#and left without a word never to be seen again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amoristt · 3 days ago

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the night falls like heaven

「 ✦nam-gyu/reader ✦ 」 tags: sfw // hurt/comfort, pining, nam-gyu's pov, lots of angst in an edgy way, very light drxg mentions,

a/n: this'll be a 2 part mini series! so excited to get this started ugh tysm to anon who requested this word count: 9.2k | songs i listened to (x) (x) original request (x)

・❥・Nam-gyu was not a man of many regrets.

If he had to count, he could fit them all on one hand. Mostly from when he was a teen. Younger and somehow even more impulsive than he was now, drinking through money like water and getting into fights he’d never remember. The worst of them all, however, was one he hadn’t thought would really eat at him. It was unlike himself to get hung up over a girl of all things, but good lord, he was hanging. Strings and all, like a marionette, bleeding and sore at the joints.

Tough to swallow couldn’t even compare to the feeling of when that specific regret suddenly pops up in the same room after years of abandon. If he hadn’t been so down bad, the sight of you would have only ruffled up his feathers enough to remind him of a better time, but in God’s honest eyes, those feathers of his had been ruffled since the dawn of the very instant you left. The door hadn’t even had a chance to hit you on your way out, nothing but dust and tears in your wake. He was stuck fast, left to his own devices, bouncing between wondering why he let it go so bad and whilst also begging God himself to make you stop being such a bitch.

But the worst part, the worst part is that even now you still carry this aura of over it all around you. Self-respect colliding with the want to be loved was never an easy tango to dance, all steps just pulling and pushing and trying to snuff out useless feelings and red hot passion. But you twirled until he did what he did best and nudged you to the brink of your breaking point. All that sweet, sweet adoration drained from your face and he saw it- dignity. He saw it on you on your way out of his apartment, storming past him with biting tears in your eyes. And now, years later, he gets to see it again from across the room.

You’re sitting on a high, high bunk you’ve claimed as yours, people watching. Other than the initial moment you’d seen him in the bubble of people, you haven't bothered sparing him a second glance. It was a beautiful moment- your eyes widening, stopped dead in your tracks before you were on the move all over again. He’s sneaking glances through the corners of his eyes, watching you over his shoulder, and you can’t even give him another second of your day. And the thing that really bothers him is that he knows he can’t stop.

Out of everyone in this room, your distant presence is a fiery beacon in the darkness and he’s an angry, bitter moth. It’s in his very nature to circle and flutter one step behind, seeking the light, burning at its touch. Singed wings and an endless sneer. If only he could just stop touching the heat, he would surely move on. But he just can’t, and the fact that you can pisses him off so much it makes him lose his breath at times.

He wished, with the very core of his entire being, that you were weaker. Or, at least, stupider. Maybe then you would have lived up to his expectations and showed up to his door, or at his club, teary eyed and lonely without his superior presence around. He could see it behind his eyes at night, the waver in your voice when you’d beg him to come back into your arms, and more importantly, back into your bed.

I told you so, he’d say, with that shit eating grin and a hand on your waist guiding you out from the cold.

A forlorn, guideless sheep in need of your shepherd. He could be that for you. If only the word boyfriend didn’t make him shudder with every last fiber of his being. If only that specific little thing wasn’t your breaking point. Your face haunted him- that halo around your irises fading into something far away and charred when he’d had the nerve to actually laugh at you for it. You were grabbing your things and leaving, and he sat watching every moment in clips. It wasn’t anything, back then. You were just mad, in a few days you’d be right as rain climbing into his lap and peppering kisses along his throat. You’d be back, he was sure of it.

But then the days turned into weeks. And then, to his distaste, those weeks faded into months of silence. He started to catch himself looking for you in crowds, visiting places you’d frequented at just to linger around like an awkward ghost in case he spotted you through the shifting crowds. But you were gone- vanished.

Fine. You’ll never see me again, asshole.

Those words had been etched into the very walls of his cranium since they’d left your lips in a scathing hiss. Such nasty words, but they shook with every consonant.

Among your pride was a healthy blend of honesty. You had been true to your word- he really did never see you again. Wiped your slate spotless of anything Nam-gyu.

And it drove him fucking crazy. It made him sick to his stomach in a way he did not think was possible. It was out of control- he couldn’t stop thinking about you, you, you. He missed you more than he didn’t, and he was angrier at himself than he’d like to admit. So instead of admitting, he funnels all that anger into the very shape of you. Drags in the idea of you, his memories of you and shoves them down, down, down, until he truly did think he hated you, after all.

Until he’s clenching his fist so tight he’s drawing blood and telling himself he’s better off now, without some whining bitch in his ear begging him to stick that boyfriend pin into the thinness of his skin. Thinks that without you hanging on his arm all the damn time, he could really go out and have some fun. He thinks, and he thinks and he thinks until he’s thought too much and suddenly he loves you again and he misses you so bad it’s crushing him under the sheer weight of your absence.

So, Nam-gyu does what Nam-gyu does best once again, and he drowns himself out with the bitter taste of drugs on his tongue and the sear of alcohol in his blood.

It all stops.

For a time, anyway.

You always found ways to seep back into his mind one way or another. Songs that would only make it a second in before he was mashing the skip button. A tv show you’d watched together surviving on the screen roughly a whole minute before it’s switched off. Sometimes it was when he saw something he knew you’d like- a shitty video or meme. Other times you came to him in whispers while he laid out on his own living room floor, out of his mind watching the blank ceiling above him twist and writhe under his spotty vision with a needle poking out of his arm.

But, most times… Most times you would slither your way to the forefront of his mind just before bed. The touch of you, the smell of you.

The shape of you underneath him. Hands and quiet breaths. He could still hear the noises you made ringing in his ears, stored away in his memories just to taunt him when he was indisputably alone. Soft skin, even softer thighs. Always so warm, and so wet. So willing. You would come to him while he curled over himself in bed, drunk on porn and memories.

And afterwards, when Nam-gyu had finished, he would throw his head back onto his pillow and ignore the way it felt like there was a lump in his throat. And that would piss him off even more, because fuck, you should be there with him. Laying by his side running your hands through his hair until he’s falling asleep balancing on the fine line of afterglow and dozing off.

But you aren’t. You’re doing fuck all with who knows in places he’s never been to, places you probably begged him to go but he couldn’t even remember the name of. You hadn’t answered a single one of his texts, you hadn’t picked up a single call and everytime he hears the first couple seconds of your stupid voicemail he wants to crush his phone in his hands. Vexation was a slippery slope into the fires of fury- rage was like a parasite under his skin, eating away at what little rational thinking he had.

Voicemail after voicemail. Text after ignored text. Anger was the hardest stage- rage grew horns on the crown of his head and it turned him into something he couldn’t recognize. Or, something he refused to recognize- desperate and heartsick.

It was supposed to be you. Not him.

He filled the endless gaps of you with drugs often and women when he could. For a short time it would work and he would wonder why he ever let someone else get him so, so low. But then the drugs would wear off. The random woman in his room that he never bothered to learn the name of would grab her clothes and saunter out the door. He stopped letting them stay the night. He could never sleep, stared at the ceiling until 5am wondering why he still felt like shit. He would be right back where he started, sitting on the couch, staring at the door watching you leave over and over again.

You stopped updating your socials, quit hanging out with the few people that bounced between his and your crowd, successfully scrubbed him of your life entirely. After a year, he resorted to asking around if anyone had seen you. The answer, as always, was a firm no. It was a corrosive feeling, a constant churn and thrum within the cage of his ribs. It made him even more unrecognizable to himself. Made him invite women into his lap just to shove them away when they didn’t smell like you, or sound like you. Or laugh like you.

It had been so, so perfect before. It was fun, and it was hot all the time, and sex with you felt like heaven was a place on earth. Why couldn’t you see that? Why did you have to go and ruin it with your words and pleading eyes? Nam-gyu doesn’t roll like that. You knew that. He’s a free spirit, he tells himself. No chains, no labels. No holding him down. Even if it was at the feet of this gorgeous, gorgeous body and a honey sweet voice that just always seemed to know what to say. Beautiful eyes that always watched, a smile so saccharine, whispering words against his ear so dirty it made him shiver just to think about.

The world was too vast to be held down.

But, truth be told, he was held down.

He is held down.

When you walked out of his apartment those years ago, he never left that spot, chewing his nails and anxiously spinning the ring on his finger, watching you go. He started seeing it behind his eyes. Replays it, changes the course, wonders where he’d be right now if he’d just said something different.

Finding you at the games was like divine intervention. It had to be. Some higher power had crossed his path and plopped you right in front of him. With rolling eyes and a deadpan stare at anything except for him, sure but you were there and you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. God had heard his drug induced prayers of stupor.

Now it was all about waiting. Waiting for the right moment to dive in and recapture you within him and he’d be right back to drinking you in at every chance he had. He’d do it differently this time, do it right so you’d cling to him and wonder why you ever wanted to leave at all. Make you wonder why you were so stupid to have been so stubborn when everything you could ever need was in the palm of your hand. He was sure of it. That strong, bullheaded expression would blitz is something vulnerable in his hands. A lurch of excitement riveted under his skin among the nerves.

For now, he waits, and watches. Your presence could never go unnoticed by his dark eyes.

It’s unfortunate for him that Thanos takes a notice to you, too. It’s hard not to, really, when every time he follows Nam-gyu’s locked line of sight it always leads back to you- this little sweet thing perched up at the peak of the bunks alongside the back, watching the room with this bored stare between mundane yapping with other players.

“Someone you know?” Thanos’s voice had this subtle drip to it, this underlining excitement that Nam-gyu picks up on almost instantly. His expression stays cool, mostly uninterested despite the way he can’t seem to pry his eyes away from you even as he answers.

“Yeah.”

“Who is she?”

And then he’s stuck. Because his mouth opens for a split second to say, my ex, but he can’t quite say that, now can he? But he also can’t say an old friend either, because you simply weren’t. What you two had was something else entirely- a new plane he struggled to navigate, lovely when things were good, a hellscape when they weren't. The lines were always so blurred, fuzzy with sex and warm laughter.

He decides on something mostly true. “Someone I used to hang out with.”

“Girlfriend?” Thanos’s brow raises with his chirp, leaning forward with clear interest.

“No.” It comes out quick- too quick, and too heavy. Tinged venom with more baggage than even he could handle at times. Thanos catches it on impact and whistles.

“I see. So you won’t care if I go chat her up? Hm?”

“Don’t bother. She’s not like that.” Nam-gyu’s scoffs before he can stop himself, this unsettling seed of jealousy planting itself in his chest.

“Hm… I guess we’ll see, huh?”

You’re dismounting from your bed and climbing onto the stairs when Thanos jumps to his feet, and Nam-gyu can already feel that itchy panic starting to blotch away at his skin. His hands, his cheeks. That seed takes its place within him bearing vicious roots.

“Man, don’t bother,” He’s touching at Thanos’s sleeve, his shoulder, anywhere he can to try and gather his friend’s attention. “She can be kind of a bi-”

All it takes is a swat to Nam-gyu’s chest to stop him dead in his tracks, words dying his throat. Shut down, watching his friend take quick steps to you, Nam-gyu following close behind to witness. If only he could be firmer, never demanding, always suggesting. Always rolling over and showing his soft underbelly at Thanos’s whim. Instead, he lets his lips press into a tight line and let’s it all happen right before him.

You’re on the bottom step and taking a seat, and you see the rapper approaching before he gets a word in, but your eyes skip over him entirely and settle onto Nam-gyu’s. Distress is building in his muscles, but he’s making damn sure to keep himself in check.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone? You want a friend?”

Up closer now, sharing your space, he sees all the things he’d been missing so deeply throughout the years. You still look just as he remembered- still bearing this expression of bemused coolness, still having these all seeing eyes that seemed to cut right through him.

“A friend?” you hum, and your voice threatens to pull him in like gravity. “You wanna be my friend?”

If jealousy could sprout through his skin, it’d be an ugly beast of horns and claws. But it can’t, so instead, it takes shape in the way Nam-gyu’s eyes are flicking between yours and the rappers, hands wrapped up in his sleeves.

“Stick with me, yeah? I promise to keep you safe. My number one priority.” And Thanos is patting his chest, flashing those painted nails. Makes Nam-gyu’s chest tighten, his stomach growing sicker by the second.

Damn, you can see it, too. There’s no denying the way he’s cringing behind that distant smirk, and he doesn’t think to hide the way he’s twisting his rings on his fingers. When you click your tongue, he knows what's coming.

“Stick with you, hm… Sorry, but I try to work alone. Partner’s tend to, how do I say…” Those eyes of your slice through him all over again, honing into him when you finish your sentence. “Disappoint me.”

Fuck. Disappointment. Oh god, how that sears into Nam-gyu’s skin. The way you look the rapper up and down, visually sizing him up, would make his heart leap into his throat if he were under that same scrutiny. He never understood how you could always be this intense with such a sweet, sweet face. Kindness was certainly a luxury and he missed it, that never ending fire that kept him warm.

“I can change that for you,” Thanos sings. “I’m a legend here for a reason.”

“Legend? I’ve never heard of you.” Your brows raise in amusement.

“You will. Thanos.” He puffs his chest out and nods, a half cocked grin playing over his lips. “Guy’s like me, we don’t disappoint.”

The man actually finds the nerve to reach down and pluck your hand, bringing his knuckles to his lips. Nam-gyu feels red hot scorching through his face but he’s locked in place, watching it like a car crash. Relieved when you yank your hand free and shove it into your jacket’s pocket. It’s the only good thing out of this entire interaction, he finds, especially so when Thanos’s smirk falters into a tight surprised line.

“Don’t go and do all that. Guy’s like you will always disappoint me.” You lean back against the wall of the step, vexation evident over your features. “How about you talk to me again after the next game, yeah? Maybe I’ll feel different. Thanos.”

You always were so good at slamming the door in people's faces, always brought Nam-gyu joy to witness you shut down the advances of some poor loser trying to gain your affections. Thanos knows he’s been hung out in the cold, too. Barking up the wrong tree in the wrong neighborhood in the wrong country. So, he takes a loose step backwards and shrugs.

“Your loss.” He sighs, and Nam-gyu follows him all the way back to his bunk in brooding silence.

Wringing his fingers, he can’t help himself when casts a glance over his shoulder to find you one last time before you’re obscured behind metal frames and moving bodies. When he does, he feels a rush of heat in his cheeks when you’re already stuck fast staring right back, watching him go. He’s silent when he sits down at his little corner of the dormitory, silent when Gyeong-su is harping praises at Thanos. Silent, even, when Thanos says he’s determined to bring you to his side of the map.

However, he noticeably tenses when Thanos mutters, “What a babe, huh? I should go visit her after lights out.”

Almost immediately there’s hands on his shoulders, pushing and nudging him, demanding his attention. The deepest of sighs leaves the rapper, ducking his head to find Nam-gyu’s eyeline.

“Come on, man. Don’t be pissed, it’s in my nature, boy. Be honest. You into her?”

“Me and her…” Nam-gyu swallows. “We used to mess around.”

“Lucky you.” Thanos’s is shoving Nam-gyu’s shoulders again. “You cut her lose?”

No, she cut me loose. But Nam-gyu can’t bring himself to say that, the words lost and barred at the tip of his tongue. In the silence, Thanos takes it as confirmation.

“That’s so cold. If I had her, I’d never let her out of my sight. Sheesh.”

Nam-gyu can’t even form words at all, anymore, irritation and envy wrapping tendrils around his throat and snuffing him out. Your earlier words spin through his brain like a carousel- come find me after the next game. Were you being serious? Were you just saying that to mess with him? He knows you- he knows your tone better than he even realizes, but he suddenly can’t decipher what’s honesty and what isn’t anymore. Jealousy blinds him, thick lenses leading him in all sorts of binds.

He should have talked to you. He should have made the first move and made sure the first time he was breathing your air was alone. Now he’s anxious, he’s resentful, and he’s humiliated for some reason he can’t quite place. It doesn't help when he can’t resist the urge to look at you one last time, just one for the road, and you’re chatting idly with a man lounging on the other side of the steps you’re currently sitting on. There’s a five foot gap between your bodies but Nam-gyu doesn’t care- the anger that rips through him is blind, you may as well have been fucking the man right in front of him.

It’s all he can see, tunnel vision encompassing him all the way until the moment lines start to form for lunch. Stewing in his jealousy, a bitter taste blooming over his tongue, he doesn’t jump in line because he’s got an appetite, but simply because you were rather eager to fill your belly. He tails you, matches every step and still has to jump out in front of a random player from taking the spot directly behind you.

You notice him with a fleeting look tossed over your shoulder, eyes darting from the corners of your eyes and then forward, still as a statue. Desperate to not interact.

Nam-gyu can’t help himself.

“You into Thanos?”

You audibly laugh at him, and the sound makes him shred the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Everything. It’s everything to me.

You look up at him over your shoulder, watching him through your thick lashes with scorn written all over those beautiful irises. There’s a flash image of you- a memory, tangled between the bedsheets, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes and tear stained cheeks with his hand wrapped around your throat. It’s quick but it hits him like a sucker punch right to the gut. He sucks in a sharp breath. He wants to touch you- he almost does, but the line moves forward a beat and you’re moving with it away from his hesitating fingers.

“I’m just asking.” He’s trying to be coy, but you can see right through him.

“You worried, Nam-gyu?”

That hits him like a sucker punch too. He’d forgotten how his name sounded on your tongue, how it rolled off so perfect and pretty even when you were pissed at him. Sometimes specifically when you were pissed at him, this bubbling anticipation running through him in waves, your passion always the spark lighting the fire in his belly.

“I’m not worried.”

“You are.” Clocked him, again. Peered into the windows of him and saw that angry ocean of spite and regret behind his eyes. “I know you are. I can see it on you.”

“Not worried.” Nam-gyu shrugs, but he can’t meet your eyes anymore.

Another sigh ghosts from your lips, but it’s quieter, defeated, almost.

“I’m not interested in your friend. I’m not interested in anyone.”

And then, he says it. Quietly, as if he doesn’t want you to truly hear.

“...You seemed interested.”

“So you are worried.” You’re crossing your arms and he stares down into your hair, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What if I was? You clearly had nothing to say about it. You were right there- you didn’t tell him we had history? Or did I mean that little to you?”

You’re mad. Holy shit, you’re still so mad at him. But then his brain scrambles to tell him the good side of things- anger is not indifference. So in some ways, maybe more than others, he’s still in that little dome of yours ratting around amongst your thoughts. Means that if he does this right, it would mean something to you to be better this time.

His lips press into a tight line. He should have talked to you, and now it’s biting him in the ass. It seemed like everything always bit him in the end. And he always let it happen, watched and never interfered. You drive the nail you’d plunged into him even deeper when you throw his words, from all those years ago, right back in his face. That last thing he had said to you before you, or the idea of you, had become a black hole.

“You know what, Nam-gyu? What was it you had said? Oh- uh, why don’t you focus on yourself and I’ll focus on me, yeah?”

It stings. It stings so bad that he physically recoils from the sound of his voice on your tongue, words spilling that just don’t seem right coming from you. Bitter resentment rises in his throat, this reflexive coping mechanism to bite back overtaking his senses. He wants to say I shouldn’t have said that. He wants to say, hear me out. But what ends up leaving him is just as ugly as the rest of his feelings.

“Jesus. You’re still a bitch.”

The very instance those words tumble from him, he’s already regretting it with every fiber of his being. Even more so when you pluck your bento box from the guard and spin on your heels to glare absolute daggers into the very pits of his soul.

“Get over yourself. I’m glad we had this talk, it was very refreshing.”

This time he does jump to stop you, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “Just listen-”

“No.”

He doesn’t hide the way he watches you scamper off to your little ledge, hopping up onto your bed and enjoying your vantage point above all else, focusing on your meal. The man you’d been chatting with earlier is in the bed next to yours and that’s just fucking great. The guard has to pry his stare off of you, and a bento box is practically shoved into his chest, urging him out of line.

Nam-gyu hates the stone anchoring in his guts. Almost as much as he hates how his appetite never quite returned. All food tasted the same when you left, nothing compared to what you’d used to make him.

The bento box was no different.

That night, sleep avoided him. There was something keeping him awake- buzzing under his skin no matter how many times he’d rolled over and shifted himself into a new position. Of course he knew what it was- it never really left him, after all. The fact of knowing you were across the room, all alone in your bed, was this incessant knock in the back of his skull tapping him back into reality whenever he found himself comfortable enough to doze off. His mind was stuck on you, as always, wondering what you looked like right now.

Did you sleep the same as before? Laying on your side, hair messed over the sides of your face and splayed over the pillow, those heavy lashes of yours kissing along the bone of your cheeks. He always told himself that it was you who was attached, that he was some great being and you simply touched the stars through him. How wrong he had been to think that, when the entire time he’d fit so perfectly against you, he a piece to your puzzle.

How wrong he had been, because when he’s staring up idly at the ceiling, he thinks of the better days in his life. Always, always, it was you. Thinking of you sitting pretty in his passenger seat, watching out the window as the world blurred by in rushes. The wind blowing through your hair, your necklace catching the glint of the sun. You’d feel his eyes on you and you'd turn and smile at him so darling, so lovely, that he thought it could heal. Remembering when you’d walk into a room, shining like a beacon just for him. You’d find his lap, find his hair, find his lips against your own and you’d cry his name like a prayer.

He was an idiot to have thought he was the something in the nothing- it was you.

Even when he finally drifted off into sleep were you still infecting the very membrane of his mind. In his dreams, you were just as warm as you had always been. Bated breaths, hanging onto every word that left his lips, fingers that longed to touch and stroke and feel. His heart slowed to a peaceful beat, and his body curled into his pillow and blanket, trying to recreate the shape of you in his arms. For a time that evening, it worked.

But then he woke up, and Thanos was leaning over his bed asking him if he was dead, and all those wonderful moments he’d relived were gone in a rush of bright lights and endless chatter bouncing off the walls of the dormitory. Like an addiction, the first thing he thought of when he sat up, was you. Thought about you all the way through the winding staircases and into a giant room with rainbow’s painted over the hard floor. So lost in thought that he almost misses it when the speaker starts instructing them- a 5 player minigame race.

Teams of five. Okay, he could do that. Easy. Gyeong-su, him, Thanos. That was already three.

It’s natural instinct when he starts to search for you in the bubble of people, his fourth member, even though he’s more than sure you’re all too excited to send him packing. The way you had looked at him at dinner the day before, he wasn’t sure if you’d even entertain a conversation with him at all, let alone join their team. But this is beyond an argument- beyond him trying and failing to lull you in, this is life and death.

“Hey, there’s your girl again.” Thanos spots you first. He follows Thanos’s line of sight and sure enough, there you are, standing with your hands shoved into your pockets with this far away expression he can’t quite read.

His girl. It would make him shiver, if he wasn’t already on the brink of tweaking.

“Let’s go see if she’s changed her mind.”

Thanos is running his hands through his hair and popping the collar of his tracksuit, a particular bounce to his step when he bounds right for you. Just as the first time, always on the lookout for yourself, you spot him coming before he gets to you. Already you’re annoyed.

By the time Nam-gyu slithers up beside him, you’re already turning Thanos’s first wave of advancements down, a snark to your tone and a glint in your eyes.

“I’m good, thanks though.”

Thanos blinks, looks left and then right. “You’re good? I don’t see a team?”

“I’ll find one.”

“You got one right here,” He pats his chest again, before he slings his arm over Nam-gyu’s shoulder haphazardly. “Come on. You’ll be safe.”

The intensity in which you roll your eyes is fierce- an expression Nam-gyu really had only thought he could draw out of you. To make matters worse for his friend, you don’t even bother with saying no again. Instead you merely wave a dismissive hand and turn on your heels, meandering into the crowd.

“You were right, Nam-su.” Thanos’s face drops and he unwinds his arm from Nam-gyu’s shoulder. “Not getting anywhere with that one.”

Nam-gyu is so focused watching you, that all he murmurs is, “It’s Nam-gyu.”

“Yeah. Nam-su, Nam-gyu. Look over there.” He has to force himself to look away, following Thanos’s point in the other direction you’d gone. A girl with short black hair stands off to the side, eyes traveling and sizing up all her potential team mates. Thanos pops his collar again, a hound dog chasing a brand new scent. “Let’s go see what she’s up to.”

For the first time, Nam-gyu doesn’t follow him. He says, you go, you go, and lets Thanos wind himself up all on his own before watching him go. He’s much more concerned with you and your team, this sense of anxiety starting to bud in his gut.

He finds you like a moth to flame. Your shoulders slump at the sight of him, tired and irked.

“Not this again.” You groan. “What, do you think you’re gonna come sweeten me up and I’ll say yes? I’m not playing on your damn team.”

Nam-gyu shakes his head and steps in front of you when you try to turn away again. His nerves are on the rise, and so is his temper. You draw it out of him like nothing else, he can’t stop himself.

“Why not?” He asks, looking down at you with furrowed brows. You cross your arms, barring yourself from him.

“Because I’m not.”

“This is no time to be stubborn. You don’t know what the next game is. You might need guys on your team.”

“I plan on it. There’s other men here other than you and whatever the hell his name is.”

Other men. Nam-gyu’s mouth dries up, his fingers already wringing in his sleeves. His jaw tenses with his temper, teeth grinding.

You didn’t need other men, not when he would do anything under the sun to keep you safe. Anyone else may just let you die. Can’t you see that?

“Why are you being-... Being like-...” He stops himself. Holy shit, his brain actually fires off the warning shot and he stops dead in his tracks staring at you in bewilderment. You adopt this expectant glare, a spiteful uptick to your lips that darkens your eyes.

“Say it.” You sneer. “Go ahead, say it. I’m being a bitch, right?”

The word fights against his lips to get out. You’re waiting for it, at the edge of your seat, fully ready to take it in and chew it up and spit it out right back at him. But he bites it back and he swallows it down into his chest because this means something to him. Because it might mean something to you.

“Being like this.” He stammers. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Your eyes widen just a fraction. “Keep me alive?”

“Can you really trust anyone here? You know me.”

“I do know you.” A flash of something provoked and somber rivets within your eyes. Anger mounting, your heart colliding with your brain in real time right before him. “That’s exactly why I won’t be on your side.”

If he’d had his foot in the door before, you were properly shoving it back outside. He doesn't know what to do, so he does the first thing he can think of as a creature of impulse, and unfortunately when it came to you that meant he was all hands.

“Wait-” He catches you just as you’re turning away, tries to bulldoze over your defiance and smooth out all the harsh edges of your protests with the broad flats of his palms. Fingers clutching your tracksuit at your shoulders and then he’s realizing that he’s touching you for the first time in years. Your skin from underneath your jacket is just as warm he remembers, your eyes are just as doe-like at his touch too. Stubborn and ornery but overflowing with passion and static energy that settled into his bones. He needs it, he needs it. The obsession of you hits him in waves of yearn.

He needs you more than air, he thinks.

“Get your hands off of me, right now.” But you aren’t tearing him away- so maybe that’s progress.

“Come on.” He ducks his head, shoulders slumping, and it physically hurts him to feel this desperate. “Stay with me.”

Oh, you don’t like those words one bit. They hit your eardrums and your eyes narrow in slits, and then yeah, you’re reaching up and catching his wrists in his iron grip before ripping his paws off your jacket. It takes a long moment for you to speak, but when you do, he swears he can hear the devil amidst the heartache.

“You know that I can’t stay with you. Never again.”

His hands twitch to touch you again- anything to keep you there for a moment longer.

“Come on.”

Sadness like pits swirl in your eyes, drags your lips into a frown. “You gotta’ stop Nam-gyu. I can’t do it.”

An awful, awful mass grows in his stomach when you turn your back on him. Gets bigger with every inch you build between you and him, threatens to take over entirely and swallow him whole right in the middle of that room. If it did, and he was to be gulped up by the void, perhaps he wouldn't have to feel like this any longer. And he wouldn’t have to watch you disappear behind all the moving bodies.

He was weaker than he was three years ago. You made him weaker. Back then, if you’d been so sure of yourself he found it rather easy to deter you. A beastly way about him when he would have just ripped you by the hand and brought you over to his team and made you sit the hell down and just stay with him. Something possessive, something under his skin at the thought of you sharing the same air as anyone other than him. You used to be so malleable in his hands- but he knows, now more than ever, that that was truly never the case. You let yourself be pliable. You let yourself fall to him. He could never, not even now, make you do anything. Not really.

That’s the part that burns him to the peaks of his soul. That strength about you. You’re so much stronger than him, with an energy iron so it’s like running headfirst into a wall when you’d no longer graced him with your softness. Such a double edged sword, that will of yours. That attitude and the passion made him feel alive. Cold and disposed after you’d properly slammed the gate right in his face. No leverage, no space for him in your heart any longer.

It’s cold, Nam-gyu finds. Lonely without you.

And then Thanos goes and invites some random girl with a poor attitude (that isn’t yours) and an even weaker buddy. He tries to tell him- remind his friend of the potential disadvantage but like always all it took was a dismissive wave to get him to screw his lips shut. Rolled over, tongue caught in his throat, weakened.

He spends a majority of his time waiting for his teams turn arguing with Se-mi and tossing gazes over his shoulder to keep a very keen eye on you, only to find a sneer growing on his features after seeing you chatting with the same player as earlier, the man with the bed next to yours. Laughter and smiles roll from your lips as natural as breathing air, and he’s nudging you with his arm and you’re letting him with this expression of pure amusement.

That should be him.

That ugly face of betrayal peeks through the cracks all over again, with guilt and anger and regret following in tow close behind. Sitting on his shoulders like little devils, spinning and racing through his body in waves. If you saw his face- you’d never suspect it, but his hands shake in his lap. His jaw tenses so tightly his teeth could burst into powder. Squared shoulders and an endless drag to his lips. Something in the sight of you enjoying that guys presence is reminding him of all these shitty feelings he’d been faced with when you two were together- well, no, not together, he remembers- and then he’s even angrier. Angry at you, angry at that random ass player you were talking up, angry at himself for letting it get here in the first place.

Thanos pops open his necklace beside him and draws a fun little pill from its contents, and Nam-gyu makes it a mission to get his hands on one of those sweet little pick-me-ups. The pill is bitter on his tongue but he swallows it down in delight. And it works, too, because the moment the colors start to glow and fuse together and all sounds become this echoing fishbowl of noises, you’re vacated from the corners of his fuzzy mind. For a time, he’s at peace all over again, lost in the blurry joy.

By the time he comes down, he’s already back in the dormitory.

Though it takes a moment for him to realize it, he’s taking inventory of all the surviving players. One by one, watching them fill the room and find their creaky beds or their little groups. Most were distraught, though some were particularly perturbed. It takes a couple teams before he understands that what he’s really looking for, naturally, is you. He’s always searching for you, even when he knew you weren’t searching for him back.

That’s the change, and it dawns on him like a rapture. He’d never had to care before- you were always this constant in his life, something that would always bounce right back if he tossed you aside. He didn’t give a damn if it upset you, he didn’t give a damn if it ate away at you like termites through wood. But now he does, and he gives so many damn’s they’re driving him crazy.

Any moment spent sober and lucid were moments entirely taken up by you.

Any moment now you’ll come strutting through those doors, head held high and gunning it to make sure Nam-gyu knew exactly how much you didn’t need him.

But then ten teams turn into twenty, and twenty five into thirty.

“How many teams were there?” Nam-gyu asks with a voice steadier than even he expected. Thanos doesn’t need to question anything, watching the doorway all the same.

“Fifty-six.” Se-mi hums from her spot, leaning back against the steps.

Thirty eventually turns to fifty.

Too much time has passed, and you’ve still yet to pop out through that doorway. He double checks those who’d already shown their faces, hoping to find you through the cracks of them, but you’re simply not there. There’s a shovel digging pits and moats into his stomach. Another wave of players trickles in and he scans them all over the same, only to feel that hollowness inside him grow once more. They saunter to their beds, to their little groups, taking up space and taking up air that should belong to you.

Where the hell were you?

“Only two teams left,” Thanos hums. “Where’s that girl of yours?”

Nam-gyu can’t force himself to answer this time around. So, instead, he presses his nails between his teeth and nervously shifts his weight from left to right. Though he shrugs, the anxiety within him was palpable, all lines and tension that he tried to bury with nonchalance. But it wasn’t working, and felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Mind racing, thoughts circling him like birds over fresh kill. The final team walks through the doorway, slow as zombies, shifty eyed and hurriedly rushing to their beds. His eyes sit on the door, waiting, waiting.

No one comes through.

His shoulders fall limp.

You didn’t make it.

“That’s a shame.” Se-mi sighs, the sound swimming in Nam-gyu’s ears.

Loss, real loss was a foreign feeling within his chest. He’d seen it described in the movies, in songs, this soul eating all consuming weight that blanketed over bodies and crushed, but nothing could have ever prepared for the blistering moment it wrenches itself within the confines of his heart, within the deep ache of his bones. It didn’t settle properly in his throat- his body trying to force the alien ripple of dread stitching itself right between his ribs. It hurts- his lungs can’t take in air. His breath wheezes past his lips in shallow pants, unable to tear his eyes away, like at any moment you’ll suddenly materialize right before him.

He presses his lip into a tight line and digs his nails into his palms, anything to release a fraction of the agony festering within his body.

Brain on fire, shaking hands and the image of you dead in a thousand different flashes, a sting to his waterlines that has him scrambling to shove his fingers against the thin skin.

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t fucking cry.

“Bad luck. Sorry, boy.”

All the skin on his body has flushed red and sticky. He ducks his head down towards his lap, desperate to hide within himself, even more desperate to hide this part of himself from the watchful eyes of his group. He should have just made you join them. Should have thrown you over his shoulder and wrapped an immovable grasp around your arm and held you hostage until everyone had a team and then you’d have no one else to turn to. No one else, nothing else except for him.

He can’t even hear his friend’s counterfeit empathy over the swell of his heartbeat in his ears. His body is too heavy to hold up, his arms dragging as lead, his head even heavier on his shoulders. Uncanny urges to tear at the skin of his face overcome him and he has to bury them into his hair in release, roughly running his digits through the black locks, trying to breathe and breathe and breathe. A lump the size of a boulder burrows into his throat.

Cracking his eyes open to peek down at his lip, squeezing them shut when his vision is wet and blurry. His lower lip trembles until it’s caught in his teeth, biting hard into the skin.

Don't fucking cry.

Why did you have to be so stubborn? If you’d have just let him take care of you this one fucking time, you would be alive right now. You should be alive right now- pissed and glaring fury in his direction but breathing and taking up space and existing-

“Ah, they made it. Here I thought they were all goners.”

Se-mi’s casual tone barely reaches him, but it’s got him frantically flicking his gaze back up to the archway, his hands falling from his face, trying to see through the blotches in his sight. A handful of players take soft steps into the room, all shaken up, all bewildered.

There you are. His racing heart stops entirely.

You’re sauntering into the dormitory like a wounded animal, all hands wringing out in front of you and lines drawn into your frown. For the first time, in Nam-gyu’s eyes, you look small. Frightened. Every step you take has a weight to it he’s never witnessed you bear. And even from across the room, even with rigid tears trapped in the corners of his eyes, he can see the grip of fear on the flat of your throat.

All those jumping thoughts settle into a tunnel vision, you at the epicenter of his quaking nerves simmering down into stillness. He forgets how his chest had twisted as if a knife had been planted between his collarbones, and he forgets how he had almost lost his lunch right there on the floor. All because you’re standing there in the middle of the room hugging yourself, white as a ghost, even paler when you lift your head up and see the way Nam-gyu is trapped in your line of sight.

Nam-gyu see’s it. No hate, no dejection.

Relief- this instant where your widened eyes soften, your frown lifts into a slack-jawed breath of solace. It rocks his world when it hits him and it lights a flame so hot under his skin it’s burning through his veins. All the air trapped in his lungs leaves him at once and he can pinpoint the exact moment all the tensions in his shoulders and back melt away in nothingness. The tears dry, his lower lip released from his gnashing teeth.

The man you’d joined earlier pats your shoulder and offers you a pathetic, wavering thumbs up. You can’t seem to return his dull enthusiasm. In fact, you look worse than Nam-gyu’s seen you thus far. Changed, all wires sticking exposed and sparking. There’s this lifelessness to your body when you climb up the stairs and have to heave yourself up into your bed, crossing your legs and resting your chin on your palms propped up over your knees.

When your eyes meet his, he expects some sort of sign of contempt, or perhaps maybe you’d refuse to meet his gaze entirely. Instead, for the first time since you’d arrived, you find him first.

You offer him a pitiful open palmed wave.

The pearly gates crack open and Nam-gyu feels it again- warmth. Even just a little bit, like lighting a match in a snowstorm, huddling around the flame. He half cocks a smile, and he waves back.

Lunch came quicker than he’d anticipated, and much to Nam-gyu’s dismay, you weren’t exactly thrilled to hop into line. In fact, ever since you’d let him jam his fingers back into your closing door, you’d hardly acknowledged anything other than your lap. Even more so upsetting, that player you hung around tapped your mattress to gather your attention, pointing to the line, sighing in defeat when you’d shook your head.

Jealousy seeps into his wounds all over again, quiet, but equally as simmering. Don’t act like you know her. Little devils tapping away at his psyche. She doesn't need you to check up on her.

But then again, he realizes, maybe you do.

His mouth dries when the sound of his thoughts footsteps come running up on him. His greed. His innate ability to leave you unchecked and grappling. That was among the sea of problems Nam-gyu had been struggling to grasp. Here he was, trying to drag you back into the tar pits of his hold and he hadn’t even tried the basics of kindness. The step one of it all. Always taking, taking, taking and demanding more at every swipe. Always expecting, never building.

So he jumps into line before he can second guess himself, and he takes his bento box with a grateful nod and he doesn’t waste a second before he’s chasing the trail of you to your bed. From your high point, perched and unmoving, all he can do is climb the stairs and rest his hands over the corner of your mattress. Your far away gaze lifts from your lap and settles down to him.

The air is different. The landscape of you has changed.

“What is it.” Your tone is uncannily flat, but it’s void of its bite, its drive.

“Can I come up?”

It’s a simple request, but it leaves a shake at the end of his sentence. It’s only natural when he mentally prepares himself for you to slap no onto his forehead, but you scoot over, and he takes the spot so quickly you wouldn’t even have the chance to say no if you thought about it too much. He hoists himself up and over, fills the gap at your side, just as he should have done days ago. He sits the bento box at the crest of your lap.

“What’s this?” Blinking down at the food, you make no effort to pick it up.

“Fish and rice.” Nam-gyu shrugs. “Looks like an egg, too.”

“I can see that. I meant, what are you doing giving me this?”

“...You didn’t get anything.”

As your fingers gingerly touch the container, eyes scanning over the contents, Nam-gyu feels he can breathe easier. This is a win for him- you aren’t fighting him anymore. Still on the edge, always ready to run, but the look in your eyes isn’t pure hatred or outright hurt. A swell of pride overcomes him when you pluck the chopstick and murmur, thank you.

You’re pliable. Now, more than ever.

You eat in silence. He lets you eat in silence, even though peace isn’t exactly one of his virtues. Partly because he doesn’t know what to say to you, but mostly because he’s got this innate fear that he’s going to say something shitty and you’re going to hate him all over again for it. A million words are always shoving and pushing against his lips and he fumbles with navigating them. So, silence, it is.

But it doesn’t bother him. Silence meant that you were simply just there, existing, the one thing he had longed for over the years. He knew, deep in his heart, he’d fucked up when he began to miss the very presence of you. No sex, no drugs, no push or pull, just you. And now he gets to take whatever you’ll give in micro doses, greedy and starved for you. Fighting the urge to pull you into himself where you could never climb out. He refrains- he forces himself to just be there.

No longer could he be the creature he had been all those years ago. He had to be different- not all rough edges and clawing hands, ripping and taking. Or dark eyes watching your every move, or jagged words cutting your flesh with the highs and lows of his tone. Something better, this time. Something for you.

Tomorrow would be a new beast entirely. And, in less than a few hours, the lights would flicker off and bask the dormitory into hues of red and blues. You would lay alone in your all-too-large bed and he would sink into his mattress drugged out of his mind thinking countless thoughts of you, you, you. The distance would feel like miles- he needed you right there, right then, always. Anything other than what he had sitting beside you was a vast ocean.

The bento box appears in front of his lap, half eaten.

“You’re not going to eat it?” Nam-gyu’s brows knit.

“You should eat, too. What, scared of my germs now?” You murmur, and when he meets your eyeline, he sees something familiar in those hues. Something nurturing, sweet. Tender.

Nam-gyu picks up the chopsticks, and he eats. For the first time in years, his food tastes like food.

#squid game #namgyu x reader #nam-gyu x reader #angst #imagine #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu squid game #player 124

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belliexpog · 2 days ago

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Piercing On Your Lip It's Perfect- Se-Mi

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Pair: Se-Mi×F!Reader

Context: You and Se-Mi were old classmates, but when you happened to run into her again at a party with your best friends, you didn't recognize her. A trip to the bathroom will solve the problem?

Warning: Drinks, drugs (weed).

Words: 10k

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"Min-young Hurry up! Dae-Ho is coming!" Your friend, Jun-Hee, shouts from the bedroom, laying down on your bed as you finish getting ready in the bathroom. "Okay, way the fuck up! Jeez..." You respond, running your hand through your hair and then applying your best perfume. When you come out of the bathroom, Jun-Hee is pretending to sleep in your bed, with her arms open and her mouth open. You roll your eyes and grab a pillow, throwing it right at the girl's face, who was startled and stood up coughing. "You looked like Christ the Redeemer, idiot" You say, putting on your coat and Jun-Hee frowns "Huh?" You rolled your eyes and grabbed your bag, watching Jun-Hee stand up and fix her hair. "Forget it. Let's go?" Jun-Hee nodded, and left the room, muttering a "finally."

It was a warm July night. You and your best friend, Jun-Hee, were on vacation from college, and to "celebrate", your other best friend, Dae-Ho insisted that you go out together. You and Jun-Hee accepted immediately, excited to start the vacation in the best way. Dae-Ho offered to pick you up and take you both home, since you two shared an apartment. The drive there was quite lively. Dae-Ho was driving and Jun-Hee was in the passenger seat while you sat in the back, in the middle seat. The music in the car was loud and the atmosphere was really good, you felt like it was going to be a good night. When you entered the building, the loud music entered their ears, causing a slight confusion for the first few seconds. The dark green light of the room, sleeping a little difficult to see when if you enter so suddenly.

Jun-Hee, who was between you and Dae-Ho took your hand, and intertwined her arm with Dae-Ho's. You didn't mind the gesture, holding her hand. Dae-Ho took Jun-Hee's hand, guiding us through the place to an empty table. The table was round and large, and the subjects was a kind of large sofa, making a half moon around the table. You sat down and chatted for a bit before Dae-Ho got up and said he was going to get drinks. As soon as the boy turned his back, Jun-Hee came closer to you and said, "He looks nice today..." She said, looking the boy up and down as he spoke to the barista. You glanced at her sideways and let out a laugh, crossing your arms. "Yeah...And?" The short-haired girl shrugged, and smiled innocently

"I'm just saying..." Before you could respond, Dae-Ho comes back with the drinks in his hand, carefully placing them on the table. "Here you go... I didn't bring you beer because I know you don't like it, Jun-Hee. But I brought you a margarita." Dae-Ho said, sitting down next to the girl. You smiled and sipped your beer, kicking Jun-Hee under the table who had been paralyzed by the boy's speech. "Oh... Thank you, Dae-Ho... That's really nice" She said, smiling shyly, which made the other boy blush. For the past 5 months, the two have been in a certain "flirtation" that they both swear is not noticeable. You cleared your throat, and the two seem to wake up from a romantic trance. "Not in front of my beer, please." Dae-Ho lets out a laugh and Jun-Hee gives you the middle finger smiling ironically.

Just as Dae-Ho was about to speak, Thanos, a college friend, appears with Min-su and Nam-gyu, and...an unknown girl? Pretty, very pretty, without a shadow of a doubt. But... You had never seen her in college."Hey my friends!" Thanos spoke loudly, obviously a bit upset. You looked over your shoulder, and Thanos sat down next to you, putting his arm around your shoulders. Nam-gyu greeted Dae-Ho and Jun-Hee with a shake of hand and sat next to Dae-Ho. Min-su sat next to Thanos, forcing Thanos and you to move closer to the side. You noticed that the unknown girl sat down next to Nam-gyu after greeting Jun-Hee and Dae-Ho with a nod. When the girl sat down, she sank slightly into the seat and reached into the pockets of her leather jacket and your eyes met.

You exchanged glances until she smirked and winked at you. You let out a nasal laugh and looked away, looking at the purple-haired boy next to your, smoking - what your assumed it was weed -Thanos looks at you and offered you the join, while slowly exhaling the smoke from his mouth. You refused and move your back away from the cushioned material of the sofa and pick up your beer, sipping from it. You exchanged glances with Jun-Hee, mouthing "Help me...", making her laugh and sip her drink to cover it up. When Thanos takes his arm off your shoulders to wrap another join, your sighed in relief and runned your hands through your hair, feeling free. Once again, your eyes meet the short hair girl, seeing that she was trying to hide the laughter that escaped her lips by putting her finger on her piercing, and her chin slightly lowered, but her eyes fixed on you.

You let out a small laugh and placed your arms on the table. To your delight, the girl lifts her head and runs her hand through her hair and looks at Thanos. "Thanos... Can you and Min-su go get drinks for me and Nam-gyu?" Nam-gyu was going to say something, but she elbowed his arm and continued to look at Thanos, with an innocent, obviously fake smile. "Please...?" The girl asked, with a soft voice. Thanos touched Min-su's arm who immediately stood up and passed his joint to Nam-gyu who immediately accepted it and put it in his mouth. "Don't smoke all that shit at me, I'll be right back!" Thanos said and stood up, pushing Min-su to go with him. You sighed in relief at finally having a reprieve from Thanos. You look at the time on your phone and sigh, seeing that it's only midnight.

As your chin lifts, you feel the urge to go to the bathroom and shift uncomfortably on your seat. "Does anyone know where the bathroom is?" You ask, to no one in particular. Dae-Ho and Jun-Hee shook their heads and Nam-gyu was too out of it, but the girl looked at you and stood up. "I know where it is, come on." You nodded and grabbed your bag, following the girl. "So...You don't recognize me?" The girl asked, looking to the side, meeting your eyes, but because of the loud music, you didn't hear. "What?!" You asked, trying not to bump into people or get lost in the crowd. Se-Mi took your hand, her touch gentle but firm as she guided you through the crowd. You were surprised at how close you were to the bathroom and how easy and short the path there was. As soon as Se-Mi opened the door, a peaceful silence settled over the place. "Go" She said, nodding toward the nearly empty cabins,putting her hands in the pockets of her leather coat, leaning against the wall.

You nodded and walked into a booth, locking the door, trying to think of what the girl was trying to tell you. You shook your head, as if that would clear the thoughts away and focused on doing your business. When you were done, you cleaned yourself up and flushed the toilet, leaving the stall. Se-Mi was in the same position as before, with her head leaning against the wall and her eyes closed, and her breathing calm. For a few seconds you let yourself admire the girl: Her short brown hair, the brown eyes, the piercing in her nose, in her lip... The black choker around her neck and the silver necklaces. Beautiful. She was extremely pretty and... Familiar. "Do you want a picture? I think it lasts longer" The girl says with a mischievous smile on her lips. Her voice comes out calm, but full of teasing that made you roll your eyes.

You walked past her, going to the sinks washing hands "Convinced..." You answered quietly, with a small smile on your lips. The taller one hears and lets out a laugh, pushing her back away from the wall, now sticking her shoulder to the wall. You looked at her through the reflection in the mirror and used the water in your hands to run through your hair. "You look familiar..." The girl raised her eyebrows, tilting her head. "You only noticed that now?" You frowned and turned on your heel, now looking at her. "Where do we know each other from?" You ask, making the girl laugh heartily and cross her arms. "We were in the same class in high school... We've had lunch together and we're in the same class again, but in college" You opened your mouth in shock and let out a laugh. How had you not remembered?

You shook your head and leaned your back against the wall, crossing your arms. "Sorry... I really had no idea... I feel a little stupid right now." You let out a laugh that was accompanied by the girl, who slightly tilted her body as she laughed. "So...Se-Mi... Right?" The girl nods and you smile in relief. "Okay, At least I got the name right." Se-Mi let out a nasal laugh and a comfortable silence settled there. You could somehow feel a tension between the two, just by the looks they were exchanging. You looked away, looking down at your shoes. But even so, you could feel Se-Mi's eyes roaming every cell in your body. You smile, and decide to play the same game as her. "Do you want to take a picture? It will last longer..." Your eyes meet Se-Mi’s, noticing her surprised look. She pushes herself off the wall, moving closer to you.

“Maybe…Why? Does it bother you?" You look the girl up and down and lean the back of your head against the wall behind you. "Actually, yes, I don't like being a model. Enjoy the view now." The girl bites her lip, looking you up and down. "Nice belly button piercing." Her voice comes out husky and low, making your hair stand on end. "Nice lip piercing..." You reply, feeling her more close to you. Her hand goes to her neck and your hand grabs the girl's coat. However, just as you can feel the girl's breathing, the door opens and Jun-Hee pokes her head inside the bathroom. "Oh...Sorry. But Dae-Ho is feeling sick. We need to go..." Se-Mi sighed and walked away, running her hands through her hair. "Ask Thanos for my number..." You said, giving the girl a sideways smile, which was returned with a wink that made you blush slightly. When you left the bathroom, Jun-Hee grabbed your arm, following your steps quickly. "What was that?" She asks, certainly curious and shocked. "Shut up. I'll tell you later." It was the only one you managed to answer, before going to Dae-Ho, and he took you home.

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taglist: @vigilxntesht @wtvlmaosstuff

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Okay...Part 1 is done!

This was a bit hard, ngl

ANYWAY

Hope you liked it!

Xoxo!

#squid game #sapphic #sapphism #380 #squid game 380 #player 380 #se mi squid game #se mi x reader #se mi

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littl3cloud · 3 days ago

Text

Unraveled

Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader

Description: After wrapping up on the set, Ellie and the reader share a quiet, intimate moment that reveals a vulnerable side of Ellie—a side that you've never seen.

Warnings: 18+, smut, Pornstar! Ellie, oral sex (ellie recieving), strap usage (r recieving), needy Ellie

The set is still buzzing with the last traces of energy when Ellie slides next to you, running a hand through her hair. "You eaten yet?"

You blink at her, caught off guard by the contrast in her question. Out of all the things you expected after wrapping up the shoot, an invitation from Ellie isn't one of them. Not that you don't talk - Ellie's been your co-star a few times and you've always gotten along fine. But she's never really talked to you off-set before. She doesn't really seem like the type.

"Not yet. Why, you offering?"

Ellie shrugs, tilting her head toward the exit. "Accidentally ordered too much takeout. Come help me out."

You hesitate for a second. It wasn't that you didn't like Ellie, but the filthy degrading things Ellie did to you on set left your head spinning for days every time. It made you want to steer clear of her, afraid that you might ask to hear them again.

Still, you follow her out, stepping into the cool air. The ride to her place is quiet, the occasional flicker of the streetlights passing over her face. You steal glances, noticing the way her jaw tenses like she's thinking of something but won't say it.

When you get there the food is already waiting for you at the door. Her place is small but cozy, and a little messy in the way that makes it feel lived in. She kicks off her shoes as she closes the door behind you. "Sit. Food's getting cold."

You're half expecting Ellie to talk to you in that sarcastic mocking tone she uses on set. The kind that makes your skin prickle just thinking about it. But her voice is casual as she lets you settle in.

She takes a moment before she comes back with the takeout, setting it in front of you and then taking her seat next to you on the couch, close enough to where you're bumping shoulders with her. The casual touch makes you shiver for reasons you can't quite place.

Then, Ellie glances at you, asking "So... anything specific you wanna watch?"

You open your mouth to say something but she's already moving before you can respond. "Hold up," she mutters, turning back towards the small closet. You watch as she grabs a blanket and drapes in over your lap.

"Cold?" she asks, voice low.

You nod, unsure of how welcoming Ellie is being in her home. "Thanks," you mutter, but she doesn't seem to hear you as she's already turned back to the TV with the remote in her hands.

The room was quiet but not in an awkward way. It was different. There's no sharp edge to her, just Ellie. Maybe it's the quiet of the night. Maybe, it's because, for once, you two don't have a role to play.

"So, what's your pick?" she asks again, a little softer this time.

You think about it. Something easy. Nothing too serious or too intense. You just want to relax and get to know her more. "Maybe something light? A comedy?"

Ellie nods, scrolling through the options without a word. You both settle into the movie, the hum of the TV filling the space between you two. Neither of you says much, but as time passes, the space between you shrinks. She shifts closer, her knee brushing against yours. You can't help but notice how casually she leans in, just enough to make your heart flutter.

You glance at her from the corner of your eyes, taking in the softness of her features in the dim light of the TV. Your eyes linger on the curve of her lips, remembering the feel of them on your skin during the shoot. The memory sends a shiver down your spine and you can't help but wonder what it would be like to feel them again, in a different context.

As if sensing your gaze, Ellie turns to look at you, her green eyes meeting yours. "Hey," she says softly, voice barely a whisper. "Can I... Can I kiss you?"

The request catches you off guard and for a moment you're not sure how to respond. You've always thought about what it would be like to be with Ellie outside of work, but you never considered it to be an actual option.

So you lean in, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against hers. She responds immediately, her hand coming to cup your cheek as she deepens the kiss.

Ellie breaks the kiss after a moment, pulling back with the softest smile you've ever seen from her. "I've wanted to do that for a while," she says, breathlessly. You smile back, warmth spreading through your chest. "I've wanted you to do that," you confess.

She leans in for another kiss, and this one is longer, deeper, and you find yourself losing yourself in it.

Ellie breaks the kiss again, panting softly. "Bedroom," she says, voice husky with desire. "Now."

You don't hesitate as you follow behind her. As soon as the door closes her lips are back on you again, kissing and touching and setting your skin ablaze with need. Her hands roam over your body, exploring every inch with a hunger that surprises you. She's not confident like she usually is on set; she's needy, almost desperate in her touch.

Your hands begin finding their way under her shirt, softly kneading her breasts.

She shivers at the contact, a soft moan escaping her lips as she presses closer.

"God I've wanted this for so long," she admits breathlessly between kisses. "I just didn't know how to ask."

Her confession sends a thrill through you. You never would have guessed that Ellie, the woman who seemed so untouchable during set could be so needy.

But here she is - begging for your touch and melting beneath it like putty. It's intoxicating, the way Ellie looks at you with those big green eyes, her expression open and unguarded. She whimpers as your fingers brush over her sensitive nipples, her hips bucking with need.

"Please," she gasps. "I want you so bad."

You smile at her, leaning in to capture her lips in a searing kiss. "I know baby," you murmur against her mouth. You settle beneath Ellie's legs, both your clothes long abandoned. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of her bare, glistening pussy. She's already so wet, the scent of her filling arousal making your mouth water.

"Please," she moans, her hips bucking up toward your face. "I fucking need you. Please, just-"

Her words cut off with a sharp gasp as your lean in and run your tongue along her slit, savoring the taste of her. She's sweet and tangy, and perfect, and you can't get enough.

You take your time, exploring every inch of her with your tongue. You lap at her, flicking over her clit and reveling in the way she writhes and moans above you.

"Fuck, you feel so good," she pants, her grip on your hair tightening. "Don't stop please, don't stop."

"Tell me what you need," you demand. "You gotta tell me what you need baby." A sinful moan leaves her mouth as you speak to her, your fingers still toying with her clit.

Ellie flushes, a mix of arousal and embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "I want you to... to use me," she admits. "I want you to ride my strap until you come all over it." Your pussy clenches at her words, a fresh wave of desire washing over you.

"I want to taste you," she continues, her eyes dark with need. "I wanna make you come on my tongue. I wanna make you fucking scream."

You can't resist her anymore, the throbbing between your legs too much to ignore. As if sensing it, Ellie reached over to her nightstand, grabbing the strap and buckling it around her hips.

"Come here baby," she pants. "Use me like your toy."

You straddle her hips, positioning yourself over the strap. Ellie's hands come to grip your waist, guiding you as you lower yourself down.

You both moan at the sensation, your head falling back as you move. Ellie meets your thrusts, pulling you down to leave kisses up and down your neck.

"Fuck you look so good," she pants, nails digging deeper into your waist. "So tight and perfect. I could do this forever."

Her words send a thrill through you and you pick up the pace as her whining grows. You roll your hips, taking her deeper. The angle is perfect, the strap hitting just the right spot with every thrust.

"God you feel so good, Ellie, you're doing so good for me." Your hands brace on her chest for leverage as you pick up your pace. "Fuck you're gonna make me cum."

"Don't stop," Ellie begs. "Keep going, baby. Use me to make yourself cum." Her words begin to slur as you start to ride her harder, chasing your pleasure. Ellie meets you thrust for thrust, her own arousal building with each passing moment.

"That's it," she encourages, her hands roaming over your body, stopping to cup your ass. "Take what you need."

You're close, so close, and you can feel the way Ellie trembles beneath you, her own release just out of reach. You lean down to capture her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans and you grind yourself against her.

Pressure builds in Ellie as the strap rubs against her clit with your grinding. "Fuck you're gonna make me cum," she gasps, urging you to pick up your pace.

"Please," Ellie whimpers against your mouth, hips bucking to meet yours. "Please make me cum I need it so bad."

Her desperation is your undoing. You cum with a cry, pussy clenching around the strap as wave after wave crashes through both your bodies.

You collapse on top of her, both of you panting and gasping for air. Ellie holds you close, pressing soft kisses against your collarbone.

"That was... incredible," you whisper, voice hoarse from pleasure. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard before."

You smile at her, tracing idle patterns on her chest with your fingertips. Ellie hums in agreement, pulling you closer so that the space between you is almost nonexistent.

Her hand moves to the back of your head, cradling you gently as she tilts your chin down to meet her kiss. The usual sharp edge to her is gone, replaced by something softer. The moment lingers, Ellie's fingers tracing up and down your back, almost absentminded, like she's savoring the quiet after the storm.

You let the silence stretch, basking in the comfort of her closeness as if you both belong there.

#ellie willams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x you #smut #needy ellie is my kryptonite #tlou

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aventurineswife · 1 day ago

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Illusions of the Mind

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Psychological Manipulation, Mind Games, Power Dynamics, Angst, Emotional Intensity, Angst with Happy Ending, Dark Themes, Supernatural Abilities, Manipulation, Mental Health Themes.

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Mind Control, Disturbing Imagery, Possible Mind Breaking or Distress, Anxiety/Stress-Inducing Situations, Heavy Psychological Themes, Violence, Emotional Manipulation.

Tagslist: @azrieeeeeee, @themiddletenmasibling

The quiet hum of the Astral Express was the only sound that filled the room, the flicker of the halo behind Sunday’s head casting soft shadows on the walls. You had seen him many times before, calm and composed, yet there was always something deeper in his eyes—an unspoken weight. You weren’t sure what had drawn you to him, but it was in his demeanor, the way his wings fluttered when he thought no one was looking, or the subtle shifts in his halo when emotions gripped him.

You knew he was haunted, though not by demons or monsters. His own mind was a battlefield, torn between idealism and harsh reality.

Tonight, as you walked into his quarters, you didn’t say a word. You only met his gaze, offering silent understanding. His eyes flickered, wary but accepting. You sat by his side, letting the room settle in a comfortable quiet, before you made your move.

Your power was subtle but potent. You could tap into a person’s mind with nothing but a glance, weaving through their memories, pulling them to the surface like threads in an old tapestry. Sunday’s eyes, always so watchful, widened slightly as your gaze met his.

He wanted to speak, to push back, but your influence was too strong. You didn’t show him the horrors of his past, nor the weight of the lives he had touched with his decisions. Instead, you brought him to a place of peace, a dreamscape where he could feel the gentle flutter of doves—Charmony’s doves—symbols of a time when hope seemed endless. You gave him a moment of reprieve, where the guilt, the survivor’s trauma, and the weight of his leadership faded into the background.

It was only a brief escape, but in that moment, Sunday allowed himself to relax, to simply feel without judgment.

When he woke, his wings were still, his gaze soft. “Thank you,” he whispered, though his voice trembled. You knew it wasn’t just for the dream you had given him. It was for the moment of peace. The one he seldom allowed himself to have.

Aventurine was a man of endless games—an expert in manipulation, a strategist by nature. He’d never met anyone who could match him in a battle of wits, at least, that was his belief. But then you appeared, and the game shifted.

The first time you locked eyes with him, there was no hesitation. He smiled, the glint in his eyes as sharp as ever, yet there was something deeper behind that smile—a flicker of uncertainty. You knew what that meant.

“You think you’re clever,” you said, your voice a calm contrast to the whirlwind of schemes swirling around him. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“And you think you know me,” he replied, his tone playful, but you could feel the weight of his words, the tension beneath them. “What are you really here for, if not to play the game?”

You didn’t answer him directly. Instead, you looked into his eyes again, and in a moment, you delved deep. His mind was a labyrinth, a maze of secrets, lies, and hidden fears.

The visions you sent his way weren’t violent or gruesome, but they were far more unsettling. You showed him a life where his manipulations didn’t work, where his risks had failed, where the games he played left him alone—his family gone, his allies shattered, his empire crumbling. You didn’t just show him loss. You showed him irrelevance.

He flinched, the mask slipping just for a second. But before he could stop himself, the fear you planted dug deeper, leaving him silent and contemplative.

But that wasn’t where it ended. You could have left him in that broken place, but you didn’t. Instead, you extended a lifeline. You offered him a vision of success, where the stakes were higher, but so was the reward. A life of power, yes, but one where his bonds were forged from something deeper than manipulation—genuine connection.

When he awoke from the trance, Aventurine was eerily quiet. His smile had returned, but it was different. “Impressive,” he said, his tone no longer just playful but tinged with respect. "Perhaps... I underestimated you."

Dan Heng was always the quiet one—stoic, distant, the kind of person who preferred the weight of silence over the burden of words. He wore his burdens with quiet dignity, but there was something in his posture, a stiffness in his gaze, that told you there was more lurking beneath the surface.

You had seen his nightmares before. His calm exterior was just a mask, and when the lights were dimmed, when the crew was asleep, you knew his mind was a battlefield of its own. His past, his fears, the things he carried—his guilt and the relentless pursuit of a figure from his past.

Tonight, you walked quietly into the room where he sat, his back to you, looking out the window into the endless stars. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You simply made eye contact, and his body tensed.

In his mind, you saw it all—his self-imposed exile, the regret of a past he couldn’t escape. But more than that, you saw the terror—the terror of being discovered. Of being hunted. Of being seen for who he truly was.

You could have pushed him further into that fear. Could have shown him his deepest nightmare—the faceless figure pursuing him with relentless hatred. But you didn’t. Instead, you made him see something else. A future where the past was no longer a shadow. A future where he was not defined by his mistakes but by the choices he made moving forward.

When he opened his eyes, you saw the moment of relief pass through him. It was brief, fleeting, but it was there. For once, the weight didn’t feel quite so heavy. “I... I don’t need to run anymore,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You gave him peace, for just a moment. And that was enough.

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hrrtshape · 20 hours ago

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i toured the lights, so many foreign roads for emma, forever ago.

it rains, of course it rains. because what is longing, true, ruinous longing, without the sky collapsing under the weight of it? the night is a symphony of water and want, the streetlamp flickering like the final, feeble heartbeat of restraint. she stands at the edge of the world, watching him through the veil of rain, and she thinks: if he does not love me, let the earth split open and swallow me whole.

emma had seen him with someone else. she had laughed, let her fingers drift over his wrist, leaned in close enough to breathe the same air. and oh, she doesn’t care. she is marble, she is ice, she is untouched. except she isn’t, and it’s unraveling her, thread by thread. their love, if it could even be called that, was a war waged in glances, in half-whispered words, in the space between a breath and a confession. lily-rose had once called it the cold war, and she had laughed, but wasn’t it?

because there had been moments. god, the moments. moments that lived beneath her skin, nestled in her bones, where his hands had been reverent and gentle, where his voice had been a quiet plea, where he had looked at her like she was the first and last thing he would ever beg for.

so when she sees him again, outside the plaza, beneath the trembling glow of the streetlamp, rain streaking through his lashes like tears, she breaks.

"i hope she was worth it."

he blinks, slow, disbelieving, rain catching in his hair, tracing down his face like a lover’s touch. his brows pull together, confusion written into every line of him.

"what?"

and oh, why? she does not want to do this. does not want to peel herself open, lay herself bare. but the words have already left her mouth, raw and ruined.

"her. whoever she is. the one you spent all night with."

he laughs, but it is not a laugh. it is a broken thing, sharp and breathless, a laugh that has been crushed under the weight of something unbearable.

"are you serious?"

and she hates him. hates him for making her feel like a fool, like a girl standing in the rain waiting for an answer she should already know.

but before she can turn, before she can swallow it down and retreat into the safety of silence, he moves. he is there, in front of her, close enough that she can see the rain trembling on his lips, close enough that she can hear the unsteadiness in his breath.

"you think i want her?" his voice is hoarse, wrecked, like something rusted with longing.

and she.... oh, she does not want to ask. who would? does not want to let the question burn her tongue, but she is drowning in it, lungs full of saltwater.

"do you?"

and that’s it. that’s the moment he shatters.

he exhales sharply, rakes his hands through his soaked hair, tips his head back like he is praying to something that will not answer. then he looks at her. really looks at her. like she is the sum of every poem he has ever memorised, the lyric stuck beneath his tongue, the name he has written into the margins of every notebook he has ever owned.

"it’s always been you."

her heart stops. her breath catches. she stands there, frozen, the rain pooling at her feet, her hands trembling at her sides.

and he....

he watches her like she is a secret he can finally speak aloud. his gaze drops to her lips, flickers back to her eyes, and he says it.

"come here."

it is not soft. it is not a plea. it is a command, and she...

she obeys.

she reaches for him, grabs fistfuls of his shirt, of his skin, of the ache between them, and she kisses him like she has spent a thousand lifetimes waiting for this.

and the rain keeps falling, and her hands twist in his hair, and his arms wrap around her like he will never let her go.

she is his, and he.

he is hers.

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sturniololuvz · 2 days ago

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Can you do a really angsty sister fic but with a cute ending but it’s very angsty

yesss! here ya go!

“Unnoticed”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : none rlly.

Y/N had always been the odd one out.

She knew her brothers loved her—of course, they did. But love and attention weren’t the same things, and lately, it felt like she had been completely erased from their world.

Chris, Matt, and Nick had each other. They always had. Three inseparable pieces of the same puzzle. And Y/N? She was just the extra. The fourth wheel in a group that never needed one.

At first, she tried to brush it off. They were busy, that was all. Filming, traveling, editing, working on their brand. She told herself it wasn’t personal.

But then the missed dinners started.

Then the unanswered texts.

Then the times she walked into a room only for them to leave moments later, too wrapped up in their own lives to notice her standing there, screaming on the inside.

She stopped trying.

If she didn’t reach out, would they?

If she didn’t show up, would they even notice?

Days turned into weeks, and it became painfully clear that the answer was no.

The final straw came on a night that should have been normal. She had been in her room for hours, curled up in bed, feeling the weight of her own insignificance pressing down on her chest. She wasn’t crying—she was past that.

Then she heard them downstairs, laughing. Loud, carefree, completely oblivious.

She checked her phone. Not a single message from any of them.

They were all together.

And she wasn’t even a thought in their heads.

Something inside her snapped.

She grabbed her jacket and slipped out the front door without bothering to text them. It wasn’t like they’d care.

It was cold. The wind stung her skin, but she barely felt it. Her legs carried her forward, away from the house, away from the suffocating loneliness that had settled in her bones.

She ended up at an empty park, sitting on the swings, her hands gripping the rusted chains as she stared blankly ahead.

She wanted to disappear.

Not in a dramatic way—she didn’t want to die or anything. She just wanted to stop existing in this way. Half-there. Half-seen. Half-loved.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it. Probably just some random notification.

But then it buzzed again. And again.

Frowning, she pulled it out.

Chris: Where are you?

Matt: Y/N, answer the phone.

Nick: Are you okay? Where’d you go?

A bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat. Now they noticed? Now they cared?

She stuffed the phone back in her pocket, ignoring the way her hands trembled.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

Then—footsteps. Rushed, frantic. And suddenly, all three of them were there, panting, their faces pale with worry.

Chris was the first to speak. “What the hell, Y/N?” His voice was sharp, but his eyes were soft. Scared. “You just left without saying anything!”

Y/N stared at them, expression blank. “You would’ve noticed eventually.”

Matt flinched. “Of course we would have—”

“Would you?” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “Because I don’t think you would’ve. I don’t think you would’ve even realized if I stayed in my room for days, or if I stopped coming home at all.”

Silence.

Nick took a shaky breath. “Y/N… that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” she whispered, feeling the lump in her throat grow. “I’m invisible to you guys. I’m just there—some extra piece that doesn’t fit. And you don’t even see me.”

Chris stepped forward, guilt written all over his face. “Y/N, we—”

She shook her head. “I used to be your sister. Now I’m just a background character in your lives.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she hated herself for it.

Matt looked like he wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Because she was right.

And they all knew it.

Nick ran a hand over his face, looking like he was about to cry. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “We never meant to make you feel like this. We just—” He exhaled shakily. “We fucked up.”

Chris swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists. “You’re not invisible to us, Y/N.” His voice was thick with emotion. “You’re our sister. Our baby sister. And we love you more than anything. We just… we got so caught up in everything else that we didn’t realize we were pushing you away.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t need some guilt-driven apology.”

Matt stepped closer, his voice gentle. “We’re not just apologizing. We’re fixing this. Because you’re right—we haven’t been there for you. And that’s not okay.”

Nick nodded. “We miss you, Y/N. And we’re not letting this happen again.”

Chris hesitated for only a second before pulling her into a crushing hug, burying his face in her hair.

And for the first time in forever, she felt seen.

Matt and Nick wrapped their arms around them too, holding her tightly, as if afraid she’d slip away if they let go.

She sniffled. “You guys are so annoying.”

Chris chuckled, his voice muffled. “Yeah, but we’re your annoying brothers.”

A small, watery smile tugged at her lips. Maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t so invisible after all.

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sister sturniolo #sturniolo series

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emsdevs · 2 days ago

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a/n: I had a nonnie ask for 25 with Joseph Woll specifically asking for fluff but I used the ask to ask them if they'd be okay with an angsty prompt so if you sent that in, this one is for you!! I can't wait to get through some more of these! 🧡

Prompt 25: “They were there. You weren’t.”

Birthday Celly 2025 Masterlist | masterlist

You never thought you’d run into Joseph Woll again, but here you are, staring at a man who left you high and dry almost ten years ago. You had moved on since then, found a nice guy, settled down, and had a couple of kids. Somehow, though, your past is looking you in the eye right now, and you wish there was some way to escape it. When you opened your front door, the last thing you expected was to be met with a skeleton you thought you’d hidden so deep in your closet it would never see the light of day, and yet, here he is, looking oddly hopeful.

“What are you doing here, Joseph?” you whisper rather harshly, pulling the door closer to your body, even though your husband was away on business and your kids had been asleep for a couple of hours now. You see hurt flash across his eyes. You hadn’t called him Joseph since you two were kids.

“I needed to see you, to talk with you,” he takes a tentative step forward, but when he sees you flinch, he moves back to his original spot.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” your eyebrows are furrowed, and even without raising your voice, he isn’t sure he’s ever seen you this upset.

“Can I please just come inside for a minute?” he pleads. You glance behind you to be sure your kids haven’t woken up, and once you are sure they are still sound asleep, you open the door wider and step aside.

“Okay, just… make it quick, please.” He steps inside, letting you shut the door before following you to the dining room. You gesture for him to sit down at the table, following suit. The two of you sit in silence for a moment before you have enough of it, “Joseph if you have something to tell me, can you please get on with it? It’s late.”

“To be completely honest,” he takes a deep breath, “I came to ask for a second chance.”

“Jo-”

“Look I know it’s been a long time, but leaving you has always been my biggest regret. I’ve missed you every day since I left. I know it probably means nothing now that so much time has passed, but I had to come try. I couldn’t keep living my life in Toronto knowing what I left behind.”

“You’re right, Joseph. It means nothing now. If you told me this nine years ago, things would be different, but I can’t give you what you want now.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Sweetheart, please-” he gets cut off by tiny footsteps padding down the hall.

“Mommy?” Joseph swings his head in your direction, looking as shocked as you probably did when you opened the door.

“Give me a minute,” you stand, making your way to your daughter’s room before putting her back to bed. A nightmare had woken her up. Soon, you’re back in the seat across from Jo.

“You have a daughter?” his eyes are wide, and you think you can see some tears beginning to form in them.

“Two actually,” that’s when Jo notices you playing with the diamond on your ring finger. That’s funny. You had always told him you wanted an opal engagement ring, never having liked how transparent diamonds could be.

“You’re married?” he lets his eyes shoot back up to yours, “You moved on?”

“I had to Jo. For me,” you feel slightly guilty for some reason.

“How could it be that easy for you?” he looks hurt, offended at the fact that you were able to leave him in the past.

“He was here. You weren’t,” you let a little bit of spite seep through your words, hoping it would hurt him a fraction of the amount you felt when he left.

“That’s not fair,” he starts.

“No, Joseph. What isn’t fair is you leaving me behind like I was nothing for an NHL paycheck. I moved on.”

“Did you? Because from what I can tell, this guy doesn’t know you at all.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“I do! I know you probably secretly hate that diamond on your finger because you would’ve wanted an opal. I know you’d never paint the walls this shade of beige. You always wanted colors, real colors, that make the room feel brighter. I know you wish there was a bouquet on this table right now because you love fresh flowers. I know one of those girls in there is named Margot, and if I had to guess the other is named Maeve because those were always your top two options for girl names. I know if I went to the master bathroom right now it would probably have a Jack and Jill sink because you think there’s not enough counter space for two people otherwise. Don’t tell me I don’t know you when I know this isn’t what you would’ve wanted. Where even is this guy, huh? How often is he home?” he takes a moment to catch his breath, but all of your emotions hit you at once. Before you know it, you’re crying in the arms of a man you thought you’d never see again.

When you finally calm down, you decide to be honest with Joseph, “Never,” you say it so lowly he almost doesn’t hear.

“Never what, baby?”

“He’s never here. The girls are used to it now. They barely talk to him when he is. I couldn’t even tell you the last time he kissed me Jo, or even took me out to dinner. You’re right. He doesn’t know me. He never has, and I’m miserable. The only thing keeping me going are Margot and Maeve.” Jo feels his heart soar knowing he got the names right, but he doesn’t let it cloud his judgment.

“Let’s get you out of it then,” he says it like it’s a fact, like he knows you’ll say yes. You suppose he does know you better than anyone because you agree quicker than you’d like to admit.

“Okay,” you risk looking up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll work on starting the divorce process tomorrow. I can’t live like this. Ellis can keep doing whatever he wants without me and the girls tying him down.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. You were truly happy, and you had a sneaking suspicion Joseph had a lot to do with it. You could only hope he’d stick around this time.

taglist: @heartsforjh @macklin-celbrini-71 @dancerbailey3 @joeyspuckbunny @beenucks @wolls-angel @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @t0xicinvasion @nadicakes143 @wollgirlie

join the taglist

#em's birthday 🥳#em's writing #joseph woll #joseph woll x reader #toronto maple leafs #leafs hockey #nhl #nhl x reader

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iminyourwallsbabe · 1 day ago

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Yk what I feel like I haven't yapped about CaitVi enough and that's a disservice to my fellow sapphics so this word vomit is for you girl kissers out there

Okay so it goes without saying that CaitVi is kind of divisive. Some people love it 100%, some people think it could've worked better under different circumstances, and some people outright hate it, all viewpoints I understand. I'm the type of person who appreciates it for what it is.

I think the first thing I wanna touch on is the idea that their ending was supposed to be a happy one. I don't think it was. Honestly, I think it was more of a pause than anything. You weren't supposed to go "oh yay good for them", you were supposed to wonder what happens now. The end gives us, and the characters, an opportunity to just get our shit together and move on. So much just happened, there was little time to really, deeply think about it all. I'd like to think that they did work their shit out post-canon. However, I can see why people would think they wouldn't have.

I'm gonna go reverse chronological here. So one of the more glaring issues is whether or not Caitlyn switching sides was authentic and came from a place of genuine understanding of her mistakes. In my opinion, not quite. She was getting there but it would take the final battle for it to really set it. I said this in another post, but when she's sitting there before Ambessa, gun to the back of her head and knife in her side, she looks terrified. Obviously that shit is scary but it's more than that. Caitlyn is more afraid of dying than ever before, because if she died then, that would mean she had no way to fix what she had done. It was setting in just how badly she fucked up and now the entire world is at stake, and what can she do? Nothing. Think back to season 1 when her biggest gripe was not being allowed to do anything substantial or important. It's this again, just more extreme. She wanted to help people then, now she needs to and she can't.

And I think that's what she needed. She has never really been on the receiving end of the consequences of her actions. Not until then. As we've seen in the early parts of season 2, it weighs on her heavy when she thinks she's made a grave error. That's why she even started acting up in the first place. She's willing to abandon all of her morals and growth for the sake of remedying what she thinks she did. So with that in mind, I can imagine when she goes back to Vi, she feels the same if not worse because this time, what happened was actually her fault.

But now we need to talk about Vi and her place in all of this. One of many people's complaints is that Vi folds so easily when it comes to Caitlyn. And you're right, she folds like a fucking napkin but that's not just "oh I'm in love so I'm gonna do whatever for my girlfriend", it's more than that and has nothing to do with Caitlyn specifically. First of all, she has been stuck in Stillwater since she was a teen and hasn't seen the light of day in 7 years. MIND YOU, when she went to jail she was separated from her sister, who at that moment was her only living family member. OH YEAH DID WE FORGET THAT HER ENTIRE FAMILY DIED IN FRONT OF HER THAT SAME NIGHT? It is not a surprise to me at all that she clung to Caitlyn like saran wrap. That tends to happen when you're that fucking lonely. I'm of the belief that it could've been any other woman in the world instead of Caitlyn and she still would've acted the same. I also think that's part of the reason she joined the enforcers. Vi probably thought she was going to lose Caitlyn if she didn't. That doesn't really have anything to do with Caitlyn, that's an internal thing. Again though, are we really surprised that she'd get that desperate? But wait! There's more. After she does join and she tries to call Caitlyn out when she's done too much, it goes very wrong. It's at this point that some people wonder why she didn't just go back to Ekko instead of acting like she was all she had left. I need y'all to be so fr, you think Ekko would've been cool with that? And don't say "oh but he's so forgiving to Jinx" or something, that's just not true. He knows she's dangerous to the people of Zaun and can't personally allow that in his space or his life. It doesn't make it hurt any less but he's very clearly not having that shit. The same would've happened with Vi. She would've came back, he would've been like "I love you but FUCK NAH", and season 2 would've been exactly the same. She would've had to do some serious convincing.

But I say that to say that realistically, Caitlyn was all she had. She couldn't go back home after doing what she did, she definitely couldn't go to Jinx, everybody else is dead, that was it for her. Now we're in the glorious crash out era. I think there's something to be said about the glimpses of Caitlyn we get in that sequence. Those were hallucinations, going off of the fact that Jinx has her own and that more than likely, they share some of the same underlying mental illnesses. Breaking up with Caitlyn like that probably set it off. The straw was starting to break the camel's back. I also think it's interesting how Caitlyn left Vi similarly to how Vi (technically)left Jinx and that's when these issues start. I think it was a good way of showing that Caitlyn was right in a misguided sort of way. It is her blood in her veins. She is not that far off from Jinx, and they both can sit there and go "oh yeah she's crazy" all they want but Vi and Caitlyn were both one or two crash outs away from being like her. If anything, you can argue they kind of got there. Both of their ways of dealing with their pain involved hurting people. Caitlyn with her military dictatorship and attempted mass murder, Vi with her pit fighting, it's not at all the same in severity but conceptually... yeah, all of y'all are of fucked up.

You know I sometimes made jokes about how Caitlyn looks like Vi's mom and kind of acts like Jinx/Powder and how Freud would've had a field day with that but that's not exactly what's happening. I mean the mom thing is still a little sus but like I said before, they both have Jinx tendencies. If anything, Vi sees a reflection of herself in Caitlyn, because one of the big differences between the three of them is that what Vi and Caitlyn do is controlled. Caitlyn enacts violence through military means and generally gets permission to do the things that she does. Vi fights in a pit, that's the time and place for that. Jinx kind of does whatever she wants, except for when her mind/body makes decisions for her. She goes into panic mode and she shoots something, it's almost a natural instinct. If it's not that, it's kind of just "I felt like it". Also, their fears are coming from slightly different places and manifest in different ways. Jinx doesn't trust anyone to stick around, so she tests them and pushes them away. Vi doesn't trust anyone to stick around so she does whatever she can to keep them with her. Caitlyn doesn't trust herself to keep the people she loves around, so she becomes overly protective of them. Are we seeing what I'm saying here? It's like a hall of mirrors with these three but we're not here to talk about their relationship to Jinx, we're here to talk about them.

With this in mind, let's talk about the Fantastic CaitVi Coping and Communication Skills!!!! So the first thing they do when they join sides again is just be freaky as fuck. Like you think Vi spitting on her was a necessary part of the plan? Hell nah! Like honestly you could shoot a hole through the sexual tension between them good lord. Some people argue that the sex scene was unnecessary but looking at how they were acting before that? I'm not surprised that it went the way it did. Jokes aside though, seriously, the fact that they hadn't really addressed what happened properly and just went straight to pound town is so painfully on brand for both of them. Neither of them are good at addressing their issues. Post breakup, Vi became an emo alcoholic and Caitlyn became a whole ass dictator, I don't think they were gonna sit down and talk about their feelings. And honestly, I don't think that closure mattered nearly as much to them as it does to us as the audience. They have bigger issues, yk, like the glorious evolution and all that. Do I think that's necessarily a good thing? No. Do I think it's in character? Very. Anyway, this is why Vi is like "Cait, I don't fucking care" when she tries to begin saying anything about what she did when they were apart. She doesn't fucking care. Not at all. That's not what's important to her in that moment. It's also interesting that the first thing Caitlyn tries to apologize for is for sleeping with another woman, not trying to kill a whole bunch of her people. Notice how she went for the small thing first? She doesn't want to think about the other stuff. Neither of them do. And so they do what they do best and found a totally unhealthy distraction. In this case, it's ✂️🧁.

I think as a fandom we put too much emphasis on what's healthy in a show full of the most insane people I've ever seen. Trying to find a perfectly healthy relationship in this show is like trying to find a super niche website from 2003. You could probably do it but oh my fucking god would it take you a while. And y'all don't have nearly this much to say about Jayvik even though bro was like "ppl from the undercity are dangerous!!!" right to Viktor's face. Not to mention all the other issues they got going on. Jayce straight up killed a child with Hextech, like let's be fr. They're not all sunshine and rainbows and if we're going to criticize CaitVi the way that we do, we gotta have the same energy for Jayvik.

Anyway, I say all that to say that it's hard to focus on what the most therapist approved decision for your relationship is in these conditions and it doesn't make a ship any worse because of that.

I also don't like the idea that it's too unhealthy to be functional. It has the potential to get better and it's implied by the ending that it does, or at least starts to. Think about it like this, if two people on opposite sides of the political spectrum are friends, what do you assume is actually happening there? One party has to be compromising on their beliefs. There's no other way. If you cared so strongly about something, it'd be hard to keep company that opposes it. It's like that with CaitVi. They were on two different sides of a war and Caitlyn had to shift what she believed in order to even befriend Vi let alone be her lover. That whole "oh ur all the same" bit had to go. If anything, it makes me believe that end of season 2 CaitVi is actually healthier than season 1 CaitVi on a fundamental level. Caitlyn's view of Zaunites by the end of season 1 is attached to Vi. Vi was one of the good ones, Vi proved that there was some hope for those people, Vi was an exception. This is why she got so mad in season 2 when Vi tried to tell her she was bugging out. That's why she says "it's her blood in your veins" with so much vitriol. She gets indirectly victimized by a Zaunite, who has already been established as an extremist, and all of a sudden everybody down there is bad again. If you care about them at all you're bad too. At the end of season 2, Caitlyn is amused when she notices that Jinx is still alive. If that doesn't say anything about how much she's developed I don't know what does. Even if she doesn't like her, she doesn't have that same blind hatred anymore and that's the part we have to pay attention to. She's gotten to a point where she thinks even Jinx should have the opportunity to have a second chance. I'd rather date that than Caitlyn "wait you don't have parents?" Kiramman.

That's basically it, shout out to the writers for actually knowing how classism/racism/all the isms tbh actually work and what it looks like to change your beliefs as a a beneficiary of those systems, goodnight

#arcane #arcane s2 #arcane spoilers #caitvi #analysis #arcane analysis #piltovers finest #piltovers gayest #violyn #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #vi arcane

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slytherin-pen · 2 days ago

Text

Heat Of The Moment

pairing: Lucien x Nesta

word count: 2.1k

warnings: arguing, slightly dramatized Rhysand

a/n: written for day 2 of @sjmromanceweek “first fight”

Part 1 , Part 3, Part 4

The envelope arrived at the manor with a flourish of magic. Lucien ripped off the venetian red Dawn Court seal of a sun rising above a valley before scanning the letter, his golden eye whirring. Nesta, seated across from him at the circular table nestled in the bay window where they had sat down for breakfast, didn’t even try to hide her curiosity. Looking down her nose at the letter while she chewed a bite of sausage.

Lucien’s face gave away nothing at first, only his russet eye flicking left to right, and him quietly muttering to himself. Then his jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as he released a low, tired sigh.

Nesta, already knowing she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say, set down her utensils.

“What is it?” she asked, voice steady but sharp.

Lucien rubbed his temples before answering. “A meeting of the High Lords in three days.”

“Does it say what for?”

“To discuss the threat of Koschei.”

She stiffened. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Lucien’s head snapped up, his russet eye blazing. “No, you’re not.”

Nesta arched a brow. “Yes, I am.”

Lucien scoffed, tossing the letter onto the table as if it physically disgusted him. “Nesta, don’t start. We talked about this.”

“Don’t start?” she repeated, voice dangerously quiet. “You think you can just tell me what to do? We talked about me not forcing myself into things I’m uncomfortable with, and this isn’t that. I want to come. I haven’t seen Elain in weeks, and this could be my chance.”

“I’m not telling you what to do, I’m trying to keep you from making a decision I think you’ll regret,” Lucien countered, exasperated. He was already pacing, his long strides eating up the space between the table and the living room. “Nesta, listen to me. This isn’t some casual visit to see Elain where you two will have the privacy to speak freely. Every High Lord will be there, specifically Rhysand, and you—” He gestured at her, at the force of will burning in her storm-blue eyes. “You cannot let him get his claws in you again.”

Nesta rose to her feet, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “And you think leaving Elain alone with them is the better choice?”

Lucien ran a hand through his fiery-red hair. “She isn’t alone. She has Feyre, and—”

“Do you recall Feyre stepping in to stop Rhysand from using me like a weapon?” Nesta cut in, voice like steel. “I certainly don’t, I remember quite the opposite, actually.”

Lucien exhaled sharply. “I know. I know, but they treat Elain differently than they did you.” He shook his head. “They let her do as she pleases. They don’t force or manipulate her into anything. The one thing you and Feyre could agree on was keeping Elain safe.”

Nesta’s jaw clenched. “Maybe before, but I’m not within their grasp anymore. There are only four of us in the entire world that have been Made in the Cauldron, that we know of, and only one is still living in the Night Court. They would dangle Elain in front of me every time they ‘asked’ me to do something for them. Do you really think they are just going to pass over the fact Elain likely has the same abilities as me, at least when it comes to our connection to the Cauldron?“

Lucien went silent for a moment, his eye searching hers.

Nesta pushed forward. “I may be angry with Elain due to her involvement in that—that intervention from Hel, but she is still my sister. And despite what everyone may think of me, I love my sisters. I will not sit back while I know they will likely coerce her into using magic that no one knows how to use. You cannot train for magic that’s never been heard of before. But they made me do it anyway and I almost didn’t come back. Elain got kidnapped, and the Cauldron was in my head, and—and—“

Lucien rushed toward her and cradled her face in his hands. “Okay. It’s okay, Nesta. Just breathe.”

Her hands gripped his tunic as she rested her forehead on his chest. Inhaling and exhaling slowly as Lucien pet the back of her head.

“I’m sorry. I know this is a difficult topic for you,” he whispered. “But how do you know Rhysand hasn’t already considered that you might come? He could be planning to either do the same thing he’s always done or even try to convince the other High Lords it’s a good idea to use you before we arrive.”

Nesta took another deep breath, inhaling Lucien’s scent of fresh-cut apples and vanilla before looking up at him. “l understand your concerns, I do. But the alternative is letting them use Elain and I can’t. I can’t do it, Lucien, I refuse to. You said you were looking forward to meeting Nesta Archeron. Well, this is her. She is ready to throw herself to the wolves for the sake of her sister and you will not convince me otherwise.”

He cursed, kissed her forehead, and wrapped her in his arms again. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You’re right.”

Nesta smirked. “I usually am.”

“True,” he chuckled. “I supposed we have a meeting to prepare for.”

The Dawn Court Palace was an opulent structure made of sunstone and gold. Morning glories snaked up the walls, mist from the water fountains spouting out from the archways cascaded down and surrounded the palace in an ethereal shroud. The golden domes gleamed through the haze, their reflections shimmering in the pools of water below. The first light of day painted everything in shades of gold and rose.

Lucien led Nesta up the stairs with a gentle hand on the small of her back. Servants, courtiers, and healers flocked to the grand double doors being held open by sentries in gold armor with the Dawn Court insignia centered on their chest, while others used the archways that lined the entire front wall. Some even sat on the stone benches while they ate and socialized.

The sentries nodded as the two of them walked past and Lucien, ever the emissary, nodded back.

Nesta couldn’t help the slight smile that graced her lips as she watched Lucien in his element. She almost forgot what they were walking into. Almost.

The inside wasn’t any less grand than the exterior. A set of spiral stairs greeted them in the foyer, and statues of males and females carved in gold decorated the hall. Some held swords, others held books, magnifying glasses, and various tools used for tinkering. The song of doves echoed through the building as they flew around, drowning out the chatter of the palace guests.

Lucien steered Nesta to the right where they met another set of double doors, the two sentries quickly opening them as they approached.

Nesta’s heels clicked along the marble floor, her ivory gown swishing with every step. She wore her usual coronet braid, while Lucien opted for two thin braids connecting at the back of his head to keep the hair out of his face. Lucien wore a green linen shirt and brown pants tucked into his boots.

Nesta’s heels clicked against the marble floor, the soft swish of her ivory gown accompanying each measured step. Her hair was woven into its signature coronet braid, regal and precise. Beside her, Lucien’s locks were pulled back into two thin braids, meeting at the back of his head to keep stray strands from his face. He wore a green linen shirt, its earthy hue complementing the rich brown of his pants, which were neatly tucked into well-worn boots.

The High Lords were already gathered when Lucien and Nesta arrived. Cushioned oak chairs surrounded the circular reflection pool in the middle of the room. Nesta’s eyes immediately found the Inner Circle, situated between High Lord Thesan and High Lord Tarquin.

Nesta let out a breath of air when she spotted Elain next to Feyre.

They took their seats between High Lord Tamlin and High Lord Kallias, with Lady Vivianne, his mate, sitting beside him.

Nesta clenched her jaw when she made eye contact with her sister, sitting with her hands folded neatly in her lap, an unreadable expression on her delicate features. Her brown eyes flickered with something Nesta couldn’t quite place. Relief? Resignation?

“Welcome,” Thesan began, “to the meeting regarding Koschei and the threat he poses to us all.” He turned to face Lucien. “Am I correct in assuming you are here to represent the humans?”

“Yes, High Lord. Jurian and Queen Vassa sent me in their stead,” Lucien replied smoothly, earning a nod from Thesan.

Rhysand, leaned forward slightly, his gaze roaming over the gathered High Lords before settling on Thesan. “As we’ve discussed,” he began, “we may have a way to locate Koschei. Elain’s gift, her ability to see the future, could prove invaluable in this search.”

The room grew quiet at the mention of Elain’s powers, eyes flicking toward her. Elain’s face remained serene, though her hands tightened in her lap. Feyre’s narrowed, but she said nothing.

“Absolutely not,” Nesta said, her voice sharp, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Lucien stiffened beside her.

“Why?” Rhysand’s voice was deceptively calm, though the tension in his shoulders suggested he already knew her response.

“Because I won’t let you use her as some tool,” Nesta snapped, her hands tightening around the arms of her chair. “She’s not some weapon for your plans. She’s my sister, not a pawn to be manipulated.”

Elain shifted in her chair slightly, her eyes shifting between the two, but it was clear she wasn’t going to intervene.

Rhysand’s lips curled, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Your sister has powers, Nesta. Powers that could save us all. I’m not asking her for anything she’s unwilling to give. This isn’t about using her—this is about preventing a catastrophe.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

“I don’t care what your intentions are, Rhysand,” she hissed. “I won’t let you put her in danger just because you think she’s useful. Have you even given her the opportunity to train, to explore her magic on her own or are you just planning to experiment in the moment like you did with me before trying to lock me away?”

Stunned gasps could be heard from around the room. High Lord Beron leaned forward in his seat for a better view of the sparring match.

Rhysand remained composed, picking at his black suit before returning his attention to her. “I’m sure what you mean by that, we have always treasured you, Nesta.”

Nesta’s eyes flared with silver fire. The room grew colder still, her anger thick and tangible in the air. “You know exactly what I mean, Rhysand,” she hissed. “How exactly was this Elain’s decision? Did you threaten to lock her away in the House of Wind? To be shipped off to Windhaven to train with your General?”

The High Lords exchanged uneasy glances. Lucien shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between the two of them. “Nesta—”

“Let Elain answer for herself,” she cut him off, her voice like ice.

Elain cleared her throat. “He said that if I did not do it, he would find a way to drag you back to the Night Court.”

Silver flames whooshed as they burst from Nesta’s body. The attendees had the sense to jump out of their chairs and back away. Everyone but Lucien and the Night Court.

“Nesta,” Lucien tried again, tugging on the bond for the first time since he discovered it.

Elain gracefully rose from her seat and strode over to her sister. “It’s alright Nesta, I saw it coming. I’m ready to go with you now.”

Nesta cocked her head as she surveyed Elain, large doe eyes staring at placatingly.

Rhysand and Feyre shot to their feet. “You can’t do that,” Rhysand growled, darkness seeping from him.

Lucien muttered a prayer to the Mother and grabbed Elain’s arm, pulling her behind him as Nesta’s attention focused back on Rhysand.

“Oh?” she asked with a deathly quiet. “Are you saying you will not allow Elain to leave, who is not an official member of your court, and therefore has no contractual obligation to stay?”

Rhysand’s cool facade broke for a split second as murmurs from the other guests went throughout the room.

“Nesta, Elain, please,” Feyre begged.

“When you come to your senses Feyre, you can write to Lucien to be delivered to Elain, but until then, we’re leaving.” Nesta’s silver flames disappeared as she took Lucien’s hand in one and Elain’s in the other. Golden fire swirled around them as Lucien winnowed them out of the meeting chamber.

#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fic #fic writer #sjm #nesta archeron #nesta archeron deserves better #lucien vanserra x nesta archeron #lucien vanserra #lucien vandaddy #sjmromanceweek2025 #sjmaas #lucnes #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses

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for-ests · 7 hours ago

Text

Under The Same Name: Gojo Satoru x Reader

a/n: IM BACK FINALLY. sorry for the hiatus but its finally semi edited... here's the long-awaited smut. i hope its satisfactory I'm a bit rusty I wont lie:( thank you so much for the support regardless^^ I hope you enjoy<3

chapter 10 of Suffocation: Gojo Satoru x Reader but can be read as stand-alone!

warnings: shameless romantic smut

∘∙∘☾𖤓∘∙∘

Would it have ever been possible for you to predict this moment? If given the chance, even a few weeks sooner, would you have loved Gojo Satoru as much as you did now?

Your heart screamed yes. Not just once, but repeatedly. And that was the only confirmation you needed. All you wanted to think about was the feeling of Gojo’s body against yours. The tranquility you felt laying beside him, satisfied to know all your worries fled from his presence alone. His touch, his taste, his love.

It was clear now that Gojo did not only love you, but he understood you. Every part of you—the good and the bad. Your flaws and your strengths. But even your flaws seemed only as intolerable as your weakest, most timid kisses that always left him wanting more. With every breath, he craved you near. And you also understood him, possibly the only person that did. It was a deep and unique, unconditional type of love that he’d been searching for his entire life.

You were always leaving him wanting more. But no, not this time. Neither of you needed convincing. It was perfect. This moment was. And now Gojo finally had you truly and utterly alone. In his apartment, leading you to his bed. It was feverish, so passionate and ardent. A gift from the gods, the ancestors, or whoever was gazing upon the two of you.

All that could be heard were soft whines and moans, zippers sliding open and clothes being torn off. A new sense of urgency settled in your being the second you saw Gojo's soul, and you needed him badly. All of him, everything, and more. There was no need to waste any more time.

Gripping his shirt tightly in your fist, you helped Gojo tug it over his head as you kissed him, only breaking apart momentarily to get rid of the fabric. Even though you’d already seen him bare, the sight of his sculpted muscles always seemed to take your breath away. Your eyes grazed over the perfect knoll of his biceps, his muscular forearms, and the blue veins that subtly contrasted through his snow-white skin.

Despite his power, the way he held you unraveled your entire being. There was no need to classify it as submission; you willingly shared yourself, body, and soul with the strongest sorcerer of the modern day. A man who had done everything to protect you and would continue to do so until the day he took his dying breath.

You were crazed, whimpering into each kiss, desperate for more, yearning for his contact and love.

“Are you sure?” Gojo mumbled against your lips, leaning down over you with care, unable to restrain himself from fondling your still-clothed breasts. He’d made what he wanted clear, and your entire being agreed.

“Please.” You let out a breathy response, his touch on your chest causing you to inhale sharply. “I need you.”

“Promise me you’re not hurt-“ he rushed out into the crook of your neck, trying to resist your desperate advances, even if his were the same, sucking on your neck as if he would never be able to again.

“I promise!” you whined. “You came just in time.”

“You would have been just fine without me.” His breath fanned down your neck, his fingers curling under your shirt, where he slowly beckoned you to raise your arms above your head.

“No,” you whimpered. “You give me strength.”

For a second, Gojo paused with your shirt in his hands, so awestruck by your words. It was as if you knew every part of him, exactly what he needed to hear before he even thought about it. Even though you had seen his soul, a part of him knew you were still holding back.

You also wanted to hear those sweet words of affirmation; you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you, realizing such a blessing within the moment you met but knowing how ludicrous it could be.

With you, Gojo didn't need to be the strongest. He could finally surrender his soul with an equal, knowing you would be there to satisfy his undying craving. You were his blessing and his weakness, able to satiate the hunger inside of him—an oasis in the middle of the desert.

“And you are the woman who owns my heart," he responded mirthfully, tossing your shirt to the floor behind him.

Flustered, you began to pull away, but Gojo chased your lips with his and devoured you once again.

With a hunger that seared your skin, Gojo ravished your neck with fervent kisses, trailing down your collarbone with his tongue and back up to your jawline. “Please let me have you,” he mumbled against the supple skin of your neck, almost causing you to lose all control.

“I-I’m yours…” you whispered, trying to blindly follow his lips until they united with yours. That kiss was the deepest you’d ever felt, so deep that he led you onto your back, snaking his way in between your knees until they instinctively wrapped around his waist.

“Promise?” Gojo faltered even as he slid your panties down your leg, acting as if you still hadn’t given him confirmation, as if you hadn't already been in a position like this for him, so eager and begging. Even looking at your bare legs, a glimpse of your panties, was sending him into a spiral.

For a second, you did wonder if what you were doing was right, if it was too fast or rash, but every fiber of your being absolutely rebelled against it. Your soul craved him—it needed him. Few people on this earth would ever be able to understand the power of soul-binding… but you did. The second you glimpsed his face, you knew. Gojo’s touch ignited a fire within you like no other. Just the action of him undressing you, so teasingly slow, was enough to make you squirm with desire.

“I promise,” you whimpered, teary-eyed, desperate, eager—completely and utterly his. Gojo looked so handsome between your legs, desperate to ravish you, to claim you as his. Almost in a trance, he pressed his finger against your sopping clit. Your yearning for him panged so harshly that it came in a sudden wave from your stomach to your core—etching a gasp from your lips from one touch alone.

“Gonna come for me again like last time?” he whispered before pressing a tender kiss on your inner thigh, his forearms curling around your waist to drag you to the edge of the bed. It seemed like he was in a trance as his blue eyes studied your intimacy, desperate to worship this moment, to worship you and your body, unlike any man before him.

Looking up at you through heavy-lidded, lustful eyes, Gojo’s tongue finally lapped against your slit before you could manage a reply.

A groan of satisfaction vibrated against your core, as Gojo’s white eyelashes fluttered in approval. How desperate he was, how sloppy, but it worked. It worked too well, and you were already coming undone from how gentle he was with your clit, the smooth circles of his tongue edging you closer and closer, opening you up and preparing you for the utmost pleasure.

“Fuckkkk…” Gojo drawled, feeling your clit quiver against his movements. And when he tore his eyes away from it to glimpse your face, he was satisfied. Deep down, he would have been satisfied with a kiss, but both of you needed and deserved this.

How heavenly you were, splayed across his bed for him, just like the way you were in his dreams, when he would spend all night longing for your calming presence, fantasizing until he worked himself into an orgasm.

Gaining some confidence, feeling himself coming undone from just watching you unravel against him, he pushed a finger inside you.

“S-Satoru…” you whimpered, spreading your legs further apart, desperate to see his face and that damned smirk he couldn't get rid of.

“Feel good princess?” he teased in a whisper, inserting another finger, surprised at how eager you were for more. “I wanna hear you sing for me.”

“S-stop teasing me!” you moaned, trying to roll your eyes until they fell into the back of your head. You whimpered for him, because of him, and he felt his cock twitch just from the sight of you, from tasting you again.

You were so expressive and responsive, grasping at his locks and pushing his face flush against you. The looks of an angel with an intoxicating glow that only drew him in farther, deeper. The strongest sorcerer couldn’t help but think he would throw everything away just to worship and have you.

After your first orgasm, you were already seeing stars. Just as Gojo wanted, and he couldn't help but smirk before leaning over you to capture your lips with his, stifling your moans so only he could hear. His name upon your lips, begging for more and all of him.

You were enrapturing, so perfect and pretty. It was all for him, something he could have never predicted or thought he deserved. Yes, he was skilled, and yes, he was the strongest, but you were the only person to ever make him feel alive. When he said he loved you, he meant it.

And you tasted too good, like candy, like heaven. He was going to ravish you.

As you came down from your high, Gojo started to gently play with your clit again until your hand reached out and grasped his wrist. “Please…” you pleaded with wanton eyes. “Need you now.”

For once in his life, Gojo Satoru was unable to resist. You were the only woman that could tell him what to do. And quickly, he listened, shedding his underwear off to obey your command, hovering over you with a careful intensity.

You reached up to cup his jawline, beckoning him down to your lips. When he met your kiss, a moan of anticipation softly graced his ears.

And finally, Gojo allowed himself to nestle his thick cock where it was desperate to go, where it needed to go. He could barely get the tip in, you felt too good. It was better than he could have ever imagined.

“Satoru! Ahhh….” You threw your head back at the sensation, back arching within the same movement, unprepared for how thick and commanding he would be. You closed your eyes momentarily, only feeling, touching, and relishing in him. Your mind was filled with his rapture, his passion, his love.

“S-so big,” you whimpered, arms constricting around his neck, eyes squeezing shut from the intense pressure that filled and stretched you completely.

Gojo sank into you until it was painful, until you were full of his twitching cock.

“I love you, Satoru,” you whimpered.

Euphoria was what you sought and was what was promised in loving Gojo Satoru. That was what you saw when you looked into his eyes, not just at this moment but with every promise for the future.

“Y/N…” he whined with need, trying his best to wait even if it was excruciating. “I love you more.”

You were dripping, making it easy for him to thrust as slowly as he could, waiting for you to adjust, waiting for your command to take it even further. He kissed you over and over again, his breathing strained with desperation. “Feel me baby, wanna make you feel good.”

“M-more…” you begged, not needing to repeat your demand before Gojo ravished you, pulling himself all the way out before slamming back inside you.

“Ah!” you cried out, legs curling around his hips, guiding him to the perfect angle. Exhilarated by your moans, he gradually began to thrust harder, obsessed with how your body trembled, pleading for more, praying for all of him.

The bed began to shake with how violent his pumps became.

"Fuck Y/N, you're taking me so well." Gojo complimented in a strained voice. He was vocally dirty, a far contrast from his usual demeanor and you loved it, yet you couldn't find the time to reply between your cries of ecstasy, becoming increasingly crazed. You could almost sob at how vivifying it felt. All you managed to sound between erratic moans was breathless praise, only wanting to feel him.

“Shit…” Gojo groaned. “Wanted to fuck you so bad, been needing this. I love this, fuck.”

“Feels so good Satoru–” you managed to choke out, your body jolting against him as you gazed into his eyes, pressing your lips against his before another moan escaped you.

“You’re perfect,” he grunted, biting down on his lip to stop another lovesick moan from escaping him.

You were magnificent, and Gojo couldn’t get enough. Having you like this was almost too much, and he was trying to control himself. Your sweet words, and your moans of approval—only riled him up more. And you were just so damn beautiful.

He needed you like this, taking all of him so eagerly, with desperation in your tone, cupping his face to keep him looking at you and how he was entering you, a pussy reserved for him and his offspring.

Thrust after thrust, both of you began to reach a high you’d never felt before. Gojo needed you in every position, on every surface, till the sun peaked above the horizon. Your pussy was like a drug, and there was no possible way he could ever get enough.

Securely wrapping his arms around you, Gojo moved you onto his lap, desperate to have you bounce on his cock. He needed it like he needed air, the notion of you coming undone in his embrace, in his arms.

As you straddled him, Gojo reached up and traced the line of your new scar between your breasts. Just touching it made him shudder, and he felt the power, the spell bound to you. It wasn't just a part of you; it was also a part of him.

His touch made you feel more alive than ever before.

“Please–” he couldn’t finish his question before your hips started to rock against him, cock still buried deep inside you. Your warmth engulfed him, and all he could do was run his hands down your ass before giving it an appreciative squeeze, etching a faint squeal from your mouth.

He helped guide your movements, but you did most of the work, bouncing on top of him as you held his shoulders, letting him suck on your breasts every time he stifled a moan. That was until he couldn’t anymore.

Gojo’s breathless moans warmed the crook of your neck as he continued to pound up into you, utterly pussy drunk. “Fuck, please me mine-“ he whimpered. “Be mine, be my girlfriend-“

You whimpered in response, nails scratching down his back as your abdomen tightened, not only by his words but by his calculated thrusts, wholly focused on pleasing you despite his own desperation for release.

“Girlfriend doesn’t seem like enough, fuck—you’re my wife,” he groaned, nails digging into the plush of your ass. “I love you.” His whines sounded above the slapping of your skin against his. “Your beautiful pussy is just a bonus.”

You tried to respond, almost unable to string a coherent sentence together from how perfectly he filled you up. “S-satoru!” you cried, back arching against nothing but his forearms, feeling yourself falling apart at how eagerly your pussy took his massive length. “G-gonna cum!”

“Can I be yours too?” he moaned, thrusting faster, deeper, harder. His hand reached to grip the headboard as it banged against the wall. “Please let me be yours-“ he begged, panting, his control wavering as he locked eyes with you to glimpse euphoria.

“You are-” you tried your best to respond before your loudest cry yet echoed into the night, and you released yourself upon him, experiencing the most violent, leg-shaking orgasm of your entire life. Your body racked with tremors, and you suddenly became crazed for more, moaning over and over again as you swayed your lips, using his throbbing warm, and eager cock to ride out your orgasm and into another one.

“Want more Satoru, need you to fill me up, please!” Your pleas were like music to his ears. You were so sexy, but that compliment didn’t feel like enough; you were undoubtedly the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on, and he was blessed with the opportunity to fuck you like he was. How did he get so lucky?

“Fuck yeah… fuck princess I’m gonna-” he sounded breathless, hips stuttering against you before he let go, pouring a thick load of cum inside of you. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N-” he babbled, twitching inside you so violently you could feel it, unable to pull himself out by how greedy your pussy throbbed, how your legs tightened around his waist and pulled him even closer.

His eyes squeezed shut, trying to control himself and his power, so desperate to experience this high that his hands curled around the headboard’s frame–

Snap!

Splinters of wood rained down beside you. The sound was loud, but you didn’t care; it felt too good, and once the rush rippled throughout your entire body, you finally tore your gaze away from Gojo’s to glimpse your surroundings.

He had crushed the headboard in a single-handed grip. Still panting, you laughed through your exhales. Gojo flashed a tired, sheepish smile in return, leaning his head back to rest against the cracked wood. Closing his eyes, he calmed his beating heart, cock still warming inside you. His throat bobbed as he attempted to steady his breathing and think of something to say.

The next minute was spent staring at him with heavy eyes as you caught your breath, reveling in what had unfolded—what you’d been yearning for since you met him.

And the white-haired sorcerer had vastly exceeded your expectations. Just having him panting underneath you was enough to turn you on all over again. You shifted slightly, beginning to pull yourself off him but realizing he was still rock hard.

Your gasp caused him to lazily open his eyes, his lips parting to release a whimper at how plush your pussy felt in this sensitive state, how it was drawing him back in.

Suddenly, it felt like he would die if you left him like this. If you took your warmness away. You were addicting, and Gojo only asked for more of your love. He still had so much more to give in return to prove himself worthy.

As he stared up at your flustered expression, he couldn’t help but flash a lopsided grin. How beautiful you were in all of your unfiltered glory.

“Pretty girl…” he whispered with admiration, his hands sliding from your thighs to your ass, hinting how he wanted to take control if you'd let him. “I’m not done yet,” Gojo tried to say confidently, though it came out more desperate and needy.

“Satoru…” you whimpered as he began to rock incredibly slowly into your fluttering pussy, guiding you up and down with his large hands, letting you feel the entirety of him all over again. So deep inside you, kissing all of the right spots without effort. “But… But you broke the headboard…”

“I’ll fix it later,” he chuckled in a strained voice as you matched his rhythm. “J-just feel me princess.” he murmured against your skin.

Nodding furiously, you reached out and brought Gojo’s face between your breasts, holding onto him as his pace quickened. “Anything for you, my love~” you whimpered into his ear, arms circling around his head.

It drove him crazy. This was perfect, you were perfect, and Gojo realized then and there that he would do anything for you.

That night, Gojo Satoru ravished you four separate times. Up until the early morning, when he physically couldn't orgasm again, when he was drenched in sweat and beginning to feel cramps in his thighs. His room was a mess, his bed frame and headboard broken. You, in turn, had remnants of makeup smudged on your cheeks, and baby hairs sticking to your damp forehead. Your legs were shaking, so sore and fucked out completely that Gojo thought it would be best to carry you to the bathroom. Dark hickeys littered your neck and chest, and you knew covering up the next day would be a pain. But you were happy. Your heart was whole.

After cleaning you up, Gojo took your hand and led you onto his private balcony.

It was just before sunrise, as you and Gojo cuddled against each other on the surprisingly spacious sofa. The stars were so beautiful in the middle of the night. The temperature was perfect, and the crickets sang a harmonious mating call in the distance, gathering at the edge of the ponds sheltered among the foliage lines.

It was ironic that you had promised never to sleep on the couch with him again, yet there you were beside him, tucked under a blanket and nuzzling his neck for the comfort of his cologne.

Content with the proximity, Gojo tilted his head and kissed your forehead, his eyes glancing between you and the clear night sky. Despite the stress, responsibilities, and chaos that had occurred that day, he felt blessed to share this moment with you.

The same appreciativeness settled within your own soul. Deep in your heart, a part of you knew this was Mother Nature herself smiling down upon you. It was a gift, a glimpse of the better part of your future. Nothing else mattered right now, only him and his comfort.

“I’m going to be so tired tomorrow,” you complained absentmindedly, already drifting off to sleep from the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“It’s a good thing we have the day off tomorrow then,” Gojo chuckled softly.

Surprised, you lifted your head off his chest. “Really?”

“You earned it.”

Satisfied with the simplistic answer, you hummed in approval before curling back into him. Gently, he ran his fingers through your hair until your breathing became light and sparse, and your body was utterly relaxed against his own.

A smile spread across his face as Gojo watched you sleep in the darkness. Since you’d graced him with your presence, his smiles seemed never-ending. For you, there would always be one. For you, he would remain the strongest. No matter what it took. Whatever you wanted, he would provide.

Finally, there was something for him to live for, not for everyone else, not for the sake of the world and its balance. But selfishly and irrevocably his.

The pressure of outside forces seemed lighter by your side. Everything seemed possible as long as you were the one standing beside him. The promise of you and your love was what kept him sane through it all. He was no longer alone. You were his answer and his purpose.

The brightness of a future with you was so close—he’d seen it in your eyes and in the lines of your prophecy.

All Gojo needed to do was solve it, trust you, and guide you through its unfairness.

And then, possibly, what the two of you yearned for would become a reality.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen

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shamefilledsnzblog · 1 day ago

Text

A Desperate Cover-Up

So, this was meant to be for @lostatsneeze 's Sick at a Ball prompt game (linked here), but it ended up being nearly 4000 words and I never even got these poor fools to the ball! That might need to be Part Two...

Characters are my DnD OCs: Perry, a human of minor nobility, a self-styled Gentlman Druid with a fascination for all things fungal and a terrible immune system. And Serafina, a purple tiefling, the bastard (but beloved) daughter of an immensely wealthy lord, who happens to have the kink.

Perry has an utterly miserable cold, but Serafina is still determined for him to make a good impression. Featuring some inducing, some mess, some sneezing while hiding.

“Again? And now? Peregrine, I really do feel awful for you, but this is the third time in as many months, and your timing couldn’t be worse!”

“Believe me, I’m distressingly well-aware. But surely it’s not too.. t-hhiieehh… HIESshhHYIEEW! Snf… Too obvious?”

Serafina refused to dignify that with a reply.

She had come to meet Perry at the gate of her father’s townhouse, all excitement. For months, she had been urging her father to finance Perry’s Underdark expedition. Months of carefully explaining to him how the discovery of newer, safer trade routes and outposts could be invaluable to his business (and, of course, he would be aiding in the advancement of science via enabling Perry and his companion Janessa’s studies, but as she had repeatedly stressed to Perry, that was not an aspect likely to win her father’s interest). Months of sitting with Perry, watching with increasing endearment as he plotted routes and consulted notes of prior expeditions.

Her father had grown increasingly interested, and multiple meetings with Perry had convinced him of the young man’s intelligence and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, they had not convinced him of Perry’s resilience. Between his numerous allergies, asthma, and two truly brutal head colds, he had sneezed, snuffled, coughed, and wheezed his way through nearly every meeting. Each time, as soon as Perry left, Serafina’s father turned to her, shaking his head.

“I’m not doubting that his heart is in it, and he’s got the brains. But surely he’s too frail for such a dangerous journey?”

Tonight, at a small, formal dance, her father had agreed to give Perry one chance to make his case. And Perry had shown up with the most glaringly obvious head cold Serafina had ever seen.

“I… I’m sorry. We could say I was kept away by some emergency?”

“Which he’ll expect you to explain next time, and we both know you’re an utterly miserable liar. Oh, Peregrine…”

Perry’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he dabbed at his red, raw nose with a handkerchief, wriggling it and sniffling wetly in irritation. His sinuses sounded full to the brim with congestion, and by the looks of that twitching nose, he was just desperate to sneeze it all out. His voice was hoarse, and he muffled constant ticklish coughs into his handkerchief. Pronouncing any word with an ‘n’ or ‘m’ sounded utterly pitiful. His skin, always pale, was chalky white, dark, bruise-like shadows lurked beneath his eyes, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. He had no hope whatsoever of convincing anyone that he was well.

Well, not without help.

Serafina turned to her shy elf maid, Mayna, keeping her voice low.

“Mayna, go and check that there’s no one around the back door, and let me know when the coast is clear. I’m taking Peregrine to my bedroom to see if I can’t work a little of my magic on him. You’re to give me a warning should you see anyone coming. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss. Good luck, and feel better, Sir Peregrine.”

Perry’s reply was lost in a miserably wet sneeze. Mayna hurried around the side of the house. Serafina grabbed Perry while he was still in the process of blowing his nose, dragging him out of sight.

“We’re going to make this work.”

“I… IiieESHIEEW! Guhh… I’ll do my best, Miss DeVille.”

Mayna returned shortly, her eyes wide and nervous, gesturing for Serafina and Perry to follow. Dragging the snuffling, coughing Perry behind her, and hiding from a few servants on the way, Serafina finally reached her bedroom and shoved Perry inside. With one last look at Mayna, who nodded with timid determination, she shut the door and turned to look at her project.

“We have a lot of work to do. Starting with that voice.”

She pulled up a seat at her dressing table and gestured for Perry to sit, which he did with some relief. Poor thing, if he was running a fever, as she suspected he was, he must be awfully achy. Not to mention, he would usually be immensely flustered at finding himself somewhere so intimate as her bedroom. Instead, he just seemed exhausted. Serafina squeezed his shoulder encouragingly before going to her bedside table.

Sure enough, there was a packet of lozenges in the top drawer. An enthusiastic singer, proud of her voice, Serafina always tended to keep some on hand. Taking the packet and pouring a glass of water from the bedside carafe, she passed both to Perry.

“Drink that. All of it. And suck on one of those. Right now, you sound as if you’ve gargled broken glass. We’ve half an hour before you’re expected to arrive, so let’s make it count. How many handkerchiefs do you have with you?”

Perry, drinking the water and grimacing with every swallow, stopped and tried to catch his breath. He seemed to be having a hard time drinking with his nose so badly blocked.

“Four.”

“And how many are left in a usable condition?”

“Two.”

“That won’t be enough. I’ll fetch some of mine; don’t worry, I’ll make sure they’re unscented.”

Perry tried to respond, but the even with the lozenge and water, the tickle in his throat became too much. He doubled over, coughing until he was red in the face. Already Serafina could hear a damp rattle that suggested this cold would be going to his chest, and probably making its home there for a good long while.

“Deep breaths, Peregrine. Finish that water, then I want you to have another glass. How’s your head?”

“Aching t-terribly. HhhHIESHOO!”

“Probably even worse after that. Poor thing, they do seem to sneak up on you when you’ve got the sniffles, don’t they?”

Retreating into her ensuite, she opened the medicine cabinet, rifling through the contents. Headache powders. Cough syrup. Balm for chapped lips. She grabbed all three, soaked a flannel in water, and returned to find Perry blowing his nose. It sounded as if there was no end to what he needed to clear out.

“I think that’s that handkerchief spent. Sounds as if you’re still awfully stuffed. Say something for me, let’s see how you sound.”

Giving his nose one final wipe and wrinkling it with a damp snuffle, Perry sighed.

“I’m so terribly sorry. Even if I do manage to pass myself off as healthy, I’ll still no doubt get you sick, and probably poor Mayna as a result.”

“You may pay me back by naming a new discovery after me when you get to the Underdark. Not some foul slimy toadstool, either. Ideally something purple and magnificent. As for Mayna, I’ll see that she’s given all the time off she needs, and is thoroughly pampered. We need to clear you out a bit more, though, if we’re to convince Papa. You still sound miserably stuffy. Take a new handkerchief. Blow again.”

Obedient as ever, Perry took another handkerchief from his pocket and began another weary series of blows. As he did so, Serafina mixed one of the powders with water, and poured a dose of cough syrup.

“Both of these down, quick as you can. We still need to get to work on covering all that red.”

Perry grimaced as he looked at both medicines, but obediently downed the cough syrup, spent a few moments grimacing at the taste, and set to work sipping at the medicine-laced water.

“Speak for me again?”

“You deserve more than just a fungus named after you, Miss DeVille. But of any I discover, I promise, I’ll name the loveliest after you.”

“I’m not sure I trust your judgement on that. I’ve seen you go misty-eyed over something that looks like a cauliflower with a skin condition. I shall expect full illustrations and descriptions first. Unfortunately, I think we’ve got more work to do on those sinuses first.”

Perry turned to see her going to her writing desk, and taking up a delicate feather quill. His nose twitched at the mere sight.

“Please, no.”

“You know a good sneeze tends to clear you up when all that congestion is being stubborn, and even as sensitive as you are, I don’t believe you can do it on command. I know it’s unpleasant, but we’re running low on time, and all that blowing is just giving me a redder nose to fix.”

Perry let out a slight whimper, but sighed and nodded, allowing Serafina to draw close. She came to stand before him, cupping his cheek and tilting his head so that he was looking up at her. Unable to resist, she gently stroked his cheek with her thumb. It really was unhealthily hot.

“Poor thing. That’s quite the temperature. I know you must be feeling so unwell. You just need to do your best a little longer, and we’ll try to make your excuses early so you can go home and rest. Now, close your eyes.”

Perry did so, leaning slightly into Serafina’s hand, seemingly seeking out the relative coolness of her skin. How wonderful it would be, Serafina mused, to lead him to her bed, and join him there, letting him seek the touch of as much of her as he wanted.

Those thoughts would have to wait. With her free hand, she set the very tip of the quill to that poor, long-suffering nose. The reaction was immediate.

“HeEhHH! IehehHEH! Hm.. hff… Iehh-hihh… HEH!”

“That’s right. Sensitive, aren’t you? Relax. Let it happen.”

Perry couldn’t reply even if he wanted to. His lips parted, revealing a slightly curling tongue. His eyes squeezed shut, a tear of irritation rolling down his cheek. And that poor nose… Serafina kept gently brushing beneath those delicate nostrils, watching them flare in torment. Almost as if inviting her to go deeper, begging for release from the tickling.

Another time, she might have teased. Let the quill linger, just enough to tickle, not enough to bring him satisfaction. Let him hitch and gasp and squirm, let him plead for release. Another time she would enjoy drawing things out, letting that nose grow redder and redder, letting it sniffle and twitch and leak, before finally enveloping it in a handkerchief and letting the poor man sneeze until he was satisfied.

Tonight was not the night for teasing. With a deft twist, she inserted the point of the quill deeper into a flaring nostril, drawing forth a gasp of irritation, a great, flustered snort, and…

“HhhHGYIESHIEW!”

Perry barely got his handkerchief up in time, sneezing wetly into its folds. Serafina rested a hand on his shoulder, gently stroking with her thumb.

“Well done. You’re not finished, are you?”

“GHHIYIESHOO! SHIEEWW! Guh… Pardon me… SNRFff!”

“Don’t sniffle it back. We want it all out, remember? Nice gentle blow, that’s it. Good, I can hear things loosening up. Now, there’s a few more sneezes in there, I think.”

Perry nodded, finding a clean spot in his handkerchief to nuzzle into, his nose plainly tormenting him. Her hand still on his shoulder, Serafina felt him breathe in great unsteady gasps, plainly trying to bring on another sneeze. Taking his hands, gentle but firm, she pushed them down, removing the handkerchief barrier hiding his face.

“There. Don’t fuss at it, just let that poor sore nose do what it must.”

Perry nodded, eyes closed, crinkling his nose, lips parted, plainly battling a truly torturous tickle. Even after emptying a good quantity of in into his handkerchief, moisture still pooled beneath his raw nostrils, clearly irritating them further. He sniffled desperately against the irritation, and tried to raise his handkerchief again.

“Hhyiehh… Hehhh… SNF! Hfff… Ghhihhhehhh… Hyehhh…”

Serafina pushed his hands back down once more, and raised the quill to his nose.

“It’s teasing you, isn’t it? Not to worry, we’ll soon have it out.”

This time he let out a strangled whimper as the feather touched his sore nose. Serafina could feel his breath, hot and urgent against her hand, and once again cupped his cheek, tilting his head up to face her. She flicked the quill back into place, seeking the sensitive spot in those inflamed nostrils, while Perry snorted in irritation again, another tear spilling over his cheek as he began another round of desperate hitching.

“Ghhyieehh… Hhihhh… HYiehhh… HEHhhh… SNRF!”

The feather was becoming too damp to do its job. Serafina twitched it more insistently, scratching against the raw, sensitive walls of Perry’s nose, while he plainly struggled not to pull away. When she withdrew it and set to work on the other nostril, a string of mess came with it.

“HhH-Hhh… Hhyieehhh… I… I can’t… Hghhyyiehhhh…”

“You can, and you will. A little deeper…”

Another deft flick of the quill, and Serafina seemed to have found the spot at last. Perry’s face contorted in ticklish agony, and though he pulled away and raised his handkerchief as quickly as he could, Serafina still felt the mist of the resultant sneeze on her wrist. A slight shiver ran through her, and warmth stirred in her belly.

“HhHGYIESHHEWW!”

It was the wettest yet, and Perry seemed spent. Breathing heavily, avoiding Serafina’s eyes, he once again began soaking his handkerchief with the newly loosened congestion. When he could at last speak again, his handkerchief was rendered useless, but his voice was noticeably less congested.

“I’m so very sorry. You must find this utterly repulsive.”

You poor man, if only you knew.

Serafina fondly brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. The relentless sneezing had caused a few to come loose from his ponytail, framing his face rather nicely.

“You aren’t repulsive in the slightest. You’re just miserably ill. Sounds as if you’re a little cleared up, though. Let’s get to work repairing the damage.”

Taking the damp flannel, she carefully wiped Perry’s face, being careful of his raw nose and chapped lips. Perry leaned into the cool cloth, and Serafina held it in place for a moment, allowing him a moment’s relief after his efforts.

“Poor Peregrine. No dancing for you tonight, I think. Your partner would feel you burning up immediately.”

Opening her cosmetic drawer, Serafina began to go through the contents. Perry looked on with weary eyes, taking the flannel himself and holding it to his overheated brow.

“I don’t know much about cosmetics, but surely yours are some shade of purple, to match you? I don’t know that it’s going to help me.”

“Most of them are. But I ‘borrowed’ this one from Delia one day when she was being especially unpleasant. She hides from the sun at all costs for fear of developing freckles, so she’s almost as pale as you.”

Removing the ‘borrowed’ powder, and a jar of moisturizing lotion, Serafina opened both, and swatted Perry’s hand away when he reached for them.

“Oh no you don’t. You said yourself, you know nothing about cosmetics. You’ll leave this to me, thank you.”

“You’re having entirely too much contact with this wretched nose of mine. I’m sure you’re going to catch this.”

“Then you shall have to find a way to make it up to me. I’m sure between us we can think of something. Now, hold still, please.”

Perry flinched as Serafina dabbed a little lotion on his nose, beginning to gently rub it in. It felt even warmer than the rest of him, and twitched charmingly. Once again Serafina had to remind herself that now was not the time to tease.

“It feels odd. Is it having an effect?”

“Not on the colour, I’m afraid, but it might soothe you a little, and it will make it easier for the powder to stick.”

At the mere mention of powder, Perry gave a nervous sniffle. He watched and swallowed hard as Serafina picked up the powderpuff, disturbing a fine cloud of the cosmetic.

“I know. You need to try not to breathe in while I apply this. Close your eyes, and try not to think about it.”

Perry did as he was told, holding his breath and refusing to look. Even so, his nose scrunched and wriggled as Serafina applied powder in deft, careful dabs. It was going to require more powder than she had imagined.

“Alright. Take a breath now, then we’ll try some more.”

Perry let out the breath he had been holding, together with a few ticklish coughs that made him wince and press a hand to his chest. His nose twitched again. And again, more desperately. His eyes began to develop that familiar, distant look.

Serafina pressed a finger beneath his nose, giving him a stern look.

“No. If you sneeze, your handkerchief is going to undo my work.”

Perry sniffled. Serafina gave his nostrils a firm rub, feeling them twitch and flare. A tentative hitch. Another.

“Peregrine. No.”

At last, Perry’s breathing settled, and he opened his eyes. It was hard to tell if the flush on his cheeks was from fever or embarrassment.

“I think it’s under control.”

“Good. You need some more powder. Hold your breath again.”

The second application seemed even more irritating than the first. Perry’s tormented nose scrunched and wriggled, and his chest shuddered with the urge to take in a great hitching breath. Serafina finished the second coat, and once again pressed a finger beneath his nose.

“You’re doing well. Deep breaths. Try not to think about it.”

“I-ihh… it won’t le-hehhh-t me think of much… much else…”

Before Serafina could reply, Mayna’s timid voice sounded from outside the room.

“Good evening, Lord DeVille! Miss DeVille is just getting ready!”

Perry froze in horror. No matter how innocent the circumstances, being caught in the bedroom of Lord DeVille’s beloved daughter would be a disaster, even if he was in perfect health. Seizing him by the arm, with no time to hide him anywhere safer, Serafina dragged him to his feet and shoved him behind her bed, hissing in his ear.

“Not a word from you, and for the gods’ sake, not a sneeze!”

Serafina seated herself at her dressing table just as her father knocked on the door.

“Are you decent, my dear?”

“Just putting on some finishing touches, Papa. I’ll join you shortly.”

The door opened, and Serafina forced herself not to glance nervously at Perry. She didn’t need to see him to know that he was struggling. Her father, elegantly dressed in his evening attire, entered, greeting her with a fond smile.

“I don’t know why you fuss about with all that makeup. You look perfectly lovely to me.”

“A lady is always on display. One must attend to the details. Did you need something, Papa?”

Maddeningly, Lord DeVille seemed in a mood to linger.

“Your young man hasn’t arrived yet. Odd, given he’s usually early. I hope he’s well this time.”

While her father looked over her array of cosmetics with fond amusement, Serafina chanced a glance at Perry. Her heart sank. He was huddled as far out of view as he could, but from what she could see of the part of his face not buried in his handkerchief, he was on the verge of giving himself away. His shoulders shuddered with desperate hitches, his eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sure he’s perfectly well. He’s been most enthusiastic about this evening.”

Lord DeVille gave a huff of amusement.

“I’m not sure what he’s more interested in. My finances, or my daughter.”

“Peregrine’s always perfectly respectful on both subjects.”

Lord DeVille frowned, nodding to the open powder sachet and bottle of cough syrup on the dressing table.

“You’re not unwell yourself, are you?”

He reached out and felt her forehead. Ordinarily Serafina would have been touched by his concern. Right now, she struggled not to squirm in frustration.

Hold on, Peregrine. No matter how it tickles!

From behind the bed, she heard the desperate “hmp!” of a painfully stifled sneeze, and she coughed slightly to cover the noise.

“A slight sore throat, Papa, nothing more. Given I’ll likely be asked to sing tonight, I thought I ought to take some precautions.”

That, at least, would take the blame off Perry when she inevitably caught his cold.

Lord DeVille looked unconvinced, but he patted her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I’ll not have you pressured into singing if you’re not up to it. And early to bed for you tonight! No lingering to discuss toadstools with that poor besotted fungal fellow!”

“As you wish. Was there anything else?”

While her father looked elsewhere, she chanced another glance at Perry, and her heart began to race. He stifled another sneeze into his handkerchief, managing to keep it perfectly silent, but that would not be the case for long. Even pinching his nose harshly and forcing his mouth closed, he was on the verge of coming undone.

Lord DeVille picked up the jar of powder, giving a hum of amusement.

“This wouldn’t be the powder Delia was throwing a tantrum about, would it, my darling?”

Another muffled “hnk!” from behind the bed. Serafina suspected she had moments to act.

“Is it? Oh dear, I must have picked it up by mistake! Here, I’ll see that it’s returned to her!”

She reached for the powder, and in doing so, allowed her sleeve to catch the glass of water she had poured for Perry, deliberately knocking it into her lap. She leapt up with a cry of alarm, her voice covering up a muffled “HM-ph!”.

“Oh! My dress!”

“There now, my dear, it’s just a little water, I’m sure there’s no damage done!”

“Perhaps not, but I can’t wear this now! Better let me change, Papa, if you want me downstairs by the time guests arrive!”

Lord DeVille nodded, turning back to the door.

“I’ll leave you to it. Not to worry if you’re a little late, I’ll make your excuses for you.”

The moment the door closed, Serafina dived behind the bed, dropping to her knees. Perry did not even seem to notice her. He was lost to the build-up of a sneeze that had no hope of being silenced. Serafina hurriedly seized a pillow from the bed and pressed it over his face, praying that between the muffling effect and the closed door, her father would not hear.

Perry lurched forward, delivering a flurry of violent sneezes into the pillow.

“HHIEMMMPHHH! MMPHH! HHhuHMMPH!”

Serafina rested a hand on his back, rubbing soothingly as he sneezed again and again, the explosions gradually growing weaker until he was left panting, raising his head from the pillow at last. His eyes streamed, as did his nose, and all traces of powder were thoroughly removed. The cool silk of her pillow had been left damp and darkened from the results of his sneezes.

“Miss DeVille, I’m so very…”

“No apologies, please. Bless you.”

The stifling had undone her efforts in making him sound less ill. He sounded just as congested as he had when he arrived, and looked utterly defeated, as well as humiliated, as he took out his handkerchief and gave his nose an exhausted blow.

“Truly, though, I am sorry. I really think I ought to go home.”

Serafina helped him to his feet, and guided him determinedly back to the dressing table, where she picked up her quill once more.

“We’ve come this far, and I’m not one for admitting defeat. Let’s try this again, shall we?”

#dnd snz #snzfic #oc: perry #oc: serafina #someone help this poor man

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