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just-a-ghost00 · 2 months ago

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You through their eyes

This reading is written in first person / from the POV of the person you’re enquiring about. I tried to keep the text as neutral as possible so that anyone could relate to it. This can apply to any type of romantic connection, whether you are in contact with this person or not. It can be a past person or a future person.

Group 1 - Deer

Cards : 4 of wands, King of pentacles, 9 of pentacles, ace of wands, 2 of swords, 6 of swords

Right from the moment our eyes met, I knew. I knew that you had my heart wrapped around your finger. I knew that you were the one. As soon as I saw you, I felt the urge to ask for your hand. To claim you as my forever person. My ride or die. I knew that I wanted to have a home with you. That I wanted to build a legacy with you. I knew that you were the one. That you had it all. The good looks, the brains, the strength to keep up with me through thick and thin. I knew that I couldn’t get rid of you even if I wanted to. That no matter how hard I’d try I could never forget you nor get you out of my system. You were just engraved in me like a tattoo on my skin meant to remind me of my truth : that I was meant to be yours just as much as you were meant to be mine. That true love is real and is in the shape of you. I knew that I had to have you right away. And by God did I want you. I craved you more than I could ever fathom and it scared me. I never wanted anyone so bad. The reactions you birthed in me my love, were so sweet and addictive I feared I couldn’t hold myself back if I were to cross the line. I didn’t want you to hate me. It’s just visceral. The way you get me. The way you come under my skin and tease me. The way you look at me with those innocent eyes of yours. Those beautiful orbs that I drowned myself in. How your lips tremble at the vulnerability of your unexpressed emotions. How your tongue slips through your lips when you get nervous. How soft your tone is whenever you are around me. God, you make me crazy. Right from the start I was stuck in a dilemma. Fighting with my head and my heart, trying to figure out which way to go, what the hell to do to get to you without hurting nor scaring you. How to live on knowing that I couldn’t have you. Knowing that I would have to stay away from you. The moment our gazes embraced each other, you had my fate in your hands and my heart held hostage. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I tried to move on and shield both of us from the hurt this could provoke. But being away from you is nearly impossible. You’re as essential to me as the air I breathe. Every minute I am reminded of you. When I met you, I knew I had to do right by you or you wouldn’t let me in. It was obvious that you were well educated and mature enough to cut me off if I ever tried anything you deemed as wrong. It was obvious that you didn’t need me and were doing very well on your own. That you could have anything and anyone you wanted at the snap of your fingers. But I just couldn’t ignore you. Something about you called to me and made me want to pursue you like no other, no matter how you could have perceived me, no matter if people thought I was a fool. I wanted to take the risk and chase you because a part of me was convinced I would never get the chance to see you again if I didn’t.

Confirmation signs : Taurus, Aries, Gemini, rainbows, important bodies of water such as rivers and seas, long distance connections, feeling like you’re the yin to the other’s yang, number 14, Sagittarius, Jupiter, travels, sunsets and sunrises ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Group 2 Tree

Cards : ace of pentacles, tower, 10 of cups, 6 of cups, knight of cups, king of swords

You came into my life at the perfect timing. Like a breath of fresh air in the middle of a storm I didn’t realise I was stuck in until you arrived. And boy did you make some noise. You were like thunder. I was immediately electrified. You uprooted everything and anything I thought I knew. You completely changed the course of my life and to this days I still believe that is for the better. Ever since I met you I have never felt so happy and fulfilled. My life feels like a dream. You were so beautiful and pure it was impossible not to love you. You took my hand ever so gently, offered your help and guidance without expecting anything in return. You kept giving and giving, surrounding me with your warm and loving embrace I just felt so good. You are an angel, a miracle that I still can’t believe I met. I feel so lucky to have you by my side love. So happy. My love for you was already strong and kept growing as I got to know you. I was in awe with your soft demeanour, your tender touch, your caring approach and empathy for others. You were like royalty. So radiant and calm that for a mere second I thought I was in Heaven. Such a wonderful being like you surely cannot be real, I thought. But you are as real as the coin in my pocket and I was the one lucky enough to have you in my life. Can you believe that? To me you were like a life line. I didn’t know I was drowning until you took my hand and pulled me out of the mess I was in. I don’t know how you did it nor how you saw so clearly what I couldn’t but I am so grateful you did. Never once did you judge me nor hurt me. Never once did you question me nor doubt my essence. You kept supporting me and loving me even at my worst. When I couldn’t give you what you wanted you looked for it out on your own and patiently waited for me to catch up. When my heart was guarded and in pain, you cautiously weaved your way through the cracks of my armour and helped me heal. You soothed my fears and mended my wounds with such grace and humbleness that I fell in love harder than before. Your tender heart got the best of my reserved nature. The more time goes by and the more I think God sent you to lift me up. You are Heavensent. You are my other half the one I’ve been missing for so long. With you by my side I feel at peace, finally. I fell in love with your romantic side and your pure good willed heart. With your little dances whenever you’re happy and how you hum to our favorite songs to make yourself comfortable. How you bake in the kitchen with that little smile on your face, thinking I don’t see you. How you so effortlessly get me every time, even though I try my best to shut you out. You never give up on me though I am hard on you sometimes.

Confirmation signs : water signs especially Scorpio, letter K, meeting by the river, love at first sight, believing in soulmates, late night conversations, spiritual ramblings, water lilies and butterflies

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Group 3 - Daisies

Cards : The World, 7 of swords, 7 of cups, page of wands, 4 of wands, Death

You were so different than me that at first I felt like we were miles away from each other and had nothing in common. You seemed like the world was laying at your feet yet you wanted none of it. You seemed dangerous and so bad for my health and peace of mind. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to you. You were so mysterious, so intense that I had to dig further, dive deeper. You were so intriguing and in your presence it felt like the world was opening before me and my options were suddenly much better. I felt braver, more optimistic, successful. It felt like with you by my side I could conquer the world. You were so smooth, so supportive. So sensual and strong I felt so little next to you. There was a depth to you I couldn’t explain. An air of someone that was wiser than what they let on. Someone that had been through hell and rose out of it without a scratch. You were so precious and powerful. I had to have you. I thought my minds were playing tricks on me when you told me “I love you”. I didn’t think someone like you would want someone like me. I felt like a scam. However you didn’t seem to care. You kept moving on expecting for me to follow you and I did. You never once looked back because you knew. You knew I wouldn’t let you down. It’s like you could predict my every move and saw right through me. I was mesmerised by you. Bewitched. I felt like a clown but I couldn’t help but to love the feeling. You made me want to be more and expand in ways I never thought possible. You triggered a passion I didn’t know I possessed. Suddenly I was getting jealous imagining that someone else could have you and that made me furious. I would have done anything for you. I still would. God you make me crazy with how much I want you. I desired you so strongly I thought I was possessed. At some point I even thought you were manipulating me. I felt trapped and like I had no other option but to be yours. And then I gave in and realised there was no point in fighting this feeling. The more I fought and tried to repress my desire the harder I fell. You were so beau and I felt like a frog trying to hang out with a Queen. I felt so ridiculous. But in my heart I knew that I would spend the rest of my life with you, until my last breath. Because at the end of the day, that’s what I wanted and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I would chase you around the Earth if I had to if that meant being by your side. You are my muse.

Confirmation signs : fixed signs especially Scorpio, number 7, letter S, song All of me, cultural differences, beauty and the beast trope, red roses, ennemies to lovers trope

#just-a-ghost #pick a card #pac reading #other content #tarot reading #love pac

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serendipity8832 · 2 years ago

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Hey uh I spoke to the doctor and they diagnosed you with online. Yeah it's terminal. They said there's nothing they can do, sorry

#i remember when i used to try to craft popular tumblr memes #now shit like this spawns in my empty skull cavity and the girlies are gonna either love it or hate it #but it doesn't matter because i am gripped by the visceral urge to Post

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iceunhie · 9 months ago

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HEART TO HEART — aventurine

premise ⁠☆ the five times aventurine bares his heart out to you, and the one time it works in his favor (or, in which aventurine says he loves you, in his own little ways.)

a/n ⁠☆ lovesick aventurine, i repeat super lovesick aventurine this is not half-assed, reader is the same reader from make a bet !!

The first time Aventurine opened up to you, he thinks that you looked like what starlight could be in human form.

He speaks your name like a victory falling upon his lips, a measured weight in its cadence. Aventurine relishes in the way you look alert, placing your attention on him (and him alone), sticking to his side like the faithful subordinate that you are.

He's come to learn that you don't exactly do friends—you are the very image of professionalism, never crossing the lines you shouldn't cross; and if he’s not careful, you could disappear at the slightest touch, just like starlight. (Would it kill you to stay just for him?)

“Have I ever told you that you look prettier when you smile?”

You pause from your game, looking up from the chessboard you and your co-worker, boss, and give him a look that one can truly only enjoy if they were either a masochist or someone who enjoyed another's disgust of them. “About 25 times now, Aventurine.”

“You've been counting? I didn't know you loved my praise that much.”

“Does every word that comes out of your lips lack sense, or is it just me?”

“Haha, it's just you.”

“Lucky me.” you roll your eyes. Aventurine's eyes melt, like butter in the sun.

Sometimes he feels the urge to always compliment you—because this is the only way for you to keep your eyes on him, to only look at him, and Aventurine has always loved looking at your eyes.

(If he kept looking, would he convey his heart to you?)

You scrunch up your face. Cute. “What?”

“Nothing.” Fondness bleeds from within him, the Kakavasha of old seeping into the cracks of his hollow shell. Aventurine plays gambles, risks death, yet this feeling of elation is something that triumphed in all of that.

He wonders if you notice; if you know that his honeyed words are genuine, as genuine as a liar like him can be. Aventurine wonders if you can tell that every poke and prod hides the underlying meaning of desperation—the words he can never bring himself to say because he thinks he's far too unworthy (for you). Still…

“I hope you know that it's true.” Just this once, he’ll let you see, just this once. “I mean it. You look prettier when you smile.”

Just this once, Aventurine thinks. He’ll bare his heart to you just this once. It's a gamble, a risk; a gamble he wants to risk.

And indeed, perhaps this is what Gaiathra’s blessing is for.

He sees you bristle like a cat, so wary—but he sees the flush coating your cheeks, reaching well up to the tips of your ears, and he knows he's won. Checkmate. “That's such a lame compliment. Is that best you executives can do?”

“Mm, wouldn't you like to know?” (To love is such an unpredictable thing.)

Aventurine may be a liar, but Kakavasha isn't, because Kakavasha strung together his remains in hopes of perceiving you.

In hopes of loving you.

—

Aventurine has only three words to describe himself: loser, liar, and murderer.

He can think of other words too, like Sigonian, IPC lapdog, coward, unworthy… a plethora of ugly, demeaning, visceral words— it makes his throat bubble with acid, coiling ang churning under the weight of his own existence. Disgusting.

There's another, too. Greedy. He's greedy. Whether as Kakavasha or Aventurine, the hunger to consume all lingers fresh in his mind. The strong takes all, and the weak is left to suffer. It's a need that knows no end, embittering all he cherished, cherishes. Like an iron chain upon his neck. He's greedy for solace, freedom; death, and—

“Aventurine, are you okay?” you.

How truly fortunate he is to behold your expression, when your concern is as slim as the chances of a collision of planets; when the expressive range of your emotions towards him range from either exasperation or irritation.

His smile feels rotten today, unbearably sweet. The smile of a thief. A liar. A Sigonian. “Are you worried about me?”

“You…” the traces of care don't slip from your expression despite the annoyance that betrays your tone. “Be serious here—you haven't been sleeping, have you? What is it? Is Sir Diamond assigning you yet another impossible mission?”

“No. Nothing of the sort, my friend.” His voice is flat. He doesn't know what's more agonizing. Knowing you care (and always have cared) for him, or knowing that he's making you go through all this trouble just to care for him.

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “It's just a minor upset, don't worry.”

(How could you even care about someone like him? Is this love? Care? How could you look at him like he's worthy of being perceived? He is a liar, a cheat, a coward.)

He doesn't want to be indebted to you. Rather, he doesn't want you to see him; vulnerable, weak. Allowing you to freely enter his study as he's buried under piles of duty bound work just to come across one of the rare times where he's just Kakavasha—alone, weak, and fickle.

(Because as Kakavasha, Aventurine cannot hide his yearning for you, for deceit is unworthy of you; just like he is for you.)

Worst of all, Aventurine feels that if you see him, you’ll find out just how ugly he truly is. You'd slip away from him, like starlight. Out of reach; never to be seen again.

(Humans cannot survive without the light. Aventurine is starting to understand why.)

“Then I'll get you something to eat at least, so you can-”

“No, wait.” He speaks your name like a plea, and you stay. Relief floods through his senses.

Aventurine thinks that perhaps because of the vulnerability he's exposed, you've even become softer. Because why else would you look like that, looking at him like he's worth something? “What is it, Aventurine?”

“Can you stay by my side?” There's a crack in his voice that he wishes to hide, but you don't mind anyway. “Just this once.” Please.

A part of him hurts, having to beg. It reminds him all too much of days when the commodity code on his neck defined the crux of his existence; it is all he will be, will continue to be, all he is allowed to be. But Aventurine is no longer Kakavasha; hiding away from the world.

“...Okay.” Aventurine’s heart throbs when he sees your concerned expression. You know better than to ask questions, something he deems both a boon and a bane. “I'll stay. As- As much as you want.”

Why is he just like a fool whenever he's with you?

They say that to covet what must not be coveted is one’s downfall, and Aventurine is no different. His eyes trail over your form, every inch of the stardust that make you. “Thank you. Really.”

Aventurine has only three words to describe him: liar, loser, and murderer. There may be others, but this defines the very tapestry of his lamentable existence, from the moment he was brought forth upon the world; that of which no longer exists, dissolving like the sand of Sigonia’s deserts.

“Don't thank me, Aventurine. Just—get some rest. I'll be there when you wake up.”

“Nn. You're too kind. Should I double that paycheck of yours next month?”

He can hear you scoff, that bit of mirth you let slip reinvigorating him, sustaining him. “....Sweet dreams, Aventurine.”

And if Aventurine strains his mind enough, deludes himself enough; he can hear you say in a voice that's tender, warm; like the warm embrace of his sister, honeyed Avgin spilling from her lips. Brimming with love. Brimming with care.

‘May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you,’

Aventurine is a Sigonian lapdog, an unfettered gambler. He needs no tears, for there will be none to shed in his victory. He has never lost, and sees no need to shed tears for something that he will never experience. (His hand still shakes, betting on his life.)

‘keeping your blood eternally pulsing.’

He feels your fingers brush against the strands of his hair, taking off his glasses. Aventurine stills. Kakavasha falls, full of love, loving you.

‘…may your journey be forever peaceful,’

He watches you, staying by his side; and Aventurine can't help but add another name to define him.

‘and your schemes forever concealed.’

A fool. (a lover.)

Two system hours later, Aventurine wakes to the scent of lavender scented candles and a blanket covering his body, with the paperwork neatly handled, your writing scribbled on some of the pages.

Get well soon.

—

Envy is a face Aventurine has long grown accustomed to seeing.

He saw it as Kakavasha; the look others give when they see his eyes, when they look at his profile. As Aventurine, he sees it in the eyes of space traders as they gaze upon his wealth, how the eyes of others fall onto him as he walks past.

Others get consumed by it, others deny it; Aventurine embraces it. He knows the feeling of having nothing and wishing he could have things others can have with little effort.

But the fact that he also wears its mask is ironic, especially given the subject of his envy.

The third time Aventurine bares his heart out to you, it had been an accident.

He shouldn't be jealous, envious of those who get to help you with the IPC’s missions. It is the right, sensible thing to do; because you make him feel illogical, unable to comprehend in the haze of longing.

(Perhaps lovesickness isn't too far off a word.)

This is why you make him break free of his self-imposed apathy at seeing you off. Aventurine checks the file you'd be heading off to, letters in pristine print along with his signature, an indication of his approval. Pier Point. The name besides yours that indicate that you will be travelling together burns him like scalding iron, stinging like a brand upon his skin. Something green and uncomfortable in him roars.

In a sense of uncharacteristic recklessness and perhaps brought upon by his longing; Aventurine ends up seeing you off.

“I'll get going now- Aventurine….?” your words falter when you watch as your co-worker strides toward you, terribly fast. “I thought you weren't coming to see me.”

“I can't have my dearest friend leave without seeing their handsome colleague’s face.” he says, like a liar. Small mercies to his ability to divert his inner feelings—and to not think about the fact that seeing you makes his heart throb in an ache no hunger can satiate.

You scoff, and thankfully you don't seem that irritated. If anything, you're in a good mood today. Even let him see the way your head tilts to bite back a smile. “How fortunate of me then.”

(He is.)

“Extremely.” he calls your name like a wager, seeking an answer. “How long are you going to be away this time?”

“Almost a month, maybe. I was told that since the Pier Point Incursion, many of those under your department have been stationed to help sustain the damage.”

“...I see. My well wishes to you then, friend. Seems you've got your work cut out for you.”

He's sulking, and you can't help but laugh. Like a golden retriever. “Why so glum? Don't tell me you'd miss me.”

And for all his grace at maintaining his carefully crafted mask, Aventurine's whole world stops when he hears the sound. “How could anyone ever not miss you?”

You pause mid-laugh. Aventurine feels his face heat. He slipped up. Again, because of you. Because you always made him feel as though the universe could stop and end with you; and that this rotten hunger that gnawed at his bones might just be that he cared for you far too much for his own good.

…And now he felt like he wanted to fall back into a sandpit and hide there forever. “Is that what you think, Aventurine?”

The way you say his name is so intoxicating. It sounds hesitant, seeing through him in an instant.

“Maybe.” He can't look at you right now, or else he'll imagine it—how could you ever feel the way he feels for you? When you were you and he was… him. “I'm afraid I've been too reliant on my closest colleague.”

“Then come with me next time.” you look at him as though he'd break at any moment; tender. There's something else, too. “If you'd miss me that much.”

You flash him a cheeky, lovely smile, and Aventurine loves, loves, and loves.

How unfair you are, capable of reducing him to bits; bringing him to your light and making his heart set off like fireworks in the night.

For now, he will be Aventurine—he could never resist such a tempting offer, not when its weight was far more valuable than any treasure of all.

He smiles, business-like in nature, one used to deceive, to lie. But Aventurine—Kakavasha smiles in fondness, in adoration. “It would be my pleasure.”

—

Aventurine has always thought that the space in his heart is empty because it was meant to be.

Because he is not worthy of feeling—he is a tool to be used; every part of him taken away and exploited away by others at their whim. In short, he is his best bargaining chip at any stability in his life.

“Aventurine, you’ll catch a cold if you keep forgetting to remove your coat.”

But you don't think that way, and it confuses him, to say the least. Like a shooting star, traces of your existence are specks in his life that have become far too important for him to let go.

Whether it be indulging in his whims of poker, allowing him to see the sight of your expressions in embarrassment and resignation, or the subtleties that have led him to believe (at least, he hopes to believe) that you do care.

And each time, Aventurine embeds your name into his heart even further, dreams of you in the far corners of his heart reserved only for the dead he needed to bury. His feelings, his family, and this growing attachment to you that became too difficult to hold back.

Even now, as you hand him a towel and take his wet coat out of the way, Aventurine doesn't know if this is a blessing or a curse. You are always like this—overwhelmingly blinding, tethering himself to you without warning with your compassion. “I won't get sick.”

“Uh huh.” your eyebrows raise, and you take him inside. “That’s what all the people who get sick after being soaked in the rain say.”

“Well, aren't you just charming.”

“Thanks, I'm told it's one of my defining qualities.”

He laughs, genuine. You're probably the only one to be able to bring out this part of him. “Such an angel you are.”

“Yes, yes, very much.” You smile with faux sweetness, though Aventurine's heart stutters anyway. “Stop patronizing me and dry off already.”

“Alright, no need to get so fussy.” he throws up his hands in surrender, and he waits until you leave his quarters, strides measured as you give him privacy to change.

Aventurine wonders if you know just how much he loves you. Because he knows he does.

Recently, Kakavasha has come to a dangerous conclusion.

Perhaps the reason the space in his heart is empty was because you had been dictated to fit in it, and that Aventurine knows he’d never want you to leave.

—

Grief haunts Aventurine like a ghost, an old friend. Anguish whispers in Kakavasha’s ears and dictates its path to be his destiny.

But love comes in the form of Aventurine’s adoration for you.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to die?”

“No.”

A lie. Aventurine has always had a morbid, twisted curiosity of death. Death is the earliest lesson taught to him, among the lessons of Mama Fenge and the cruel acts of the Katicans. Death is his companion, a reminder that his life is merely defined by his usefulness, his luck.

“Why are you asking?” It is a mundane question, spoken atop the glamourous balcony as you and him look down at the glittering streetlights in Penacony below, watching the people of the dreamscape live the life their reality never brought them.

“No reason. Just… I wondered.” You hum, and Aventurine notes the miniscule shiver of your body, the lowering of your gaze; you're thinking about something again. (He wonders if you'd let him listen to what you want to say.) “What death might be like in this dreamscape.”

An underlying feeling of tension. You know what Aventurine's been up to. What he's been searching for in order to act out the IPC’s plan. Though it infuriates you to know he's doing this to himself, you're powerless to do anything about it. There is a wall between you that Aventurine refuses to cross.

Instead, his silent question comes in the form of his coat draped around your back. There's no motion of rejection from you, which makes him feel nice—even if it's just for a while. “Thank you.”

You didn't need to thank him. Aventurine knows that he'd do anything for you anyway even if you don't ask a thing. But you do anyway, because you were lovely and blinding; and he yearns to grasp at even a single wisp of your reality.

“For what it's worth,” Aventurine says, the characteristic lilt of amusement in his voice gone, replaced with something authentic, “I wouldn't want you to die. Such a thing would be unfortunate for someone with lots of promise in the economic field.”

You glance at him with a funny look, exasperated but not surprised. “Well, I'm glad you think so highly of me...?”

He cringes at that, huffs out a weak ‘naturally’ as he stares out at the distance. The wall between you weakens.

“And, well, the sentiment is the same for me. I don't want you to die either.” you say, and the glow of the streetlights illuminate your face, and Aventurine's eyes don't leave your presence, wanting to burn the sight to his irises, to his pupils; never letting a fiber of your being go unloved. Retaining you and keeping you close when his hands cannot.

(If only you knew.)

“I wouldn't go down without a fight.” he says, and Aventurine takes you in—the ways in which you gaze upon the scenery below, watching how you chuckle as you hear the loud countdown to the fireworks, the way your voice has always been the light, his adoration for you a stone to grab on in his gamble in life.

There's silence. Loving you is like loving the way the air fills your lungs as you breathe, because loving you was as natural as breathing in the sandy dunes of the place he once called home, as natural as the Avgin that filled his ears, and loving you is everything to him, for Kakavasha was a dreamer, and you are his dreams personified.

Loving you reminds him of home, because you have burrowed your way into his bones, his lungs and his skin, and Kakavasha fills himself with your existence and lives. Loves.

He speaks your name like it's the last thing he could ever do, and that through you, Kakavasha lived, and Kakavasha loved you.

And like always, it's there. Your attention, on him, as he always knows it will be (and as he always hopes it shall be.) as you gaze at him like he's the brightest star in the sky. Or maybe it's the light refracting in your eyes. Aventurine doesn't really care which. “What is it?”

The wall between you two disappears completely, and Kakavasha begins anew, his heart undone.

When Aventurine finally bares his heart to you for the fifth time as the burst of fireworks ricochet across the skies, he hopes those three words will reach you.

bonus: the one time aventurine bares out his heart to you, and he gets rewarded.

Aventurine’s hair has always reminded you of the color of gold.

It is the color of the sunlight as it gently basks against your skin, the color of expensive champagne the man next to you so favors, and the color of the edges of his sunglasses.

(You've always been fond of yellow.)

“Aventurine?” you say, tone light, urging him to wake up. He's truly relentless, adamant on sulking as though his most valuable treasure would slip away from his grasp like you are right now because you were running late. “Can you let me get up now?”

“Good morning to you too.” purple eyes greet your form and an arm winds itself around your waist, pulling you even closer. “And unfortunately for you, I'm afraid I don't want to.”

“I'll be late. You know Jade hates tardiness-”

“-And I would be devastated to not have my lover by my side and leave me heartlessly.” Aventurine feigns, the falsity of his hurt not affecting you at all.

“You…” You frown at him, and Aventurine kisses the crease of your eyebrows of your face, enjoying the way your cheeks flush the like burn of alcohol down one’s throat. “You're so insufferable.”

“Mhm, whatever helps you let out that ire of yours.” he looks at you like he would the most precious of ores, the most valuable of cards—Aventurine looks at you unabashedly, wholly, in affection.

“Will you ever let me be on time?”

“Would you ever let me stop loving you?” he presses a kiss to your palm, tender as his hand traces circles on your palm. Aventurine already knows the answer.

“Thats two completely different things.” you sigh, but it's exasperatedly fond, and Aventurine’s heart skips a beat. He finds his answer when you press a chaste kiss upon the edge of his mouth. “Don't answer a question with a question.”

“It's a great conversation tactic, though. And to answer your question, no, I don't think I will.”

“Kakavasha.” You warn. His name on your lips feels a little like salvation, and Aventurine feels a warm ache fill his stomach, blooming into something not so dissimilar to devotion.

With you, there is no Aventurine of Strategems, no Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts. All that remains is Kakavasha, one that loves you, and one that you love too.

Aventurine laughs, and the die is cast. “Let's make a bet then.”

“Ugh, not another one of those.” you groan, but you make no notion to refuse anyway.

“Sway my heart enough to let you go.” he smirks, cunning as ever. You roll your eyes, though it's nothing if not affectionate, determined glint shining in your eyes just like starlight.

“Oh, that's way too easy. Deal.”

Recently, he's come to a conclusion; Aventurine thinks that if it's with you, no gamble is worthier than this.

(With you, Aventurine is whole, and he is home.)

end notes im gonna kms i hate the ending like actually hate it this fic is the product of boundless hatred and the urge to never show it to the light ever but here i am

#mhie's spirals #—stellaronhvnters #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine HSR #aventurine x reader #everyone say thank you to ieyn because she was the one who said the ending had to be fluff instead of aventurine dying in reader's arms ^^

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lightseoul · 1 month ago

Note

Hello! For your event can i get #11 ?

hello, sure! this took quite a while for me to get around to doing, but i hope the wait was worth it <3 thank you for playing!

(this is lightseoul’s 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i’ll whip something up!)

warnings. minors dni, please!

11. "IS THAT MY SHIRT?" (1.4k)

under other circumstances, today would’ve been filed under the non-descript mornings with which you start your unremarkable days.

the sun is barely peeking through the curtains, the temperature is not too cold but not too hot, and you’re buried in freshly washed bedding that smells divine.

and so it’s not really your fault for thinking for a modicum of a second that today was just like any other day.

if it weren’t for the muscled arm slung across your bare waist.

you’re yanked from your half-asleep stupor the second you see it, and you jolt in shock before you can stop yourself. the man beside you, thankfully, doesn’t stir awake.

with wide eyes, you chance a glance at the decidedly naked person next to you (if your sense of touch wasn’t betraying you), and the sight that greets you nearly makes you faint.

because what the fuck are you doing in bed—naked—with the bakugou katsuki?

suddenly the areas where your skin meets his are becoming way too hot, and you’re hit with the visceral urge to get away from the man.

and so as discreetly and quietly as you can, you lift the arm that’s wrapped around your midriff, but freeze when his grip tightens and he shifts every so minutely. sneaking a peek again, now at his face, you study the man with caution as his eyebrows furrow for a beat before they relax along with the rest of his features.

you don’t allow yourself to revel in how peaceful he looks, or dwell on the fact that you may have just fucked this man last night, choosing to try again and wrestle yourself out of his hold. to your relief, he doesn’t resist, even in slumber, and you’re able to slide out of the bed with minimal noise and motion, thanks to his firm, exquisite mattress.

you wonder how firm it proved to be last night…

you mentally slap yourself.

now is not the time to be horny.

it instantly dawns on you how naked you are, standing in this man’s bedroom fully bare, and so you scan the room for any sign of your undergarments and clothing. it doesn’t take you a while to spot your panties, and then your bra a few seconds later—both of which are notably plain and not at all sexy. you try to fight the cringe as you shimmy into them—obviously, you didn’t anticipate getting any action yesterday—eyes darting across the area in search of your shirt. they finally land on the black article that’s unceremoniously sprawled across near the foot of the bed, and you waste no time putting it on.

and as you find your trousers and squeeze yourself into them, you let your brain wander to what got you here in the first place.

you remember being strung along by your girlfriends into that exclusive bar that’s said to be frequented by many pro-heroes. you don’t know how your designated planner friend managed to get you guys entry, but you didn’t question it, choosing to just enjoy the atmosphere and drink good booze with good company.

in fact, you may have drunk too much good booze because your memory drifts in and out a few hours into settling into a booth in the bar. you recall one friend pointing to a group of three men who looked suspiciously like pro-heroes cellophane, red riot, and dynamight, as well as you laughing at how it couldn’t be.

you wince at the memory of said friend, who knows about the big, fat, embarrassing crush you have on the ash-blonde hero, dragging you to where they sat and introducing yourselves to the men.

at that point, you were tipsy and bordering on drunk, and dead convinced that they were just wannabes who wanted to look like their hero idols. but the guy with the crimson eyes that were notably boring into you looked too much like bakugou that you threw all caution to the wind and just went along with it, too curious about the person in front of you.

but now, as you stand smack dab in the middle of this pristine bedroom that can only belong to a very highly-paid, famously all-might-loving hero, you’re flooded by a wave of dizzying nausea.

dizzying nausea that doubles up when your eyes catch the ridiculously sculpted arms of the man who’s still lying on his stomach, seemingly fast asleep.

you can relive and fact-check your fantasies later, when you’re alone and in the safety of your much more modest apartment unit, but not now.

and so with a slightly heavy heart, you turn around and silently twist the knob, ready to tiptoe the hell out of his room with your purse in tow.

but all hopes of making a quiet exit get thrown out of his bougie-ass windows when the door fucking creaks so loud, that you don’t have to look behind you to know that the man just shot awake.

you stand there, frozen with your back turned against him, for what feels like forever, before ultimately deciding that you can’t just walk out the door now like nothing happened lest you come off as a fucking lunatic.

and so with a deep inhale, you steel yourself for the incoming shitshow, and turn.

you try not to stare at his crazy, stupid, built torso or his beautiful face that’s looking all too stunned as you awkwardly gesture to the door.

“you ought to lubricate this door of yours,” you quip, capping it with a laugh, although it comes out stilted.

and when he doesn’t say anything, “…sorry i woke you up.”

that must’ve been enough to sober him up, because he finally speaks up. “shit—no, i—”

he cuts himself off as he scrambles to get up, and you turn around just in time to not see his dick dangle as he searched for his boxers. you hear rustling and things being turned upside down as you wait for him to get dressed.

“just a sec,” he calls out, before: “have you seen my—is that my shirt?”

before you can think better against it, you whip around to look at where he’s gesturing, only to be met with him, now in his boxer shorts, staring straight at you.

“wha—?”

you look down to where his gaze is fixed, and sure enough, the shirt you’re wearing is decisively not yours.

“fuck—” you start, flaming in embarrassment, “i’m sorry, i thought it was mine. i—let me just—” you trail off just as your eyes land on another black shirt near your feet, and you’re about to scoop it up and turn and hurriedly strip off his shirt when he speaks up.

“no, it’s okay.” you freeze, bent over and hand just barely having grasped the shirt off the floor. and when he doesn’t say anything, you slowly straighten up, fighting to maintain eye contact.

he’s scowling now.

“you don’t have to scurry like a fucking rat, dumbass,” he spits, although there’s not much bite to it. he’s looking a tad bit embarrassed, too. hesitating for a second, he diverts his gaze, before: “can’t i at least cook you breakfast?”

you pick up your jaw that just dropped to the floor as fast as you can. “you—you mean you don’t want me to leave just yet?”

at that, he scoffs. “what do you take me for, a fuckboy?”

he says it so incredulously you almost snort. instead, you cock your head a bit to the right, not entirely able to deny your impressions of him.

“seriously?” he splutters for a beat, before sighing in resignation. shaking his head, he finally shifts to meet your eyes and regard you, the switch in the air to that of palpable seriousness so potent.

“i don’t normally do this,” he states, gaze remaining fixed on yours, as if he’s trying to communicate the rest with just his eyes.

you don’t have to ask him what ‘this’ means.

and so you reply just as honestly. “me, neither.”

neither of you says anything for a brief moment, the revelations from both of you taking up the small space between.

“so,” bakugou breaks the silence eventually, “breakfast?”

#KGFLGKFLGFK oh the money i would pay to be reader in this situation #sighs #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bkg #2k milestone drabble

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ki-yomii · 1 year ago

Text

two for the show | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader

➥ word count | 2.1k

➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, established relationship, accidental voyeurism, masturbation (solo m), panty kink, implied choking kink

➥ summary | it’s unfair how pretty he is like this; so wanton and needy, half naked and stretched across the middle of your bed (aka the fic where you catch jk jerking off in your bed with a pair of your panties).

➥ notes | 🙃 this man straight up made me buy a keychain that says jk’s slut. i have no regrets.

🤎 series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 🤎

“I’m home!”

Pausing in the doorway, you listen as the barren sounds of your apartment echo back at you; the soft gurgle of the pipes, the metallic rumble of the dryer, the fan on your fridge kicking on with a dying sputter.

Everything’s as you left it, barring the notable absence of your boyfriend.

There’s no low-toned voice ringing out to greet you, no man-shaped golden retriever bouncing over to drape his arms over your shoulder and smother you in kisses.

It puts you ill at ease, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth as you toss your keys on the side table and place your shoes next to his. Jungkook said he’d lounge around until you got back from your errands.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour, and as it was his first day off in forever, he’d wanted to spend it with you.

… Only instead, he’s nowhere to be found.

The couch is empty, the tv dark. No god awful clanking or boisterous humming, so that rules out him taking a shower. Did he get called away to the studio? Though if that was the case, he’d have texted.

Right?

Right - he knows how you feel about him disappearing without notice. So that can’t be it - plus his footwear is still on the rack.

Stepping into the kitchen

“Kook,” you call, peeking into the kitchen only to find it just as empty as the rest of the apartment, “you still here?”

There’s no answer.

But what sounds like a faint curse comes from somewhere near the bedrooms, so with a shrug you follow the noise only to freeze.

Your brows shoot up your forehead, and your gut clenches hotly. A violent, visceral reaction that makes all the moisture flee your mouth.

Surely he’s not… No, there’s no way.

Except then a grunt breaks the tense quiet; smothered, breathless sounds that echo low and wounded into the hallway.

If you hadn’t been standing right outside the doorway, if you hadn’t been looking for Jungkook, the distant humdrum of everyday life would’ve otherwise disguised them.

A warm hush creeps up your neck and pools in your cheeks, leaving your skin altogether uncomfortable; itchy and tight like a nasty burn.

Every tentative step feels like walking on a tripwire, the slightest creak of the floorboards a gunshot.

It’s a miracle you make it to the end of the hall, your door haphazardly cracked with slats of sunlight spilling across the floor. Seconds later, another grunt - this time louder and filthier.

It’s impossible to resist the urge to peek around the doorjamb, to see how Jungkook’s pulling those kinds of sounds from his throat, to see what tempo he likes to stroke his cock to when he’s alone.

Mouth full of cotton, your heart lurches while you try to absorb the surreal image presented with difficulty.

With how he’s planted his feet and bent his legs, it’s difficult to get an unobstructed view of what his hand’s doing between his thighs but what you can see?

Well.

“…H-Haaah…ss-shit, that’s…”

It’s unfair how pretty he is like this; so wanton and needy, half naked and stretched across the middle of your bed. You only notice the scrap of fabric draped over his chest because of how bright and oddly familiar it is, but you’re too far away to identify it and you’ve got more important things to focus on.

He looks like some wild, half tamed creature come to steal you away; the briar of his hair a dark halo on the pillows, the short strands sticking to his sweat-slick forehead.

Eyes hooded and hazy, he watches as the pink tip of his cock appears through the circle of his fingers with every upwards rut. Mouth slack and rosy, his tongue glimmers like a tempting prize.

It sends you reeling, a gush of slick wetting your thighs the next time you squeeze them. You’re unbearably empty - desire hooked behind your navel. An unscratchable itch that’ll surely drive you mad.

Every time you blink, he’s there waiting behind your eyelids; his cock thick and heavy, curved towards his belly and throbbing with each measured stroke.

His thighs tremble, and his toes dig into the bed spread. “Fuhhhck, baby - baby please, let me…”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Gonna cum, oh god. Yeah, that’s it just - hnggg - just like that. S’good for me.”

Tatted fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, rucking the fabric up and out of the way. It bunches under his armpits and exposes the cut of his chest, the valleys of his muscled frame.

The muscles bunch and strain with his movements, and you long to sink your teeth in.

“Right there - oh fuck - right there.” His abs clench and his hips flex. “Jus’ like that, come on, baby.”

Digging your nails into your thigh provides distraction - albeit temporarily as he pauses what he’s doing after a few more hurried strokes, the lines of frustration on his face deepening. The hand around his cock slows to an almost glacial pace.

Hooking a finger around whatever’s resting on his chest, Jungkook raises it up to dangle in front of his face - and shock lances through you, quickly followed by an ohmygod, are those… ?

Yes - yes, they are.

No wonder it looks familiar.

All thought processes grind to a halt, your pussy clenching and your knees nearly buckling once you recognize your favorite pair of panties hanging off your boyfriend’s finger.

Anticipation swells in the pit of your stomach, a ferocious heat bubbling to life behind your navel.

All corrupting, all consuming, until you’re shaking with longing.

You never thought seeing Jungkook like this would affect you so much - never even imagined a scenario in which you would, let alone with a pair of your underwear. Though, you also never imagined it would make you as hot and bothered as it does.

No way, no way, no way.

“Mm, so pretty, baby,” he murmurs, spreading his fingers to stretch out the fabric. “Jus’ for me.”

Eyes wide, you watch as he scrutinizes the whorls of delicate lace and sheer panels. He’s not really going to…is he?

Biting his lip, he spares your panties one more long look before working them down his body. His nipples stiffen when they trail down the valley of his pecs, his voice a breathy curse as they tickle the band of his hips, his skin pebbled with goosebumps.

Holy shit, he is.

You choke on your own spit.

It’s almost impossible to believe that he’s about to jack off with a pair of your panties - that you get to witness it happen for yourself - but then he’s switching hands, and you see how pretty the fabric looks stretched out over the girth of his cock.

The texture must feel amazing because Jungkook full-body shudders, his eyes pinched shut and his brows furrowed like he’s in pain.

He lurches forward, catching himself before he folds in half and takes a shaky breath. His fingers flex, the fabric scraping over his sensitive shaft and teasing his swollen balls.

He whines. “Oh my fuh - that feels so fucking good.”

What you wouldn’t give to know what he’s imagining right now. Every hitched whimper gets your ears ringing and your legs crossing, the drag of your shirt over your nipples uncomfortable with how hard they are.

Nevermind the state of your underwear - the slightest shift has your folds sticking together, a sticky wet gush you’d love to soak his cock with.

You don’t even care that he’s getting a little too loud. So what if your crotchety ass neighbor files a complaint?

The sight alone more than makes up for the headache of dealing with management.

Though apparently, Jungkook’s got more consideration for prying ears because he stuffs the corner of his shirt into his mouth.

Stifling a gasp, he locks the desperate noises behind his teeth by biting down and using the fabric to muzzle himself.

His strong thighs tremble when the circle of his fingers meets the base, knuckles white as the crotch of your panties pulls taut over his swollen cockhead. The visual alone nearly ends you.

Why, you think, half-hysterical.

It’s becoming painful to watch and do nothing.

His choked little groan precedes the flex of his wrist - the apologetic glide of his palm as he staves off another orgasm, the angry tip of his erection leaking where it peeks out from the bright lace.

He’s been on the edge of coming for a while with how wet and swollen his cock his; veins thick and throbbing, balls taut and drawn up towards his body.

A punch of desire at imagining all the things he’s gotten up to while you were gone leaves you winded, and you’re barely able to swallow the moan creeping up from deep inside your chest.

It feels like someone sucker punched you full stop. And then replacing those fingers with your mouth - with your cunt - invades every thought until heat crackles down your spine.

Or maybe you should let this play out - have him stain your panties with cum and then put them on, wear them around the apartment until he fucks you over the counter.

It’s a win-win situation, no matter which scenario you pick.

A fresh wave of arousal pools between your thighs, honey thick every time your pussy clenches. Your clit aches for friction, swollen and raw, all while Jungkook continues to drive himself pleasure drunk.

Right now, the slightest touch could make you cry, you’re so turned on.

Keeping quiet as you shift closer to hear the slick, soppy sounds of him fucking up into the grip of his fist is almost impossible, but somehow you clear the doorjamb, the door itself a faint sensation at the back of your elbow.

And then you stop breathing.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, your blood rushing so fast you swear you hear it thundering through your veins. The air thickens with tension, the musk of fevered arousal heavy in your nose.

Only right as you’re about to crack, one of the sweetest moans you’ve ever heard breaks through his cotton gag. He must hear your stuttered inhale, the grit of your teeth because he freezes. His body becomes a rigid line of tension, muscles coiled.

And then those pretty doe eyes pop open.

Immediately seeking you out, Jungkook swallows and unhinges his jaw. The makeshift bit slips free from his mouth, his shirt fluttering back down to his chest.

A patch of damp sticks to his skin.

“Baby…” he says, his voice thick with pleasure - low and rough like smoky whiskey - while a flush blooms across his cheeks, “You’re - You’re home…”

Without responding, you take a step into the room.

The closer you get, the tenser Jungkook becomes - his breath locking in his throat and his eyes falling shut.

At some point, his hand pulls away and tries to tuck your panties off to the side. It’s too bad you’ve been watching the whole time, otherwise he might’ve gotten away with it.

Jungkook clears his throat and scratches at his jaw. “I was just - uh, y’know…”

He trails off, his hands fluttering around his hips. As if there’s a way to hide the excited twitch of his cock or the drool of pre-cum when you stop at the bedside.

With a faint smile and a raised brow, you ask, “Having fun?”

“I - baby, I’m so…” A muscle in his jaw jumps. “‘m sorry.”

He refuses to look at you.

And that just won’t do.

“Shit!”

Jungkook jolts, a drawn-out moan full of heat ripped out of his mouth when you press your hand over the heated skin of his throat.

All the air whooshes from your lungs and you watch your thumb trace over the swell of his Adam’s apple, enchanted. His body strains up into your tender touch, every hard line demanding you finish what he started.

“Need some help?” you ask, feeling him gulp against your palm. “Sure looks like you do.”

It’s apparent he can barely think, those pretty eyes clouded over in a haze of desperation. Your nails dig into his oversensitive skin to see him flinch, to watch as a shudder rolls down his spine at the delicate bite of pain.

His cock bobs against his belly.

“Come on, baby. Wouldn’t you like my hand or pussy better?”

“Shit, I -” he groans, tossing a forearm over his eyes. “Why are you like this? You’re gonna kill me one day.”

You chuckle, tracing the swell of his bottom lip, the metal of his lip ring. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Every pass of your hand works your fingers higher until the tips press in at the corners of his mouth.

You repeat yourself, “Do you need some help?”

At the taste of your skin, Jungkook groans; a soft, deep-throated thing that injects heat into your veins. His tongue is soft against the pads of your fingers, wet and cradling.

A lone eye peeks up at you from behind his wrist, hooded and burning.

“… Please.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic

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thriftedtchotchkes · 1 year ago

Text

a matter of time

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel can't remember the last time he took things slow and let himself feel. you give him a gentle reminder.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, late boston qz era, joel's pov, smut, porn with a twist ending, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, slow/intimate sex, finger sucking, premature ejaculation, nostalgia, internal monologue, tess doesn't exist

word count: 2.4k

It's been a long time.

Joel's all but forgotten what it feels like when it's this gentle. There's almost a tenderness to it, even though he doesn't know much of anything about you at all. Not your name or how you ended up here in this hellhole of a safe haven.

Nothing but the sweet, tacky taste of your 20-year-old Lip Smacker gloss and the tang of sweat and something sweeter lingering on your skin. But he's learning.

And he likes this new knowledge. Even if he never gets the chance to use it again, he'll devour it hungrily because it's a worthy distraction from the monotony of life in a quarantine zone. Day in and day out, he returns to this shitty apartment with its peeling floral wallpaper and rotting mahogany furniture—memories of a distant past that aren't his own and, yet, sting just as viscerally.

Tonight, the space hums with a different energy. Highlighted by the soft rays of the setting sun, the room's only purpose is to serve as a backdrop to you, and that alone changes everything. Your beauty, your responsiveness, as he lays you across his moth-eaten duvet is reminiscent of a different time, and he'll happily accept that reminder.

It's one of the few pieces of nostalgia that doesn't ache or eat away at him the longer he lets it in. No, you feel good. You're warm against his fingertips, soft and pliant under the path his lips follow from the sticky smear across your cheek, past the breath hitching audibly in your bared throat, down to your soaked, coarse curls.

You want him. More than that, you want to take your time with him, and he's surprised at how much he wants that, too. Trapped within these walls, what else does he have but endless, empty time? And there's nothing he'd love more than to spend it taking care of you, just like you asked him to.

He hovers above you, refusing to part his lips from your body as he urges you up the bed to rest against his pillows. They're flattened and scratchy from years of use and abuse, but they smell like him, and you like it. He can tell. The moment your hair fans across them, rich and lively in contrast, you bury your face into the fabric to breathe him in, and your body's reaction is instantaneous.

Your back arches with a heavy sigh of contentment and your legs fall apart naturally, welcoming him closer, but he waits. Reverently, he slowly leans back onto his heels to appreciate the sight in front of him, and he can't help but feel grateful. You're already glistening for him, preening under his undivided attention as your delicate fingers trail up to your breast to tweak a nipple.

As your eyelashes flutter and a gasp escapes your parted lips, his hand quickly drops to squeeze his twitching cock over his boxers and he keens, nearly doubling over at the pleasure that overcomes him. A coy, knowing smile quirks at the corners of your mouth, and he decides he needs to taste you again. Now.

He lurches forward, and you let out a surprised squeal as he licks into your mouth and commits to memory the faint taste of artificial root beer and mint on your tongue. The familiar fight for dominance he's so used to after years of quick fucks and one-night stands isn't there, and, instead, you set a languid, passionate pace that makes his head spin. It's a slow, deep caress—wet and warm and all-encompassing—and it's everything he hopes fucking you will feel like.

He's so hard it hurts. God, when was the last time he was this fucking hard? He's leaking messily through his boxers, desperate to be touched and enveloped and claimed.

And how could he not be? He's kissing the perfect woman. A patient goddess who's leading his hands across every inch of bare skin, showing him exactly how you like to be stroked and gripped, sighing encouragingly when he heeds your lessons just right.

You're one hell of a teacher, and he thinks he might just be your favorite student. He separates from you with a lewd smack and a string of saliva keeps you connected for a fleeting second before you lean up to lick it off his bottom lip. Your eyes lock with his and they're dark, almost completely consumed by desire, and it's further encouragement to continue on to his next assignment.

This one might just send him over the edge. You guide his hand down to cup your wet heat and you're drenched, dribbling and smearing slick patterns onto his sheets that he'll probably trace with his tongue while he jerks off to the thought of you long after you're gone.

Bathed in the dwindling embers of twilight, your silhouette—the plush slope of your breasts and soft curve of your belly and thighs—is cast around the room in artful shapes and shadows, and he wishes you were a permanent fixture. That your visage covered these walls instead of false depictions of growth and life. It's a dangerous train of thought, but he's too lost in the haze of your warmth and wetness to think about anything else.

He needs to feel you. He needs to fuck you.

He barely even realizes he's already slipped inside you as if he's been there all along, stroking your walls with the rough tips of his middle and ring fingers and honing in on that hidden, spongy spot with such precision, you'd think he'd done it a million times before. Thick, cording veins strain against his forearms as he tenses with the effort of keeping his thrusts long and purposeful, and he watches, captivated, as your cunt sucks him in greedily and fruitlessly tries to hold him inside you.

Tight—fuck. You're so tight. He's bucking into his unoccupied hand, jerking himself off over his boxers, and he doesn't remember when he started, but he can't stop. It feels too good...you feel too good, and the steady, simultaneous rhythm he sets for both of you isn't nearly enough.

Faster. Harder. Still so goddamn tight. He'll never be able to stretch you out enough to take him, and he's starting to worry he'll cum before he even gets the chance to try. His cock throbs violently against his palm, and he bites back a groan at the vision beneath him. Christ, how did you get here?

You can't possibly be real. Your thighs are quaking on either side of his waist and your pussy clenches dangerously hard around his scissoring fingers. There's a thin sheen of sweat matting the wispy hairs around your temples and pooling everywhere your body connects with the mattress, your searingly hot skin an addictive, sticky trap he willingly and faithfully succumbed to.

And those sounds.

You need his cock. Fucking hell, you need it. Greedy, patient, needy fucking woman. He can hear it in your soft pants and hitched breaths. You're quiet and subtle in your pleasure, so unlike any other woman he's ever been with, but when you whimper—fuck. Fuck.

He's going to give it to you. Right now, after taking the time to map and explore and discover, he's going to use his newfound knowledge to hollow you out, then fill you up until you're overflowing with him.

He slows to a stop and pulls his glistening fingers from your cunt, and there's that faint, perfect sound again. A stuttered, broken whimper that lilts with each knuckle that catches on your entrance. He sucks his ring finger into his mouth and adds your taste to his list of all-time favorites, right alongside your Barq's root beer-flavored lip gloss.

Then, he offers you his middle finger, and he swears he can feel your lips sealing tightly around his cock as you wrap them around it. You work your mouth up and down, bobbing your head eagerly like he's about to blow his load down your throat, and—

He's going to fucking cum.

With his finger still nestled between your lips, he wrenches his boxers down his thighs and lines himself up with your entrance, ignoring how close he's suddenly teetering on the edge. His balls are already taut between his legs and it worsens as he inches in his aching, neglected tip.

"S'time, beautiful," he grits out, still tender in his touch as he splays his hand across your waist to stroke your heated skin. "You ready for me?"

You nod quickly, humming your affirmation around him, and he gives you another shallow inch. He was right. No amount of preparation was going to ease the stretch. You're gripping him so hard, it almost hurts, and the thought of how tight you'll be when you cum—he feels delirious with it.

Yes. Yes. Squeeze him. Let him feel you wringing him fucking dry. Let him pump you so full of his release, you'll be dripping him for days, an intimate, lingering reminder of this night. You have no fucking idea how long he's been waiting for this, for you. He doesn't even know your name, but that doesn't matter. Right now, all that matters is this.

This deep-seated, unspoken connection. It's been a long time. And, right now, his time is up.

He slides home in one long, deep thrust, the tip of his cock tenderly nudging your cervix, and your body struggles to accept him. He lights up every nerve ending like a live wire, drags against every sensitive pressure point in perfect succession, and your walls begin to mold around him as if they recognize the sensation. Like your body's remembering him.

Sharp nails dig into his side and drag from his shoulder down to his ass, urging him closer. You're trembling beneath him, your breasts thrumming with sharp, rapid breaths akin to a hummingbird as he fucks you further up the bed, one slow thrust at a time. You're fluttering around him, a delicate spasm and, then, an indicative clench, and it forces a sob from his chest that he barely recognizes.

That's it, beautiful. It's right there. C’mon, give it to me.

He doesn't speak it aloud. He hasn't coaxed or rushed you with his words this entire night and he's not about to start now. He knows, for some inexplicable reason, that he doesn't have to.

But you do. It's barely a whisper—a single, hushed syllable that trembles and passes your lips like a plea. A prayer only he can answer.

"Joel."

Christ. He knows you.

Christ, he's cumming.

His vision whites out, and he's only vaguely aware of his tightening grip on your hips and the long, drawn-out groan that tapers into something devastatingly familiar. Your name.

Now, it's his turn to pray. He repeats it like a mantra, breathing it into your lungs as his lips crash onto yours. It's almost as if he's afraid he'll forget it again if he stops, but your body's response quickly convinces him otherwise.

You bear down on him harder, driven closer and closer to your peak each time he calls out to you, for you. You're molten hot around him, searing each letter into his skin with every pulsing clench of your cunt, and he does the same, thick spurts coating your walls.

He can't help himself. He stays deep—he knows he shouldn't, knows how dangerous the consequences could be, but he needs to—and your ankles digging painfully into his back to hold him in place wordlessly tell him you need it, too.

So good, you're so good. You're perfect. You're his. You're—

Gushing, squeezing, finally moaning for him. You’re cumming.

With it, your orgasm brings every memory of you flooding back at once. Late summer afternoons spent in bed while Sarah visited her grandma. Champagne-flavored kisses on New Year's Eve, soundtracked by Dick Clark and cheers from the crowd in Times Square filtering through the plasma TV in his living room.

He loved you. He loved this. He should've known the moment he kissed you, the moment he saw you, but he's been surviving for so long. He can't remember the last time he lived.

Your limbs surround him, pulling his entire weight down to rest on top of you, and you continue to swivel your hips into his pelvis, riding out your high as his name falls breathily from your lips. He works you through it, frantically blinking away the sudden blur that engulfs his vision so he doesn't miss out on another moment with you. Not ever again.

He's...he's crying. He didn't even know he was capable of that anymore. Sensitivity starts to set in, in more ways than one, but he doesn't want to leave the heat of your embrace. He thinks he might break at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and seeping into the undeserving fabric of his co-opted sheets, far away from where it belongs.

But, then, your lips meet his tanned, weathered cheek—a stark contrast to the young man he was when he was yours—and you kiss away his tears. He feels more fragile than he has in decades, and that's surprisingly okay. Because you're here to protect him, now.

Trailing from the apple of his cheek to his lips, up to the years of tension creasing his forehead, back down to kiss him tenderly, you establish a comforting repetition. He chases you every time you part, but, after a while, he's struck with a realization. What you've been trying to convey with your actions all night.

You always return to him. So, maybe this was just a matter of time. A slow smile spreads across that beautiful face he hadn't allowed himself to think about since the outbreak, and you huff out an affectionate laugh, your fingertips curiously running across his back and tracing raised lines and jagged shapes you've never felt before.

"Hi, Joel," you murmur fondly, still close enough for the tacky remains of your gloss to catch his bottom lip, and his tongue darts out to taste you.

It's real—it's too vivid not to be real. His eyes dart between yours, and he can still see everything your future together was supposed to hold. He still sees forever.

"Hey, baby," he rasps, his voice thick with tears and disuse, and something unidentifiable that sounds a lot like hope.

He hasn't felt this way in a long time. Not since you.

thanks for reading!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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teratosfavouritesnack · 6 months ago

Text

testsubject!Monster x testsubject!Human - alien scientists, aphrodisiac gas, dub-con, romance

You were taken when you were only a baby so you were basically raised in the labs by the aliens scientists who abducted you. You were used to being a mere test subject, to have all kinds of experiments ran on you. That was your life and you were sure there was nothing on the other side of the pristine white walls of the labs you lived in... nothing for you, anyway.

But the creature at the end of the hall? The one you always heard growling day and night? The one who kept on refusing to eat and who assaulted scientists if they even tried to get near its strongroom? That creature was not used to this life, nor it intended to get used to it any time soon. It resisted any kind of attempt from the aliens to be tested on since the day it was brought in. It was essentially a nuisance. It was useless. And when one day it threw yet another tantrum and also killed a couple of scientists in the process, you were sure its faith was written; they would soon get rid of it.

Instead...

The aliens called for you, their favorite and most serviceable test subject. They didn't tell you what they needed of you, but simply brought you to the strongroom where the creature was held and then secured the door shut behind you. They had managed to make it docile with some sort of tranquilizer, it was clear by the way its big fur-covered body was curled up on the floor, slumped against the wall. Its black eyes were half closed and unfocused, its mouth open, its breathing laboured.

You felt pity at the sight of such a majestic creature shrunken to a beaten beast. You had seen how the aliens treated those who didn't collaborate and the signs of their punishments were all over the poor creature's body.

Why couldn't it just do what the scientists told him to? Do what they wanted? They would let it go at one point. You saw many test subjects come and go... You saw them pass through the blue doors and never come back. It just needed to cooperate and then it would be free...

A loud hiss echoed through the walls as if a gas was being released inside the room. You smelled it a moment later... Something sweet, inhebraiting, it quickly made you feel heady. The creature had sensed it too because you heard it sniffle and saw as its eyes snapped open. It's pupils dilated the moment its gaze landed on you.

Shivers of fear mixed with thrills of something you had never felt before had your body shuddering and growing hot. You felt heat coiling in your lower belly, pulsating between your thighs. The air around you was charged, there was a pull that beckoned you forward, that drew you to...

Your doe eyes focused on the creature again. When did it stand up? When did it come so close to you? Or were you the one who moved towards it? You had no idea. Your heart was pounding violently against your chest, you could hear your heartbeat echo loudly in your ears as well. Its beady eyes were trained on you, traveling over your body. Its buff and fur-covered legs were twitching, as if it was holding itself back from pouncing on you.

Its breathing was even more laboured than before, its nostrils flared as loud and rapid puffs of air came out of its big black nose. A wild range of emotions passed across its black eyes; you thought you recognized shame, pity, anger...

You didn't know that the creature was torn, that it was fighting against itself, against its own primal urges. It was sure, oh it was sure that those beasts had done something. It could feel it in the air, it could sniff pheromones, so potent, so viscerally luring that holding back felt like going against nature. But it needed to resist. It didn't want to do this. To do this to you! A pure fragile human. Another miserable victim of those abominable creatures. Did they want him to hurt you? To break you? What sadistic bastards.

And so the creature roared, its voice sounding pained, and pounced on the doors, its huge paws hitting metal with all their might. When it noticed that its claws only scraped at the surface, unable to rip through it it started to bang its whole body into it, trying to force the doors open.

The creature's growls echoed through the room, making you tremble and worsening the burning heat in your belly. You glanced around you as if feeling the scientists' eyes on you from the other side of the walls. They were watching you two, you were sure of it. Just as you were sure that if the creature didn't stop to fight, they would intervene and hurt it again... or even worse. You had to do something, to calm it, persuade it to stop...

That's how you ended up lying face down on the floor, your clothes torn, body trapped under the massive creature. Its movements were frantic as it groped your ass and spread your cheeks to push its cock inside your dripping cunt. Your groans were muffled by the floor, your wiggling body stilled by its huge arms wrapping around you, trapping your arms in its clench.

His thrusts were merciless, his rhythm unrelenting as if he was totally out of control. And yet, you could hear his deep baritone voice repeating "I'm sorry" over and over again against your ear as he ravaged you. You wanted to say that you were sorry too, for this, for all the stuff they've done to him... But you also wanted to tell him not to feel sorry. It was okay. Despite everything, it felt nice to have its cock so deep inside you... You felt pleasure, relief. You hoped he felt the same.

After that day, you're put in the same room for a whole week, two times a day. The werebear doesn't resist anymore. The aliens suggest that he's taken a liking to you and therefore they're more than happy to throw you in his room as much as possible, if that means he's not trying to wreak havoc in the lab or murder anyone anymore. They're confident that you will be able to crack him, to turn him into a perfect test subject, just like you.

Oh but the aliens don't know... They don't know the things you whisper to each other when you're close, when he's inside you... They don't know the plan you're plotting to escape. Together. He's told you so much of the world outside, his world, your world... You want to see it all, with him at your side. Free.

This could become an actual story... Would you be interested in reading more?

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me

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lych33dragoncookie · 2 months ago

Text

Continuing on from my last post;

Right, so about that certain someone. After we see Burning Spice FUCKING MURDER SOMEONE, we get on to their rematch. And-

... Hm. Not normal. You're enjoying this a bit too much

During the fight, we get to see something interesting; Spice's own followers ditching him and Nutmeg Tiger, despite orders to go after Smoked Cheese. Not out of some sudden rush of conscience, no; but the realization that, no matter how hard they try, how closely they follow him, how much they embody everything he stands for, in the end, following him can only result in their own destruction. That they're better off escaping than dying for the sake of someone who couldn't care less what their fate is.

On top of that, we get to see one of my favorite tropes! A protagonist refuting the ideals of a "hero", admitting that they fight for reasons that on the surface could be seen as selfish and short-sighted, but that are born from a massive amount of care and emotion, loyalty, and a desire to protect what matters to them, rather than stopping a great evil, sticking to a rigid moral compass, or any sort of other pretentious ideals.

And we get to see, visibly, undeniably, just how far she's willing to go to protect that which she cares for. We get to see her closer to death than absolutely anyone else we've ever seen before, with visible damage, about to crumble into pieces. And, despite that, despite her state, she never stops fighting. Not for a second. No matter how close she is to death's door.

Alongside this, Smoked Cheese, at the end of an exhausting fight, has some words about his queen.

At the end of it all, her love is what makes her powerful. It's what will lead her to greatness, no matter what. Her bountiful nature is the gift she has to give to those around her, and what keeps her going. It's not logical, it's not rational, something which drives Smoked Cheese off the fucking wall, but even he has to admit that it doesn't have to be. That it's what got here where she is in the first place.

You'd think that this would be setup for something that happens later on, specially with the line "Sycophants, charlatans... even willful traitors... All of them have a place among her treasures. She embraced them all... with open arms.", instead of just being there so that Smoked Cheese can tell Nutmeg Tiger that her ruler sucks complete ass and his' doesn't, but... Well, we'll get to that later.

Anyways, back to the freak.

Again with this? I don't say this in an exasperated tone, I just think there's something severely wrong with him. He's just trying to get her to go feral like him for fun. Weirdo. Also, as I mentioned before, holy hell this is the most visceral it's ever gotten. We've never seen any other character this physically damaged, so close to actually crumbling. This entire arc continues to be unexpectedly brutal in every way it possibly could be, and honestly for what it's going for, it just works.

Also, I'm stuffing the below line into my pocket for later. You'll see why.

After this, Golden Cheese refutes every bit of Burning Spice's own mentality in much the same way I did the last post, and it gets under his skin. Really, really badly. To the point where he basically just ends the fight outright, more or less. ... Until Golden Cheese gets her obligatory powerup. It's cool as hell, and it works with the very same base that I mentioned earlier, of her care & love for everything she holds dear and her strong undying urge to protect it all until her last breath, an urge to protect her treasures, everyone who's filled her life with joy up to this point, and it's all strong enough to draw forth her soul jam and awaken her true power and all that other power of friendship stuff. Not anything too mind-blowing considering we've seen it before with Dark Cacao, but it certainly hits a bit harder because Golden Cheese is just a deeply lovable character who does not hesitate to wear her heart on her sleeve, a really warm presence who you want to see succeed simply because of how much her love and desire to give to others shape her every action.

As is to be expected; there is no third act breakdown from Burning Spice here. In fact, he's having the time of his life!

... And then. He. Just.

Gets hit once. And it's over.

...

Y. You. You j. HUH? HUH???

HUH??????????

WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. THE FUCK. ARE. YOU. DOING. THAT'S THE ENDING? THAT'S FUCKING IT? HE JUST GETS HIT ONCE AFTER GOLDEN CHEESE TRANSFORMS, GETS BURIED UNDER SOME RUBBLE, AND THEN YOU NOT ONLY HAVE GOLDEN CHEESE OUTRIGHT SAY THAT HE PROBABLY LIVED THAT BUT ALSO TEASE HIM BEING ALIVE AT THE END???

THAT'S IT? THAT'S THE FUCKING ENDING? THAT'S THE ENDING YOU GIVE TO WHAT WOULD HAVE OTHERWISE BEEN ONE OF OUR BEST STORIES YET?!?!??

WHAT. THE. FUCK. ARE. YOU. DOING. ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME POP A BLOOD VESSEL

THIS SUCKS! THIS ACTUALLY FUCKING SUCKS! THIS IS NOTHING! THIS MEANS NOTHING! YEAH YEAH YEAH GOOD CONQUERED EVIL WHATEVER IT'S NOT ONLY A GENERIC VILLAIN DEFEAT BUT A COMPLETELY UNCEREMONIOUS ONE FOR A CHARACTER WHO IS RIDICULOUSLY WELL WRITTEN AND WHO DESERVED MORE THAN JUST GETTING ONE-SHOT AFTER A SERIES OF REALLY WELL PACED CUTSCENES.

IT WAS ALL. SO. FUCKING. GOOD. ALL THE WAY THROUGH TO THE PART WHERE HE'S LAUGHING MANIACALLY AT HIS INCOMING DEMISE. IT WAS ALL SO GOOD. WE WERE SO CLOSE. AND THEN WHAT DO YOU DO? WHAT DO YOU FUCKING DO? NOT ONLY IS HE JUST OUT LIKE THAT, WITH EVERYONE WELL AWARE HE'S NOT DEAD, YOU HAVE NUTMEG TIGER COME BACK TO HIM, MEANING NEITHER OF THEM HAVE PROGRESSED IN ANY WAY WHATSOEVER, SMOKED CHEESE'S CONVERSATION WITH NUTMEG TIGER WAS ALMOST ENTIRELY POINTLESS, AND THIS WHOLE THING WAS RENDERED UTTERLY MEANINGLESS FUCKIGIIGNFRJGH GHRHRARAHGHRHGHEEJGHJSDG

Okay. Okay. Tantrum aside.

There are so many better ways of doing this. Like. So, so much better. Ways that not only hold more narrative weight, but don't set up a half-assed villain return later on that won't hit anywhere near as hard. Because, seriously, giving Spice another arc as a villain is a horrendous idea. Both from a gameplay and story perspective. The framing here was perfect, everything had gone off really well from start to finish all the way up until that last tiny bit of the story, and you're not going to get this sort of opportunity again. They fumbled. Really. Really hard.

For one...

Hey. Golden Cheese. Remember when you said this?

JUST TAKE HIS FUCKING SOUL JAM

ALL THE BEASTS CAN DO IT WITHOUT ANY EXPLANATION, WHY CAN'T SHE?? WHY ISN'T SHE, SOMEONE WHO IS FULLY OK WITH STEALING FROM SOMEONE SO LONG AS THEY DESERVE IT, SOMEONE WHO EARLIER SAID BURNING SPICE ISN'T DESERVING OF HIS POSITION AS A GOD, SOMEONE WHO WOULD BE MORE THAN WILLING TO THROW IT INTO HER TREASURE PILE, COMPLETELY UNABLE TO TAKE IT, EVEN AFTER BEATING HIM?!?!??!

It would genuinely be that! Fucking! Easy! And guess what? Guess fucking what? IT OPENS UP SO MANY WRITING OPPORTUNITIES! SO, SO MANY! Nutmeg Tiger no longer has a god to worship, the power that gave Spice a hold over his army is now gone, he has to live out as a commoner, not a god, because he never deserved to be a god, not in the slightest. Have GC say something like "you are not a god, you're an impulsive, reckless fool. you do not deserve the power of a god. you're a commoner. nothing less, nothing more." and then take away his soul jam and you're good!!

HELL, IT COULD SET UP A GOOD, BELIEVABLE REDEMPTION ARC, "Sycophants, charlatans... even willful traitors... All of them have a place among her treasures. She embraced them all... with open arms.", IT'S SO EASY, IT HAS ACTUAL SETUP, YOU COULD HAVE SPICE BE A COMMON MORTAL COOKIE THAT HAS TO FEND FOR HIMSELF, EVENTUALLY BEING FORCED INTO A POSITION WHERE HE HAS TO FIND A ROOF TO PUT OVER HIS HEAD IF HE WANTS TO SURVIVE, AND HAVING GOLDEN CHEESE BE THE FIRST PERSON TO OFFER THAT, WHETHER OR NOT SPICE IS WILLING TO IMMEDIATELY ACCEPT IT. YOU'D HAVE A PROPER THIRD ACT BREAKDOWN WHEN HIS SOUL JAM IS TAKEN AWAY WITH SPICE BEING ACTIVELY REFUSED A WARRIOR'S DEATH, BEING GIVEN AN ANTI-CLIMAX, NOT A GLORIOUS DEFEAT BUT A LOSS OF POWER AND A REFUSAL TO END THE FIGHT ON HIS TERMS, COMPLETELY REFUSING TO STOOP TO HIS LEVEL AND FORCING HIM OUT OF A POSITION OF POWER WHILE YOU'RE AT IT

ALL THIS. ALL THESE WRITING OPPORTUNITIES. AND MORE THAT THE COMMUNITY HAS LIKELY ALREADY COME UP WITH. WASTED. COMPLETELY. NOTHING. ALL FOR A QUICK, GENERIC, BLAND, FLACCID, DEVOID-OF-IMPACT VILLAIN DEFEAT.

Ooooohhh my god I am so worked up about this. We were this close. we were this fucking close to peak fiction. We could have had it all. But they fumbled right at the end.

I... I think I'm just going to completely ignore this ending's existence. If they do anything else with Spice from this point onwards? It doesn't exist to me. I'm not looking. Because whatever they do, it won't wash away the bitter taste of the complete fumble they just pulled. In my heart, he got his soul jam taken away, had to find a way to survive on his own, and ended up living in the Golden Cheese Kingdom (out of a lack of any other options and ideas of a potential soul jam recovery from the inside that would eventually be all forgotten about) where he was given a chance to return to normalcy and heal and be free of the burden of immortality.

I'm gonna go tear a hole in a wall with my bare teeth now. See you all.

#jester ramblings #update analysis #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #golden cheese cookie #burning spice cookie #smoked cheese cookie #nutmeg tiger cookie

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teamatsumu · 11 months ago

Text

exclusive. (gojo satoru x reader)

summary: A series of moments with Gojo Satoru, leading to the moment you realize you’re in love with him.

word count: 2,223

warnings: swearing, fem!reader, friends to lovers (?), jujutsu high shenanigans, this is pretty harmless fluff

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

Anyone who met Gojo Satoru for the first time had a visceral reaction to him.

Either they found him loud, obnoxious and annoying (both Shoko and Suguru described that as their first impressions of him), or they were starstruck by him. After all, he was Gojo Satoru. The wielder of the most powerful cursed technique in the Jujutsu world at present. The brilliant Six Eyes. And even at such a young age he showed potential that made the higher ups nervous.

And he was easy on the eyes too. Tall, lean, porcelain pale skin, hair like snow and eyes brighter than the blue skies. It was in the way he carried himself, shoulders set back, chin held high, imposing and demanding that all eyes met him. Girls were endlessly obsessed with him, with the idea of him. And he ate that shit up.

You however, would argue that you didn’t have any impression of him at all. He was just there. Okay, that was Gojo Satoru. Cool. Time to just shrug and walk away. He wasn’t exactly someone you had to interact with daily. He was a year older, in a different class. He had friends of his own. And he was quite literally famous. Why would he bother with you?

What you didn’t know about Gojo Satoru was that he didn’t need any reason to be obnoxious. He just was. Seeing someone indifferent to his existence lit a fire in him, and he was adamant on making sure you noticed him. One way or the other.

“So it doesn’t matter to you if I’m cursing you out? As long as I’m paying attention to you?”

You eyed him, watching as he leaned back on the two back legs of the chair he was sitting in until it teetered dangerously. The action kind of put you on edge but you would be damned if you let him know that it bothered you. Mostly because if he knew then he would never stop doing it.

He snapped his fingers and grinned in the affirmative.

“All press is good press.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, it sounds cool.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your textbook. A bout of silence fell on you for a few brief moments, before Satoru felt the urge to ruin it again.

“You’re not gonna fail.”

You didn’t look up. “Thanks?”

“So stop studying.”

You sighed, still not looking at him. You flipped a page. A hand grabbed at your open book, shutting it with a soft thud. You finally turned to glare at the boy. Over the curve of his shades, his eyes were as blue as ever. He grinned wide.

“There she is. Hey, pretty girl.”

Another thing about him, he flirted endlessly.

Your scowl deepened, trying to will away the heat that rushed to your ears. It was annoying, almost frustrating, how easy he thought it was to get under your skin. Saying shit like this as if it didn’t mean anything. Casual. Unserious.

Your train of thought broke when he reached forward and pinched your cheek hard. You yelped and pushed him hand away, wrestling against his strength when he tried to twist closer to you. By the time Suguru and Kento walked into the classroom, he had you pinned on the desk and was messing your hair up the best he could while you called him every colorful name you could think of.

Suguru didn’t bat an eye. Kento just sighed. This was, unfortunately, normal.

You, of course, didn’t fail your exam. Surprisingly, neither did Satoru, even though you had not seen him open a book once. Practical application was one thing (Satoru excelled in that of course), but how did he manage to get the theory right? He had spent every minute of his prep days either bothering you in person, sending you endless text messages, or lounging around in your room and watching TV. The fact that he passed and was now a third year was more surprising to you than the fact that you passed. At least you studied for it.

“You just wanted me to fail so I would be held back for the year and we could be classmates.” Satoru grinned, peeling open a packet of those overly sweet jellies he loved eating. You snorted, turning over in your bed and pulling your sheets up higher. It was nearly 10 in the morning, and Satoru had woken you up with the news that results were out and both of you had passed. Your body was still sluggish, eyelids heavy with exhaustion and residual sleep.

“Is that your breakfast?” You watched him lean back and shake the entire bag of jellies straight into his mouth from above. Your face twisted in disgust.

“Yup. Gotta start the day right.”

You didn’t bother to argue, shoving your face into the pillow and hoping it would suffocate you to death. You heard shuffling and then felt the mattress dip, grunting when you felt something heavy fall over your back.

“So what do you wanna do today?”

You let out a pained sigh, not bothering to turn and look at him, or his legs that were likely draped over you.

“I was planning to sleep in but I guess I can’t do that anymore.” Your tone was dry.

“Damn right. Let's go to the city.”

“Can’t you go bother Getou-san?”

“He isn’t as fun.”

You turned your head to look at him, just in time to see him pull apart a chocolate bar. Your eyes widened in horror.

“No!” You shoved him hard and he toppled off the bed with a loud ‘oof’, until all you could see was his legs hanging in the air.

“What the fuck?” His tone was more baffled than it was pained. You saw his messy head of hair pop up over the edge of the bed, his eyes wide, glasses nowhere to be seen.

“You’ll get chocolate on my sheets!”

“So you pushed me off?” Before he could pull himself back up, you rushed forward, trying to keep him down, slipping off the edge and falling right on top of him. You grabbed the hand with the chocolate, prying it from his fingers. You placed it carefully on your side table, finally sighing and leaning back, looking down at the boy before you. Or more accurately, under you.

Satoru was wearing a huge, toothy grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows. He seemed to have completely forgotten his chocolate. His hands rested on your bare thighs, fingers just shy of the hem of your shorts.

“You know what, you can keep the chocolate. I’m fine right here.”

You glared at him, standing up to walk away, but not before you dug a foot into his stomach. Satoru groaned, but still grinned, grabbing your ankle.

“You should just let things happen, baby. We’d be great together, you know?”

You didn’t let his words get to you, nor did you let your mind dwell on how soft his fingers felt around your ankle, or how his hands had felt on the bare skin of your thighs. You couldn’t think about it, because nothing Satoru did was real. He was just playing. He was a good friend who tried annoying you as much as possible. That’s it.

It didn’t matter that he whined your name whenever you ignored him, or how he would wrap his arms around you until you were curled under him, or how he would pin your arms down so you wouldn’t struggle when he laid sloppy, obnoxious kisses on your cheeks and forehead. Your couch was his permanent bed, and he claimed he was there because your TV was bigger than his. You couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just buy a TV for his room. He was loaded.

You don’t know at what point everyone started assuming you were dating, but when Shoko vocalized this perception, you felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on you.

“We are not dating. What the fuck? I can barely stand him.”

You ignored the petulant ‘hey’ that left his lips, focused on your upperclassman across the table from you. Shoko was blank-faced, giving you a look that said ‘really?’. You didn’t back down.

“We aren’t! We’re good friends, yes, but-”

A snort from beside you, and finally you turned your head to glare at him. Satoru’s lips were twisted into an amused smirk, and the sight of it annoyed you. You felt like everyone at the table- Shoko, Suguru, Kento, Haibara- were laughing at you. Your face burned in embarrassment, so you lashed out at the one man who always bore the brunt of it.

“Why are you smirking? Wipe that off your face.”

He shrugged, ignoring what you said. “I just think it’s funny that you think we aren’t dating.”

“We’re not.”

“Sure.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “We’re not! What the fuck are you on? We’ve never even kissed!”

Just talking about this was making you squirm uncomfortably, let alone in front of all your friends.

“You were practically in my lap in the car on our way here.”

You smacked his bicep hard. “There were six of us! And it was a tight fit! And- you offered!”

He was grinning by now, leaning closer to you. “Of course I did. We’re dating.”

You blinked, shocked into silence. A few moments passed. “This is gaslighting. You’re gaslighting me.”

You heard a snort and turned your head towards Haibara, who tried to disguise it as a cough.

“Okay, if we’re not dating, explain this to me,” Satoru began, pulling your attention back to him. You tried to will your heart into beating slower.

“Would you have put your legs in Suguru’s lap?”

You sputtered, feeling your face burn as you glanced at the man in question, he looked unbothered.

“No! That’s- no.”

“Nanami? Haibara?”

You didn’t answer.

“Shoko?”

“She’s my senpai.”

“I’m your senpai too.”

You rolled your eyes. “You sure don’t act like it.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Satoru continued, ignoring your quip. His voice was jovial, slightly teasing, and you dreaded where he was going with this. “There’s some stuff you would do only with me?”

You glared at him.

“Almost like…… being exclusive?”

“We are not dating.” Your argument was beginning to sound weaker and weaker. Everyone around you was staring at you with amusement as the gears turned at your head.

“Okay.” Satoru smiled, and you almost reeled back at how soft it was.

“We’re not.”

Oh my god.

……………………..

It took three or four days later to finally get your thoughts straight enough to talk to Satoru about the….. dating incident.

You had been over analyzing everything, trying to look at every interaction between you and him from a third person’s perspective, and you realized how abnormal it really was. No normal friends interacted the way you and Satoru did. Relentless teasing, touching, hugging. The unending push and tug. Caught in the whirlwind that was Gojo Satoru, you had not noticed how close you were to him, and how dependent you were on his presence.

Maybe he was right. In some strange way, you two were a couple.

You sat with this newfound information, feeling it burn and chip away at your skin, leaving you raw and vulnerable. How were you supposed to bring this up with him? You watched the figures on the TV before you bound around, not absorbing anything that was being said, your attention only on the slowly simmering pot of water that was your brain and your thoughts. When your door swung open with a loud squeak, you finally looked up.

Satoru was humming something to himself as he lumbered in, spotting you on the couch and grinning.

“Hey, what are your dinner plans? I'm craving Korean barbecue.”

You stared at him for a bit, as he toed his shoes off and tried to struggle out of his uniform jacket. It settled in you like a soft cloud, the knowledge that there was nothing to talk about. Your heart skipped a beat, and you stood up.

“I’m going to change.” Your voice was low.

Satoru looked up, lips pursed into a confused pout that you almost thought was cute. “Why? You look great.”

You muscled past the compliment, not letting it get to you. “I’m going to put on a nice outfit. And do my hair. And you’re going to go change too. Dress fancy. It’s a date.”

Satoru watched you, mouth open like a goldfish, as you puttered through the room and to your closet. He was frozen, dumbfounded. It was a new look on him. And you discovered that you liked it very much. You feigned innocence as you turned to look back at him.

“What’s wrong? I thought we were dating?”

That seemed to break his trance, and a cheshire grin took over his face. He didn’t even bother putting his shoes back on, gathering them in his hands and bounding out the door, making you laugh at how eager he was.

Talking was overrated anyway. This way was more fun.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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doliacuddles · 6 days ago

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THE OBJECT OF HIS OBSESSION.

𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇! 𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

❝You consume me in a way that I no longer know if it’s I who seeks you, or if it’s you who drags me toward you, like an uncontrollable tide.❞

The wall clock marked the exact time, and Alastor stood before the large mirror in his dressing room, admiring himself with a smile only he understood. The reflections in his eyes were sharp and bright, as though the glass before him wasn't the only thing reflecting perfection, but his very vision—the one he had built with such effort, such sacrifice.

The black suit clung to his figure, more than just a piece of clothing. It was a statement. A uniform of greatness, meticulously crafted, with every fold, every seam designed to capture the attention of those who would be present at the ceremony. He was flawless, so elegant, so polished, yet he still felt the urge to make sure not a single detail was out of place. After all, today, more than ever, his image would be his greatest asset.

With delicate yet firm fingers, he ran his hand through his hair, combing it with almost obsessive precision. The bright red strands, perfectly framing his face, reflected the idea of absolute control he had cultivated throughout his life. As he did, his mind inevitably returned to the reason he stood there, adjusting his appearance for the occasion.

You.

He didn’t love you, of course not. That word didn’t exist in his vocabulary. Love was a weakness he would never allow to seep into his soul. No, what he felt for you was not love. It was... possession. Desire. A visceral need to have you completely under his control. Not just your body, but your soul, your mind, everything that you were.

Because in this world, no one could be as perfect as he was. And you... you would be his masterpiece. You would be his image. His possession.

As he adjusted his tie with calculated skill, a smile curved his lips, empty yet loaded with unyielding coldness. The thought of the ceremony thrilled him. All eyes would be on him, admiring the perfection he represented, but what excited him most was the image of you—dressed for him, walking toward him, becoming the final piece in his plan. A plan he had been building for years, with patience and precision.

"Today, you will be mine," he thought, a nearly arrogant expression on his face. "Everything you are, everything you have, will be mine. No one else will reach you, no one else will touch you. It doesn’t matter what you say or do, because I will have you under my control, completely. You won’t be free. You will be perfect for me."

With one last look in the mirror, he walked away, ensuring every step he took would bring him to that altar, to that pivotal moment. The hall was already filled, the murmurs of the guests sounding like a distant hum, as if it were all part of a grand performance. But to him, it was all real. Everything was exact, precise.

The only thing that mattered was you, the object of his obsession. Had you realized it yet? Probably not. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that no one else would. No one could understand the magnitude of what was about to happen.

Alastor made his way to the altar, the echoes of his footsteps reverberating in the empty church, his gaze fixed on the aisle. He imagined the moment when he would see you, walking toward him, so beautiful, so completely his. But that beauty was nothing more than an extension of himself, another tool in his plan.

And as he waited, anxiety grew within him, not for the ceremony nor for the expectations of others, but for that need to see you surrendered, completely his. The altar was not just a place of union. It was a declaration, his way of sealing his dominion over you.

You would be his. In such an absolute, devastating way that not even death could separate them. The image of you, dressed for him, simply his, made the cold calm in his chest intensify. And when the moment came, no one would be able to do anything, because in the end, everything that was happening, everything he had planned, was for this moment. The perfect day.

The look in his eyes reflected the emptiness behind the perfection that everyone saw. But he had already won. And you, dear, would be the final piece in his game.

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor

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lovesculprit · 2 months ago

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just a little something before the full fic {mdni} cw: mentions of blood

Knight!Nanami who...is captivated by your dangerous spirit in battle. And every time he goes into the battlefield with you, he finds himself drawn to you in ways he cannot rationalise. There is something about the way you move with such ferocity, your blade cutting through the air with precision, which hypnotises him.

The moment you land a blow on him that draws blood, it’s like a spark igniting something deep within him—part adrenaline, part raw admiration. The sting of pain from your attack sharpens his senses, and rather than fuelling anger, the thrill heightens. Being this close to someone who so completely challenges him-physically and mentally-only serves to make the blood pumping through his veins hotter.

The line between opponent and something more begins to blur as the threat of injury fans the flames of a desire he can't fully comprehend.

Knight!Nanami who...holds back in battles, not wanting to hurt you. He feels a hesitation, foreign to him, as your encounters grow more frequent. When it comes to you, it's not about winning. There’s a strange, unspoken connection in each clash, as though his blade could do more damage than he wants. It’s a delicate dance—swords clashing, but the tension between you is stronger than any weapon.

It's the spark in your eyes that catches him off guard; the fluidity of your movements, the fire behind every strike. He holds back, not because he's afraid you'll overpower him, but because part of him just can't bear the thought of truly hurting you. Every duel greets a mix of aggression and restraint in him, a barely constrained tension taking his heart racing for reasons other than battle.

Knight!Nanami who...finds the bloodshed strangely exhilarating, especially when it involves you. There’s an edge to your battles that’s more than just combat; it’s a pull, an undeniable attraction that’s heightened with every drop of blood spilled.

When your blade cuts into him enough to draw blood, he relishes in the pain—it’s a thrill, a visceral reminder of how close you are. And when he sees your blood, it only intensifies the strange bond between you, like it’s drawing him closer to something primal and intimate. Every encounter feels like it teeters on the edge between violence and passion, a dangerous mixture of rivalry and lust. The battlefield crackles with sexual tension, a storm that builds with every hit, every glance, leaving him wondering if he craves victory—or you—more.

Knight!Nanami who...feels an unexpected desire stir inside him whenever he sees you in the remnants of battle. The sight of you, fierce and defiant, with blood—whether yours or his—staining your skin, ignites something darker within him. There's something intoxicating about your skin smeared with streaks of crimson, your chest heaving with exertion. The sight shouldn’t affect him this way, but it does.

The blood marks your strength, a testament to your resilience, and it only heightens his desire. His eyes linger too long, captivated by the raw power you exude in those moments. It’s as though the sight of you, bloodied, calls to something primal within him. He can’t tear his gaze away, the mix of admiration and dark desire coiling tight in his chest, leaving him more unsettled—and more drawn to you—than ever.

Knight!Nanami who...always wants to kiss you in the heat of battle. Every time he watches you, fierce and defiant, something inside him snaps. The sight of your bloodied form, still standing strong, stirs an overwhelming need within him—not just to fight you, but to claim you. His gaze falls to your lips, and for a fleeting moment, he’s consumed by the urge to pull you close, taste the adrenaline and blood on your skin. It’s in those charged moments that he wants to forget the rivalry, push you against the nearest surface, and fuck you senseless.

He wonders if you feel it too—that undeniable pull. Every look, every touch of your blade against his, fans the flames of his desire until it almost burns out of control. The thought of having you writhing underneath him, not in pain but of pleasure drives him wild. Knowing that in those moments, the battlefield will be forgotten, and the real fight will begin—one where both of you can finally surrender to the overwhelming need that has been building between you all along.

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