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wherethefireliliesgrow · 2 months ago

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Already Yours (Part 1)

Yoo Jimin (Karina) x Reader

GENRE: angst, fluff, arranged marriage

TYPE: Two Shot

Inspired by: urs-NIKI

A/N: i received several arranged marriage request for the past two years, but it felt too different to what i usually wrote. since it's the start of a new year and the best time to try something new...here you gooooo! a special thank you to @neoplatinum! i re-read several of her works to gain some inspiration for this one. highly recommend everyone checking out her posts :)

The heavy doors swung open, slamming against the wall with a resounding crash that echoed through the room. A tall, willowy figure dressed in a professional tan suit strode toward you, the sharp click of her heels punctuating the silence as she crossed the pristine marble floors. Behind her, two broad-shouldered bodyguards trailed in silence, their faces impassive. In contrast, her long black hair flowed behind her, each step full of purpose and anger. Scratch that. Lady Jimin was seething, her usually soft features now hard with barely contained anger.

“What is this, father?” Jimin addressed the old duke beside you, completely ignoring your presence.

Duke Yoo coughed, a nervous, helpless sound that filled the room. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he fidgeted, clearly at a loss for words.

Before he could find his voice, his son stepped forward, his demeanor calm and predatory.

“Pleasant surprise seeing you here, Jimin.” Heesung’s smile was too smooth, his voice disgustingly sweet.

“Not much of a surprise, since this is the signing of my marriage certificate.” Jimin snapped, her eyes burning with a fire so intense it felt like she could burn the entire Y/LN enterprise building to the ground.

Your father, ever the one to involve himself in drama, couldn’t resist. “Ah, Lady Jimin. It's nice to finally meet my my future daughter-in-law.”

He moved toward her, arms wide, offering a false sense of warmth.

“There’s no way I’m getting tangled in your slimy business ventures, Y/LN.” Jimin spat, laced with pure contempt.

The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The Duke shot a quick, nervous glance at your father’s impassive expression, sweat dripping down his chin now.

“I’m so sorry, Y/LN-nim.” The Duke hurriedly walked over to your father’s side.

“We didn’t have time to explain the agreement to Jimin. Let us talk to her first.”

“It seems she’s lacking in manners.” your father’s voice dropped several octaves, low and dangerous. “Perhaps we should address this before we finalize anything.”

Jimin’s anger flared, but it was quickly replaced by something darker—fear. As she caught sight of the cruel smile spreading across your father’s face, a cold shiver ran down her spine. The man was notorious for his ruthlessness, a cold, calculating figure who had controlled the country’s economy for decades. His power wasn’t just in his wealth, it was in his ability to make people tremble.

Even her bodyguards hesitated, inching closer to her but unsure whether to act.

That’s when you stepped forward, your silence broken at last.

You moved in front of your father, your hand gripping his arm and pulling him toward the desk. The weight of the room seemed to shift as your presence took control.

“Enough, father.” Your voice was soft, but unwavering, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Let’s just finish this.”

Without another word, you reached for the inkstand, pressing your thumb into the dark ink and leaving a red fingerprint on the flimsy paper.

You lifted your gaze, locking eyes with Jimin, expressionless.

Jimin let out a frustrated sigh, her fingers threading through her hair as she surrendered herself to the inevitable. She walked over and pressed her own delicate fingers to the paper, leaving a red mark beside yours. The blood-red ink seemed to mock her, a symbol of fate she could neither escape nor control.

“Good.” Heesung’s voice sliced through the silence, “Let’s let the lovebirds go and we can start talking business.”

The banquet buzzed with noise, of laughter, chatter, and clinking glasses. Friends, business partners, and classmates gathered, their faces painted with polite smiles and hidden agendas. Even the royal family was here to watch you and Jimin repeat the fake vows, marking as the wedding of the year.

The media waited outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wedding, to catch a glimpse of you and Jimin. After all, neither of you came from unknown backgrounds. Both of you were heirs to two of the most powerful families in the country. The cameras, the whispers...it was impossible to escape the spotlight, even if the marriage was nothing more than a strategic alliance disguised as a union.

Jimin, the eldest daughter from House Yoo of Luthraine, stood at the center of it all. Her family ruled the country’s banking, their influence far-reaching. The duke, her father, was weak and easily swayed. His wife, however, had made up for it with her sharp mind—until her untimely death left House Yoo in shambles, and its future in the hands of Heesung, her son. A reckless choice that led to disaster. Jimin had stepped up to manage the family’s failing finances as soon as she turned 18. Clever, soft-hearted, and breathtakingly beautiful, Yoo Jimin was someone everyone admired.

Then there was you.

The sole heir to Y/LN Enterprise, the largest multinational conglomerate in investment banking and real estate. You were known for your reserved demeanor, your sharp mind, and your ability to observe everything with calculating precision. Unlike your father, who was feared for his temper and ruthless business tactics, you operated quietly, out of the spotlight. Most people found you distant, cold even, but you never played the villain. You simply didn't care for the politics of the game.

Despite growing up in the same world, you and Jimin had never really connected.

You’d gone to the same prestigious, ridiculously overpriced private schools, but Jimin had always been surrounded by a crowd, adored by everyone. You, however, had preferred to keep to yourself, always in the background, never truly seen, yet always watching.

“What’s the bride doing here drinking alone?” A warm voice interrupted your thoughts, bringing a grin to your face.

“You should be celebrating with your wife for a happy marriage.”

“If that’s what you expect from an arranged marriage,” you laughed, sloshing the champagne in your glass, “then you’ve got it all wrong, Hwang.”

Yeji, your best friend and business partner, flopped down beside you. She smoothed out her lavender dress and white wool jacket with practiced grace. It was strange to see her in a dress, usually preferring professional suits for work.

“You look hot. Very lady-like,” you teased, earning a middle finger from her.

“Shut up, Y/LN.” She sniffed, then waved over a server to order a beer, an odd contrast to how she was dressed. “Besides, you’re the one who chose these stupid lavender dresses for the bridesmaids.”

“Jimin, not me.” You shrugged, your head spinning from the alcohol. “I didn’t attend any of the marriage meetings.”

Your gaze drifted across the room, landing on the raven-haired girl as she danced with her friends, smiling effortlessly, her usual scowl replaced with something more relaxed.

“Seriously?” Yeji’s voice was laced with disappointment.

“I didn’t expect you to let your partner do all the work. What happened to chivalry?”

“Honestly, Jimin looks like she’ll bite my head off every time I try to talk to her. So I thought I’d just let her decide.” You drained your glass, the words slipping out.

“I kind of ruined her chance for love, so the least I can do is let her have this.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Yeji’s tone softened. “You were trying to help her. I think you should just give this marriage a chance.”

You shook your head stubbornly, ordering another drink. Yeji’s concerned gaze bore into you, but you ignored it. This was your pity party, and you were the guest of honor.

“I’m planning on keeping my distance,” you said, wobbling off the stool and grabbing your fresh glass.

“And finding a way to get her out of this mess.”

Yeji rushed to steady you, wrapping her arms around you in a warm embrace. Her heart ached for you, but this was beyond anyone’s control.

“Just try, Y/N,” she said gently, before muttering, “Jesus, you’re drunk.”

She managed to straighten you up, her hands resting on your shoulders as she faced you.

“Besides, didn’t you have a crush on her in high school?” Yeji added, her voice thoughtful as she stood before you.

“Shut up, Yeji,” you hissed, suddenly sober, your eyes flicking to something—or rather, someone—behind her.

“I mean, you liked her for, like, three years? Four?” Yeji rambled on, oblivious to the fear flashing in your eyes.

“Yeji. Yeji. Yeji.”

“What?” Yeji followed your gaze, then stumbled back in shock.

Jimin stood with another girl, her face twisted in something you couldn’t quite comprehend, while the girl beside her shot Yeji a playful grin.

“Ah… Lady Jimin,” Yeji quickly bowed, her face burning with embarrassment. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Yeji. Hwang Yeji.”

Jimin gave a curt nod, waving her off dismissively. “Just Jimin is fine. This is Ryujin, from the House of Shin.”

Jimin’s voice softened as she turned to you. “Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

You barely had time to compose yourself before you answered, “Yes.”

Without another word, Jimin walked off, expecting you to follow.

As you passed, you heard Ryujin's voice, teasing, “So… beer for the pretty lady? That’s special. I like special.”

The back door of the banquet hall creaked open as Jimin led you down a deserted hallway, pulling you into an empty room. You glanced over her, taking in the sight of her ivory lace wedding gown—still pristine, despite everything.

Yoo Jimin was undeniably beautiful, with soft brown eyes full of emotion, a delicate nose, and full pink lips. A cute mole on the corner of her mouth that would lift whenever she smiled. But ever since that fateful event two months ago, her face was set in a permanent frown, her brows furrowed in frustration. You wanted to reach out, smooth away the crease between them, but you stopped yourself.

“You’re drunk.” Jimin said, her voice a little softer as she surveyed your ruffled state.

“A bit.” you admitted, running a hand down your dress to smooth the creases.

She sighed, her expression softening. Then, she moved closer, adjusting the straps of your dress. The touch of her fingers against your skin sent a jolt of electricity through you. Your heart hammered in your chest.

You froze, then pulled away, putting more distance between you. Hurt flickered in her eyes, but she quickly masked it with annoyance.

“What did you want to talk about, Jimin?” you asked, trying to sound composed.

Jimin’s frown deepened as she met your gaze.

“I wanted to clarify a few things.” she said, her voice more subdued than before.

“I’ve been thinking about this marriage.”

You remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“I never wanted this,” she continued, her words slow and deliberate. “I never wanted to marry you. I had no choice. I loathe your family—I know what your father’s been doing all these years—but my hands are tied. I just wanted you to know that before you get any wrong ideas.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, each one a jagged knife twisting in your chest. You knew how she felt, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

You forced a calm expression, masking the ache inside. “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t choose this either,” you said, your voice cool.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to end this marriage soon.”

Jimin nodded, her expression softening for a second. “Good. Now let’s play the part of a happy newlywed.”

She grabbed your arm, pulling you back toward the banquet hall, both of you walking side by side, smiles on your faces. Neither one of them reached your eyes.

Living with you was unexpectedly easy.

You were quiet, meticulous to the point of being a neat freak, and even more of a workaholic than she was, rarely coming home before midnight. In the three months since your marriage, you hadn’t spent much time together. Yet, Jimin found herself looking forward to mornings. Brief moments where you prepared breakfast for both of you and shared a table. Most of the conversation came from her, while you listened quietly. You made it clear her words mattered, even if you rarely offered anything in return.

But she couldn’t shake the sense that she was speaking into a void. You were polite and attentive, yet you remained distant, never letting her glimpse beyond the surface.

She often snuck in a few glances at you while you drove her to work, admiring your side profile. She liked the sharpness of your cat-like eyes, always attentive to what she was saying, and the slight curve of your full lips whenever she said something funny. You were beautiful in an understated way, the kind of beauty that lingered in her mind.

Maybe marriage with you wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. But that didn’t stop her from craving something more.

Work had been unusually slow lately. Ever since her marriage to you, the problems plaguing the bank branches under House Yoo of Luthraine had mysteriously disappeared. Gone were the endless debt, trade misconduct, and countless scandals she’d spent months trying to resolve. Her brother was off doing God knows what, leaving her to manage everything else on her own. She could only hope he wasn’t causing more trouble...the kind that had landed her in this marriage in the first place.

Sighing, Jimin took off her thin-framed silver glasses and rubbed her eyes, signaling the rest of the board that the morning meeting was over. The meeting room gradually emptied, leaving the young royalty in solitude, save for Ryujin, casually leaning in the leather chair next to her with a sly grin.

“Yoo Jimin, tired of work? I can’t believe it.” The young duchess teased, “Did you and Y/N stay up too late doing the dirty?”

Jimin choked on her coffee, nearly spilling the dark liquid on her crisp blouse.

“What? No,” she sputtered, her face reddening at the thought. “I’ve just been having trouble sleeping.”

Ryujin raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Still hate her?”

“I don’t hate her,” Jimin muttered, her voice quieter now. “I never hated her. Just her family.”

“Well, you’re stuck with her now. Might as well make it work. Maybe you should try acutally talking to her.”

“We do talk,” Jimin countered defensively. “It’s just... one-sided. I’m the one doing all the sharing. She never talks about herself. It’s like trying to have a conversation with an AI.”

Ryujin held back a laugh, “well to be fair, you do talk a lot, Jimin.”

Jimin shot her a sharp glare. “I do not.”

Ryujin’s grin only widened. “Sure. And she’s always working late because she just loves the office, right? Has nothing to do with cleaning up your brother’s mess?”

“What mess?”

“Wait, she didn’t tell you?” Ryujin frowned. “Yeji mentioned they’ve been working overtime to cover up some of the debt Heesung left from one of your family branches. That was part of the marriage deal.”

Jimin slumped back in her seat, stunned. She knew her brother had contributed to the downfall of her family-led banks, but he’d kept the full scope of it hidden. She had assumed the marriage proposal was purely for your family’s access to her network and land holdings, not their debt.

You were the reason why her family debts were gone.

Ryujin’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “C’mon, let’s visit Y/LN Enterprise after work. I’ll drive.”

Jimin frowned, confused. “Why?”

“The way to the heart is through the stomach,” Ryujin said with a grin. “And I also want to see my girl.”

“Your girl?”

“Well, not yet. But I’m getting there,” Ryujin laughed, her confidence unwavering.

“What kind of food does she like?” Ryujin asked, backing her car out of the parking lot.

“I have no idea,” Jimin admitted reluctantly.

“Seriously?” Ryujin shot her an exasperated look, sighing in defeat. “Let me ask Yeji.”

This marriage was proving to be a tough case to crack.

Twenty minutes later, Jimin found herself standing in front of your office door, a box of jjajangmyeon in her hands. Ryujin had dropped her off with a giggle before driving away, Yeji seated beside her, cheeks dusted pink.

Jimin’s heart twisted with a pang of envy as she watched her friend. She wanted that kind of love, as much as she hated admitting it to herself.

Before she could muster the courage to knock, the door swung open, and you nearly bumped into her, face-first.

“What the f—” You stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening in surprise. “Jimin?”

“Hi.” Her voice was timid, suddenly laced with awkwardness.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, your concern obvious in your tone. “Did something happen?”

“No!” She cleared her throat hastily, then raised the box in her hands.

“I brought you dinner. Thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh, I—” Her gesture caught you off guard, your carefully constructed walls crumbling. You were already finding it hard to maintain your distance, and now this small act of care threatened to shatter your resolve completely.

“Thank you,” you said, regaining some composure. “Please, come in.”

You stepped aside, and she walked in, her gaze sweeping across the room.

Jimin took her time studying your office while you dug into the noodles, only now realizing just how hungry you were.

She paused at a photo on your desk, one of you and Yeji at senior prom. In it, Yeji was having the time of her life, while you looked like a drenched cat reluctantly dancing with your friend.

“You look so miserable,” Jimin giggled, her voice teasing as she turned to you.

Your mouth was full of noodles, and you hastily swallowed in an attempt to respond.

“Dancing isn’t exactly my forte,” you admitted, your tone calm, though the tips of your ears betrayed your embarrassment. “But you’re good at that, right? I remember you won prom queen that year.”

Her heart fluttered at your words. So you had been paying attention, even back then—even when Yeji had mentioned you had a crush on someone else in high school.

As she continued her inspection of your office, Jimin noted how bare it was. Aside from the photo with Yeji and a few scattered pens on your desk, there wasn’t much personality in the room. She made a mental note to change that.

When you finally finished eating, an awkward silence settled between the two of you.

“Thank you for the food,” you said again, your voice soft. “It was really good.”

Jimin hummed in acknowledgment, her honey-brown eyes piercing into yours. The intensity of her gaze made you fidget slightly, but you held it nonetheless.

“I know about the debt,” she said finally.

Your eyes widened briefly, but you masked your reaction quickly, choosing your words carefully.

“Sorry for not telling you,” you said, your tone steady, though your fingers twitched nervously against the desk. "I didn't know how."

She shook her head and reached over, her warm, soft hands covering yours. The simple touch sent your heart racing.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice gentle. Her lips curved into a smile, one that you weren’t used to seeing on her usually stoic face.

Your cheeks flushed scarlet, and you cleared your throat in embarrassment. “It’s nothing.”

At your feigned nonchalance, Jimin couldn’t resist teasing you. Maybe you weren’t as robotic as she’d initially thought.

With a mischievous grin, she intertwined her fingers with yours, her thumb drawing slow circles on your palm.

“Can you drive me home?” she asked innocently. “Ryujin drove me here.”

You quickly composed yourself, pulling your hand away and shaking your head as if to dispel the spell she had cast. Something about Yoo Jimin made resisting her nearly impossible, and maintaining your distance was proving to be an uphill battle.

“I can, but I have one more meeting tonight. Can you wait?”

She nodded, her soft smile making it hard to focus.

Just then, the speaker on your desk crackled to life.

“Ms. Y/LN, Ms. Kim is here.”

You pressed the button to respond. “Let her up.”

“There’s a meeting room next to my office,” you told Jimin. “You can wait for me there.”

She nodded again, her smile lingering as she moved toward the door. You couldn’t help but mirror the expression, the corners of your mouth lifting involuntarily.

“I’ll see you in a bit. Good luck with your meeting,” she said warmly, opening the door.

What she didn’t expect, however, was to come face-to-face with one of her flings from the past: Kim Minjeong of Legacy Capital Enterprise.

Jimin froze in the doorway, her breath hitching as recognition struck. Minjeong’s sharp gaze softened, her lips curling into a slow, confident smirk that Jimin had once thought charming but now found unbearably loaded with unspoken memories.

“Jimin.” Minjeong drawled, her voice dripping with smug familiarity. “It’s been a while.”

“Minjeong.” Jimin replied stiffly, her voice strained. Her fingers gripped the doorframe tightly, grounding herself as the weight of the past surged back, enveloping her in the awkwardness of their shared history.

Minjeong’s eyes flicked to the now-empty box of jjajangmyeon in Jimin’s hands, then trailed back up, her smirk deepening. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Late-night visits? How... intimate.”

Jimin’s heart skipped a beat. The insinuation in Minjeong’s tone made her skin crawl, her shoulders stiffening.

“I could say the same about you,” she retorted, her voice sharp but betraying a hint of nervousness.

Minjeong opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, you appeared behind Jimin, your steady presence immediately commanding the room.

“Ms. Kim,” you greeted coolly, your professional demeanor slipping into place. “Shall we?”

Minjeong’s gaze flicked to you briefly, her expression unreadable, before sliding back to Jimin. The smirk didn’t falter, but her eyes sparkled with something almost predatory.

“Of course.” she said smoothly, stepping into the office.

Jimin stepped aside hastily, her shoulders tight, feeling the weight of Minjeong’s gaze lingering on her as she passed. She silently prayed that Minjeong wouldn’t say anything more, wouldn’t twist the knife any further.

“I’ll see you after the meeting,” you said softly to Jimin, your voice warm despite the neutral expression on your face.

Jimin gave a quick nod, her stomach twisting as you closed the door behind you, sealing her alone with her thoughts.

Inside your office, Minjeong wasted no time in testing your patience.

“You have a lovely wife.” Minjeong remarked, leaning back in her chair as if she owned the room. “You must be very... proud.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, though your tone remained calm. “Jimin’s her own person. I don’t take pride in people like they’re possessions.”

Minjeong’s smirk didn’t waver. “Interesting choice of words.”

The meeting dragged on, but your focus remained sharp, despite the growing frustration bubbling beneath the surface. You didn’t have the luxury of cutting ties with Minjeong, not when your efforts to rebuild Jimin’s family’s branches relied on securing this partnership.

But with Minjeong’s intentions becoming increasingly transparent. She found opportunities to steer the conversation back to Jimin, her admiration thinly veiled beneath casual comments.

“She’s matured a lot.” Minjeong said at one point, her voice almost wistful. “There’s something about her...strong, yet so beautifully delicate.”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to respond evenly. “She’s always been remarkable.”

Minjeong’s smirk widened, as if she took your words as a challenge.

When the meeting ended, you walked Minjeong out, your tone polite but measured.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Kim.”

She gave you a sly smile before glancing once more at the closed door to the meeting room where Jimin was waiting.

“I’ll be seeing you both soon, I’m sure.”

Her words hung in the air like a warning before she turned on her heel and left.

You found Jimin in the meeting room, perched on the couch with her phone in hand. She glanced up as you entered, her expression betraying unease, embarrassment, and something else, something she couldn’t quite mask.

“Is she gone?” she asked, her tone wavering, as if she was hiding something.

“She is,” you replied, sitting down across from her. “Who is she?”

Jimin hesitated, her fingers toying with the hem of her sleeve. “Someone I used to... see.” she admitted reluctantly.

Your brow raised slightly. “See, as in date?”

The young royalty nodded, her gaze dropping to her lap. “If you can call it that. It wasn’t serious, and it didn’t end well.”

You hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in your seat. “Well, for what it’s worth, she made it pretty clear she’s still interested in you.”

Jimin’s head shot up, her eyes wide. “She—what?”

You chuckled dryly, trying to cover your jealousy.

“She practically spent the whole meeting weaving you into the conversation. Subtlety isn’t her strong suit.”

Jimin groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t believe her.”

A silence settled between you before you spoke again, your tone softer this time. “You know, about the whole marriage thing...”

Jimin lowered her hands slowly, looking at you with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

“It’s just for appearances,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “If you want to see someone else—Minjeong or anyone else—I’m not going to stop you.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and you continued.

“This arrangement isn’t about controlling you or your choices. You’re free to live your life however you want.”

Jimin stared at you for a moment, her honey-brown eyes searching yours. Then, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place

She hesitated before adding, “The same goes for you, you know. You didn’t exactly choose this either.”

Your chest tightened, but you quickly masked it with a nonchalant shrug. “Something like that,” you said, lying through your teeth.

You stood, offering her a hand. “Ready to head home?”

Jimin slipped her hand into yours, and as you led her out of the office, the warmth of her touch lingered far longer than it should have.

Your relationship with Jimin had changed in ways that felt both comforting and unsettling. The walls between you gradually fell, replaced by the kind of easy flow you hadn’t expected. She’d drop by your office for coffee, and linger during breaks, and suddenly it wasn’t just about the arranged situation anymore. It was about two people learning to be around each other, to talk, to laugh, to share moments that made you forget about the circumstances.

She’d visit you at work often, showing up unannounced just to grab coffee or chat. At first, it seemed like a random visit, but the more it happened, the more it became clear that she enjoyed spending time with you. You’d even look forward to her visits, finding comfort in the quiet moments you shared away from the chaos of your daily lives.

Social events became less of a hassle, too. Instead of sitting off to the side or making small talk with people you didn’t care about, Jimin would be there, and the two of you would engage in casual conversations, the kind that made you forget about everything else happening around you.

You were friends, you thought. Genuine friends.

But even in those easy moments, there were signs, small, subtle things that made you pause. You noticed Jimin staring at her phone more often, her thumb flicking over the screen in a way that was hard to miss.

You had a good idea of who it was. Minjeong. It wasn’t like you hadn’t expected this. After all, you’d given Jimin the freedom to see other people. You had told her—no, insisted—that this arrangement wasn’t about control, that she could live her life however she saw fit.

And yet, watching her respond to Minjeong’s texts, the way her face lit up when she’d see a new message, it grated on you in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You weren’t supposed to care.

But you did.

On your birthday, you could feel the familiar mix of emotions swirling inside you as Jimin walked into the office, dressed in a beautiful flowy dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. The soft fabric of the dress seemed to move with her effortlessly, its delicate hue catching the light in a way that made her seem almost ethereal. The way it draped around her waist and flared out just enough to hint at her figure was both graceful and captivating. Her hair, styled in loose waves, framed her face perfectly, soft strands falling gently over her shoulders and glowing under the office lights.

She had this quiet elegance about her, something so effortlessly beautiful that it made your heart ache just by looking at her.

Her eyes, always warm, had this soft, shimmering glow when they met yours, like everything around her faded a little, just so she stood out more. You couldn’t really explain it, but in that moment, it felt like she was the only thing in focus. She wasn’t trying to look perfect—she never had to—but the way she moved, how that dress just clung to her in the right places, it made your head spin.

You couldn’t take your eyes off her. It wasn’t like you wanted to stare, but she made it impossible to do anything else. She wasn’t trying, yet there she was, making everything else blur and all you could think about was how damn beautiful she was.

And in that moment, you thought she came to surprise you for your birthday.

But how silly it was to think that when you never told her your birthday.

Your eyes caught hers, but her smile was different. It was more forced, as though she was conflicted. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it felt like she was already pulling away.

You tried to brush it off, but the question tumbled out before you could stop it.

“You look beautfiul,” you said, your voice casual but your stomach knotting with a strange feeling.

“Going somewhere?”

Jimin hesitated for a split second, a flicker of something passing across her face before she answered. “Yeah, I’m meeting Minjeong for dinner.”

The words hit you like a cold splash of water. You had known it was coming. You had prepared yourself for it. But hearing it out loud, so casually, felt different.

“Oh, Minjeong...” you said, trying hard to keep on the mask of calmness that seemed to be slipping the longer you were married to Jimin.

“Have fun.” You couldn’t keep the edge out of your tone, even though you tried to mask it with a smile. “I’ll be out drinking with Yeji later. Should be good.”

Jimin nodded, a slight unease in her expression, but she didn’t press the issue. She just smiled, a little too tightly, and turned to leave.

“I’ll see you later,” she said softly. “I just wanted to check on you first.”

As she walked away, the weight of your own words hit you like a slap. You had told her she could see whoever she wanted. You had given her the space to do so. Yet, the jealousy that twisted in your chest, like you were the one breaking the rules you had set.

Maybe you didn’t have the right to feel this way. Maybe you didn’t even have the right to feel hurt. You had told Jimin she was free to make her own choices, to be with whomever she wanted. And yet, the jealousy remained, simmering under the surface. You wanted to ignore it, to push it away, but it lingered, sharp and insistent.

You had given her the freedom to choose. But you had never thought about how hard it would be to watch her choose someone else.

It was well past midnight, and you were still at the pub with Yeji, both of you tipsy and getting progressively more sloppy. The karaoke was horrendous, your voices completely out of tune, but neither of you seemed to care. Shots kept coming, and you were taking them like it was a contest, each one making your thoughts blur a little more.

“I don’t get why you don’t just tell her you like her,” Yeji slurred, her voice thick with alcohol as she tried to keep herself upright.

“Tell her you like her, and you wouldn’t be here like this.”

You hiccupped, eyes half-lidded, and tried to focus on her. “You—” you muttered, “you know it’s not that simple.”

“How is it not?” Yeji pointed a finger at you, wobbly, but firm in her opinion.

“You’re married to her. Married. What’s the problem?”

You took another drink, feeling the burn in your throat, and shrugged. “I promised her… promised I’d work on getting a divorce. Promised her on our wedding day.”

Yeji made a face, clearly too drunk to hide her disbelief. “That’s fucking stupid,” she mumbled, staring at you like you were an idiot. “Your father would kill you.”

You sighed, glancing away, the alcohol making it easier to pretend it didn’t bother you. “Yeah, I know. But I’m worried about what happens to her after the divorce.”

“Is that why you’ve been making me do all this overtime with you?” Yeji waved her hand dismissively, clearly trying to piece things together. “Doing global stocks and all that shit?”

“I just want her to be okay,” you muttered, the words slurring slightly. “I want her to have someone who can protect her. Make sure her family ties stay strong.”

“And that person is Minjeong?” Yeji gasped, eyes widening with realization. You didn’t even look up, staring into your glass as you mumbled a response.

“She could be,” you said, taking another shot.

Yeji shook her head, still processing everything through her alcohol fog.

“Have you even asked Jimin if she still wants the damn divorce?”

You shook your head, a little too slowly. “No. She doesn’t know what happens if it does either.”

Yeji slapped you on the head, the impact startling you more than it should’ve.

“Ow,” you groaned, rubbing your forehead and glaring at her.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Yeji muttered, slurring even more now. “Just tell her you like her and don’t get divorced.”

You sighed heavily, shaking your head. “I told you. She doesn’t like me like that.”

Giving up, Yeji signaled for another tray of shots, her face set in determination.

“Fine, fine. You’ll get it someday, I guess.”

You downed the next shot, feeling the warmth spread through you, and tried to shake off the uncomfortable tension. At this point, the only thing you could focus on was the next drink, the blur of the night, and the gnawing feeling in your chest that no amount of alcohol would fix.

Jimin was worried.

You hadn’t picked up your phone ever since she left your office that night, and it was nearly four in the morning. The unease in her chest only deepened as the minutes passed without a word from you.

Her date with Minjeong had ended up being a disaster. The evening had been an attempt to forget you, a futile one at that. Minjeong had asked Jimin out, and despite her hesitation, Jimin agreed, thinking it might help push her feelings for you out of her mind. But it didn’t work.

Every moment of the date was filled with thoughts of you, how you looked when she mentioned Minjeong’s name, that small flicker of hurt Jimin had seen in your eyes, and how much she wished you had been the one to ask her out instead.

Jimin had gone to dinner with Minjeong in a forlorn attempt to move past her emotions, but all it did was make her feel further from you. As the night went on, she couldn't shake the feeling of regret. She realized, with each passing second, that she didn’t want to be with Minjeong.

She wanted you.

She wanted you to be the one asking her out, to be the one sharing the moment with her. Instead, there she was, pretending to enjoy a night she didn’t want, with someone she didn’t feel for.

And then there was your birthday.

Jimin hadn’t even realized it until she saw Ryujin’s message. Your birthday. How could she have not known? She had been so wrapped up in her own conflicted feelings, and now she had missed it. She hadn’t even called you to wish you well. Instead, she had gone on a date with Minjeong, leaving you alone when you should have been her priority. The guilt gnawed at her. She should have been celebrating with you, but instead, she abandoned you for an old fling.

Jimin couldn’t stop thinking about how she must have hurt you, how selfish she had been.

Finally, the sound of the door opening broke her thoughts. One of your drivers had you slung over his back, and Ryujin was close behind, carrying Yeji in her arms.

You groaned as the driver gently set you down on the couch, before grimly walking out of the door.

Ryujin’s eyes met Jimin’s, and she simply shook her head in disappointment before carrying her half-asleep girlfriend away.

The young royalty stood there for a moment, feeling lost. You lay on the couch, flat on your back, murmuring incoherently, your arms covering your face. She couldn't stand seeing you like this—vulnerable and clearly intoxicated. It made her feel even worse for not being there for you earlier.

Jimin walked to your room and picked out your night clothes, the weight of her guilt growing heavier with each step. As she returned to you, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her emotions tangled. She knew she should have been there with you. She should have been the one to care for you on your birthday, not someone else. She couldn’t keep running from how she felt about you anymore.

She gently walked over to you and sat down next to you, her hands shaking as she reached for your arm. She didn’t know what to say or how even to start, but she had to do something.

“Y/N?” she gently shook your arm. “Let’s get you changed.”

When she reached over to remove your blazer, your eyes immediately flew open. The intensity of your gaze caught her off guard, and she froze for a moment, her breath catching.

Your hazy brown eyes met hers, and you frowned, your voice slow and slurred.

“You are a very pretty lady, but I am married.”You tried to pull your blazer closer to your chest. “My wife is very beautiful, and she won’t like it if you touch me.”

Jimin’s heart fluttered despite herself.

She couldn’t help but smile at how cute you were, drunk and a little delirious. Despite the alcohol, there was a vulnerability to you, a sincerity that made her chest tighten. You were a different version of yourself, and she couldn’t help but feel drawn to this side of you.

Exasperated but finding you incredibly endearing, Jimin giggled softly, her worries momentarily fading.

“I am your wife, pabo,” she said with a teasing smile, her fingers brushing your cheek as she gently cupped your face.

“Really?” Your eyes widened, your voice full of wonder.

“Yes,” she said, finally managing to remove your blazer and start pulling off your dress shirt.

You whistled, “Damn I got lucky.”

Jimin rolled her eyes, her face flushing pink as she avoided looking at your body, quickly pulling the nightshirt over your frame. It wasn’t easy, seeing you like this, vulnerable, messy, and it felt like everything that was left unsaid between you both was now laid bare in the silence.

After a while of wheedling and convincing, she managed to drag you into her bathroom. She gently lowered you onto the edge of the tub, sitting down behind you as she reached for the makeup remover.

You were a mess, leaning heavily into her as she wiped your face, the gentle motion soothing in the quiet. As she cleaned your face, her thoughts turned inward again, the guilt over the earlier part of the night resurfacing. She needed to say something, but she didn’t know how to start. She wanted to take it all back, to be honest with you about how she felt, about how much she wished you’d been the one there with her instead of Minjeong.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Mhmm.” You slurred, still dazed, her mind a bit foggy. “For what?”

“For going on the date with Minjeong… and for not spending your birthday with you,” Jimin admitted, her words tinged with regret.

“S'not your fault.” Your voice was slow but comforting, the warmth in her tone meant to ease the guilt. “It’s okay.”

“But I hurt you,” Jimin pressed, her eyes searching for any sign of forgiveness.

“Maybe, but I had a crush on you since high school, so you get a free card.” your voice wavered with a small giggle, still distant, as though you words were floating in and out of consciousness.

What?

Jimin’s heart skipped a beat, a warmth spreading through her chest as the truth washed over her. The crush Yeji had mentioned on their wedding night...was Jimin all along?

Her heart fluttered at the thought, and in an unexpected twist, a wave of embarrassment rolled over her. She realized, with a soft flush, that she was jealous of the past version of herself.

She finished drying your face with a clean towel, but her mind was elsewhere. She needed to tell you. She couldn’t keep holding it back, even if she was scared, even if everything felt so uncertain.

“During the date, I kept thinking how much I wished it was you who asked me to go on a date,” she admitted, her words barely above a whisper.

You paused, looking at her with slow, heavy eyes, as if processing her words.

Jimin’s heart thudded in her chest as she waited for a response.

Was she too late? Had she ruined everything?

But then you looked at her, your eyes suddenly sharp and focused, and her heart stuttered in her chest.

“Do you still want a divorce?” you asked, your voice soft but carrying an emotion she couldn’t place.

Jimin hesitated.

Her emotions were swirling, you were the one she wanted, and had always wanted. But the doubt lingered, and she needed to hear you say it, needed to know if there was something real between you both.

“I…” She shook her head slowly, her voice almost trembling. “I don’t think so.”

Your face broke into a grin, that rare, beautiful smile that Jimin had longed to see, and her heart melted in response.

“Then would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow, Lady Jimin?”

She laughed, the nervous tension breaking. “Will you still remember this tomorrow?”

You quickly nodded, your voice steady, “Yes.”

“Then yes,” she replied, her heart soaring. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

You punched the air in excitement, nearly toppling over. Jimin couldn't help but laugh at your dorkiness. She had liked this side of you, so carefree, so you.

She couldn’t hide her adoration for you any longer. She leaned closer and whispered, ��Close your eyes.”

You did without hesitation, trusting her with a vulnerability that mirrored her own.

And before you could even process it, her soft, full lips were pressed against yours. The kiss was gentle, lingering just a little longer than you expected. The touch of her lips, soft and sweet, sent a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding as the world around you seemed to stop.

It was more than just a kiss. It was everything that had been left unsaid, everything you both had been too scared to express. And as Jimin pulled back, your eyes still closed, a smile spread across your face.

It has always been her.

lots of angst in the next chapter! giving you guys a warning here first 😬 be prepared

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gloomwitchwrites · 11 months ago

Text

Just Like Dad (1 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff, some humor, brief mention of pregnancy, canon-typical swearing, Simon is a girl dad

Word Count: 890

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Filling out a parent questionnaire leads to Simon having to answer a hard question.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad

“Daddy.”

A small fist curls around the bottom of Simon’s shirt, tugging. He glances down, finding his daughter there holding out a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Simon takes it from her, his gaze shifting to the black ink.

“It’s for school.”

It’s a questionnaire. Simons scans over the questions quickly before returning his gaze to his daughter. “Give me a second, love.”

Simon packs up the files he brought home from work. Grabbing a pencil, he strolls out to the living room, his daughter on his heels. Simon takes a seat in the middle of the sofa, placing the paper and pencil on the coffee table. His daughter snags a pillow off the couch, dropping it on the floor next to his legs. Sitting, she stares at him expectantly.

Simon nods toward the paper. “You need to practice your letters.”

She groans. “But it’s about you!”

Simon slowly slides the paper and pencil over to her. She pouts but takes up the pencil, the graphite tip poised above the first line.

“Name,” she says, glancing up at him.

“You know my name.”

She squints at him and looks back at the paper, taking her time to write each letter. She holds it up and Simon smiles. It’s stilted and a bit sideways, but it’s there. She asks several more questions like favorite food and color. Simon doesn’t understand the point to it but they’re likely doing a project on a parent.

“Job,” she says, expectant.

Job. His occupation. That’s a fucking complicated question.

“Military,” he answers.

She frowns. “How do you spell that?”

“Sound it out.”

She does so slowly, elongating each letter as she writes.

Simon glances over her shoulder and chuckles. “That’s an ‘i,’ darling.” He points and she aggressively erases her mistake.

When she finishes, she looks up at him. “Explain.”

Explain. Explain.

Explain…what?

That he kills people? That he negotiates the release of hostages? That he faces violence every day he’s on the job? That he sees some of the worst in people?

How the bloody hell does he explain all that to a six-year-old girl? How does he summarize the violence into a watered-down version that’s digestible enough for her, her teacher, the other students, and her school.

Simon swallows. “I stop bad people from doing bad things.”

She blinks. “Do I have to write all that?”

Simon barks a laugh. “It’s one sentence.”

She silently mimics him, shaking her little body in annoyance as she begins to write. Simon has no idea where the attitude comes from, but it’s likely from Johnny.

“Next question,” prompts Simon once the sentence is written down.

She hesitates and then turns in his direction. “Can I be like you when I grow up?”

Could she? Yes. But the very idea of her in the line of danger frightens him. It twists his stomach, knowing all the things that could befall her if she were to follow in his footsteps. Simon’s gut-instinct is to tell her “No.”

“Why do you want to be like me?” he asks.

She shrugs. “You’re strong. I want to be strong like you.”

“You don’t need to do what I do to be strong.”

“Uh, no,” she says, matter-of-fact, peering at the next question.

Fucking hell, she’s going to be an absolute hellion when she hits puberty. Sighing, Simon rubs at his temple. For some reason, he glances away from his daughter, his gaze landing on you in the hallway. With your hand cradling your slightly swollen belly, you watch on with an amused expression.

Number two. Will this one be like her? Wanting to do what he does?

“Daddy.”

Simon turns back to his daughter. She points at the paper with the tip of her pencil, head tilted slightly to the side.

He leans forward. “What’s the next question?”

“What does your day look like?” She grins up at him, ready for his answer.

Simon hears your soft laugh from the hall, and then your footsteps across the carpet. Your hand reaches out to cradle the back of Simon’s neck. On instinct, he lifts his arm, resting his hand on the small of your back.

“Go on, Simon. Tell her,” you tease, knowing that he’s struggling to form an answer.

“Do you put your mask on first?” The question is innocent but Simon laughs anyway.

“No,” he chuckles, gently taking the paper and pencil from her. “I kiss your mother first.”

Simon drags you in for a kiss.

“Ugh. Gross.” She makes a face, tiny nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Still want my job?” Simon presents the paper and she snatches up in her little fist.

“No thanks,” she sing-songs, stuffing the paper in her backpack, crinkling it up.

You hide your grin in Simon’s shoulder, and Simon tugs you closer. “Good save,” you murmur.

Simon presses his lips to the top of your head. “She has one of my masks.”

“I know,” you giggle. “Found it under her pillow this morning. I put it in your bag.”

“Was it covered in your makeup this time?”

“Had to wash it.”

Simon shakes his head in exasperation. He’s not annoyed. Just perplexed. He doesn’t understand why his daughter wants to be just like him.

It’s because she doesn’t know.

No. She doesn’t know. But one day she will. She might even change her mind.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

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livinghostly · 1 year ago

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i will hold on to you for as long as you let me — megumi fushiguro x mom!reader, satoru gojo x reader

a/n: sorryyy the fushiguro-gojo family dynamic was rotting my brain and i needed this out of my system. LOTS of projection of my fear of growing up in this one soz. this was fully meant to be a drabble and it just kept going idk wc: 3.1k angst/fluff. mom!reader has a lot of bittersweet thoughts about megumi growing up and satoru is there to comfort <3 lots of parentheses and lots of repetition

you put on a brave face all day. all week, even. despite the burn in your chest that engulfed your lungs and squeezed unrelentingly. despite the tears that burned the corners of your eyes delicately balancing on the your waterline, one blink away from breaking the surface density and opening the floodgates to pour down your cheeks. despite the non-stop ache of your stomach, churning what you ate every day but still holding the same emptiness as anxiety consumed you.

megumi didn’t pack much, he never held on to many things to begin with. (you always prayed for that to change, for his comfort your home. you prayed he would see it as his own, as well). he neatly folded his clothes into his suitcases and stacked his hangers on top. he purchased a new sheet set for his bed in the dormitory because the one he was used to was much bigger, much softer.

he packed most of his books, carefully picking out the ones that tugged at the nostalgic parts of him, frayed along the edges after many years of re-reading, as well the ones that still had vibrant covers and stiff spines he hoped to finish. you noticed the leather journal he kept tied together– the ink-blotted pages bursting at the seams –sitting on the shelf before he tucked it into his box of personal belongings. it was his third one since living with you, all filled to every last page and used beyond ruin. the rest were hidden between his headboard and the wall. you pretended not to know, after stumbling upon them while changing his sheets.

closing the door to your home felt eerily empty. it looked the same as every day. the couch was cleaned and the floors swept. dishes rinsed and promptly put away. but with your lingering gaze your mind fixated on the dining table set for four, two adult pairs of shoes at the door, one pink backpack slumped on the hook of the closet door with an empty space below. your chest twisted at the lack of clutter, though it’d been like that for some time, with tsumiki and megumi growing older and cleaning up after themselves properly like you taught them. like you wanted. the pride you initially felt with those memories of parenting were becoming eclipsed with resentment and despair.

the ride to school was quick and familiar, megumi knew well what he was getting into after visiting there to train. satoru liked to call them little getaways from megumi’s civilian life, claiming he wasted too much time around non-sorcerers when he could be on missions with his ever-loving benefactor instead.

satoru, who was whining while he laid himself across the three seats in the back of your car. you’d banished him there for such a special occasion, and he threatened to transport himself to the school alone. an empty threat, at best. he didn’t want to miss this.

megumi had sparred with the older students and found himself thrown around the field many times already. he knew his way to the infirmary by heart, he knew where gojo tucked away his most powerful curse-imbued weapons (that were supposed to be under the surveillance of higher ups), and knew what letter-number combination granted him the ginger chips nobody else seemed to like.

you were glad he was comfortable. you were glad he would fall into routine easily after the repeated trips to jujutsu high and developing a rapport with his upperclassmen. you’d waited for the day that he’d truly be part of the jujutsu world and welcomed into a better suited environment for people like him. and you knew he would be great, he already possessed an incredible technique and wielded it like he’d been fine-tuning it since birth. far ahead from most kids his age, you were proud.

still, your gut was sinking, sinking, sinking into the floor with each passing second.

megumi picked his room in one of the far-away corners of the boys dormitory, leaving inumaki and panda heartbroken (panda said he would find a way to organize sleepover. megumi said he would drop out before that happened. inumaki cried– no, wailed at the rejection). yuuta fell into step with you, slipping one of the boxes out of your hands and insisting on helping instead. it was sweet, if it didn’t feel like he was ripping precious time away from you.

but you smiled, and granted his wish. megumi wasn’t complaining, he liked yuuta more than the others. it was a good chance for them to talk more. all of this, a chance, a new chapter, the rest of his life. the thoughts weighed on your shoulders with a disgusting strain traveling to your fingertips.

you were painfully aware you were in your own head, doing this all to yourself. he wasn’t going away, you would still be seeing him, more than you used to when he went to his other schools. he would always be here.

satoru found you in your classroom, while you were organizing the stationary with an unnaturally stiff composure. your arms were tense, he could see the muscles constantly flexing with each of your movements.

your jaw was clenching and unclenching again. you made a point not to look outside, where the second-years were training brashly after successfully moving their things back into their dorms. you made a point not to meet satoru’s dangerous stare as he shut the door to your classroom, as if it granted any privacy with the seven large windows running along the wall that showcased the hallway.

“what are you doing all by yourself, beautiful?” his tone was soft and inviting, begging you to open up and let yourself fall against the cushion of his words.

“um,” you exhaled, voice shaky. you scrunched your face to break apart the tension that had hardened your expression. “i figured i would get a few things ready for tomorrow.”

it took satoru’s long legs two-and-a-half strides to meet you at your desk, where you gently shut the drawer. there were a handful of dated photographs in there, signed with his name and the chicken scratch of two children.

“it’s all ready, baby. we did that last week.”

(correction: you did it. he tagged along for the shopping trip).

“there’s just… a few things...” you mumbled, not finding the strength to finish your own sentence.

satoru gently placed his hand on your shoulder, emitting inhuman warmth that spread across your skin. you leaned into him as he dragged his hand down your arm and intertwined your fingers with the care of handling fine china. his presence brought you solace, effortlessly bringing the walls down that you desperately wanted to wait until you got home to break.

he kissed the back of your hand and rubbed the skin. “you know you’re going to see him every day, right?”

it was embarrassing how well satoru knew you, knew your thought process like it was an extension of his own. he knew your doubts and insecurities, your fears and desires. he could predict the words before they came from your mouth, more in tune with the way you spoke than his mother tongue.

“mhm.”

“you know we’re going to be the ones chaperoning his missions, right?”

you closed your eyes and looked away. “i know.”

“do you remember when he said he’d like to go home some weekends, and have dinner?”

“he said that to be nice.”

“when has he ever been nice?”

you opened your eyes to glare at him, though he was right. megumi was not nice. he was polite. he was too self-aware for his own good, too perceptive of others and their emotions. in all the time that you’d known him, raised him, he made himself smaller for the convenience of others. he walked on his tiptoes for a year and a half so no one else would wake up because of him. he made his own breakfast and bit back his tears when he burned himself. he didn’t ask for things or food and didn’t offer his input unless asked directly. for some time, he was a ghost in his own home.

it seemed as soon as the bits of his shell started to break off, he was being swept away from you by the jujutsu world, leaving you with looming fears that consumed your mind and disrupted your sleep for weeks.

satoru smiled, though it was weighed down with your sadness. “hey, he’s not going anywhere, you know that. just because you’re not driving him home everyday doesn’t mean he’s gone.”

it’s funny, it’s nearly the same speech he gave you when tsumiki started middle school. and when megumi followed those same steps.

tsumiki didn’t make it this far, though.

the thought makes your lip wobble again, and you bite it back pathetically.

“i know. i know that. it’s just that…” your voice cracked, and you shoved your head in your hands. your palms squeezed your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the already-flowing tears. “he’s not my little boy anymore.”

satoru’s soothing hands pull you into a tight hug, and you don’t have it in you yet to move your hands from your face. his embrace makes you sob harder, louder as all your emotions from the last week begin to pour out at once. his chest rumbled with your cries, and he tucked you further under his arms as if to shield you from what was making you hurt so much. it was all you.

“baby…” he chuckled, without a hint mirth or mockery. he squeezed you with compassion and adoration. “you know that’s not true. he’s still pretty short, he’s got another growth spurt coming.”

a small laugh slipped through, but was quickly drowned out by your cries.

“he’ll be okay. he’s still here.”

he was so, so warm. he gently began to rock back and forth with you, the heels of your shoes gently clicking on the tile floor. a small hiccup erupted from you as you found the strength to wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest. the familiar thrum of his heartbeat welcomed you.

“i know, i’m sorry. i know he’s not leaving, or anything… i just… i thought i was ready.” you blubbered into his button-up. surely, there’d be two wet spots where your eyes were when you pulled away.

he swayed side to side with you, staring at the blackboard ahead of him. he nestled his chin on the top of your head, wondering if you could hear the cracks tearing through his heart. “it’s okay if you’re not ready. but you’re treating this like it's goodbye.”

“but what if we don’t get a goodbye?”

“okay, you really are overthinking this,” he pulled away from your embrace, your fingers still digging into the material of his shirt. he brushed away the hair covering your eyes, stuck to your skin by the wetness of your cheeks. streaks ran through your foundation and the corners of your eyes were smudged. “there you are. so pretty.”

it was silly how he believed he could make things better like that. it was silly that he was a little bit right.

“don’t think for a second i’ll let megumi be sent on a mission he can’t handle. he’s going to be fine.”

satoru’s love ran deep. for you, for megumi, for all his students. he fought curses everyday for you, rotted himself with his technique and stitched himself back up in a moment’s notice to fight for you. to come home to you. all of humanity be damned, those closest to him were the ones he fought for, and he would do everything in his power to preserve their lives.

he already towed the line with the higher-ups and their conservative rules and regulations, but he would tear them down if you asked. for megumi, he’d fight tooth and nail to see that he wasn’t being sent off on a mission ill-prepared. under his watch, things would be different for his students.

you nodded meekly, wiping away your tears with one hand. “i hate when you’re right, toru. it’s really annoying.”

he smoothed down your hair and grinned. “i know, just let me have this one, though.”

his sweet murmurs filled your ears, along with the gentle shuffling of your clothes as you made yourself presentable again. you balled up your sleeves and patted the corners of your eyes gently, and he straightened out the hem of your shirt. it was wrinkled, a reminder of how harshly you clung to him.

you smiled at the water stains on his shirt now, and he claimed it was in need of dry cleaning anyway.

neither of you noticed the eyes of megumi and yuuta, both stuck in place at the very corner of the windows leading to the hallway. they had training staffs with them, megumi’s grip becoming tighter as he watched you wipe your eyes and knock your head into satoru’s chest lazily. your shoulders low, clearly drained from the amount you cried.

yuuta was frozen, eyes flickering from you to megumi repeatedly. he found his courage in placing a hand on his shoulder, a feather-light grip. “hey, let’s go through the east wing. i’m pretty sure it’s faster that way.”

it wasn’t. but megumi nodded anyway, begrudgingly tearing his gaze from you and turning around with yuuta.

you stared down the red light of the intersection with a blank face, blank mind. letting it all out of your system had successfully flushed out your emotions, taking the rest of your energy along with it. the car was painfully quiet, but no part of you wanted to listen to anything.

satoru was whisked away by yaga, being delivered another mission he swore would take less than a day. ‘less than twelve hours’, he promised to be back for megumi’s first day. he would make it.

it was dark, and you milked all the time you could on school grounds. speaking with yaga and shoko, running through the still-developing information of missions to be sent on. cleaning the classrooms. the lockers. stocking the teachers lounge. dusting the armory. before you knew it the curfew ushered the students into their dorms.

a ringtone broke through your thoughts, making you jump. though the tune was soft, the sudden intrusion made it much more shrill. you fumbled with your phone in the passenger seat, seeing megumi’s contact on the screen.

“hello?”

“hey, mom?”

it took everything you had left not to gawk. he said it before, sparingly in desperation for comfort. his voice was quiet, a near-whisper despite the fact he was alone in his dorm. like he was nervous.

“yes, megumi?”

“um… are you home?”

you wondered if he forgot something. “no, i’m still driving. are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i just… can’t sleep, i guess…” he trailed off, hoping for you to fill in the gap.

“oh. okay. did you take–“

“do you think you could pick me up?” he interrupted. “and i just stay home tonight? you could drive me in the morning.”

you were quick to dissolve into a smile, pointed at the streetlamp on the sidewalk. sadness struck your eyes but you were too occupied by the warmth of his question to feel it.

“yeah. i can be back there in a few minutes, just let me turn around.”

“thanks.”

he didn’t hang up. neither did you. the silence lived on for a few seconds.

“mom?”

“yeah?”

“… gojo’s on a mission, right?”

you laughed, your hand sliding across the steering wheel as you reouted back to the school. “yeah, megs, he’ll be gone tonight.”

“he’s back tomorrow?”

“yeah, we can leave before he gets home.”

“thanks.”

bonus:

satoru tiptoed through the entrance of your home, brushing his blindfold over his hair and peeling it off his head. he hung it up with his keys, lax arms nearly missing the hook on the closet door meant for him. it was beyond late, and he was tired, but he was home like he said he would be.

he bent down to tie his shoes, buffering momentarily as he caught a glance of well-worn sneakers at the front door. they were as clean as they could be, though scuffed rubber turning gray and the laces becoming frayed where they were tightened most.

satoru made a grunt in acknowledgement to no one but himself, as he tossed his shoes down. he glanced around the living space, cautiously bringing himself to each room with a curious itch to scratch. a third pair of shoes. both backpacks on the door. dishes for two placed on the drying rack.

he was expertly quiet by nature, but found himself avoiding the squeaky floorboards on the stairs and all the way to the hallway. he was greeted with a blue sign, corners covered with dog stickers. the frilly handwriting of tsumiki warding off unwanted visitors with the phrase: “megumi’s room. keep out!!”

the door opened quietly, satoru pushing it open to the limit and stopping before it would let out an ungodly squeak. he insisted on never getting it fixed, knowing it bothered megumi.

megumi had his face shoved in his pillow, a desperate attempt to block out any light creeping through the crack of his bedroom door or the streetlamp just outside the window. he was always a light sleeper, always on edge, sleeping with his back to the wall so if something barged in the night he was ready. it was horrible he thought that way, you always said.

his duvet covers were black and white plaid, per his request three years ago when he begged to be free of the puppy sheets. still, he seemed small, curled up in a ball. his face was released of the usual tension and his light breathing filled the room. for a moment, he was little again.

satoru smiled, taking a step back and closing the door gently.

#spleen writes #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk angst #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo fluff #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x mom!reader #jjk gojo #jjk megumi #jjk megumi fushiguro #megumi fluff #mom!reader #satoru gojo fic #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader

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tsukumomei · 18 days ago

Note

OKOKOK in my mind in the “puppy love” fic, reader is moving to spain

and then three years later sae comes to spain cause he gets scouted by re al you know the story

and so they meet again ❤️‍��❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 (they have cute “dates” if you will, where she shows him around spain and what not 🤭)

now idk if you’re taking requests at the moment, or even want to write a part two for this, but i (and many others i feel like) would LOVE to see this!

no force though, if you do wish to write it take your time, and if you don’t it’s all fine too!

much love, xoxo 💋

a/n: This is actually insane because this is EXACTLY what I had in mind for a bonus part! I was originally going to end it when they saw each other again, but I took your request and wrote about their dates too. Enjoy! Mwah! I wouldn’t consider this a part 2, though—if I ever write one, it’ll still be from Rin’s POV. But I’m open to writing more bonus parts for this fic, so feel free to send me an ask! ^^

—RIGHT WHERE WE LEFT OFF

ft. Sae Itoshi

a bonus chapter for Puppy Love

synposis: Sae moves to Madrid after getting scouted by Real, but he has two problems. One—he hates it. The city feels unfamiliar, foreign, nothing like home. Two—he’s determined to forget about you. But the harder he tries, the more his own mind betrays him—because no matter what he does, everything leads him right back to you. wc: 3.1 k

The shuffling in Sae’s carry-on grows more frantic as he impatiently searches for that notebook from you.

It was the first thing he stuffed into his bag.

Flipping through the worn pages, his eyes finally land on the last one—covered in messy scribbles, but the only thing that stands out is a single line written in red ink at the bottom:

"Wait for me. ❤️ Y/N"

Sae presses his thumb against the words, as if touching them could somehow bring back the past. Could somehow make you feel real again.

He leans back into his seat, staring out at the endless stretch of sky beyond the plane window, but it’s not Madrid he’s thinking about. It’s you.

This morning, back at the house, he’d been kicking a soccer ball around the backyard, the steady thud of leather against concrete filling the quiet air. Rin was there too, watching him with a knowing look before finally speaking up.

"Nii-chan, it was just puppy love."

Maybe it was. Maybe Rin was right.

But if it was just puppy love, why is it still lingering?

Why did he still worry—that if you ever came back, that you’d be mad at him for not being there?

It’s been three years.

The chances of seeing you again were close to impossible.

—

Sae steps into his new apartment in Madrid, rolling his suitcase inside as his manager gestures around the space.

“This is your living room,” his manager begins, flipping on the lights. The apartment is modern, minimalistic—exactly what Sae expected. “Kitchen’s over there. Fridge is stocked for now, but you’ll need to do your own groceries after this week.”

Sae nods, setting his bag neatly by the couch.

“The bedroom’s down the hall,” the manager continues, walking ahead. “Bathroom’s connected. There’s a desk if you need to study or review game footage. Wi-Fi’s already set up.”

Sae peeks into the bedroom—plain, clean, nothing extravagant. Just a bed, a nightstand, and a small window overlooking the street below.

“You’re across the hall?” Sae asks as they return to the main area.

“Yeah,” his manager confirms, crossing. “If you need anything, just knock.”

Sae scoffs lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

His manager gives him a once-over, then exhales. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to settle in.”

With that, the manager steps out, leaving Sae alone.

The moment the door clicks shut, Sae gets to work. He unzips his luggage, methodically putting his clothes away, setting his toiletries in the bathroom, and neatly stacking his training gear by the closet. He takes mental notes of what he needs—more food, basic supplies, maybe an extra pillow.

Once everything is in place, he pulls out his phone and dials home.

His mother picks up almost immediately. “Sae?”

“I just landed and got to the apartment,” he informs her, his voice steady. “Everything’s fine.”

“That’s good,” she says warmly. “Have you eaten?”

“I will soon.”

“Don’t just eat whatever’s fastest. Make sure you’re getting proper meals.”

Sae hums in acknowledgment before adding, “Tell Dad I made it safely. And Rin, too.”

“Of course,” his mother says. There’s a brief pause, then a softer, knowing tone in her voice. “It feels real now, doesn’t it?”

Sae leans against the counter, staring at the empty space around him. His new home. His new life.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

After a few more exchanges, he hangs up, setting his phone aside.

His eyes drift to his carry-on, to the one thing he hadn’t put away yet.

The notebook.

The worn cover, the slightly frayed edges—he traces them with his fingers before flipping it open once again. The pages are filled with your handwriting, messy yet familiar, scrawled with thoughts and doodles from years ago.

It’s ridiculous, really. He hasn’t seen you in three years. He has no idea where you are, if you’re still in the same country, if you even remember him the way he remembers you.

But memories flood in anyway. The afternoons spent at the park, your determined expression when you first crashed his soccer game, the way you always talked too much but somehow, he never minded. The way you scribbled on his arm once with the same red ink you used to write—

"Wait for me. ❤️ y/n"

Sae exhales sharply and shuts the notebook.

Maybe it really was just puppy love.

He stands, grabs his wallet, and heads for the door.

He needs to get out, get familiar with the city. He’s going to live here now, after all.

—

The city is foreign, unfamiliar—Sae hates it.

He was never one for traveling. The only reason he’s here is to play soccer at an international level, but outside of that, it feels suffocating in a way he never expected.

The streets are too loud yet too quiet at the same time. He doesn’t understand the conversations happening around him, the unfamiliar syllables blending into meaningless noise. The people pass by in a blur, all strangers, none of them acknowledging him beyond quick glances.

It’s not like he’s stupid enough to get scammed—he’s careful, always aware of his surroundings. But that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t change how frustrating it is to have all this free time and nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

The city is alive, buzzing with movement, but it only makes the loneliness feel sharper.

—

Today marks his second week in Madrid.

Sae realizes just how useless he is when it comes to directions.

The sun is already beginning to set, casting a golden glow over Madrid, and he has no idea where he is.

The street signs might as well be in a foreign language—which, technically, they are. He squints at them, but the unfamiliar words blur together, useless in helping him find his way. And as for Spanish? Well, he knows about as much as a toddler forming his first sentence.

Great.

Of course, it’s at a time like this that he remembers you.

Because you were always the human GPS between the two of you, navigating streets like you had a built-in map inside your head. You always knew the right turns to take, the fastest shortcuts.

And right now? Right now, he is the one most in need of that skill.

Rin thinks Sae is perfect, so he probably doesn’t even know about this little flaw of his.

Sae scoffs to himself, shaking his head. It’s ridiculous that, even now, when he’s supposed to be moving on, he still finds himself thinking about you.

He exhales sharply, pushing the thoughts away.

Enough.

With renewed determination, Sae steps onto the crosswalk, telling himself—again—that it’s time to leave his childhood love in the past.

But by the time he reaches the middle, doubt creeps in—just enough for him to hesitate, just enough for him to misstep.

And just enough for him to accidentally bump into someone walking from the opposite direction.

"Perdón," the girl mutters, barely sparing him a glance—until she does.

She stops short, eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh."

Sae blinks.

"It’s you."

For a moment, the city fades into the background. The people rushing past, the hum of conversation, the faint honking of impatient drivers—it all disappears.

You look different now. Your hair is dyed, a little wavier than before. A stylish bag hangs off your shoulder, outfit effortlessly put together in a way that makes you stand out even in the middle of Madrid.

But to him, you’re still the same stubborn girl who once barged into his soccer game with Rin, the one who never asked for permission—just demanded a pass like you belonged there. The one who never looked at him like everyone else did.

Your eyes are the same. That’s what catches him the most. Time has changed a lot of things, but not that. They still hold the same warmth, the same quiet confidence.

Sae wonders if he looks different to you, too. If you notice the way his shoulders have grown broader, the way the exhaustion lingers under his eyes. If you can tell that beneath all the fame and titles, there’s still a part of him that never stopped waiting for you.

Neither of you speak. Just stood there, caught in something neither of you were prepared for.

Sae exhales, then—without thinking—extends his hand toward you

But before you can take it, a sharp whistle cuts through the air.

"¡Oye! Move it!"

The traffic officer’s whistle cuts through the air, snapping both of you out of your daze.

Startled, you both turn at the same time, realizing the light has already turned green—and you’re still standing in the middle of the crosswalk.

Reality has always had a way of interrupting you two, hasn’t it?

Sae clenches his jaw, frustration flickering across his face. Meanwhile, you weren’t handling it any better—because instead of just walking away like a normal person, you were flipping off the traffic officer and hurling a wooden spoon at him.

Where did you even get that? Sae has no idea. And honestly, he’s not sure he wants to.

But then he feels you grab his arm, yanking him across the street as you break into a run—both of you fleeing from the traffic officer, who Sae can only assume is cursing you out in rapid Spanish.

And just like that, his expression softens.

—

“Whew, that was close,” you say between heavy breaths, still catching your breath from all that running.

Sae glances at you, unimpressed. “Maybe if you didn’t throw a spoon at him, we wouldn’t have to run.”

You roll your eyes, waving him off. “Oh, please. That guy already hates me. This isn’t even the first time, you know.”

Sae raises a brow. “Not surprised.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Hey! Rude.”

He exhales sharply, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “What did you do to piss him off before?”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sae gives you a look—unamused but intrigued nonetheless. “I would, actually.”

You grin, pretending to think. “Let’s just say… it involved a churro cart, an old lady, and a very, very unfortunate slip on my part.”

Sae stares at you for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re a menace.”

You flash him a cheeky smile. “And yet, here you are, running away from traffic officers with me.”

He huffs but doesn’t argue. Because, somehow, you’re right—because he’s relieved that he can finally talk to someone other than his manager, and just as relieved to see that you haven’t changed at all.

Isn’t it ironic? The very day he decides to finally let go of your memory, fate throws you right back into his life.

But something nags at him. You haven’t asked about Madrid, about why he’s here. It’s like you’re not surprised at all, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to bump into him on the street.

Sae narrows his eyes slightly before speaking. “Hey, you’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what?” you blink at him, confused. Then, as if remembering something, your face lights up. “Oh! Where are my manners?”

Before he can react, you throw yourself at him, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

Sae stiffens, caught completely off guard. But before he can say anything, you sigh dramatically against his shoulder. “I missed you so much! I can’t believe you followed me all the way to Spain. Oh, you really do love me.”

He clicks his tongue, exasperated. You’re being an idiot again—definitely pushing it.

But he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, after a brief hesitation, he exhales and wraps a single arm around you, listening as you ramble on like no time has passed at all.

—

“Maybe I should put a tracker on you.” you tease, walking a step ahead of Sae as you lead him through the narrow streets of Madrid.

He exhales sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I would’ve figured it out eventually.”

You throw him a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, sure. After getting lost for another three hours.”

Sae doesn’t bother denying it. Instead, he follows as you turn into an alleyway, stopping in front of a small, unassuming café tucked between two buildings.

“This place has the best tostada con tomate in the city,” you say, nodding toward the café.

“The old man inside—Rafa—he always yells at me for ordering too much, but then he sneaks me an extra pastry for free.”

As if on cue, the door swings open, and an elderly man steps out. His eyes land on you, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “¡Ah, mira quién es! La niña que me arruina el negocio.” (Ah, look who it is! The girl who’s ruining my business.)

You laugh, stepping forward to greet him. “Don’t lie, Rafa. You love me.”

Rafa scoffs but affectionately ruffles your hair before turning to Sae, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “¿Y este quién es?” (And who’s this?)

“My amigo,” you reply smoothly, though there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. “He just moved here, so I’m showing him around.”

Rafa studies Sae for a moment before nodding in approval. “Bien. Come inside. I’ll make sure he eats something decent.”

Sae barely has time to protest before you’re dragging him through the door, the scent of warm spices and grilled meat immediately filling the air. The restaurant is small, a little tucked away from the busier streets, but it’s lively, filled with laughter and the soft hum of conversation.

When the food arrives, you dig in without hesitation, taking a bite and immediately letting out a dramatic sigh. “Oh my god,” you moan, clutching your chest like you’ve just ascended to heaven. “This is it. This is what happiness tastes like.”

Sae raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You sound ridiculous.”

“You sound jealous,” you retort, shoveling another bite into your mouth. “You haven’t even touched your food.”

Sae watches you for a moment. The way you eat so shamelessly, without a care for how you look, is something he vaguely remembers from when you were kids. Some things never change.

“I’m just letting you be the poison tester,” he mutters, finally picking up his fork.

You roll your eyes. “Please. If Rafa wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it years ago.”

Rafa, passing by, snorts. “She’s not wrong.”

Sae sighs, finally taking a bite. He won’t admit it, but it’s good. Really good.

Just as you’re finishing your plate, you glance at your phone and stand abruptly. “Be right back. Don’t go running off without me.”

Sae only scoffs in response, watching as you disappear towards the bathroom. The moment you’re gone, Rafa leans against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to Sae with a knowing smirk.

“She talked about you before, you know,” Rafa says casually.

Sae tenses slightly. “Did she?”

Rafa nods, chuckling. “Not by name. Just 'some guy I used to know who’s hopeless with anything besides soccer and even worse with emotions.'”

Sae huffs. “Sounds like something she'd say.”

Rafa shrugs. “Well, if you’re sticking around, you better get used to her dragging you everywhere. She’s got a habit of making lost people feel at home.”

Sae doesn’t respond, just looks at him, expression unreadable. Rafa only chuckles, shaking his head as he wipes down the counter.

A moment later, you return, eyes narrowing the second you spot them. “What’s this?” you ask suspiciously, sliding back into your seat. “What were you two talking about?”

Rafa smirks, tilting his head towards Sae. “Oh, nothing much. Just sharing stories.”

You gasp dramatically, pointing a finger at Sae. “You weren’t talking bad about me, were you?”

Sae finally speaks, deadpan. “Wouldn’t need to. You embarrass yourself enough.”

You scoff, reaching over to steal a piece of food from his plate. “Unbelievable. I leave for one second, and you two become best friends conspiring against me.”

Rafa laughs. “Don’t worry, querida. He’s not that easy to befriend.”

You nod sagely. “That’s true. I had to force him to like me.”

Sae rolls his eyes. That was true for most people, but definitely not for you.

He liked you from the get-go, like there was a gravitational pull towards you that he just couldn't escape from.

The day continues like that.

You don’t take him to the usual tourist spots—the grand plazas or famous museums. Instead, you show him the Madrid you love.

A tucked-away bookstore where the owner lets you sit and read for hours without buying anything. A tiny family-run tapas bar where the food is cheap but incredible, and the owners greet you like family. A rooftop spot where you swear the sunset looks better than anywhere else in the city.

Everywhere you go, you introduce him like he belongs there.

By the time the sky turns golden, Sae realizes something.

This isn’t just a city to you. It’s a home.

And for the first time since moving here, Madrid doesn’t feel so unfamiliar to him anymore.

Maybe it’s because he’s finally seeing it through your eyes.

And maybe that so-called puppy love Rin kept telling him about is beginning to grow into something more.

a/n: "Puppy Love" is the one and only beloved Sae Itoshi fanfic franchise that will remain untouched by despair. I wholeheartedly believe that at some point during his four years in Spain, Sae had his dreams crushed and utterly heartbroken. But in this au? nah. no angst, no career-crushing disappointments, Just endless, tooth-rotting fluff and relationship bliss. The kind of soft, sweet moments Sae would never admit he enjoys. Because for once, he deserves to have something go perfectly right.

#(っ´ཀ`)っcienefics #blue lock sae #bluelock #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #itoshi sae fluff #sae itoshi fluff #itoshi sae x y/n #sae bllk #bllk sae #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #blue lock itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #sae x you #blue lock

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glamourscat · 2 months ago

Text

Where Wild Hearts Find Home | SHIDOU RYUSEI

There's something fascinating about how perfectly SHIDOU would match with a foreigner. Think about it: he's everything Japanese society tells you not to be. He's loud, bold, and aggressive. A force of nature who never dims his light or filters his thoughts. From his striking style to his unapologetic presence he stands apart from the crowd refusing to blend into the background.

Even in Blue Lock he's an anomaly. The other players can't quite sync with his wild intensity, his untamed spirit. In a society that worships conformity and avoids individualism, how could someone like him ever truly belong? Every day is a reminder that he's different, that he's the odd one out.

Now imagine a foreigner in Japan, maybe they moved for work, maybe for something else entirely. They know what it means to be different, to feel like an outsider even in familiar spaces. Carrying that same feeling of being the black sheep, of never quite fitting in.

Then fate steps in and the two perhaps meet in a music store, their hands reaching for the same vinyl. Or maybe their eyes lock across a crowded train platform. Or it could be something as simple as both of them snatching, or trying to, the last bottle of black nail polish in a makeup store.

Of course Shidou would start a conversation, what's the worst that could happen? If they says no, they'd be just two more strangers in a city of millions. But something pulls him toward them, an invisible thread of connection he can't ignore. So he takes that chance. And somehow, that awkward first conversation with this strange turns into a coffee date. Then dinner. Then another date and another. Before they know it, they're wearing matching yukata at a summer festival.

And seasons change; suddenly he's everywhere. Like ink bleeding through paper. His name sits at the top of their contact list, the first to appear in the call log. His laughing face lights up their phone's lock screen. His presence makes every holiday brighter, his booming laughter filling rooms with a warmth that feels like home. His kisses, shared in the sanctuary of their bed—yes, theirs now—tell stories of belonging that words never could.

In the end, it turns out that the boy who never fit in anywhere found his perfect match in someone who understood exactly what it meant to be different. Like two pieces of a puzzle that seemed wrong until you realized they were meant for a different picture entirely. One they created together, wild and beautiful and perfectly their own.

──────── ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ────────

#blue lock #bllk x reader #shidou ryusei #blue lock headcanons #bllk shidou #bllk x you #shidou ryusei fluff #shidou headcanons #shidou ryusei imagine #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou ryuusei x reader #blue lock shidou #shidou x reader

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akuma-coffee · 6 months ago

Note

may i request for !tattooartist geto :333 love your writingggg !!!

suguru geto x reader tattoo au!!

sfw, reader gets tattooed, totally a cute comfort scenario! geto and reader totally end up dating at some point after this >.<

geto suguru, an artist you've followed for a little while; a respected figure within tokyo's tattoo scene. after contacting him regarding a flash piece, he'd responded quickly to say his books were full, but as you're a friend of satoru's, he would fit you in after hours.

the date preoccupied you all week, a churning within the pits of your stomach when you envisioned the needle puncturing your skin. this isn't your first tattoo but it's your first with geto - someone you had only admired, never spoken to. satoru was usually the one to push ink under your skin, a friendship blossoming somewhere along the way when he'd invited you out for drinks. "not, like a date - other people will be there..." the machine stops and he withdraws, and you laugh. "yeah, alright."

some years later and you're still reaping the perks of befriending the gojo satoru; discounted tattoos, and now, you're able to get inked by someone you've admired for a long while. you've been in the shop after hours once or twice (day sessions running a little over schedule), though never with anyone other than satoru.

it's odd seeing the shop from the outside while it's lingering into evening, streetlights brighter than the ebbing sun, the shop's florescent white peering through slats in the blinds. your fist rasps over the glass door, eyes lingering momentarily over the closed sign before geto's pushing keys under the handle and your lips are forced upward into a friendly smile.

"hi, it's me..." you're a little awkward, but geto's already been briefed on your personality through satoru; he knew what to expect. he returns the smile and steps to one side, allowing you to pass through the doorway before it's closed behind you, locked again.

there's the usual dividers in the shop, though at this time they're no longer housing artists and clients, instead darkened by the lack of headlamps or ring lights, the framed ink of each person's flash or prided art less vibrant by the missing luminosity. one station is still well lit, though.

"mind just filling this one out?" geto picks up a clipboard from a seat in the waiting area, a pen latched between the metal teeth. you take it from his hands, pulling the biro out and glossing over the sheet of paper - nothing you haven't done before. "i'll just set up over here, take a seat."

you do as he says, the small wooden bench by the door groaning as you allow yourself to perch upon it, legs bouncing a little from nerves. your handwriting scrawls over the white page, name, date of birth, allergies... a form you've filled out tens of times. there's the tearing of kitchen roll and you're pulled from your entrancement from the health declaration form and instead gazing at geto. the bed is out of your sight but you can see his height, occasionally dipping down as he leans, setting up clingfilm, pouring ink into the small pots. lastly, he removes his gloves and tugs at the loosened bun that'd been hanging at his neck, placing that little black elastic between his teeth and re-tying the bun much tighter than before.

"all done?" he asks as he glances over his shoulder, and you nod, taking your lips silently between your teeth. hopefully he hadn't noticed you staring. "i'll do the stencil now." he comes to the front desk's computer, and you hear the printer stutter. he takes the clipboard from you, glancing over your answers. "perfect. come on over."

the placement is over your left shoulder, a large spider lily beginning on the shoulder and ending over the collarbone. geto's gloves are on once more, black latex clinging to the skin, and he grabs a small bottle of gel, pouring it over his own fingertips to run over your shoulder. you sit in silence as he draws a small line in sharpie to figure out the central point, occasionally moving your arm. eventually, the stencil is on, and you're glancing in the mirror to check. it's beautiful, perfect.

laying down, you're forced to look at the ceiling tiles. you feel your throat tighten with anxiety, even with experience, getting a tattoo is nerve-wracking. there's that familiar hum of the machine, and your eyes glance to your side as geto's dipping the needle in the pot of ink, allowing black to collect in the tip. "ready?" he asks, flickering from his focus on the machine to you. you're a little lost in his eyes before you're responding, the deep brown hues mesmerising. they're mellow and friendly, relaxing to your anxious state. you nod.

the needle finally penetrates the skin, but despite your discomfort you remain still and loose, focusing on your breathing. in, out. the pain is only a stinging, a prickling that you've grown used to over the years. nothing that you can't handle.

"all okay?" geto asks, and you appreciate the check-in. "yeah, good thanks." he stretches your skin with his left hand, steadying his right to control the needle. his touch is delicate, gentle as if to ease your nerves, hard focused on the artwork over your skin with a stoic but pointed expression; a furrowed brow. there was something about being tattooed by geto that was so different to satoru, he was so much calmer, almost timid. by now satoru would have to stop from laughing too hard, or offering you candies for the hundredth time. geto was mellow, and it was nice. not to mention the face of concentration he held was cute, his pretty features a match to the art he drew.

"how did you meet satoru?" geto's voice hangs in the air a few minutes after you'd been sat in silence, though his gaze is still transfixed on his work. you smile at the memory, a puff of air from your lips. "he was a regular at the cafe i used to work at, i started in winter and by spring he had buddied up with me. the first time i didn't wear a jumper to work he this god-awful tattoo i got on my 18th birthday, it was my star sign, but looked more like a blob. offered to cover it up at a discounted cost - or if i gave him free chocolates for the week." geto smiles and you don't miss it, peering through your peripheral. "what did you do?" he questions, and you raise your free arm. "i got tattooed."

the hum stops, silence enveloping your ears as geto's attention is diverted to your inner arm, covered in ink he'd recognised to be his close friend's. he squinted as he tried to spot the cover up, and when looking closely he could see the older, blown out ink hiding under more controlled lines. "wow, it looks great. looks like you came back, too."

you nod, relaxing your arm. the buzzing doesn't start straight away, and you peer back to him. "what about you?" you questioned - it felt like he'd been waiting for you to ask. he smiles now, shaking his head. "there's no fun story, we just went to school together. one day i didn't know satoru, the next he was my brother." he raises the machine a little, left hand meeting your skin once again. the thrumming returned, and he glances over your expression before the needle meets your flesh.

"he was a pain in the ass, but he was the reason i went to school every day." a small piece of hair has escaped from the bun, hanging over his forehead. "i almost dropped out, but he kept me in check." you picture satoru in your head, trying to place them together as highschool buddies. they're so different, you wouldn't believe they were so close if satoru hadn't already chewed your ear off over his best friend, and their history together. they've gone through a lot, though you're sure there's so much more you don't know.

"was he as high maintenance in school?" you ask, in attempts to continue the conversation. geto laughs, his teeth peeking through his lips. "worse, somehow. he mellowed out in his twenties." the machine is pulled away and placed on the table beside him, his gloved hand wrapping over a sheet of kitchen roll, a small squeezy bottle in the other. the paper is placed over your shoulder, the liquid poured over alleviating the hot stinging of your skin.

"gonna start on the shading now." geto's eyes bore into your own, and there's a fluttering in your chest.

"are you still working there?" the needle is different now, as is his technique, the machine dragging in faster sweeping motions as he uses a stippling effect. "at the cafe? no, after giving satoru his free chocolates i got fired." geto's expression widens. "it's fine, i work from home most of the time now, no more annoying customers." you inhale sharply as he works on a sensitive area, swallowing back any discontent and putting on a brave face.

"you're doing really well." he comments on your easily discernible unease, and those words of affirmation go straight to your head. geto flickers up at you, then back down to his work. there's silence for a little while more, the hum of the machine growing to hypnotize you as your vision hangs over the white ceiling.

"want anything? water, or some music?" his voice almost makes you jump as you realise how heavy your eyes had been. they're torn from the tiles above you to meet his face, and the white noise stops. "music would be nice." you reply, and he peels back a glove, using the free skin to unlock his phone. a soft guitar tone meets the air, you vaguely recognise the melody and listen as the chugging continues. it's accompanied by buzzing only moments later.

"it's deftones." he explains, weight shifting on the pedal to gain the momentum the machine had previously held. "how long have you been tattooing?" you try and further converse. "coming onto ten years, got an apprenticeship at twenty. tried art school and dropped out - showed up to some shithole with my portfolio and worked for free until i got good enough. opened this place about six years ago with satoru."

"do you enjoy it?" "of course, i get to do what i love as a job... that's everyone's dream, isn't it?" he pauses for a moment, wiping over the skin with a scrunched piece of kitchen roll before the needle is brought back. "yeah." you're quieter as you picture your own dream job. admin certainly wasn't it, but it pays the bills and isn't too taxing.

"okay, i think we're done." suguru speaks, and repeats the same steps as before, washing the ink with solution before wiping it over. the coolness causes goosebumps to prickle over your skin, a balm applied with gloved hand as you know this will be the last time his fingers linger over this part of your shoulder. you're glad the session has finished, though as you make your way over to the mirror to peer over geto's art, you feel a little heartbroken this is coming to an end.

"oh, it's perfect." the words leave your mouth as you stand in awe, admiring the new ink embedded in your skin. it's breath taking, and exactly what you'd needed to fill in that area. you flicker up to meet his gaze through the reflection, eyes jolting downward when they meet his to instead linger over his arms - you hadn't paid all too much attention to the black lines covering his skin until now. his sweater sleeves are rolled back to his elbows, allowing you to peek at his forearms. it looks like satoru tattoos geto too, his style clear in his work.

"will i see you around?" geto asks, his demeanour shifting back into shyness. you allow yourself to meet his eye, butterflies coming to swarm within your belly as he awaits your answer. "definitely." you smile - you're definitely going to be asking satoru more about geto once you're home, you can picture him sussing out your crush instantaneously, though.

pleeease let me know if you want more from this au cause i loved writing this omg!!

#geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #suguru geto tattoo artist #jjk tattoo au #geto tattoo au #jjk suguru x reader #jjk suguru scenarios #geto scenarios #geto comfort #suguru geto x you #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto x y/n

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1800titz · 5 months ago

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COME TOUCH ME TOO | Best friend’s dad

age gap. 11.2K on patreon

second part to LIQUID SMOOTH

You’d catch him over the sink sometimes. Or the stove. At the dinette, shirtless. Big bear, you thought, still only half-awake (starving), staring at his skin, swathed in ink that traversed limb, to torso, to limb. You’d catch the smattering of dark hair pooling over his sternum, and the hair beneath his navel, darker, more wiry, seeping into the band of his pajama pants. And later, you’d wonder if it was the substructure— torn out from you— that you were chasing (the surfeited rift between your ages, the sage wisdom you lacked), or if it was just the shape of him, the way he fit into your life, the subtle domesticity of a morning. The pantomime of a distant daydream. (Pretending this was your life you were living, and not taking a page from someone else’s.)

preview

The bar you’re at feels congested. Sticky, shoulders brushing shoulders, feet bumping feet, and the music is loud enough that you feel it droning along the skin of your bones. Past max-capacity; something you anticipated. Accepted on a Friday night— no sort of discomfort that couldn’t be waterlogged into an unconcerned bliss with enough alcohol.

And that’s what it started as.

One shot to ease the restless hypervigilance (when you shuffled in, sliding between clusters of bodies), that burned at the back of your throat, heat flaring across your crinkling sinuses. Then, a second, that radiated warmth along your chest, under your skin, that settled as a weightless feeling beneath the soles of your feet. Loosened the arc of your shoulders.

(You never buy your own drinks.)

A third, cupped from a stranger’s fingers, with bright, powder blue eyes that lingered on your throat, the line of your jaw when you tipped your head back. Inkpools stuck to your tongue when you smeared it out across your lips, the bridge of your nose rucking. He gave you a wolfish, glimmering grin and told you what a pretty thing you are.

(And you think, staring up at him through the misting crest of intoxicant smog, he’s too young. Feels like a boy— one you can’t re-mold even in the haze of alcohol— in the absence of crows’ feet and shallow smile lines, the glinting, tawdry rhinestone stuck to his incisor. Skin speckled with ink that resembles zealous impulse rather than an aged, carefully-crafted tapestry. You doubt there’s any worthwhile story behind the dice in the nook of his elbow; RICH across the front, C and H tipped perfectly on their southern edges to show the S and K that could fill the word out, instead.)

(You can’t even pretend.)

You seldom find regret in the sea of a familiar gyre (the world spinning, and you, finally, spinning with it), but the spindrift crashes across in a misty fog of discomfort. The riptide lures you out to swallow you whole. You’re not sure when the euphoria mutates into anxiety— maybe somewhere along the fourth and the fifth— but it coagulates in your esophagus, in your stomach. Cakes in the warm, soft spot under your ribcage, until your bones feel like they’re wobbling with the pulse of your heart. Vibrating.

You showed up with a coworker. Admittedly, one you didn’t know too well, to a bar you haven’t been to before. But going out is going out, and a bar is a bar. You don’t need a babysitter, you don’t need to know her well, and you don’t need to scope the the pub, but—

Last you saw her, she was propped against the corner of the bar, and now, as you sweep your bleary gaze over the mass, she’s nowhere in sight. You’re alone. You’re alone, and the world is spinning, screaming, chattering over the pulsing base, and you feel like you can’t keep up.

When you swallow, it lodges in your throat. You feel like you can’t breathe, nearly tripping over your own feet, brushing between tangled musculature, limbs like gnarled, warm roots for you stumble over. And you feel like you’re trying to part the sea to make room for your clumsy steps. Like you’re trying to move mountains.

By the time you make it outside, your lungs are aching, and your shoulders are quaking. You don’t know where it’s coming from— what it is— but it feels like a flame licking its way up under your dermis, and you want to shed your skin off the bone. The gulp of air you take is welcome. Cold. Wet.

It’s raining.

Pouring. The gust drenches your bare legs in spittle off the sky, even under the awning. Helplessly, you pat around for your phone.

And you don’t know what possesses you. You don’t know if it’s a clumsy swipe of your thumb across the glowing screen, or a cruel form of divine intervention, when you scroll and stutter along his contact. It’s a number you should’ve deleted. Haven’t pressed in months.

You flung yourself out of orbit, and seeing his name feels like you’re a piece of star-shed that’s slipped too close— a hair from homecoming. It feels like the inevitable, crushing weight of gravity snagging you into the miserable ouroboros you’ve spent every evening running from. A tidal wave, reborn, swallowing you whole.

And you know the repercussions— the potential there. The consequences of sticking wet fingers into electrical sockets, but you tell yourself, he won’t pick up. It’s too late. You’re too late. Too—

Your finger lingers.

You don’t know what would be worse. Abandonment in another shape, or hearing his voice on the other end of the line.

You call him.

You regret it a split-second too late, staring down at the screen dialing. When you press the phone to your ear, with the rain spitting, the thrum of the bass behind the door— your heart rattling in your ears, your head spinning—

You barely hear the three rings before the line clicks. It’s quiet.

And then—

“Hello?”

You suck in a gust of air. You expected his voice to hurt. To ache— you anticipated, maybe, a lot of things, with variegated hypotheticals spelled out in misty shapes through hours spent staring at your ceiling.

But every chimera crumbles when the words stick to the back of your throat. Part of it is the slurry in your veins, the hard liquor, the way it’s all kicked in, all at once. And part of it is the realization that, despite the biramous conjectures you’ve crafted�� the what if’s— it’s the heavy thought that all roads lead to this.

He sounds hoarse. Mean with sleep.

“Um. Hi.” The words sound garbled, like you’re underwater. Tinny, wet, strained.

Eager in the shape of unrequited pining; a mangled fruition of all the nights you’d spent, thumb hovering over the call button, wondering if he’d pick up on the other end of the line, stockpiling the heap of broken wishes. The ones you cradled in your hands like jagged fractures of your rib bones, cracked from how hard your heart was pounding.

(If only he could see the lovelorn tar in your marrow, leaking out in a rotting treacle and pooling in the crevice of your love-line; tragic, broken down a long gap right under the wedge between your pinky and ring finger.)

The awning does a poor job of covering your toes, and they soak in the torrent that spumes from the midnight aether, shimmering against the wet asphalt. Silly, little girl— woman, nowadays— one ear corked with your forefinger to stifle the downpour spitting from the same sky you’d crane your neck and spill orisons at, the other fisting at your phone like a lifeline. Dangling onto the thread off this unspooled hope.

You sound ditzy. Soporific. Lost. You wonder if he picks up on it on the other end of the line. “Are you, um. Are you busy?”

The speaker crackles.

Finally, he rasps from the other end of the line— a thunderclap, like a gunshot, “You’re not callin’ me at one in the morning to ask me if I’m busy.”

“I—“ the words stick to the back of your throat.

Something seals up in your lungs with the breath you try to take.

Bitter recrudesce, a reminder when it wakes back up in the slotted teeth of your heart— an ache, alleviated in his absence after time, that throbs at the sound of his voice. Your jaw quakes on what you want to confess, snarled in your throat. I love you— Please— I’ve loved you since—

Your lip wobbles. Teeth clack, staring at the wet asphalt. “Uh. Sorry.”

You settle for a middle ground— some compromise in the clouded welter of your docket— something you’ve been meaning to say for months.

(Sorry for being a silly, little girl that fell in love with you.)

You’re met with a beat of silence that eats into your marrow. Has your guts twisting, chest tight. Then, (solace) a sigh— surly— oozes across the crackling speaker.

“Where are you?”

The question reminds you why you called in the first place. That you’re sopping up dirty rainwater with your boots on the outskirts of town, outside some seedy bar you came to, to drown your demons (him) in burnt amber. A thunderbolt ripples across the pitch aether, zagging electric chalky across the swollen plumes. All at once, you…

Crumble.

“I’m, um. Ah…” your chin quivers. You nod, “I’m here. At a, um. At a bar. Outside a bar.”

“Which bar? Who are you with?”

The slew of questions nearly makes you laugh.

The concern, there, throttles you and the tension in your shoulders like you expected anything less. You did. And you would laugh if hearing his voice, for the first time in months, wasn’t a sobering maelstrom on your psyche. Despite the way your tongue feels sticky, and useless, like it's caught on the roof of your mouth, you clear your throat.

“Um. It’s called, ah— Southbound,” your eyes slip shut. The wobble at your feet clicks in your knees. “I came with a— with a coworker. But I can’t find her. And I just— sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I got, um. I’m… sorry.”

You set your teeth and stare down at the rainwater speckling the toes of your boots. Gusting against your bare legs, and you don’t realize you’ve been hanging onto the phone with both hands cupped, like a lifeline, until his voice comes through.

“Y’alright?”

He sounds a little more awake. No doubt at the quiver in your tone. The way you can’t cohesively suture the words together. You roll forward on your toes. It’s a miscalculated motion on your part, because you nearly topple forward.

“No. Yeah. M’really— um. I’m a little, um. Drunk. I think. So—“ you slur. Take a breath. “No. I don’t—“

The words come out small. Tired. There’s a crack in your voice, like you’re on the edge of keeling over the precipice. You feel it in the burn at the back of your eyes, raw in your sinuses, when you admit, softly, “…I wanna go home.”

He doesn’t say anything. You take another breath, and feel it against the enamel of your teeth. Expect the sear of ice. Your fingers feel strained on your phone. Crushing. Taut. You think about his next words before he says them. Before the surly crackle from the other end of the line hits you, imagine it— call an uber.

I’ll call you an uber, at best. At worst…

You swallow. The line crackles again.

“Send me your location. I’m coming to get you.”

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marsadler · 1 month ago

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INTRO

Hello!

I thought I'd do a bit of a more formal intro as I try to move over to engaging more on Tumblr now that other social media platforms are becoming steadily more unusable.

I'm mars or Kaye, I write lots of weird sensual horror and cross-blended speculative fiction with horror, all with trans and queer characters. I first self-published a short story on itchio in March of 2023 after years of wishing I could leave ghostwriting to publish my own work. (I still haven't fully escaped that occupation, but we're getting there.)

I'm a big, huge fan of publishing on itchio, although I'm also published on Amazon as a necessary evil, boo hiss, tomato tomato, etc.

PUBLISHED WORK

2023

FIRST CREATION: my debut novella, 22k words/98 pages, religious horror featuring an angel and a demon on opposite sides of a never-ending war escaping together, and a whole lot of cannibalism and fruit metaphors. It was a finalist in the 2023 Indie Ink Awards. Transmasc protagonist, M/M pairing.

Blood & Flowers (currently undergoing a re-release process that's adding roughly 11k words and a new cover, so it's not available for sale right now): won the Queer Indie Award of 'Best Sophomore Novel' in 2023, enemies to lovers, vague Romeo and Juliet retelling, vampires and haunted houses. I'm so excited to share the re-release of this early this year! Transmasc protagonist, M/M pairing.

EYETOOTH: another novella (I really love writing novellas), 18k words/90 pages, t4t eroguro medkink fever dream. A trans art student undergoes an experimental surgery at an underground plasma donation center, but afterwards, the doctor disappears and leaves him to deal with the aftereffects and strange cannibalistic urges. Transmas protagonist, nonbinary love interest, M/NB pairing.

2024

Dead Cowpokes Don't Wrangle: Probably the coolest thing I did last year was curate this anthology with a good friend and fellow author, H.S. Wolfe. A queer collection of weird west stories and gorgeous artwork from 18 creators, this is an absolute banger, if I do say so myself. My story in there, Red as Blood, Black as Tar, deals with people coming back from the dead, gunslinging outlaws, and a lot of weird, gross tar. F/NB pairing, ~10k words.

UNHOLY FAVORS: 22k words/90 pages, a short story duet about making deals with supernatural entities that go wrong. Featuring trans protagonists, monsterfucking, weird dreamscapes and hellhounds, this is an odd little itchio-exclusive collection. M/M pairings for both, each story is around 10k words.

The Apples of New Eden: 57k words/251 pages, my first full-length novel. Sci-fi horror, taboo romance. Two brothers struggle to reunite for Christmas in a dystopian war-filled future. Featuring cybernetics, wire play, heavy handed anti-establishment themes, and some really weird dogs. Itchio exclusive, transmasc protagonist and M/M pairing.

WIPs For This Year

Sequels: one of my main goals this year is to actually publish a sequel to one of my three started series. (First Creation, Blood & Flowers, and Eyetooth are all the first books in series.)

Sweet Lamb: novel length, religious horror. I tried to release Sweet Lamb early in 2024 but it just wasn't ready. I'm glad I waited, because I'm a lot clearer now on what I want to do with it. It's a very personal book to me, and I want to make it the best it can be. Polyam trans rep, new age cults, weird fucky angels.

Clipped Wings WIP: novel length, religious horror, anti-establishment themes as well as a toxic age gap pairing. What happens when you take an angel's wings away?

Several Novella and novelette length wips: I won't list them all out because I've started SEVERAL, and I'm not sure which I'll get done first, but I'm hoping to get at least a couple of them out this year.

Other work: I'm very excited to be a part of several other cool collaborative projects I can't talk about yet, but there's several things in the works right now, so keep an eye out!

Alright, that's it for now, thank you for reading this, and I'm so excited to meet new people on this platform and get weird about queer horror with y'all! You can always DM me or ask me any questions, I'm chronically online.

All my books have CWs in their front matter for those looking, and on itchio in the listing. They're also available on my website, which is marsadler.carrd.co

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mysteryshoptls · 1 month ago

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SSR Jack Howl - New Year's Attire Vignette

"That's how it should be."

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―Day 1 on the job

Jack: There's a ton of people here just for the New Year's sale. I gotta put my all into this.

Jack: Based on the shift schedule… Right now, Malleus-senpai and Jamil-senpai on the other team are doing ＴＡＫＯＡＧＥ battles.

Jack: Floyd-senpai's on the floor and register. I got stocking duty.

Jack: Everything keeps flyin' off the shelves faster than I can get 'em up, so I feel like I'm not getting any breaks, but…

Jack: If there's one thing I'm good at, it's breaking a sweat. I'll set up everything up all at once as my warming-up exercise!!

Jack: I guess I'll start with fixin' up the stationary corner. I'll just pick up this box filled with that stuff, and…

Jack: Notepads, quills, ink jars… All re-stocked. Nice! That should be good enough for the stationary corner.

Jack: Guess I'll do the clothing section next. I'll go grab the stock from the backyard…

Floyd: Ah, found ya, Sea Urchin-chaaan. I was lookin' for ya～

Jack: Floyd…-senpai. You need something?

Floyd: I'm handin' this customer off to ya.

Heartslabyul Student: I wanted to try buying some protein shakes to drink after muscle training, but I don't really get the difference between whey and soy.

Floyd: 'S what he's sayin', and I don't know nothing about muscle training, since I'm not into it, soooo. Plus, I'm getting tired of lookin' after customers～

Floyd: You're all about that training stuff, right, Sea Urchin-chan? Sooo I'll leave ya to it.

Jack: I REFUSE.

Floyd/Heartslabyul Student: Huh? / Eh?

Jack: Don't "Huh?" me. I've been tasked with restocking. Dealing with customers is your gig right now.

Jack: I don't care if you don't know anything about it, or are bored, or whatever. You do whatever was assigned to you. That's how it should be.

Floyd: Ehhh, but I don't wanna help customers anymore.

Floyd: If Sea Urchin-chan's not gonna help, then just run along and pick out whatever, I guess～

[Floyd leaves]

Heartslabyul Student: Eh? Pick out whatever…? C'mon, I came all the way to the store, here…

Jack: Whew, closing time, finally… I was using every muscle in my body, so my whole body just feels stiff.

Sam: Good job, my little doggy imp. How did the work suit you?

Jack: It was just the first day, but I definitely feel like I succeeded in doing everything I was assigned.

Sam: Nyeheehee, a reliable kid.

Sam: Only… If I were to compare you to the horned imp's team, I'd say your vibes are a little off.

Jack: Huh, vibes? A little off? What does that…

Sam: Well then, I'm counting on you tomorrow, too.

Jack: Wait, Sam-san!

Jack: My vibes are off…? I don't get it, was he saying that my work wasn't as good as the other team's work?

Jack: What did I do wrong? I definitely did everything I was supposed to do…

Jack: …Nope, I can't think of anything.

Jack: It's no use to just drown in my thoughts like this. I'll go for a run and try to clear my head.

[Sports Field]

Jack: Whew. As usual, I really like running in the crisp winter air, it helps clear my head.

Jack: …But I still don't get what was wrong with what I did…

Track & Field Club Member A: Hooray! My time got better since last time!

Track & Field Club Member B: See? Just like I said would happen, right? I told you this form's better to run in!

Track & Field Club Member A: Yeah… Now I'm really looking forward to the next meet. Let's get back to it after taking a quick break!

Jack: Hm…? Those guys are in the Track & Field club. And I'm pretty sure the next event's a marathon.

Jack: Hmph. Training together, huh. Listen to 'em acting all friendly with each other.

Jack: Well, it's true that practicing's the only way to get any better. So I need to make sure I work even harder tomorrow compared to today.

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―Day 2 on the job

Jack: I re-stocked, helped customers, and did my fair share of battles… I definitely worked twice as hard today as I did yesterday! My muscles got a crazy good workout!

Sam: Hey, doggy imp! It's break time, so make sure you rest up.

Jack: Sam-san! Thank you.

Jack: I know I did real good today. Uhh… And I think I had enough of that… what was it again…? Vibes!

Sam: Nyeheehee… You really think so? It didn't really look all that different from yesterday, to me.

Jack: HUH…!?

Jack: But I worked so hard… And there wasn't any difference from yesterday? Why's that?

Jack: Ugh, at this rate, I can say bye to that special bonus… What does that other team got that I don’t?

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Jack: Ugh, at this rate, I can say bye to that special bonus… What does that other team got that I don’t?

[Beside Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Jack: …......

Jamil: Oh, Jack. Are you on break? Good work out there.

Jack: Jamil-senpai, Malleus-senpai… You as well.

Malleus: What is wrong? You seem to be rather fatigued.

Malleus: I think we may sweep the special bonus if you continue in your present condition.

Jack: …Dammit, I can't even argue back, after what Sam-san said to me.

Jack: You guys look like you're doing fine enough.

Jamil: Well, yeah.

Jamil: But everything is all thanks to Malleus-senpai! I'm very thankful.

Malleus: Heh. A modest comment, Viper.

Malleus: After all, I am simply standing in front of the customers when you instruct me.

Malleus: ...Because that seems to make your life easier, does it not?

Jamil: E-Easier…? Hahaha.

Jamil: I just said that because whenever we do that, even the rowdiest customer seems to quiet down. I just presumed that we needed the right man for the right job…

Malleus: No need to explain. It is a fact that I am not accustomed to customer service. I will gladly follow your tutelage.

Malleus: You would do well to continue to make use of my presence.

Jack: Somehow I'm even starting to feel the pressure now… Ah, I need to head back work.

Malleus: Understood. Another time, Howl.

Jack: …Man… I feel like I don't see Floyd-senpai at all while we're on the floor,

Jack: But somehow those two are getting all chummy. …Oh! Wait…

Jack: Is this what Sam-san meant by "vibes"…?

Jack: Am I supposed to work together with Floyd-senpai like they do?

Jack: …No way, that'd be impossible! He's a moody guy, who knows how he'll act at any given moment.

Jack: Besides, I don't care who it is, I ain't gettin' all chummy with anyone!

Jack: Winning only matters if you can get it yourself. What's even the use of getting someone else's help to secure a victory?

Jack: But…

[FLASHBACK]

Sam: It didn't really look all that different from yesterday, to me.

Jack: …He did say that I hadn't improved at all from the day before, even though I know I worked even harder.

Jack: At this rate, I'll just be stuck walking in place. And above all…

Jack: I DEFINITELY DON'T WANT TO LOSE TO THE OTHER TEAM WITHOUT TRYING EVERYTHING!

Jack: I have to be able to do something by myself…!

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Jack: Next customer.

[beep]

Jack: That'll be 800 Madol [8 Thaumarks]. Thanks.

Jack: Whew, finally the line for checkout's winding down. I should replace the receipt paper while I can…

Floyd: Ehhh, you want a new pair of running shoes to kick off the new year～?

Floyd: I know tons about designer and brand-name shoes, but I don't know nothin' about running shoes.

Floyd: Soooo, you should just give up on those and find some other shoes to buy.

Jack: …Looks like Floyd-senpai is working in the shoes section. I see he's not taking it seriously, like usual.

Jack: Urgh… I guess I should go and…

Floyd: What, you want some kind of recommendation since you came all this way to buy some running shoes?

Floyd: I mean, sure, we got a guy who'd know that kinda stuff working here, but he's working the register right now, so I doubt he'll help you or nothin'.

Floyd: That dude's suuuuper hard-headed and stubborn and totally inflexible, so.

Jack: …Hey, that's not me you're talking about, is it?

Floyd: Oh hey, speak of the devil. What brings the cashier to our neck of the woods?

Jack: I heard you talking about running shoes… So I thought I'd suggest something.

Floyd: Eh, seriously? You?

Jack: …Yeah.

Floyd: Nice, lucky me. If you're gonna attend to the customer, I'm gonna go on break, then.

Jack: Huh? A break? What're you talking about, get some other work done in the meantime.

Floyd: I don't have nothin' else to do, I'm already done with cleaning and re-stocking. And manning the register was your job, so.

Floyd: Orrr… What, you want my help, or somethin'? Suuuure, I'll totally do it for ya～ If. You. Beg. Me. To. ♡

Jack: NO WAY I'D WANT YOUR HELP! WHO'D BEG YOU FOR ANYTHING!?

Jack: Stop messing with me… Whatever, go on your break, whatever you want. I don't need your help at all!

Floyd: Is that so? Dang, Sea Urchin-chan, you're a boss, running the register and helping customers out all at once～ Mmkay, I'm gonna leave it all to ya then.

[Floyd leaves]

Jack: And hey! You're coming with me! I'll give you my recommendations while I work the register, so you need to stand close enough to hear it!

Scarabia Student: Man, this guy is so restless… At this rate, I shoulda just gone and picked something out myself…

[Sports Field]

Jack: [pant, pant]… AAAAAARGH! EVEN RUNNING'S NOT CLEARING MY MOOD!!

Jack: Sayin' he'll "help" me, or whatever. I swear he just says that to get on my nerves.

Jack: I get that I gotta take this gig seriously, but there's no way I'm gonna get dragged down to his pace… Hm?

Track & Field Club Member A: Geeeeez～～! That guy seriously pisses me off! Why's he gotta keep nagging me about my form each time!?

Jack: Isn't that one of the guys who was training for the marathon the other day?

Jack: Is he just finishing up his club activities? I don't see his partner from the other day… And he seems pretty frustrated.

Track & Field Club Member A: Juuuuust 'cause he's got a little more experience in running marathons doesn't mean he can look down on me like that.

Track & Field Club Member A: I thought if I just saddled up with a guy that had way more experience, I'd be able to participate in the huge meet coming up, but I'm reaching the end of my patience…

Track & Field Club Member A: He gets all snooty every time I mess up even a tiny bit! I'm seriously gonna explode…!

Jack: …Hey, woah. Wasn't he the one saying "my time got better!" last time?

Jack: They were all buddy-buddy, but he's just mouthing off now. Sounds like they were a terrible combo.

Jack: Hah. How stupid.

Track & Field Club Member A: I've already gone through so much for this. I'm gonna do whatever I can to reach my goal…!

Jack: …......

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―Day 3 on the job

Diasomnia Student: Hey! When I dropped this plate I bought from you guys yesterday, it broke. I bet it was already cracked to begin with, wasn't it!?

Jack: HUH? DON'T BE STUP…!

Jack: …Ah, I mean, I understand. Please wait one moment.

Jack: Um. Floyd…-senpai.

Floyd: What? I'm in a pretty bad mood right now, since I gotta carry all these heavy things.

Jack: …Uhh… So, uh, can I ask… Can I ask you to help resolve a problem with a customer… Please?

Floyd: Huh?

Floyd: …What's going on, Sea Urchin-chan? You're acting pretty docile today.

Floyd: Didja eat something bad? Or didja just come cryin' to me since you can't figure out how to stop the argument on your own?

Jack: Grrrrr….!

Jack: …[breathes in, breathes out]

Jack: …Yeah. I know you're definitely better suited to deal with complaints like that. So, I'm… begging you.

Floyd: Uh-huuuh… Man, you really are being a good boy today, huh, Sea Urchin-chan.

Floyd: Well, mmkay then. I was just feelin' like I needed to let off some steam, anyway.

Floyd: So, I'll work with the customers instead now. You go and do the stuff I was doing, then.

Jack: …Got it. That'll probably be better in the long run, anyway. Thanks.

Jack: …Whew! Somehow I was able to get through that…!

Malleus: Oh, well, that was surprising. You seem to be doing much better than you were prior.

Jack: Eh!? Ack, Malleus-senpai and Jamil-senpai… Did you see that just now?

Jamil: Looks like you and Floyd are actually working better together as a team now.

Jack: WE AIN'T A TEAM!!

Jack: I was just… using Floyd-senpai!

Jamil/Malleus: USING?

Jack: So, the other day, I saw a few guys from the Track & Field club training for a marathon.

Jack: It looked like they were getting along pretty well, with one guy listening to the other's advice on changing up his form…

Jack: But once the guy who was getting the advice was all alone, he just started harping on and on about the other guy.

Jamil/Malleus: NOT SURPRISING.

Jack: When I saw that, at first, I just thought he was a spineless coward to talk about the other guy behind his back.

Jack: But as I watched him do whatever it took to try and achieve victory… I started to think about how I was going about things wrong.

Jack: I ain't doing what he says because I'm a coward, or whatever. I'm just using his strengths to snag my own victory.

Jack: You two are doing the same, right? You're using each other to bring out the best in each other.

Jack: So am I. There's no way I'd ever want to work with Floyd-senpai for any reason, but to win, I'll do what it takes.

Jack: That's all it is. So please, don't ever say something as nauseating as me being part of a team.

Malleus: Even without similar ideals, you are still able to cooperate with one another. …Wouldn't you consider that teamwork?

Jack: NO WAY!!!

Jack: I don't care to work alongside nor befriend anyone.

Jack: However, now that I've fully gotten the hang of it, I'm going to finish this gig in the best condition.

Jack: The person who'll give his all to this shop and snag that special bonus WILL BE ME!

Requested by @farfalla049.

#twisted wonderland #twst #jack howl #floyd leech #jamil viper #malleus draconia #sam #twst jack #twst floyd #twst jamil #twst malleus #twst sam #twst translation #twst new years

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anotherlifelesshawksloverplshelp · 8 months ago

Text

Need

Another little Yan!Keigo post because I've been all up in my ish recently~<3

He only ever wants to take care of you. To provide you with everything you need, to prove that he's all you'll ever need. He wants you hooked on him, and he'll do anything to show that to you.

💖LITTLE NOTE sorry if it's poorly written im running on like 2 hours. if you think i should re-do it just let me know<3

TW:Yan!Keigoxf/afab reader! Dubious consent (technically noncon depending on your perspective :[ ), masturbation, penetration, cunnilingus, crying, sorta comfort. Just Yandere stuff, yk..

You had always been a good girl for him. Well, for the most part.

But he did his best to make sure it never crossed your pretty little mind of being unhappy or leaving. He loved you, after all. What more was there to life than that? You didn't need anything out there in the world, you needed him, and he did everything to keep it that way. To show that to you. To prove it to you.

He'd keep the bed just how you liked it, to show he did it best.

He'd bring you your favorite foods, knowing no one else ever would. You'd never need to get anything yourself or need someone to help when he'd do it for you. He'd make sure you were happy, well rested, well fed, and most importantly, well fucked.

He concentrated on the latter as if it was just as necessary in everyday life as everything else.

He wanted you hooked.

He made sure that he had satisfied you multiple times a day, no matter what. Whether you were in the mood or not, he viewed it like your appetite. Just because you weren't hungry didn't mean you shouldn't eat, right? After all, you had that terrible habit of denying what was good for you. What you needed. Love, food, sleep, him.

This was surely no different, just you being foolish. What a cute little fool that he loved, no? If only you understood that this was all for you. You being here with him was for you. His attention was for you. All for you.

So when you're sweating, panting, begging that you had enough, pleading with that pretty little voice of yours "please please please Kei, no more.." with every glittering tear that spilled from those eyes that he'd adore, he'd kiss them away as he'd continue to abuse your poor, aching pussy.

If only youd stop crying. He hated when you cried. If only youd understand you needed this.

He'd let you cry though. He'd be patient, there to wipe every tear away as your sore, overstimulated self whimpered as he curled his fingers against your sore walls, gently tapped and lapped away at your swollen clit, being sure that you've had your fill before he even thought about diving into you.

Only the best.

"It's okay Dove, it's alright" He'd coo and calm you as you shook from overstimulation, letting himself drown in the sight of you, a wreck for him, knowing no one else would ever have you like this, or in any other way.

"Shhh, now now, you know i don't like it when you cry.." he'd reassure you, his movements slow whether he had his fingers in you or was balls deep, carefully rocking his hips against you, listening to your gentle cries. He watch as you'd grip the pillows, pull things over your face, dig your nails into his arms, and he didn't mind. He'd just loosen your grip, remove any obstacle to seeing your tear stained face, eyes grazing over the pink that flooded your skin like ink in water. Everyone made bad decisions here and there, and he was convinced you'd learn to stop evading him, trying to hide or avoid his love. If not, he would fix it all the same. No problem to him, he thought.

After all, it was always all for you.

And afterwards, he'd clean you up and coddle you. He'd take you to the bath if you'd like, gently rinsing away whatever mess you had, whether that be from the tears that stained your face to the one he made on your stomach. He'd use the water and a warm rag to sooth whatever ache or soreness you felt from your "medicine", pressing kisses to your face, your skin, everywhere, praising you for doing so well, for understanding, for letting him love you.

He'd take you back to the bed, wrapping you in the softest blankets amongst the mounds of pillows, holding you close to him as he spoke whatever sweet words he had to offer depending on how the day went.

If you were good, he'd tell you how he loved you, how good you were for him, what he'd get you to treat you.

On days you may have been not so good, he'd ask if you understood. Understood that he loved you, that you'd know someday, that you had to understand...

But he'd hold you close, rocking you against his chest all the same, regardless of the conversation, gently running fingers along your skin, through your hair, pressing featherlight kisses whether you were marked or unmarked that day, his wings making a lovely crimson wall around the two of you, which proved to be both a threat and a promise. A symbolism of his love and his protection, but showed the cage you were in, the inability to escape... and whether you still had that annoying little voice telling you it wasn't right or not, you'd comply. You'd curl against him, you'd accept his embrace, his love, the comfort.

It was all for you, after all. You needed it.

#love you all #mha #bnha #Hawks #Keigo Takami #keigo x reader #Keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #bnha keigo #yandere hawks x reader #yandere x darling

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disappearintothegrey · 1 month ago

Note

For your next request, could you write Noah getting a tattoo? You can choose the narrative (I adore his tattoos, the Itachi one is incredible)

loved this prompt! this was fun to write, and i hope you enjoy!!

requests are still open! getting to as many as i can this week!

INK

warnings: none

@xmads-omensx @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lyinginbetween @chey-h

Noah had some time off right before Bad Omens headlining appearance at Mayhem Festival, and he was itching to get into a tattoo artist’s chair. Problem is, his normal artists were fully booked, and couldn’t really squeeze him in. He could’ve asked Nicholas, but his best friend was prepping for the show and he couldn’t bug him. So, he found himself scrolling on Instagram, going through local shop’s pages and seeing if maybe there was someone there he could vibe with.

He was about to give up, frustration radiating off his skin, clicking on one last shop’s page in downtown Los Angeles and peering at their posts. He saw the run of the mill tattoos; roses, tribal, American traditional, neo-traditional; until he saw a post of an anime tattoo, Re-I from Ergo Proxy to be specific. Noah cocked his head in interest, clicking on the post and zooming in, amazed at the detail and colors. He saw the tattoo was made by someone named Billie, and he immediately went to DM the shop to see if he was available for this upcoming Saturday.

And thankfully, Billie had an opening for 3pm, and Noah snatched that up quickly, sending over the required deposit and his general idea for the tattoo so that Billie could work on a consult. Feeling relieved, and excited, Noah couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he joined Davis downstairs, who was gaming with Folio and Nicholas. The new Call of Duty had just dropped, and the group of guys were spending all their time playing before the shows.

Davis looked up from the TV screen as Noah plopped down on the couch, “What’re you smiling for?”

“Finally got a tattoo appointment, going Saturday afternoon,” Noah replied, grinning, “Filling up the spot on the back of my neck finally,”

“Seeing someone new?” Nicholas asked

Noah nods, handing Nicholas his phone to show him the shop’s Instagram. Nicholas did a quick scroll, giving an approving nod before handing him his phone back, “Seeing somebody named Billie,”

The boys fell back into a conversation, Noah joining in to the gaming circle after having a controller tossed at his face. The countdown for his tattoo appointment couldn’t end quicker.

/////

Saturday rolled around finally, and Noah got up nice and early to make sure to shower and eat before his appointment. He packed his backpack with some water and snacks as well, throwing in a phone charger and his airpods. He hoped Billie liked to tattoo in silence, Noah preferred just listening to some music or a podcast and let the artist do their thing.

Billie had reached out Friday morning with a rough outline of the tattoo, and Noah loved it. After some minor tweaking, he finally got the design he wanted approved and Billie would have it ready to go when he came in. He was excited to finish up his back, the tattoo going to take up almost the entirety of the back of his neck. He was buzzing with delight the entire drive to the shop, deciding against an Uber and driving himself. The shop wasn’t too hard to get to, he easily found it nestled in a quaint shopping center, parking up front and heading inside.

He was greeted by the receptionist, who gave him a warm smile, “Hello, welcome to The Black Rose, how can we help you today?” He asked, clicking on his computer.

“I have an appointment with Billie at three,” Noah had replied, the receptionist glancing down at his computer and nodding with agreement.

“Noah Sebastian?” He had asked, and Noah returned with a nod, “Alright, go ahead and fill out this consent form, and I’ll need your ID,”

After exchanging the items, Noah quickly filled out the forms, handing it back to the receptionist and taking a seat in the lobby while he waited for Billie. He fiddled on his phone, playing a random game when he heard his name get called, his eyes searching the room for the voice. When his eyes landed on the woman, he felt his heart skip a beat.

She was absolutely gorgeous. Long, curled red hair with black streaks, heavily tattooed, both her nostrils pierced as well as her left eyebrow and her ears. She was dressed in black leggings and an oversized Sleep Token shirt, a red flannel tied around her waist. She gives him a warm smile as he approaches her, extending her hand in a greeting, “Hey! I’m Billie, follow me back,”

Billie? This was Billie? Holy shit, Noah was shocked but also pleasantly surprised. He couldn’t deny how much his hand tingled with warmth when he shook her hand, and he quietly followed her to her room, Billie shutting the door behind him.

Billie takes a seat on her stool, patting the chair she had positioned for Noah already. He sat down beside her, straddling the chair and pressing his chest to the backrest. He was wearing a white tank top, so he didn’t have to strip his shirt, and Billie pulled out the stencil, showing it to him, “This looks good to you?” She asks

Noah looks over, giving it a once over and nodding with satisfaction, “It’s perfect. I think it’ll look great with my back piece,” He replied, and she started to prepare for the tattoo, shaving the back of his neck and cleaning it with alcohol before pressing down the stencil, removing the paper and letting the outline dry. She got back to prepping her station, getting her machines set up and all her ink caps filled with colors. He watched quietly, appreciating how meticulous she was with her supplies, everything of hers having a place for it on her side table.

She instructs him to lean forward on the chair with his chin resting on the headrest, Noah relaxing into the chair as she wheeled closer to him, her thigh touching his knee. She makes a joke about his height because she has to maneuver over his shoulders to the stencil. But all he can smell is her perfume, and it’s drawing him in like a pheromone. She smells of vanilla and bourbon, and her breath on his neck smells of mint. He barely noticed she had started tattooing until she asked if he was okay, and he just nodded.

“I zoned out there,” He told her, and she laughed quietly.

“I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable,” She reassured, tracing the outline with her needles, “So, what brings you all the way here?” She asked

Normally, he would’ve started getting annoyed because he likes to sit in silence, but her voice was smooth like honey, and he wanted to hear it, “My regular artists were fully booked, and I really wanted a new addition. So, after some Instagram digging, I found this place,” He explained, and although he couldn't see her reaction, he felt her knee bob against his.

“Well, I’m glad we were able to get you in. I had a cancellation and got lucky,” She says, and his heart flutters, “Not everyday you get to tattoo someone of your prestige,”

So, Billie knew who he was, but wasn’t making it a big deal. It was a relief off his shoulders knowing she wasn’t treating him like some God. She knew he was famous, but didn’t seem to really care. But, he was the lucky one to be in the presence of someone as beautiful as her.

“Please, I’m nothing special. I’m just some guy,” He joked, and she laughed heartily at that, and he grinned from his seat, “How long have you been tattooing for?” He asked, wincing slightly as her needle dug into a sensitive spot, the sting radiating through his bones.

She reached back to get more black ink, refilling her machine and going back to tattooing, finishing up half of the outline before answering, “Professionally about 5 years. I was an apprentice for two, so seven overall,”

“Well, your art style is what drew me in. You stuck out to me,” He admitted, and he could see from his peripheral she was smiling shyly.

“My style is a little more diverse than some of the others here. I can do just about anything, but I prefer anime or cartoon style. I also really enjoy doing horror and goth culture,” Her voice was full of passion, something Noah recognized immediately as someone who’s also passionate at what he does, “But what about you? How long have you been performing?”

“Professionally, about ten years. I was in some local bands when I was a teenager, but Bad Omens has become my focal point since around 2015. I really love what we’ve evolved into as we grew up, we keep growing as a band everyday and so far, our fans love it,” He explains, and he looks over at her to see her watching him with a sparkle in her eye, pausing from tattooing to listen to his story.

“Well, I hope it’s not weird. But I do enjoy your music,” She teases, and he laughs out loud, shaking his head.

“Not weird at all. I actually really appreciate you treating me like a normal person,” He admits

She clicks her tongue, switching to her shader machine to start filling in some gaps, “You’re just a human at the end of the day. Sure, you’re in a huge band, but, all I see is some guy,”

Noah gives her a true smile, his stomach full of butterflies as they continue talking, the time passing by faster and faster. They share stories and laughter, even exchanging band and movie recommendations. Although she was speaking, her attention never left his tattoo, giving it all of her as she finally wiped away the ink one last time, sitting back in her chair proudly as she cleaned him up.

“Looks good!” She hands him a mirror, letting him walk to the standing mirror and turn around to reflect into the other mirror.

It looks better than anything he could’ve imagined. The colors were vibrant, jumping off his skin like they were real. The detail work and the linework was immaculate, not one skip or mishap. It looked gorgeous on his neck, and he was in love with it. But, he thinks he likes the artist more. His heart was a little dismayed that their time was up, so on a whim he decided to ask her something.

“Would you want to go get coffee sometime?” He asked her as she was cleaning up, Billie turning to look at him with surprise, “I just want to get to know you better,”

She smiles brightly, nodding, “Absolutely. Let me give you my number,” She writes down her number on her card quickly, placing it into his palm, “I hope to see you again, Noah,”

"Oh, you will," That was a promise.

thank you for reading!

taglist here ♥ ao3 ♥

#bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian smut #bad omens #bad omens smut #noah sebastian #noah sebastian bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian fluff #fanfic #requests open

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