoka has no priority?”

Ah. You should’ve figured.

“Didn’t want to assume. Aren’t you supposed to be quite strict with the ‘no leg matters, just the spider’ philosophy?” You suppressed a smile at the mention of Hisoka, knowing any sign of affection, as small as it was, wouldn’t be appreciated. You didn’t particularly care about Shalnark and Kortopi, only having worked with them in passing for a few years, so it wasn’t like you felt betrayed by the magicians actions. If anything, you’d found Chrollo’s continual leniency on the magician’s schemes to be surprising, and retrospectively quite an obvious mistake. “Well. With eight or so members it’ll surely work out fine.” 

It would. You’d only seen a handful of them in combat, but if they managed to corner Hisoka, he was dead, an opinion that was supported by the fact that Hisoka was already supposed to be dead, having lost to Chrollo in the arena. 

You’d watched the show on television, a bit disappointed when it had stopped being broadcast due to the deaths of most of the camera staff. Either that, or the producers had chosen not to show such a massacre, as exciting as it had been. Even with gyo constantly activated, you had barely been able to keep up with the quick movements and techniques displayed, which had definitely increased your respect for Chrollo, the trust and belief the rest of the spider had in him definitely not unfounded.

You’d asked Hisoka in private shortly after his quasi-death and expulsion of the spider how he intended to fight them all off, certainly in close quarters, but he’d just kept it vague and acted indignified at your lack of belief in his capabilities. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him to be capable of somehow pulling off something most would deem impossible, but rather that you really wished to know how he was planning to do so. A mystery is only as compelling as the explanation that is served, and you were left only with curiosity and impatience. 

Still, you’d decided a while ago that you would bet on Hisoka. The odds were high that he intended to kill you along with the rest of the spiders if he ever got the chance, but you doubted he’d chase after you if you made yourself scarce before anything big could happen. The parts of the plan he’d clued you in on were compelling enough to bet on, since even if Hisoka failed miserably, you still had enough time to work out a second plan of your own. 

"Just to sate my curiosity on the matter." Chrollo asked, looking over the edge of his book as you grabbed a short satin dress you’d worn yesterday night that had been discarded next to the bed. Pulling it over your head, you were relieved to not fully be naked anymore, not out of a sense of decency or prudishness, but because Chrollo’s stare tended to be a bit too appreciative for your liking. "Are you two close?"

You didn’t need to ask for clarification.

Truly, you liked Hisoka. He was an interesting figure and so upfront with his betrayals that you wondered how he still managed to fool anyone into trusting him. His style, his humor, his fighting style. It was all so uniquely him and yet at the same time so inhumanly distant that you had trouble seeing him as an actual person. Instead, he felt more like a character you could enjoy watching, and you would be lying if it hadn’t flattered you that he’d enjoyed watching you too. 

"We're not intimate, if that's what you're asking." This was edging a bit too close to a discussion on your relationship with him for your liking. Chrollo, ever the achiever, didn't bore you with such things usually. Instead, he'd either lure you into some quasi-intellectual debate or just leave you be. Your favorite ending to one of these meetings had been when he'd expressed interest in some blockbuster that was airing, and you'd surprised yourself into inviting him to come and watch it with you. The movie theater experience, complete with popcorn and a soda, had been fun in a domestic way you'd not experienced in a while. Ranting about the bad quality of the film was also a fond memory, though you were not the type to grow attached to domestic activities. "Didn't think you were the jealous type."

"I wouldn't call it jealousy." He said earnestly, chuckling when he saw the disbelieving tilt of your head. "If anything, I'm trying to see whether you've betrayed the spider too."

You forced your eyebrows to lift in surprise. "Oh. I'd never. How little faith do you have in me?"

Whatever playful tone you’d placed in your words, it seemed to be the wrong choice, as you were pulled back into bed by your hair. The casual atmosphere had ended, and the pretense of this just being a chat was broken. His fingers curled around locks of your hair, pulling at your scalp, and the book was discarded somewhere on the bed. 

You let it happen, finding the sting of his grip on your hair more comfortable than this conversation, especially since it ended up with your barely covered upper body sprawled over his lap. He looked down at you, and if he spotted your gratitude at this turn of events, he did not show it. Instead, he actually seemed angry, his entire face frozen on a blank slate. If he could not even find the state of mind to force a neutral expression, you’d definitely crossed a line. 

Luckily, he acknowledged his own anger too, which saved you from having to navigate what exactly he was taking offense to. 

"You've chosen a bit of an unfortunate moment to joke with me. Safe to say, I wouldn't call myself completely stable at the moment." It was at times like this that you truly appreciated his features, his face and body made to be cast in marble. Bloodlust only enhanced the image, washing off the false domestic and normal air that he clothed himself in to blend in. "It'll pass, but for now I'd urge you to give me a serious response."

That made sense in retrospect. Last night he’d been quite a bit more rough than he usually was. His hand had found your throat on many occasions, and while you did not mind being manhandled a bit, the force with which he sucked hickeys into your neck and the pressure of his arms around your waist had proven a bit intense at times. You’d just explained it away as a mood, but this made quite a bit more sense. 

"How about this, I’ll give you a quick rundown of everything I know: I haven't spoken with him ever since that entire mess with Shal and Kortopi," His hand tightened around your hair, and you figured he didn’t like you minimizing the events that had occurred, but to be fair, he would’ve been more suspicious had you acted all respectful to his dead friends. "But he did tell me something beforehand which I think you might find interesting."

His expression did not change, but Chrollo did seem a bit irritated that you were playing coy. "Well?"

"The boat led by the Kakin Empire heading towards the dark continent. Apparently there will be some kind of contest held on board during the trip, and Hisoka seemed quite interested in it. If I had to guess, he's going to be there, trying his best to make the entire affair about twenty percent more complicated." 

If you felt any regret having spoken those words, you didn’t feel it yet, though you kept the possibility open that you’d feel a bit bad about it later. If only, if only.

The seed had been planted. Chrollo probably had an inkling that you telling him this was intended by Hisoka, but that didn’t really matter. Hisoka wanted a fight, so it’d be out of character for him to suggest a fighting stage and not show up. The spiders would crawl on board, head toward the dark continent, a place so dangerous every expedition you’d heard of had stellar mortality rates, and hopefully they’d never return. 

On the day of the departure, you’d stay behind. You liked excitement and part of you wanted to explore the dark continent and its mysteries as much as any other, but it’d be certain death for you if you went. There were too many things left to experience on this planet, and dying at the hands of either Chrollo or Hisoka left a bad taste in your mouth. 

They were both dear to you, but you really hoped they’d kill each other and sink the boat. 

"A hobby you two seem to share."

"As if you don't." You lightly admonished, smiling as his fingers were still pulling at strands of your hair, his eyes murderously intense as he stared down at you. "Well, are you going to kill me or am I free to go?"

"You seem to be misunderstanding something." He grabbed your face and made you face the wall, a multitude of painted faces in varying degrees of realism staring back at you. "Whatever I don't get rid of, I collect. And since I am quite fond of you, even if I deem your betrayal to go too far, I won't kill you. Instead, I'll pin you to these walls like those paintings you seem to hate so much and enjoy the sight of you until I feel ready to throw you away. Act with that in mind."

You suppressed a sigh and realized you'd been right in your assessment of where this was headed. A shame, even if it was way too late for you to take back your countermeasures anyway.  "Chrollo, do you hear yourself speak right now?"

"I do. I know what I sound like." He sighed and let go of your face. When you slowly remade eye contact with him, he was looking quite pensive before he bent forward, closing the gap between you and him. For a second you hoped that he'd kiss you, just to cut this conversation short. You knew what was at the end of that road, while this was inching further and further into uncomfortable territory. “Don’t act like this is coming out of nowhere. I think you’re quite aware of the effect you have on me. I myself find it quite interesting at times, and in all honesty, it would be much easier to see exactly what you’re made of if I keep you a bit incapacitated.”

"That sounds quite scary." You said, less sarcastically than you'd intended, the sincerity of his words sending a shiver down your spine. The slight quirk of his lips, the complete nonchalance with which he'd admitted to his plans for you if you betrayed him, all made you believe that he was not kidding in the slightest. You'd always known it was a bit risky sleeping with the head of the spiders, but that danger had been part of the enjoyment. What fun was there in hooking up if there wasn't a risk of death involved? "I wasn't aware you felt about me like that."

"You have your moments."

"I see."

Being proven right was a bitter victory in this case, as much as you wanted to pretend it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You and Chrollo had spent many a night like this, and a few months ago, you had been quite pleased with the set-up, your post-heist adrenaline and bloodlust always being channeled in the best way possible, but in that same period you’d felt something start to change. 

During heists he rarely deployed you, something that was even beginning to be noticed even by other spiders. Your abilities were being questioned, and you’d even heard that little black-haired shit wonder whether you always slept your way to the top. Three members had to remind you of the rule not to fight other spiders, because otherwise you would’ve gouged out his eyeballs and thrown his guts to the dogs.

It was insulting, and the mere idea that Chrollo was in love with you was even worse.

It made you uncomfortable to see a man you had so much respect for debase himself in chasing you. He never did anything outwardly romantic, but he stared, and you could tell that any time you spent with him was intriguing him. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He was supposed to be better than that. You couldn’t stand it when he sighed after kissing you or left books on the dinner table for you to take when you left. 

He couldn’t betray the spider, not in such an awfully human way. 

And so you’d decided one morning while waking up in his arms, his heartbeat thumping underneath your ear, that you’d prefer it if he died. Death would freeze the image you had of him, of the ruthless and constantly shifting leader of the Phantom Troupe. Death would freeze all of them, since after Uvogin and Pakunoda’s deaths you’d noticed more and more cracks in what used to be a perfect formula. 

Feitan and Phinks, who used to go off on their own in between heists, now seemed bound to the hip, their cruelty and ruthlessness a mere façade for what even a blind person could see. Franklin called Shizuku every few hours, checking in on her location and how she was doing. Nobunaga had completely lost it, even if everyone pretended to not see it, and you weren’t someone who generally empathized with unknown faces, but the civilian woman he’d fixated on after the death of Uvo was clearly having to deal with a lot of delusional bullshit.

The changes spread gradually, but the spider was not what it used to be. Most of the members had grown up together and preferred not losing one another, the recent deaths of those close to them proving they were not as okay with being replaceable as they’d pretended to be all this time. None of them would ever utter such a thing, but you noticed it regardless. 

Being annihilated on the way to the dark continent, or at their destination, would be the best way for the spider. All in order to hold onto its principles. In some way, you felt like you were saving the man whose death you were planning, whose body had been pressed against yours so often. You’d never been the sentimental type, but the idea that you were saving a legacy from dying out painfully was beautiful to you. Chrollo wouldn’t ruin himself in your name. The others wouldn’t slip away into insanity and sentimentality. 

Hisoka was the only one who knew how you felt, and had even agreed with your views, meaning he was the sole ally you had in this perspective. You’d spent years with the Troupe, and in some distant way, you loved the spider. Vaguely, you realized you’d accept it if Chrollo killed you now. Maybe he’d prove you wrong. Maybe he would get rid of your traitorous self, kill Hisoka and purge the spider of all that had desecrated it. 

You would accept it gratefully. 

Chrollo let go of your hair and his thumb traced a line across your forehead. 

“Fine.” He breathed out. 

“We’re leaving it at that?” You asked, cursing yourself for even responding, and even more for the desperation you felt at the loss of his aggression. Chrollo immediately moved, languidly shifting your body and his so you were below him once more, your legs on either side of his hips. He pushed his hair back and rubbed his eyes a bit before taking another good look at you. You couldn’t decipher his expression fully, but decided a mix of exhaustion and exasperation came closest.  

“We’re not.” A hand moved under your waist and lifted up your lower body, slotting you against him. He bent forward over you and out of the corner of your eyes you saw him slowly wrap a hand around his cock and pump himself a few times. When he was sufficiently hard, he moved the hand with which he’d touched himself up to your mouth, two fingers patiently waiting on your lips to be licked. Knowing this song and dance, you opened your mouth, your tongue searching and finding his fingers instantly. Whilst you were sufficiently coating his fingers in spit, his dark eyes moved over your body. “We’ll be done once I say we’re done.”

The authoritative comment did little to turn you on, his possessive and romantically laced comments from earlier still making you feel weird. Still, when he pulled his fingers from your mouth and lowered them to your pussy to lubricate your entrance, the few flicks he performed against your clit did make your chest rise from the mattress a bit. 

Pressing his forehead to yours, he quickly grabbed his cock and pushed it inside you, a satisfied sound leaving his throat as he successfully entered you. The pace he set was slow, gentle in a way that made you want to cry.

“Don’t betray me.” He said, and you felt your stomach turn at the pleading tone accompanying it. It was hard to enjoy the way he rolled his hips against yours, pushing his cock further into you, when your mind was miles away. How could you be present when all you wanted was to leave and forget he’d ever disappointed you like this. “I’ll do much worse than kill you if you do.”

That wasn’t a lie. He’d probably lock you up, steal your ability and hurt you until you didn’t have the strength to fight him anymore. Maybe he’d cut your legs off, maybe he’d bind you to a bed until malnutrition and muscle decay did the work for him. That part didn’t scare you, it was what he’d do after that that terrified you. He’d keep you with him, sleep next to you, and trace your injuries. He’d insist you read with him, watch movies with him, make love to him instead of the distant sex you preferred. He’d love you, earnestly and in his own way, and you’d rather die than experience it, since it would mean the man you loved was utterly gone.

“You know, don’t you?” He asked. “Please tell me you know.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, desperate for him to shut up.

♡ jason todd (my vigilante boyfriend)

guard dog vol 1 & vol 2 by @mostly-imagines

baby daddy by @cipheress-to-k-pop

the bet by @yueebby

this fic by @ofbatsandballads

this fic by @plethorawrites

1-800-red-hoods-gas-station-attendant-service by @chaotic-birds

this fic by @pedrasacorn

its so sweet by @angelfic

↳ this fic by @/angelfic

↳ a boy who's jacked and kind by @/angelfic

↳ this fic by @/angelfic

nothings gonna hurt you baby by @ahqkas

this fic by @fcthots

this fic by @enviedear

this fic by @hisfavoritesundress

hero's soup by @aangelinakii

Bottom Shelf pt. 1

First half of my gift-fic to @uvobreakmylegs who is amazing and deserves the world. I first intended it as one  big fic but this first half is already 11k words so haha that ain’t happening. Hope you all enjoy and comments are appreciated <3

Part 1 / Part 2

Warnings: fem! reader, forced marriage, alcohol and drug abuse, debt, medical debt, mafia/gangs, mentions of violence, nsfw mentions, very depressed reader, low self-esteem, yandere Uvo, yandere Franklin, poly relationship, mentions of a father and mother

“Y/n. Where are you going?”

“Huh? Ah, did I forget anything?” You looked at the small receipt on your platter. Three beers and an espresso, their usual starting order. One quick glance at the table, and you were sure there wasn’t anything missing. Had they wanted to order something extra, and you’d missed a queue? “Did you want to order anything else?”

“Of course not. You’re a doll.” Uvo threw an arm around your waist and pulled you closer, making you yelp and nearly drop the platter filled with empty glasses. You weren’t exactly unfamiliar with the man neglecting to respect your personal space, but this was a bit excessive. “What’s that look? Haven’t you heard yet?”

“Since when are you so touchy?” You tried to casually step back without it getting awkward, but his hold on you was surprisingly tight. “Haven’t I heard what?”

“You’re gettin’ married.”

Yeah, right.

“Uhuh. And the bride is the last to know?” You felt your cheeks heat up as Uvo grinned at you, somehow still at eye level even while he was seated. Despite the long time you’d waited on them both, he was never as bold as he currently was while you were working, Franklin often reeling the larger man back when things got out of hand. Franklin didn’t seem to be interested in stopping Uvo today. Uvo’s lips curled even further when he noticed you glance sideways to check. “Sounds about right.”

“You’d think I’d bullshit you?” He said, mockingly indignified. “We checked with the boss, and your entire debt will be forgiven if you just go along with this. Easy, right?”

“You’re serious.” It’s not a question. It’s meant for yourself as you search Uvo’s face for any kind of tell that he’s lying or making fun of you. Neither would surprise you, but while he definitely looks untrustworthy, he doesn’t seem to be lying. Is he for real? “You don’t mean-”

With you?

They both seemed to hear your thoughts.

Keep reading

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

Keep reading

Haruto imagine

about what?????? bro you need to elaborate 💀