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ivoraic · 2 days ago

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Closer than Infinity

Summary: No one touches Gojo Satoru without permission. No one bypasses his infinity. And yet here you are, clinging to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Paring: Gojo x Reader who’s cursed technique is cursed energy absorption

Word Count : 9.6k

Cw: choking (as in the trying to kill you kind not the sexy kind), potential jjk spoilers, kidnapping, mahito, kenjaku performing experiments on you. let me know if i missed any pls mostly just tooth rotting fluff with satoru being whipped for you (and some heart wrenching angst as well... but with a happy ending!) Read on ao3

The sun glares down at you, searing and relentless. It was bright. Too bright. A moment ago, you were in your room, lulled by the soft patter of night rain against the window. Now, you’re here, disoriented and overwhelmed, standing in the middle of a bustling Tokyo street.

The sky feels heavier here, the air thick with something you can’t quite place; cursed energy, though you don’t know it yet. People bustle about around you, eyes glued to their screens, their expressions vacant. No one spares you a second glance.

You don’t understand where you are, and the anxiety starts creeping in, your vision blurring as tears threaten to spill.

Then, you hear a voice.

"Hey, hey, you okay there? So, you’re the one displacing all the cursed energy in this area, huh?”

You turn toward it, and he’s just standing there, hands shoved into his pockets lazily. Clad in an all-black attire, his blindfold is tugged just above his sharp grin.

His name, you would come to learn, is Gojo Satoru. The catalyst for your new life.

There’s something about him, something undeniably safe despite the power that hums around him, distorting the air. The oppressive weight pressing down on you seems to lift in his presence, and instinctively, you take a step toward him.

But before you can reach him, a careless passerby bumps into your shoulder, sending you stumbling.

Your hand shoots out, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself.

His smirk falters.

His mind blanks for a second, and his eyes widen just slightly; a flicker of shock. His Infinity didn’t activate. Didn’t even react.

You had bypassed it entirely.

Why… why did my Infinity not activate?

He didn’t drop it. He knows he didn’t. And yet, your hand, small, soft, and trembling, touches him like it’s nothing. Like touching Gojo Satoru is the most natural thing in the world. His brain scrambles for an explanation, but all you do is blink up at him with wide, confused eyes, unaware of what you’ve just done.

It fascinates him. No one gets this close to him without permission. No one just touches him.

But you did.

And you're clinging to him like he's the only safe thing in this entire strange world.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, is rattled by a single touch. He masks it quickly, of course. A sly grin spreads across his face as he leans in, eyes narrowing with interest.

"Oh? You must be special, huh?" he teases, but there’s an edge to his words, a curiosity that borders on obsession.

He doesn’t give you the chance to answer, not that you could. Before you know it, he’s taken your hand, his grip light yet unyielding.

Because now he needs to know.

Why you can touch him. Why his Infinity doesn’t react. Why he can’t see through you with his Six Eyes.

You’re like a puzzle he can’t solve, and Gojo is obsessed with solving things. He takes you back to Jujutsu High, deciding to figure out exactly what you are.

---

At the school, he watches you quietly, letting you stick close to him. His explanations about Jujutsu society, cursed spirits, and techniques are frustratingly vague, always seeming to leave out some crucial detail. You scramble to piece things together, devouring books from the school’s archives and pestering him with endless questions, to which he mostly responds with amused grins and teasing remarks.

“You’ll figure it out,” he’d casually reply, lounging back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “You’re a quick learner.”

Despite his carefree demeanor, you soon realize that he’s much sharper and more perceptive than he lets on, and he takes a certain delight in testing your limits. Through a series of spontaneous, almost playful experiments, you both begin to uncover the nature of your cursed technique: cursed energy absorption.

“Let’s see what happens,” he announces one afternoon, tossing a small flicker of cursed energy your way. It’s harmless, just a wisp, really, but the moment it touches you, it vanishes, swallowed into the void of your body. You barely feel it, just the faintest tingle, like static electricity dissipating against your skin.

Gojo’s eyes narrow slightly, his interest piqued. “Huh. That’s neat.”

He doesn’t stop there. For extra measure, he releases a low-grade fly head into the room; a harmless cursed spirit. The creature buzzes around erratically, its movements jittery and unpredictable. But the second it brushes against you, it crumples up and disappears completely, as if sucked into a black hole.

He lets out a low whistle. “Scary,” he murmurs, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

But you’re not invincible. Physical attacks, you quickly discover, can still hurt you. The realization makes Gojo frown thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he processes the implications.

“So cursed techniques don’t work on you, huh? But a punch in the face would?” He leans in slightly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “That’s… not good.”

You huff at his bluntness, crossing your arms. “Thanks, mister obvious.”

He chuckles at that, but his expression grows serious as he continues. “All this cursed energy you absorb, it has to go somewhere, right? Energy can’t just vanish into thin air. It’s gotta build up or… redistribute somehow.”

His words linger in your mind for days, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Where does all that energy go? You find out soon enough.

It happens by accident, during another one of Gojo’s experiments. He’s been pushing you harder lately, testing your capacity to absorb larger amounts of cursed energy. You’re already tired, your body humming with the energy you’ve collected over the past hour, when he suddenly says, “Alright. Let’s try something new.”

Before you can protest, his hand lands gently on your shoulder. The moment his palm touches you, the world shifts.

It’s like a thread pulls taut between you and him, an invisible line that snaps into place and yanks you forward. The energy within you stirs violently, surging toward him as though drawn by an irresistible force. And then, without warning, you’re pulled in.

Your physical body seems to dissolve, your consciousness folding into his. It’s not painful, more like slipping into warm water, the boundaries between you blurring as you’re absorbed into him completely. You’re disoriented at first, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of sensations. His cursed energy roars around you, infinite and untamed, but instead of drowning in it, you find yourself amplifying it. Strengthening it.

And then you feel his thoughts.

They’re loud and clear, vivid and raw. His confidence. His focus. His endless, swirling intellect. But underneath it all, there’s something else. A quiet loneliness, buried so deeply that even he might not realize it’s there.

You know he feels you too. His awareness brushes against yours, tentative at first, then curious. He’s seeing all of you. Your awe, your nervousness, the way your heart stutters when you think about him.

A voice echoes in your mind. His voice, but softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Is this… you?”

And then it’s over.

Your body emerges from his in a rush, like being expelled through a barrier. You’re weightless for a moment, reeling from the sudden separation, before his arms catch you instinctively. One hand steadies your waist, the other bracing your back, holding you close as though afraid you might collapse.

You’re trembling, your head spinning, but his grip is firm, grounding. His expression is unreadable, his gaze flickering between concern and amazement.

“That,” he finally says, his voice low and breathless, “was… unexpected.”

You nod weakly, still trying to process what just happened. “What… what was that?”

Gojo tilts his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the obvious seriousness of the moment. “Looks like your cursed technique has a little bonus feature,” he says. But there’s an unmistakable gleam in his eyes, something almost giddy, like he’s already thinking of all the ways this changes things.

“Merge,” he murmurs thoughtfully, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “You can merge with me. Boost my energy, maybe even my technique… and I can feel everything you feel.”

You blink, the weight of his words sinking in. “I… merged with you?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone light. “I could feel you in there. Your thoughts, your emotions. It was… intimate.”

The word makes you flush, but Gojo doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and he’s just enjoying your reaction. He allows you to remove his hands from your body and step back, regaining your composure.

“This changes everything,” he continues, his mind already racing with possibilities. “With an ability like that, you could turn the tide of any battle. But…” He trails off, his expression darkening.

“But what?”

He meets your gaze, his tone unusually solemn. “It also makes you a target. If people find out what you can do, they’ll come after you. And not just curses—the higher-ups, other sorcerers, maybe even people we don’t know about yet. You’ve got something they’ll want to control.”

The gravity of his words makes your stomach twist. You realize, perhaps for the first time, just how dangerous your ability could be. Not just for your enemies, but for yourself.

Gojo must see the worry on your face, because his grin returns, softer this time. “Don’t worry,” he says, ruffling your hair playfully. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m the strongest, remember?”

---

Word of your ability spreads fast. It’s not long before the higher-ups find out. They hear whispers of an anomaly. Someone who can bypass Gojo’s infinity, someone with a cursed technique powerful enough to absorb energy itself.

You first hear about their unease from Gojo himself. He brings it up casually one day, as if he’s commenting on the weather.

“The higher-ups are wary of you, you know.”

You glance up from the book in your hands, frowning. “Wary? Of me? But I haven’t done anything, have I?”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, as if the answer is obvious. “You have. You can do what no one else can.” He leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs, a small smile playing on his lips. “You can touch me.”

To the higher-ups, you’re a threat. An unpredictable variable that could shatter the delicate balance of power.

If she can bypass Gojo, she can kill him.

And if she can kill Gojo, she can destroy everything.

The order is swift: Immediate execution.

Gojo only laughs when he hears it. Laughs in that cold, dangerous way that makes the air around him tighten.

“Oh? You want to what now?”

They try to argue.

“It’s a precaution. You can’t possibly guarantee she won’t turn on us.” “It’s too dangerous to let her live.”

Gojo’s smile sharpens. “No. You’re not laying a hand on her.”

And that’s the end of that conversation.

Even though the higher-ups were afraid of you, the one they were most afraid of was Gojo. They knew better than to risk provoking him. Instead, they compromise. If they can’t execute you, then they’ll find another way to control you.

That’s how you end up being appointed as Gojo’s personal assistant. Or, as you later realize, his handler. It’s a political move, thinly veiled under the guise of practicality. They claim it’s to “help you grow as a sorcerer” and to “ensure your potential is properly utilized,” but the truth is far simpler: they want you close to him, where they can keep an eye on you both.

Gojo seems happy enough with the arrangement, informing you of it with a wide grin.

You frown. “How is this a good thing?”

“Because,” he says, ruffling your hair playfully, “it means I get to keep you close. And you’re safer next to me than anywhere else.”

---

At first, Gojo is determined to keep you emotionally far away from his heart. He knows better than to get attached to someone like you, someone vulnerable and still finding their footing in the world of curses and sorcery. He’s lost too many people he cared about already. He can’t bear to go through that kind of pain again.

But you’re like gravity to him. The more time he spends with you, the harder it becomes to stay away. Not to mention the way your cursed technique pairs so naturally with his, like a missing puzzle piece. He tries to keep his feelings at bay, but he keeps getting pulled closer.

And slowly, before he even realizes it, he’s falling.

The first time you merge with him during a mission is a nightmare for you. As he’s cutting through curses with ease, beneath the adrenaline, he feels your awe and your admiration for how effortlessly powerful he is.

Your thoughts begin drifting to the image of him while fighting, the way he can effortlessly fight hand to hand, the way you can sometimes catch a glimpse of his well-built stature and abs when his jacket lifts up slightly mid battle…

God, he looks so attractive when he’s fighting.

He smirks mid-battle. Shoot.

“Oh? Is that what you’re thinking right now?”

You flush with embarrassment, mentally scrambling to cover it up, but it’s too late. He finds it adorable. He doesn’t stop teasing you about it for a week afterwards.

You find that you can merge with other sorcerers too. It isn’t just Gojo’s cursed energy that’s compatible with yours, as much as he likes to loudly claim that his is the best match. Nanami, for instance, has a steady, almost soothing flow of cursed energy. Organized, predictable, and oddly comforting in its calmness.

But there was admittedly something about Gojo’s cursed energy that stood apart. Merging with him felt... natural. Like his energy wasn’t just accepting of yours, but welcoming, pulling you in with an ease that was almost magnetic. You last longer in the merged state with him, your abilities amplified in a way that feels effortless. It’s a fact he takes great pride in, often teasing you about it with a smirk.

“Guess my energy is just built different,” he says, smirking. “No one else can keep up with you like I can, huh?”

It’s infuriatingly true, and he knows it. But his smugness doesn’t stop you from practicing with others. After all, you can’t rely on him for everything.

One day you decide to practice with Nanami in one of the training rooms. His cursed energy is steady as always, and you focus on syncing your flow with his, attempting to enter his body the same way you do with Gojo. The process is slower, less intuitive than when it’s with Gojo, but you’re making good progress.

You’re in the middle of a successful merge when you feel a strange presence, faint but undeniably familiar. Turning your head slightly, you spot a flash of white hair peeking around the corner of the doorway.

At first, you think you must be imagining it. But then the head tilts, and you catch the unmistakable glint of Gojo’s dark sunglasses reflecting the light.

Was he seriously spying on you?

It takes all your self-control not to burst out laughing. You can’t tell if Nanami is unaware, or just ignoring the figure at the door, though you assume the latter. He just continues with his usual calm focus, adjusting his stance and refocusing his cursed energy.

You glance back at the doorway, only to find Gojo glaring. Not at you, but at Nanami. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his expression is a mix of a pout and a death glare, like a sulking child who’d been told to share their favorite toy.

He catches your gaze and immediately straightens up, feigning innocence. With exaggerated casualness, he leans against the wall, whistling as if he hadn’t just been caught.

“Don’t mind me,” he calls out, his voice entirely too loud and cheerful. “Just passing by. Carry on!”

Nanami sighs, clearly unimpressed. “Gojo, if you’re going to spy, at least be subtle about it.”

“I wasn’t spying,” Gojo retorts, strolling into the room with his hands shoved in his pockets. “I was monitoring. Big difference.”

“Sure,” you say, smirking. “You’re monitoring my progress with Nanami. That’s why you were hiding behind the corner and glaring at him, right?”

Gojo’s eyes widen in mock offense, one hand flying to his chest. “Glaring? Me? I don’t glare. I radiate charm and positivity.”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about Gojo’s inability to take anything seriously.

Gojo ignores him, turning his full attention to you. “Anyway, you’ve been practicing enough with him. Time to come back to the one and only,” he declares, pointing at himself with a dramatic flourish.

“Jealous much?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Me? Jealous? Pfft, never.” But the faint flush creeping up his neck betrays him.

Nanami, ever the professional, simply rolls his eyes. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he says, stepping back. “Good luck.”

You both know the last part is directed towards you.

As soon as Nanami leaves, Gojo sidles up to you, his grin a mix of smugness and relief. “So, how’d it go?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes betraying his curiosity.

“Fine,” you reply, being deliberately vague.

“Just fine?” he presses, leaning in closer.

“Don’t worry,” you sigh. “…Your cursed energy still feels the best.”

The triumphant grin that spreads across his face is both endearing and irritating. “Knew it,” he says, ruffling your hair.

---

Your new life is strange. But you grow used to it. You grow close to the staff members and students at the school and become more familiar with your cursed technique.

Over time, merging with Gojo becomes second nature. But what surprises you the most isn’t how well your cursed energies sync. It’s the emotions you begin to feel through the connection.

At first, it was fleeting impressions. An ache that wasn’t yours, a flicker of sadness that disappeared almost as soon as it surfaced. It was like catching shadows in the corner of your eye. Easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

But you were paying attention.

Through these merges, you truly begin to understand him. Gojo Satoru. The strongest sorcerer alive, but also someone who carries an almost invisible weight on his shoulders. You can sense his loneliness. It’s heavy, quiet, and constant, masked by his confidence and easy laughter. You begin to see the cracks in his carefree facade, the moments of vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see.

Beneath the teasing remarks and self-assured smiles was a man who bore the pain of loss and the burden of protecting a world that barely understood him.

You can’t shake the feeling. It lingers long after the merges end. You find yourself wanting to do something, anything, to ease that aching loneliness.

You start paying attention to him in ways no one else had.

When he cracks one of his terrible jokes, you laugh. Though not out of pity, but because more often than not, he’s actually hilarious in his own absurd way. When he tugs you away during missions to slack off, you go along without complaint. You let him have his fun, matching his playful energy with a smile of your own. You find his cheerful grin and happiness worth every second of it.

The more time you spend with him, the more you find yourself saying “yes.” Yes to his impromptu plans, late-night snack runs, and the ridiculous detours he insists on taking just because something caught his eye. Every spontaneous moment and silly adventure feels like a glimpse into a part of him the world rarely gets to see. A part he doesn’t let anyone else in on.

And slowly, things began to shift.

He doesn’t have to beg Nanami or Shoko to join him anymore because he has you. You’re the one he starts to seek out. Because you’re one of the few people who can offer him genuine comfort.

You see how his eyes light up when you listen to him ramble on about various topics, how his posture relaxes when you’re around. Slowly but surely, the walls he had built around himself start to crumble for you.

---

The streets of Tokyo are alive tonight. Lanterns light the pathways, casting a warm glow over the festival-goers. The scent of grilled skewers and sweet treats lingers in the air, mingling with the distant crackle of fireworks. You walk beside Gojo, his towering frame impossible to miss even in this crowd. His blindfold is in place as always, covering his eyes from your view. But you can tell he’s enjoying himself from the faint but genuine smile tugging the corners of his lips.

You had toured the festival together, eating your fill of tasty street food, and laughing as Gojo tried (and failed) to win you a stuffed animal from a claw machine. As the night winds down, the streets grow quieter, the hum of the festival fading into the distance. Gojo suggests taking a walk, and soon, the two of you find yourselves on a secluded hill overlooking the city. The soft glow of Tokyo stretches out below.

Gojo tugs his blindfold down, letting it rest loosely around his neck. His snowy white hair ruffles in the wind as he closes his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face.

He’s still holding his dango stick, though it’s down to one last piece. With a smirk, he holds it out to you.

“Wanna try?” he asks, his voice light and teasing.

You lean down, taking a bite. The sweetness of the sauce melts on your tongue.

“It’s good!” you exclaim, glancing up at him with a smile. But you pause when you see the way he’s looking at you.

His gaze isn’t teasing or playful like usual. It’s different. Softer, unguarded. His vivid blue eyes are fixed on you, admiring you like you’d hung the very stars that shine down upon you both.

The vibrant hues of the fireworks reflect off your face, your hair gently blowing back in the night breeze. And in that moment, with the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke, the way your smile lit up the world around you, he realized something he couldn’t deny any longer.

He was hopelessly, utterly, entirely in love with you.

You tilt your head, a little confused. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

That snaps him out of it, and he lets out a soft laugh. “No,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent. “…You’re perfect.”

As the city lights sparkle below and the wind carries the distant echoes of the fireworks overhead, standing next to you, he wonders if this was the happiness he had been craving.

He doesn’t even realize his Infinity begins instinctively sneaking around you, hovering just above your skin, careful not to be absorbed by your technique. In time, it becomes second nature to him. Because in Gojo’s mind, you’re not just beside him, you’re a part of him.

He never realized how much he needed you until you were here with him.

But happiness, you learn, is fleeting in the world of jujutsu sorcery.

---

Kenjaku had heard of you. Your cursed technique, the ability to merge with other sorcerers, and amplify their power. Such a gift was dangerous, especially when paired with someone like Gojo. He recognizes the danger you pose if you’re allowed to grow stronger, especially under Gojo’s protection. But Kenjaku is patient. That’s why he waits. Waits for the perfect moment, when you would be at your most vulnerable.

Shibuya, 9:27 PM. Gojo Satoru was sealed.

You wander the winding halls of the subway alone, eyes frantically darting all around you. Where was he?

You two had arrived at the scene together, alongside the other sorcerers, but it soon became clear the situation was much graver and more calculated than anyone had first expected. Gojo headed towards Fukutoshin Line Platform alone, entrusting you with Nanami and the remaining sorcerers. Nanami made sure you stuck close to him, not letting you out of his sight for a second as you two split off from the other sorcerers to search for Ijichi, who had mysteriously gone silent on the intercoms a while ago. You couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. You already knew how insufferable Gojo could sometimes be towards him. You hoped he was alright.

Nanami led you through the streets above, the city now a warzone. Buildings shook, the air thick with cursed energy. You followed his lead, searching for Ijichi amid the destruction. The cursed energy in the air continued to grow heavier, more menacing. And then you heard it. The sound of a swarm. A wave of curses emerged from the shadows, surrounding Nanami in an instant. He fought them off with a calm precision, but there were too many.

You couldn’t get close enough to touch him, couldn’t merge with him to amplify his strength. You tried to fight, but without a partner, your cursed technique was nearly useless.

“Run,” Nanami ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Go!” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your heart pounding, you turned and ran. The only place not teeming with curses was the underground subway entrance, so you slipped inside, cursing yourself for your own weakness.

---

That’s how you end up in your current predicament.

The subway is eerily quiet, the faint tremors of battle above shaking the walls. Dust particles fall from the ceiling as the yellow tinged led lights overhead flicker on and off. The air is thick with the stench of blood and curses. You swallow your fear and keep pushing forward in the dimly lit corridors. The sound of your footsteps seem to echo too loudly off the walls as your eyes dart around, searching desperately for Gojo.

“Gojo?” Your voice trembles as you call out for him, the silence swallowing your words. Something wasn’t right.

The floor beneath you shudders violently, and for a brief moment, you think the ceiling might collapse. You didn’t know it, but Sukuna and Mahoraga were clashing above, their battle shaking the city to its core.

You turn the corner. And you freeze.

You come face to face with a humanoid curse. Dead, greyish blue eyes and hair, and a patchwork face. His eyes widen with excitement as he spots you. You had seen the report from Nanami. His name was…

Mahito. A crazed grin stretches across his face, eyes glinting with manic glee as he pushes off the wall he was leaning against.

“Ohhh, you’re the one they’re all talking about.” He tilts his head.

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to remain calm, or at least give off the pretense of it. “Stay back,” you warn, your cursed energy flaring.

He keeps talking like he doesn’t even hear your words. “I wonder… what happens if I do this?”

His hand lashes out faster than you can process, aiming for your arm, intending to twist your flesh and warp your body just enough to incapacitate you.

But nothing happens.

His palm presses against your skin, and he feels it. That pull. Like his cursed energy is slipping away, getting swallowed into a void.

Mahito’s grin falters for the first time.

He jerks his hand back, staring at you with narrowed eyes. Then realization dawns.

“Ah… right. That’s your cursed technique, isn’t it?”

His confusion quickly twists back into delight.

“Oh, this’ll be fun. No wonder Kenjaku wants you alive”

You take a step back to run, but he moves faster. His fist connects with your stomach, and the impact sends you lurching into the concrete wall, where you slump to the ground.

“Alive doesn’t mean unharmed.” He crouches down to grab you by the collar. “You’ll come with me now.”

The damp, musty air clings to your skin when you wake in the dark, your head pounding. The walls of a dingy cell press in around you, suffocating in their emptiness. No sunlight reached here, only the faint, flickering light of a distant bulb that barely illuminated the room.

Your limbs feel like lead, barely able to resist as Kenjaku runs countless experiments, one after the other on you. The sting of a needle piercing your skin feels all too familiar now, followed by the burn of whatever strange liquid he would inject into your veins. Each time, it drags you into unconsciousness, the edges of reality slipping away.

You have the same reoccurring nightmare every time. You see Satoru walking ahead of you, but no matter how fast you run, how loudly you call out to him, his back only grows smaller and smaller. Your hands reach out futilely towards him, but he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t stop. Then he’s gone. And all you’re left with are the whispers. Cruel, taunting voices in the back of your mind.

If only you had done something differently.

You let him down.

He’s not coming for you.

The ground beneath your feet cracks, a void forming and swallowing you whole. You let out a soundless scream as you fall, knowing he wouldn’t be there to catch you. Then you wake in a cold sweat. There was no solace for you, no relief. The darkness of the cell is no better than the darkness of the void.

You’re growing weaker. You miss him. Desperately. Miss that familiar warmth of his cursed energy, miss his teasing voice, miss those kind, comforting eyes.

Groggily, you open your eyes, the faint sound of voices breaking through the fog in your head. Kenjaku and Mahito are speaking just outside your cell. You don’t know how many days it’s been. Your throat aches, you’re so thirsty. Their words come slowly, distorted by your exhaustion, taking time to process in your mind.

“…too dangerous to use…” Kenjaku’s voice is measured, clinical.

“Absorbing curses if she’s near them too long…” Mahito adds.

“So then, a waste of time.” Kenjaku concludes, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Her ability is far too advantageous for the sorcerers. If she remains, she’ll only become a liability to us.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. Were they planning on getting rid of you? Then that meant… Your body jolts as the barred gate is thrown open loudly, and you scramble to your feet using what remains of your strength. Mahito steps towards you wearing a terrifyingly wide smile. Too wide. He’s still talking to Kenjaku, though in your panic you can’t hear what he’s saying properly. The sound of your pounding heart fills your ears. You attempt to back away from him but you can only move so far before your back hits the wall. You see his mouth move again.

“If she serves no purpose to us then… why don’t we just get rid of her?”

His cold hands wrap around your throat, before you can process it. He’s squeezing, watching you choke and claw at his hands. He only laughs at your attempts to struggle, clearly unhinged. Tears fill your eyes, flowing down your cheeks. He coos in mock sympathy at the sight. It was sickening. Was this really how you were going to die? Your vision becomes hazy as your hands slowly drop to your sides.

The ground trembles beneath you as a deafening explosion tears through the air. The crushing grip around your throat falters in shock, and you collapse to the floor, gasping for air. Shards of debris cascade around you like a deadly rain, but all you can feel is the warmth of sunlight spilling across your skin. It’s warm. A warmth you’d almost forgotten.

Blinking through the haze, your eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden brightness. You see a tall silhouette standing within the light, his white hair illuminated like a halo, his piercing blue eyes filled with raw fury. It’s him.

Satoru.

He looks frantic, his gaze locking onto you. You don’t remember what happens next as you finally pass out, but you swear you can hear your captor’s pitiful screams weaving their way into your dreams.

---

When your eyes open again, the harsh glow of artificial lights fills your vision. It takes a moment to register where you are. Shoko’s clinic. The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air, and the faint beeping of monitors accompanies the sluggish rhythm of your heart. Your body feels impossibly heavy, and the stiff brace around your neck prevents you from moving your head.

Your eyes begin to dart around the room, searching, desperate. The heart monitor beside you spikes erratically. Panic claws at your chest, tears stinging your eyes before you even understand why. You don’t know why you’re crying, just that you need to see him, badly.

Then a warm hand wraps firmly around your own. You recognize the touch instantly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” his voice is soft, steady, pulling you back from the edge. “I’m right here. You’re awake… thank god.”

Your body relaxes hearing his familiar voice, and a shaky breath escapes your lips, one you hadn’t realized you were holding. The bed shifts slightly as he leans over, his face coming into view.

And that’s when the tears fall in earnest.

You try to speak, but your throat is raw, the words breaking apart between hiccups. “I— I m-missed you so much— I…”

He silences you with an understanding smile, his thumb brushing gently at the tears streaking your cheeks. “I know. I know. I’m here now, okay? You’re safe.” His voice is quiet, soothing, but there’s a tremor of something beneath it. Relief, fear, maybe both.

He stays by your side, his hand never leaving yours, as silence settles between you. You finally notice how exhausted he looks. Dark circles shadowing his usually bright eyes, his normally neat hair a tousled mess. Even so, to you, he’s never looked more beautiful.

“You scared me, you know?” he murmurs after a while, the words almost too quiet to hear. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You want to apologize, but your voice catches. So instead, you squeeze his hand weakly.

---

A few days later, as you’re discharged, Shoko explains your injuries in her usual clipped tone. Your body is severely malnourished, and the curse had nearly fractured a vital bone in your neck. If Gojo had arrived even a few seconds later… she doesn’t finish the sentence, but her expression betrays the relief she doesn’t say aloud.

“You need to rest—no overexertion, no training, no missions,” Shoko warns, fixing you with a stern look. “I mean it. Don’t make me hunt you down.” Although her tone is clipped, you can tell she’s just as relieved as everyone else that you’re okay.

You manage a small smile, thankful for her concern for you. You make a mental note to gift her a bottle of her favorite wine later as thanks. Checking your phone, you notice a timid message from Ijichi, kindly pleading with you to try not to get kidnapped ever again, because Gojo was an absolute pain to deal with.

You find out later from reports that there was nothing left of the place, just rubble and ash. He had obliterated it all. Somehow Kenjaku had managed to escape during the chaos. But Mahito… it was a bloodbath. He didn’t stand a chance. The sheer devastation speaks volumes, but what hits you harder is the knowledge that he hadn’t stopped for even a moment. The second he was unsealed and heard about your disappearance—your likely kidnapping—he was livid. He didn’t rest once until he found you, until you were back in his arms where you belonged.

It was the first time you saw just how deep his need for you went.

You’re badly shaken. The events will haunt you for the rest of your life, your first taste of the brutality and violence of the Jujutsu world. But it’s clear Satoru fared even worse. After that he doesn’t leave your side for days, hovering constantly, as if afraid that you might disappear again the second he looks away. The whole experience serves as a painful reminder to him of your vulnerability. Without him, you were a target, easy prey for those who sought to exploit or destroy you. The thought eats away at him.

“You’re moving in with me,” he says one day, standing over you with an air of finality that left no room for argument.

You blink up at him from the couch, still recovering. “What?”

“It’s not up for debate,” he continues, arms crossed. “You’re safer with me. No one can get to you if you’re in my home.”

You take a moment to consider, but you find that you don’t really want to argue with him anyway. You can hear the hidden plea beneath his words. A part of you knows he’s right. If this is what he needs to find some semblance of peace of mind, then so be it. And a quieter, more selfish part of you doesn’t mind the idea of being close to him, spending more time with him.

“Okay,” you finally relent.

That’s how you find yourself standing in his penthouse a few hours later, what few belongings you own packed neatly into a bag at your side.

The penthouse is just as over-the-top as you expected: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, sleek furniture, and little touches of Gojo’s eccentric personality scattered throughout.

“This is... a lot,” you murmur, taking in the sprawling space.

“Only the best for me, and now for you,” he says with a wink, tossing your bag onto the plush couch.

What catches your attention the most is the care he takes in making space for you. Your favorite snacks fill a section of the fridge, an extra toothbrush sits beside his in the bathroom, and a cozy corner of his study has been cleared out for you. It’s the little things, the quiet gestures, that tell you just how much this means to him.

But even as you settle into this new rhythm, something doesn’t sit right with you.

Satoru starts taking on more missions, alone. Where he used to insist on dragging you along for backup, now he refuses. Each time you bring it up, his excuses are vague, his tone dismissive.

Lately he had been returning home later and later, some nights not at all. His once-vibrant energy feels dimmed, like he’s burning himself out trying to shoulder more than even he can bear.

You hate seeing him like this.

The curses have been more active than ever, and you know he’s overworked. You try your best to help him with what you can, managing the paperwork, maintaining the space you shared, even preparing meals for him. But it’s not enough. He’s still stuck with the belief that as the strongest, he had to carry everything himself. You frown at the thought. You wish you could do more for him.

You hear the front door open, and you rush out of your shared bedroom to greet him. But your smile fades as you see him standing there, shoulders sagging with exhaustion, his usual carefree grin nowhere to be seen.

Your heart aches at how drained and worn out he looks. You tentatively step closer to him, wanting to soothe him but unsure of how. His blindfold keeps you from seeing his eyes, as if acting as the barrier between you and his true self. You feel an urge to pull it down. He lets you, hands resting at his sides as you gently tug down his blindfold. His weary eyes meet your own. Those usually sparkling eyes, now dull and lifeless.

You don’t know why you do it. It must have been instinctive. You just want to be able to lighten his pain and offer him rest, even just the slightest amount. Your hands move on their own, rising to lightly rest over his tired eyes. Covering them completely.

But the second your hands cover his eyes, his breath hitches. He can’t see anything. No cursed energy, no shapes, no flickering auras; its just darkness, pure and quiet. He’s stunned. His hands shakily reach up, wrapping around your wrists. Not to stop you, but to keep you there. Like if he lets go, that peace might disappear.

“What do you see?” you ask softly, almost afraid to disturb the stillness.

“Nothing. Nothing but you. Only you,” he murmurs, his voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid saying it out loud might shatter the moment.

Gojo, burdened by his Six Eyes from birth. He had spent his whole life seeing everything, constantly overwhelmed by the endless stream of cursed energy and the weight of being the strongest. He can only find true relief with you. For once, he isn’t the strongest sorcerer, the invincible figure everyone relies on. With you, he’s just Satoru, resting in the soft comfort of your hands, shielded from the constant noise of the world.

From that moment on, it becomes your thing together. After long, grueling missions where he’s pushed to his limits, when his mind is frayed and his vision is burned with cursed energy, he’d search for you, tugging gently on your hands, silently asking for comfort. He leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Sometimes he pulls you into his lap, burying his face into your neck, quietly asking, “Just for a minute… please…”

And you allow him as long as he needs, stroking his hair gently. Letting him enjoy that rare, sacred peace.

The intimacy deepens his attachment to you in ways he never thought possible. You’re no longer just his assistant, his partner. You’re the one person in the world who truly understands him, makes him feel human. It’s in these stolen moments, when the world falls away and it’s just the two of you, that he realizes how much he truly needs you. And when he thinks about how fragile you are, how vulnerable, it terrifies him.

You’re my everything, he thinks to himself one night, as your body rests above his. The room is quiet, save for the faint sound of your breaths and the steady rhythm of Satoru’s heartbeat beneath you. You lay sprawled across his chest, your cheek resting against him as his arms hold you close to him.

Maybe that fear is the reason his arms wrap around you just a tad tighter, why he holds you flush to his own body as if afraid you’ll disappear.

“What do you think about having kids one day?”

Satoru blinks, caught completely off guard by your question. He stares at you, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. For once, Gojo Satoru, the man who always had something clever to say, was at a loss for words.

“You—kids?” he finally manages, his voice slightly hoarse.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. Kids.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, tilting his head back against the pillow as he processes your words. “Huh. You really know how to throw a guy off, don’t you?”

Your smile widens, and you prop yourself up on his chest, looking down at him. “I’m serious, Satoru. What do you think?”

His eyes flicker to yours, searching your expression for any hint of doubt, any sign that you might be joking. But you aren’t. You’re completely serious.

“I… I never thought about it,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “I never thought I’d want something like that. Or that I could even have it.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Why not?”

He lets out a soft sigh, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. “Because I’m me,” he says simply. “The strongest. The guy everyone depends on. The guy who…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “I never thought I deserved that kind of happiness. Not with the life I’ve lived. Not with all the things I’ve done.”

You feel a pang of sadness at his words, and you reach up, brushing your fingers gently along his jawline. “You deserve to be happy, Satoru,” you say softly. “You deserve to have a family, to have someone who loves you unconditionally. And you know what?”

He turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes shimmering with something you couldn’t quite place.

“I think you’d be an amazing dad,” you continue, your voice steady and sincere.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, his expression unreadable. But then his lips quirk into a small, almost shy smile.

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” you say, your voice firm.

He lets out a quiet laugh, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You make me believe it,” he murmurs.

You smile, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. When you pull back, his eyes are still locked on yours, searching, as if he was trying to commit this moment to memory.

"We'd make a cute kid," he eventually says, a genuine smile spreading across his face, one that makes your heart swell.

You can’t help but grin back, bright and contagious. His hands slide to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he guides you gently toward him.

And then he kisses you, slowly, deeply, as if pouring all of his emotions into that single moment.

In his arms, you feel it. The warmth, the love, the unspoken promise of a future that seems a little brighter, a little fuller.

With him, it feels right.

---

The kiss lingers in your mind, even as the two of you walk side by side toward the battlefield. The warmth of his hand in yours grounds you. His long fingers curl tightly around yours, as if to anchor you to him. To remind you of his silent promise.

I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything happen to you.

But even with his reassurances, there’s a weight in the air, heavy and oppressive. You both know this fight isn’t like the others. Ahead of you, Sukuna’s cursed energy crackles in the distance, dark and suffocating, a storm that threatens to swallow everything whole.

Gojo’s grip on your hand tightens as you near the edge of the battlefield, and the two of you come to a stop. You glance up at him, and the sight takes your breath away. His white haori catches the breeze, billowing behind him like the wings of an angel sent to bring judgment. To you, perhaps he is.

His hair is wild, tousled by the wind, and his blindfold is gone, leaving his piercing blue eyes on full display. They glimmer with an intensity that’s equal parts terrifying and beautiful. But beneath the crystalline clarity of his gaze, you see something softer. Something meant only for you.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice soft yet steady, the calm within the chaos.

You nod, your hand squeezing his in quiet reassurance.

For a moment, the world seems to fall away. It’s just the two of you standing there, bound together by something deeper than words. You wish he didn’t have to fight. You wish things were different, that there was another way. But you know this is the path he has to walk. The world is counting on him. It always has.

So you’ll stand by him, no matter what.

Somewhere in the pit of your stomach, the uneasy feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong begins to take root.

---

The air crackles with cursed energy as Gojo and Sukuna stand, facing each other. The battlefield is in ruins, the ground scorched and torn as the clash of the two strongest sorcerers continues. Gojo stands in the center of it all, his body aching, his cursed energy reserves dangerously low. But inside him, he can feel you, your cursed energy merging with his, amplifying his strength, your unwavering determination giving him the edge he needed to keep fighting. Your presence is warm, steady, even as you pour every ounce of your strength into helping him.

But he knows what you’re doing.

“Stop it,” he growls, his voice strained as he sends another powerful attack towards Sukuna. His words aren’t aimed towards his enemy, but at you. “You’re pushing yourself too far. I can handle this.” “No, you can’t,” your voice echoes softly in his mind, calm yet firm. “Not alone.”

Gojo’s jaw clenches as he blocks another strike, his fingers trembling from the strain. He can feel it, feel your energy fading, slipping through his fingers like sand. It’s not just his body weakening. It’s you giving everything you had, pouring your soul into protecting him.

“Damn it, stop!” he shouts, his frustration boiling over. But you can hear the desperation and worry beneath the words. “I’m telling you, don’t do this! I won’t let you-”

“You don’t get to decide this, Satoru.” There’s a bittersweet smile in your voice, one he feels deep in his chest. “If it means keeping you alive, I’ll do it a thousand times over.”

He freezes for a fraction of a second, Sukuna’s cleave grazing his shoulder. His eyes widen in a panic as your words register. “No- no, don’t talk like that. We’re getting out of this together, you hear me?”

You don’t reply. Instead, he feels his arm raising on its own, his hand forming the symbol for a hollow purple. But he’s not the one in control. You are, your cursed energy overriding his will, guiding his body. The over exertion from the devastating technique would drain you completely. You both know it.

“Satoru,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now. “Thank you… for everything. For making me feel like I wasn’t alone. For loving me. I’m sorry...”

“No. No, no no!” Gojo cries out desperately, as he tries to force his arms down. But his own body doesn’t listen to him, controlled by you using the last of your energy. The blinding glow of purple grows bigger at his finger tips, ready to end the battle. “Don’t you dare say goodbye to me! Don’t you dare-”

But then, he feels it. The moment you fade entirely. That comforting presence, the warmth he’d grown so used to. It was gone. His fingers release in that instant, his hollow purple launching forward with imperceivable speed, overpowering Sukuna in a brilliant burst of energy. It was over. Gojo had won. But victory feels like ashes in his mouth.

Because you were gone.

As the dust settles, he falls to his knees, his chest heaving. His hands claw at his heart, trying to feel for you, trying to sense even a sliver of your presence, but there was nothing. Nothing but a hollow, aching void, filling every crevice.

“No,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “No, no, no. Come back. Come back to me!” He clutches at his chest, tears streaming down his face as he calls your name over and over again. “Please… don’t leave me. I need you. I need you…”

Then, a faint glow emerges from his chest. He freezes, his breath hitching as he watches a small, delicate gem form in his hand. A teardrop shaped crystal, shimmering faintly with the last traces of your essence. It’s beautiful, radiant, and it breaks his heart into a million pieces.

He stares at it, tears dripping onto the gem as he cradles it in his palm. All that’s left of you. His hands shake as he holds it to his chest, gripping it tightly as if afraid it might vanish. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the sobs wrack his body. “I should have protected you… I should have stopped you… Why did you do this for me?” His voice cracks, raw with pain.

“You promised we’d stay together…”

---

Days turn into weeks, weeks into months. He barely sleeps anymore. Reduced to a shell of the man he used to be. He has the gem crafted into a necklace, the delicate pendant resting over his heart at all times. He clutches it during sleepless nights, fingers brushing over its smooth surface as he whispers your name into the silence.

“Do you know how much I miss you?” he murmurs one night, his voice hoarse. He’d been crying, again. He always did when the nights were too quiet. “Do you know how much it hurts to wake up every day without you here?” His thumb traces the edges of the gem as if it could bring you back.

Sometimes, when the moonlight hits the gem just right, it seems to shimmer, and he swears he can feel a faint warmth radiating from it. As if you were reassuring him. It’s foolish, he knows, but it’s the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

“I still look for you,” he admits quietly. “In the crowds. In my dreams.”

His voice cracks, and he bows his head, tears falling freely. “I miss you so much. I miss everything about you. Your laugh. Your touch. Your stupid little jokes.” His grip on the gem tightens. “God, I’d give anything to hear you again. To feel you again. Just… once.”

He pauses, his breath catching.

“If I had known…”

His voice trails off as he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Had I known I wouldn’t see you again,

I would have said goodbye.

Unbeknownst to him, the gem begins to glow faintly, a soft, warm light pulsing from within. At first, it’s subtle, almost imperceptible. But then the light grows brighter, more radiant, until it fills the room, making his breath hitch. He freezes, staring at it with wide eyes. For a second, he thinks he’s hallucinating, his grief playing cruel tricks on him. But then he feels it. The familiar hum of your cursed energy. A presence he hadn’t felt in so long.

“…No,” he whispers, weakly shaking his head in disbelief. “No, this can’t be…”

The light begins to shift and shape itself, materializing into something he thought he’d never see again.

You.

“Satoru,” you say, your voice soft and warm, filled with love and longing.

He doesn’t move at first. He can’t. He just stares at you, his entire body trembling. “…Is this real?” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Are you real?”

You smile at him, stepping closer. “It’s real,” you say gently. “I’m real.”

He reaches out, hesitant, as if afraid you might disappear if he touches you. But the moment his hand brushes against yours, his composure shatters. He pulls you into his arms, clutching you tightly, face buried in your shoulder as his body shakes with quiet sobs.

“You’re here,” he says breathlessly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re really here…”

You wrap your arms around him, holding him just as tightly. “I’m here,” you murmur, your voice soothing. “I’m sorry it took so long, Satoru. My cursed energy… it was all but gone after the battle. But there was a sliver of me left in that gem. Over time, I slowly regained my strength… enough to come back to you.”

He pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he looks at you, his tears streaming freely. “I thought I lost you,” he chokes out. “I thought you were gone forever.”

You smile, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. “I was never really gone,” you say softly. “You kept me close the whole time. Thanks for taking such good care of me, even in gem form,” you can’t help but add with a chuckle.

His laugh is shaky, barely more than a breath. “Of course I did,” he says, his voice low and trembling. “It was the one thing that kept me sane. The only thing I had left of you.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry for putting you through all that,” you whisper against his lips. “But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he lets out a long, shaky breath. “You’d better not,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you again. I can’t…”

“You won’t,” you promise, your hands resting against his chest, right over his heart. “You saved me, Satoru. You saved everyone. You were so brave. So strong. I’m so proud of you.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I didn’t save you,” he says quietly. “You saved me. You always have.”

You smile softly, your hands brushing through his hair. “Then let’s call it even,” you say, your voice light and teasing.

For the first time in a long time, Satoru smiles, warm and genuine, brimming with everything he feels for you. He pulls you back into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’d never let go.

His warmth was the first thing you felt as you entered this strange world. You hope it’s the last thing you’ll feel as you one day leave it behind, together with him.

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

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pennyfromhellven · 3 days ago

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There is no way to sum up any single gender so concisely that you only need one word for it. I'm a girl, mostly. I'm a woman but it took me a long time getting here. I'm something more to the people closest to me, the ones that I trust to understand what I mean when I say "it's not that simple".

I am a nebulous constellation in a sky full of similar but completely different configurations. Whatever I am, whatever you are- we are beautiful.

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spideyjimin · 21 hours ago

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Bloodlines entwined: III | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.

— pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader

— genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut

— rating: 18+

— words: 7,460

— warnings: mention of death, murder, and abortion, crying, kind of heartbreak, nervousness, a tiny growing sexual tension, and some teasing

— author’s note: sssooo this chapter finally explains a bit more about the werewolf universe, and i hope it’s a bit clearer for you. a lot more explanations will come throughout the series as i can’t reveal it all in one chapter. the next chapter is actually my favourite and i definelty can’t wait to post it 😊 hope you’ll enjoy this one & let me know what you think <3

taglist is closed!

Chapter III: untold truth

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

Jungkook spent the rest of the night thinking about you. He couldn’t believe what he saw. He couldn’t believe that you’re a werewolf.

Obviously, you’re not aware of it otherwise you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did when he revealed the existence of the werewolf word. Normally, you should have recognized him since he’s the king, but you didn’t. So, he strongly believes that you were adopted. That’s the only reason that could explain why you aren’t aware.

Now, he needs to understand why you were adopted. A pack never gives up on their little ones. He can think of many reasons why, but he needs to figure out what happened to you. He doesn’t want to simply reveal your true nature without having any certainty.

However, what concerns him is the fact that you haven’t turned yet. Normally, around fourteen years old, under a full moon, you should have experienced your first transformation. Maybe the fact that you ignore everything about that has caused your wolf blood to be dormant.

The next morning, he started looking into every record he has access to about the Shadows. The blue eyes are a characteristic specific to the Shadow pack. Every pack has its own eye color; it’s the way to distinguish every wolf. Jungkook’s pack, the Bloods, has red eyes. However, his eyes have a darker red shade. This is a trait specific to the king; he inherits it the second he goes from heir to king.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung, his best friend makes his way inside his office.

The man looks up at his best friend before a bright smile appears on his face. It’s been a little while since they last saw each other. Taehyung has been traveling a lot lately; he said he wants to discover the world before settling with his mate. However, it looks like he doesn’t want to settle down at all.

“Hey, Tae,” he stands up to greet his best friend. “What are you doing here? I thought you were lost somewhere in France.”

“Well, I needed to come back,” he replies with a smile. “Couldn’t stay forever in France.”

Both men start talking about what has been happening for the last month. Jungkook doesn’t go too much into detail. He only mentions he contacted a fertility clinic, and that he’s right now concerned about something happening in the Shadow pack.

Taehyung, on his side, tells his friend about all the places he went to. He was in Europe, discovering a lot of different countries. He definitely adored going around and discovering new cultures, new food, and meeting new people. For sure, his favorite place was Paris.

“Do you need any help with those Shadows research?” Taehyung asks casually although his sharp gaze indicates that he already knows the answer.

Jungkook nods, his shoulders visibly tense. He’s never been one to ask for help, but this time he definitely would need some.

“I wouldn’t refuse it,” he answers to his most trusted friend.

Taehyung crosses his arms, leaning against Jungkook’s wooden bookcase.

“What exactly are you looking for?” he frowns while grabbing a book.

“I don’t really know,” Jungkook says. “A record, a mention, a trace of a couple that died or disappeared,” he explains.

Taehyung looks up at his friend before looking down at the book again. By pure coincidence, the book he’s holding is an old one about the different werewolf packs. It’s one of the first books he read; it details the characteristics of each pack.

“A couple who died or disappeared?” he repeats his friend’s words. “Is this by any chance related to a girl?”

Jungkook freezes for a split second, but it’s enough for Taehyung to catch. He’s been very observant, especially when it comes to Jungkook.

“No,” he lies, his voice steady and firm.

Taehyung isn’t convinced; his eyes narrow as he studies his friend. He knows Jungkook better than anyone else, and while he’s very good at hiding his emotions, there’s something in his posture, something in the way he’s looking at Taehyung, that betrays him.

“You’re unreadable when you want it, you know that?” Taehyung finally says, walking closer to his friend who is standing behind his desk. “But something tells me this isn’t just about finding old records. If you’re diving into the Shadows' history, there’s a good reason behind it. You don’t waste your time on anything without a reason.”

Jungkook sights while running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated, Tae.”

“You know I’m here, right? Whatever this is, whatever you’re digging into, you don’t have to do it alone.”

The werewolf king would love to tell him everything, but he doesn’t want to involve anyone at this stage. First, he needs to make sure you’re a werewolf, and only then, he’ll reveal it.

“I know, Tae. I just need to be sure before I tell you anything,” his voice lowers. “Before I tell anyone anything.”

Taehyung nods, understanding that his best friend will share when he’s ready.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll start digging into the Shadow Pack archives. See if I can find anything about missing couples and unexplained disappearances.”

Taehyung’s aunt is married to a Shadow alpha so it will definitely help. As a king, he for sure has access to a lot of records, but not everything. Each pack has its own secrets, and that’s the beauty of it. If Jungkook knew everything, his job would be boring. There’s always something new to unveil. Like your past.

Taehyung disappears a little while after, leaving Jungkook alone with his eyes fixed on the flames in the fireplace. The shadows dance across the stone walls, but his mind is somewhere else, on you, and on the fragile heartbeat growing inside you. He can still hear it perfectly.

He runs a hand down his face before letting out a deep breath. This was never supposed to go down like that. This mistake was never supposed to happen. But the raw and undeniable truth has already sunk its claws into him.

How can he turn away from this? From you? From the baby?

He remembers the flicker of blue in your eyes. It’s been replaying constantly on his mind, but what is deeply engraved in him is this connection with you. He constantly feels your presence around him, something he’s never felt with anyone else.

Even though he’s been deeply sorry to have brought you to his world, this flicker of blue made him realize that he brought you to your world. A world you didn’t know existed until he revealed it. His duty has been telling him to stay away, but he can’t.

The thought creeps in quietly, yet with unshakable certainty: This was never a mistake.

The world may call it an accident, but Jungkook can feel something deeper, something ancient, something undeniable. Fate, destiny… whatever name it might have, it brought the two of you here. Together.

Every choice and every moment has led to this point. To you.

Now, standing quietly in his study, he feels the truth settling deep in his bones. This child growing inside you was always meant to happen. Jungkook leans against the edge of his desk.

“I can’t abandon this child, my child,” he whispers to himself. “I can’t abandon yn.”

It isn’t about duty anymore. It’s about you. It’s about the fragile life caught between two worlds, and the bond he can already feel forming. Whether he’s ready to admit it or not. Jungkook straightens up, shoulders squared, and jaw tight. The king in him knows what needs to be done, but the man knows what he wants to do.

“I’m staying,” he runs his hand over his hair.

This isn’t just a choice. It’s the acceptance of what was always meant to be. Whatever challenges await, Jungkook knows one thing with absolute certainty: This was always supposed to happen.

For the past five days, Jungkook and Taehyung have been trying to find anything about missing couples and mysterious disappearances, but it’s been in vain. There’s absolutely nothing. Thirty years ago, nothing special happened.

However, Jungkook asked Sungmin, Taehyung’s uncle to meet. Records are one thing, but Jungkook knows better than anyone that there might have been something off records that happened. Some secrets are kept hidden, locked away in the minds of those who lived them.

“Thanks for having me, Mister Song,” Jungkook says as he enters Sungmin’s house.

“I couldn’t refuse my king’s visit,” he replies with a warm smile.

Many people believe that the Alphas of every pack refuse the authority of a king, but those closest to the throne are often the first to kneel. For sure, Jungkook’s natural leadership certainly helps. However, the truth is that the werewolf hierarchy isn’t just a tradition; it’s more than that. Every werewolf deeply holds onto it.

“I could say that I’m surprised, but it’d be a lie,” he admits while he guides Jungkook towards the terrace. “I was expecting it after Tae’s request.”

“I imagine,” Jungkook responds.

The covered terrace is a serene and private space. Jungkook’s eyes quickly scan the surroundings. It’s a little but pretty space. Plates, cups, and a selection of biscuits are neatly arranged on the modest wooden table.

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” Sungmin gestures for Jungkook to sit.

“A coffee would be fine,” Jungkook answers.

The man takes one of the porcelain carafes on the table and carefully pours the drink into a cup, placing it in front of Jungkook.

“I was originally looking for a couple’s death or disappearances in your pack, but I couldn’t find anything documented,” Jungkook is straightforward.

Sungmin nods thoughtfully. “When do you believe this event happened?”

“Around thirty years ago,” he says.

Tae’s uncle freezes for a brief moment at his answers. His eyes flicker with something that Jungkook recognizes instantly: recognition mixed with hesitation. This is it. This might be the key to understanding your past.

“Something did happen thirty years ago,” Sungmin admits. “But we didn’t keep any trace of it out of respect to the family concerned.”

Jungkook is definitely very intrigued about this.

“The eldest daughter of an estimated member of our pack fell in love with a human. Despite our objections, she decided to run away with him. We all knew why,” he shakes his head as he remembers the sad story. “She was pregnant with that human child.”

The werewolf king listens patiently, absorbing every word.

“We didn’t inform your father immediately as we thought we could handle it ourselves. Involving the king into this would have drawn unwanted attention to this. For us, Shadows, discretion is everything.”

Jungkook nods, knowing perfectly the Shadow’s reputation. They are the ghosts of the werewolf world, unseen and often unheard, but fiercely loyal and deadly when necessary. The Shadows blend into their surroundings, disappearing when needed.

“We looked for them for years but couldn’t find them,” he seems really affected as he recalls what happened. “They were clever. They stayed hidden, and after nine years, we had no choice but to involve your father.”

Jungkook nods, understanding that after all that time, it’s normal to be reaching out to the king. “And he found them.”

Sungmin sighs deeply. “Yes. Your father had better resources than us. Within a year, he found them. Thankfully, this stayed between us and the king. He let us deal with this internally,” he explains.

The air feels heavier now, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on the two men.

“They were living in a totally different city. And they had indeed a child. A ten-year-old kid…”

Jungkook notices how hard it is for Sungmin to remember this terrible event.

“It was very hard to end their lives, but we had to. The woman, her human mate, the kid, the life they had built… all of it was extinguished.”

Sungmin pauses, his throat tightening. For a moment, Jungkook sees the weight of guilt appearing on the older Alpha’s face.

“Killing a child was way too hard, but hybrids are forbidden. A child of two worlds, carrying both human and werewolf blood could destabilize everything. We told ourselves it was necessary.”

Jungkook grips the edge of his coffee cup, his jaw clenched. The thought of such a decision sits uneasily within him. He’s not sure he would have had the strength to do that. It is one thing to terminate a pregnancy, but killing a ten-year-old child is totally another story.

“Did anyone else know about this? Anyone outside the pack?”

“No, only your father, and now you.”

“Do you think it’s possible that the child survived?” Jungkook asks, his voice steady but intense.

Sungmin looks directly into his king’s eyes. “We are certain they didn’t.”

Jungkook leans back in the chair, his mind racing. If the child had somehow survived, if they had slipped through the cracks of fate, then everything changes. And if that child was you… He shakes his head, not sure that it’s possible.

“Thank you, Mister Song. This has been illuminating.”

Jungkook steps away, his heart beating fast. There are too many resemblances between this story and your story.

To yn: hi yn, could we meet tonight or tomorrow?

Barely a minute later he receives an answer.

From yn: hi Jungkook, tonight is fine. Same place as last time?

To yn: sure

As you’re walking towards the location you agreed with Jungkook, you try to understand the reason behind his sudden need to talk to you. This is unexpected for you, so it definitely makes you nervous. Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind about the baby? Is he going to pressure you to abort considering the hybrid situation? Or even worse, has something happened? Your mind races through every possibility.

“Calm down, yn,” you mumble to yourself.

You take a deep breath, your eyes closing for a brief moment. The beating of your heart drums in your ears, and slowly, you can hear it calming down. You can’t start overthinking before you even get to listen to what Jungkook wants to tell you. Maybe it’s nothing serious or something you have to really worry about.

When you arrive, you notice you’re the first one; Jungkook hasn’t arrived yet. So, you decide to sit on the closest bench. You look at the passersby walking around you with ‘Tití Me Perguntó’ from Bad Bunny playing in your headphones. It’s one of your favorite songs.

After a couple of minutes, you feel Jungkook’s presence. Your eyes stare at the surroundings to check if he’s indeed nearby. Your senses are right, you see a man walking in your direction. Even when he walks, he has such an imposing posture.

This presence feeling grows stronger as he gets closer to you, and you can’t seem to look away, as if your eyes are glued on him. Weird things have been happening with Jungkook since you’ve met him, and you can’t quite explain them.

Once he’s in front of you, you stand up, a smile naturally growing on your face. He’s incredibly handsome and charming. Once again, he has opted for a casual look: a white shirt layered under a leather jacket completed with loose, brown suede-like pants.

His strong presence near you soothes you in a way you never experienced before. All the nervousness you were feeling minutes ago is completely washed away. His strong and bestial scent fills the air and calms down your racing thoughts.

For a moment, you remain in silence, but it isn’t an awkward one. It’s actually quite the opposite. His gaze holds yours, and the intensity of his eyes draws you even more. It feels like none of you needs to speak. It is as if the two of you are communicating on a deeper level that doesn’t need language.

“Hi,” you break the silence.

“Hey, yn,” he takes a step closer.

By the way he approaches you, you sense he’s about to hug you or something similar. You prepare yourself for such, but he ends up not doing it. Jungkook just stands there, a shy smile appearing on his face.

“How have you been feeling?” he asks with evident concern in his voice.

As always, being around him comforts you. It makes you feel like you don’t need to hold anything back. There’s no need to hide your thoughts and feelings behind a mask. You can be entirely honest, saying what you truly feel without the fear of being judged. It’s part of the weird things you’ve been experiencing with Jungkook. It’s something you never felt with anyone else, not even an ex. This makes you wonder just how much this connection truly means.

“Very much torn apart by the decision I need to make,” you admit.

“Have you already considered one of them?” he questions.

You decide to sit down on the bench, your hands rubbing your face. Should you be telling him that you’re very much inclined to keep the baby? Isn’t it better if he doesn’t know anything? In any case, he won’t be around anymore. He said he’d walk away.

“I’ve kind of made a decision,” you try to be as vague as possible.

Jungkook takes a seat next to you. This time around, he doesn’t seem to try to look away from you. His deep dark orbs stare straight into your eyes. As usual, he’s pretty much unreadable, but he has that soft expression on his face. It almost looks like he truly cares and worries about you.

“In case you…” he seems to hesitate, but he doesn’t look away. “If you keep the baby,” he continues, and your heart starts hammering in your chest. “I think I won’t be able to step away.”

You close your eyes while taking a deep breath. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to be feeling right now.

“I thought stepping away was the right decision,” he starts explaining. “Every time I tried to pull back, I find myself being drawn to you… to our child.”

The word ‘our child’ sends shivers down your spine.

“I can’t turn my back on this—not on you, not on them.”

As he says those words, his eyes look down at your stomach, where a precious life is growing. Even though your eyes are closed, you can feel his gaze on you. You can feel it on your baby. You can simply feel Jungkook. His entire being calls for you, and your body responds to it by being completely drawn to him.

“Why now?” your voice trembles as your eyes open to look at him. “What has changed?”

This doesn’t make any sense. Almost a month ago, he told you that he couldn’t father this child because you aren’t a werewolf, and that this child's existence is completely forbidden. Things are still the same, nothing has changed since then.

“You said you couldn’t have this child because of the whole werewolf thing,” your voice tone is slowly getting higher.

Jungkook’s face now seems to soften and it looks like he carries an emotional weight. There is definitely something going on that you can’t quite explain. And it’s scaring you.

“I think…” he runs his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you’ve started to recognize. “You’re not just a woman carrying my child,” he seems to struggle to express what’s inside his mind. “I think you might be one of us.”

His words hand in the air, your entire body freezing. For a moment, it feels like the world completely stopped moving. You blink at him, trying to process the enormity of what he just said. At this stage it feels like, Jungkook likes to make cruel jokes. First, it’s the werewolf world, and now, it’s this. How on earth can you be a werewolf? It’s simply impossible. If that was the case, you would have already turned or something like that.

“What are you talking about?” the sharpness of your voice even surprises you.

Anger grows inside you, but it masks the deeper emotion of fear that you can feel. Your heart starts pounding erratically in your chest as the air grows heavier. How dare he? How dare he turn your world upside down with this unbelievable claim? You stand up, trying to calm yourself down.

“That’s impossible,” you say with a trembling voice.

You rest a hand on top of your heart, trying to anchor yourself, but the panic bubbling beneath your surface is relentless. The thought of upsetting the baby crosses your mind, but it doesn’t help to calm you.

Jungkook stands as well, hands raising as if he’s about to reassure you, but as he does so, he watches you disappear before his eyes.

“It’s incredible,” he whispers to himself.

Now, he has solid proof that you’re indeed a werewolf, a member of the Shadow pack.

“Yn, listen to me.”

“No, Jungkook,” you cut him off. “I am not a werewolf. That’s ridiculous. If I were one, I would have transformed or something like that.”

“Maybe,” he says quietly. “But you didn’t know you were one so things might work differently in that case.”

“Stop!” you scream. “Just stop. Do you even hear yourself? Do you even realize what you’re saying?”

Jungkook stands there, looking somewhere, but he doesn’t even know where you are.

“Take your phone, yn,” he tells you.

“What?” you say with evident surprise, and your anger turns into confusion.

“Just take your phone,” he repeats, his tone calm but firm.

Still breathing heavily and with shaky hands, you look for your phone in your purse. You’re not sure why he’s saying that or what to expect when you look at your phone.

“Now, pretend like you’ll take a selfie.”

As you look at him, there is something in his expression that compels you to obey. Slowly you lift your phone, positioning it in front of your face. The moment your screen comes into view, your breath catches in your throat. Your reflection is completely gone.

Your mind struggles to understand what is going on. The town square is visible in the background, clear as day, but your face is missing. It’s as though you’ve been erased from existence.

“What is happening?” you almost scream. “What kind of sorcery is this?”

Your gaze remains glued to the phone, your hand trembling so much that the image blurs. You’re gone. Completely gone. Your hand instinctively goes to your face, touching your skin as though it might bring you back into view. But when you glance at the screen again, even your hand remains invisible. This can’t be true. How can you even disappear? How is that possible?

“It’s not sorcery,” he calmly replies. “It’s you. It’s your nature. Only a werewolf can do that.”

“No! That’s not true. That’s not who I am. I’m human. I’ve always been human,” you shake your head before putting your phone back in your purse. “But I’m carrying your child so that must be it.”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“That’s not how it works, yn. I swear,” he’s trying to look for you, so it makes him look like a crazy man. “Pregnancies only bring out even more any abilities someone has,” he explains. “This pregnancy is simply revealing your true nature.”

Tears stream down your face while your heart hurts.

“Have you been experiencing some weird stuff lately?” he says. “Like heightened hearing or smell or night vision or superhuman strength or even super speed.”

Then, your body freezes once more.

“No,” you answer, and for a moment, you hesitate to reveal the truth. “But I’ve always had heightened hearing and smell, and I perfectly see in the dark.”

This all confirms what he says. You’re a werewolf.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” you add. “I can hear everybody's heartbeats, even the baby’s.”

You close your eyes, the truth violently hitting you. All this time you’ve been a werewolf, and nobody told you anything. You’re not sure Felix knows it, but it hurts to realize that your parents hid something so big from you. It’s your nature after all.

“You have your answer, yn,” he responds.

Now, you’re crying because the world is collapsing underneath your feet. Your life has been filled with lies, and you’re only discovering this now. It hurts even more that it’s the father of your child who’s revealing this and not your parents.

Jungkook follows the sound of your tears to come closer. You fall in his arms, holding him as tight as possible. He tries to hold you back in his arms, but he doesn’t see you at all. The only thing that can make you reappear is for you to relax. Your emotions are the keys to your powers.

“Focus on the baby’s heartbeat,” he murmurs in your ear. “Focus only on that.”

While tears keep running down your face, you try to search for your baby’s heartbeat. It’s super faint, but you quickly find it. This little sound has rocked you to sleep so many times, and it’s one of the most comforting sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Tudum, Tudum, Tudum,” Jungkook starts mimicking the sound of the baby’s beat.

You close your eyes to only focus on that sound. Slowly but surely, you reappear which reassures Jungkook, and he holds you tighter in his arms. His warm embrace and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat calm you down. He presses a gentle kiss on your head while his hands start to soothe your back. Seeing you like this is heartbreaking, and he hates the fact that he was the one delivering this news.

For a little while, you both remain like this, and his arms feel like the safest place on earth. Even if you hate this entire situation, his presence reassures you. Everything about this moment right now appeases your soul. There is absolutely no doubt that the reality you now have to face is devastating, but you feel like you’ll have Jungkook by your side. And strangely, it seems like it’s the only thing that you need.

Today was a hell of a day!

Everything was simply awful, and it felt like it was a never-ending day. Your mind was constantly thinking about the words Jungkook said. ‘I think you might be one of us.’ You swear you could hear them on repeat all day long.

Due to how you’ve been feeling, you’ve left everybody on read—even Jungkook. Dealing with this strange reality is too heavy, and you need space. You need some time to digest the news. You need time to simply breathe.

Once you’re at home, you wrap yourself in your Harry Potter robe, lay on the couch, and play the first Harry Potter movie. Right now, all you need is to find comfort in something, and Harry Potter is your escape.

Although the movie is playing in the background, you’re not really watching it. Your thoughts are totally lost somewhere else, somewhere that includes werewolves. You can’t believe that this is your new reality. It hurts deeply that your parents never said anything to you. How could they keep something so monumental from you? Were they intending to let this part of themselves, this part of you die in silence?

Things would have been completely different if they had informed you about that side of you. Maybe you would have sought answers earlier. Maybe you would have explored what it means to carry this legacy. There is a whole culture, heritage, and part of yourself that you’ve missed out on for thirty years. And what hurts the most is that you hate your parents right now. For years, you’ve been hating your parents’ murderer, and now, the tables have turned.

You hate them for what they withheld, for what they never gave you a chance to understand.

This whole journey of becoming a mom has been a complete nightmare. This hasn’t been going as planned. This has been anything but easy. And now, it leaves you wondering if you should really keep the baby. Maybe, you should simply terminate the pregnancy and leave this all behind. But will this be so simple? Obviously, not.

Terminating the pregnancy won’t change anything. It wouldn’t change the fact that Jungkook came into your life to completely wreck your world. Cutting short the life growing inside you will probably just make you feel guilty for doing it. Jungkook won’t disappear, and neither will your wolf side.

This isn’t fair.

Fairness has never been part of your life. It feels like your life has always been robbed. Everybody has been controlling it, making you feel completely powerless all the time. This pregnancy was about gaining control again, but even like that, it wasn’t. A big part of you wants to keep this baby, and you’re very much inclined to keep them. But you don’t know. Jungkook’s revelation still needs to be processed.

“What am I going to do, baby?” you whisper as your hands naturally caress your stomach.

In the end, this baby isn’t a hybrid one. They’re fully a werewolf. You can understand why Jungkook changed his mind. He didn’t want the child because he believed it was a hybrid, something completely forbidden in his world. But now that it’s not the case, he wants to be part of his child's life, if you keep it.

It makes perfect sense, but the hurt remains. He gets what he wants, doesn’t he? The chance to raise his child. But what about you? What about what you want?

“You’re a wolfy,” you continue saying. “So, your daddy wants you now.”

However, if you keep this child, you’ll have to teach them what it means to be a werewolf. You’ll have to guide and prepare them for a life you know nothing about. You’ll have to learn everything with them; every instinct, every tradition, and every secret. You’ll develop your wolf’s abilities together. This life inside you isn’t just a new life; it’s a symbol of your own transformation. This child represents the end of your human life and the beginning of something different.

Are you ready for that?

You’re not sure. You’re not sure if you want to embark on this new journey. A journey where you figure out who and what you are. A journey where you’ll have to dig into your parents’ past. A journey where you’ll have to face your ghosts. A journey where you might find all the answers you’ve always desired to have.

Jungkook seems to hold the key to all of that. The truth, the answers, and the future. You need him, more than you want to admit. He’s the only werewolf you know, and he might as well be your guide on this.

Even if everything scares you, this is what will help you to figure out what happened to your parents twenty years ago. This is the key to finally getting to truly know them. This hasn’t been going as you planned it, but it has been going the way you need it.

For now, you’re simply going to enjoy this comforting and reassuring movie before truly facing this new reality of yours. Tonight is your last night as a human, and tomorrow, you’ll start to understand what it means to be a werewolf.

For the millionth time, you check that your apartment is perfectly cleaned and tidied. Jungkook is coming tonight; you’ve invited him over to discuss this werewolf thing. You’re incredibly nervous as you’re very scared of how things could go. Are you going to learn some unpleasant truths about your lineage?

Also, you can’t forget to tell him you have your first ultrasound tomorrow. He’ll probably want to come as he’s expressed his change of mind concerning this child. Your child. Instinctively your hand cradles your stomach.

Before the doorbell echoes in your apartment, you sense Jungkook’s presence behind the door. This thing of sensing him is definitely extremely weird, and you’re not even sure you’ll get used to it. But you guess, it’s part of being a werewolf.

You take a deep breath while opening the door to him. As he comes into view, his beauty takes your breath away. His hair is perfectly pushed back, only a strand of hair falling on his forehead. This time around, he’s dressed in a more formal outfit. Like the first time you met him at the clinic, he’s wearing a suit. Only this time, it’s a dark blue one.

And it fits him so well.

A smile grows on his face when his eyes lay on you. It warms your heart, and you can’t help but smile back at him.

“Hi, yn,” he says.

“Hi, Jungkook,” you reply. “Come on in,” you take a step back to let him in.

Jungkook steps into your cocoon, his gaze briefly wandering at the entrance. With practiced ease, he shrugs off his long black coat, the movement accentuating the subtle play of his muscles. Your curious eyes can’t help but follow the way his shoulders shift and his arms flex as he removes his coat and slips off his shoes.

A little grin shows up when he realizes you’ve been staring at him. However, you both pretend you didn’t notice what the other was doing. It’s like you’re pretending you don’t feel drawn to each other.

“Would you like to drink or eat something?” you politely ask.

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I’ve already eaten and drank enough for today,” a little giggle escapes his pretty lips. “I had a long and exhausting meeting this afternoon.”

“Oh,” you simply say. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to eat a bit because I’m quite hungry.”

His eyes inevitably look down at your stomach, the sound of the child’s heartbeat resonating in his ears. It’s such a comforting sound.

“No,” he answers. “Eat as much as you want.”

You drag him to the kitchen so you can eat something while you discuss about the madness that your life has become. You open the cabinets to check what you have, but then, you remember you bought your favorite yogurt two days ago. Without no further hesitation, you move to the fridge, grab it together with a spoon, and start eating it.

While you do that, Jungkook’s eyes are glued on you. His stare carefully follows you as you move through the kitchen. Honestly, he’s glad to be here with you; he finally gets to see you in your comfort zone, and you definitely seem to be glowing in this place.

“Can I ask you what you do for a living?” you ask while bringing the spoon to your mouth.

His eyes follow your hand before looking up. He leans on the cabinets while never looking away from you. Jungkook crosses his arms on his chest and heavily considers what to tell you.

“Well…” he seems hesitant to reveal it. “I’m not sure you’re going to believe me.”

You tilt your head, wondering what it could be. Is he working with the mafia like you thought before he announced his wolfy side? Or is he some kind of criminal? Or is it the opposite, like a doctor?

“Try me,” you tease him.

Jungkook didn’t know up until now how much he needed to hear the teasing tone in your voice.

His eyes never cease to follow your hand’s movements with the spoon. It’s mesmerizing, holding him captive as if he’s unable to look away. The way your lips wrap around the spoon sends shivers down his spine. Jungkook shakes his head, pushing away those weird thoughts. It’s inappropriate.

“I’m a king,” his tone is firm, leaving no room for doubts.

You almost choke with the spoon in your mouth. Of all the jobs you considered, this one definitely wasn’t on the list. This is beyond unexpected and by the way he looks, you know that he isn’t joking. You’ve seen his serious face so many times now, so you know he’s telling the truth.

“A king?” you repeat to make sure you heard it right.

Jungkook nods, and then, you can’t unsee it. This entire outfit breathes power—and money—, his charisma is beyond magnetic, and he has a strong presence. Let’s not forget about the unreadable face he always has on. There is definitely something royal about him, and he definitely looks like a king.

“That makes the child in my belly a future king or queen then?” you ask half-jokingly.

“Yep,” he answers. “And as a king, I’m expected to give the perfect heir, so the hybrid child wasn’t really one.”

When he explained the situation a month ago, everything made sense, but now it makes even more sense. This child carries royal blood.

“I’m not carrying anyone’s kid,” you playfully say. “A king,” you whisper.

This definitely changes your view of the situation. Now that he wants this child, it makes them the heir to the werewolf throne. The baby growing inside you will one day be a king or a queen. It makes you feel important but scared as well.

“It’s crazy,” you look up at him while bringing the spoon to your mouth once more.

Right there and then, your heart skips a beat when you realize the way he’s looking at you, or should you say, the way his eyes are devouring you. You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you in that way.

“It is,” he admits.

“And what does a werewolf king do exactly?” you curiously ask.

“Many things,” he smiles at you. “I’m the supreme leader of the packs which makes me the bridge between them. If any issue arises between them, I have to resolve them and also make sure the werewolves follow the rules. I’m also their protector. I must ensure the laws are respected and nobody reveals our secrets. And do many other things, but those are the most important ones.”

You nod, wondering if these responsibilities aren’t too much of a burden for him. It mustn’t be easy to be the one making decisions, and it definitely sounds like the entire werewolf world relies on him.

“And you?” he asks. “What do you do?”

A bright smile appears on your face. “I’m an Elementary teacher.”

Thinking about the little kids you see every day simply makes you happy. Being able to give those little humans the tools they need to grow in this world is one of the most fulfilling things. This job has been healing your inner child because teaching those young children has allowed you to guide and give them a stability you never had in your childhood.

“Oh, nice,” he says.

The yogurt is now over so you suggest going to the living room. This way, you’ll be sitting comfortably on the couch while discussing the hot topic. Werewolves.

Last night, while in bed, you were mentally going through all the questions you might have for him. There is so much for you to know about this new world, this new heritage. For sure, last night, you didn’t know he was a king, but now that you do, you believe that he might help you a lot more than expected.

Jungkook sits down next to you, and you decide to face each other.

“So,” you start saying. “I guess you can imagine why I invited you.”

The man sitting next to you nods. “Your wolf blood.”

“Indeed,” you nod as you speak. “I have a lot of questions.”

You don’t even know where to start.

“You said there are packs,” you begin. “Would you know to which pack I belong?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “The Shadow pack,” he pauses for a couple of seconds. “Each pack has a wolf eye color. Mine is red as you’ve already seen, which indicates that I’m the king and member of The Blood pack. The Shadow’s eye color is blue, and for the third and last pack, The Lunar, it’s white,” he explains. “A week ago, I saw your eyes turning blue, that’s how I discovered it.”

The Shadow, The Blood, and The Lunar. Three packs. You mentally register the information he gives you. There is so much to discover about this new reality.

“The Shadows also have unique abilities, one of them being the fact that they can blur into their surroundings.”

That’s what happened to you two days ago after he revealed your true nature. It was just the confirmation of who you are.

“As far as I can remember, I’ve only had heightened senses, but I never came to shift into a wolf. How is that possible?”

“That is something I ignore,” he admits. “You’re the first werewolf who didn’t grow up with her pack’s member. My first guess is the ignorance of your nature prevented it from fully revealing itself.”

You look down at your feet on the couch. It seems so weird that only a part of your abilities has revealed itself throughout your life.

“I’ve tried to find something about you, but I couldn’t,” he admits. “I even reached out to an Alpha of the pack, but nothing.”

“Oh,” you simply say, your eyes meeting his. “Do you think I could meet that Alpha?”

“Yes,” he smiles at you. “I’m sure he’d be happy to meet you, and he might probably help you more than me with your past and even your abilities.”

Jungkook then proceeds to explain how the werewolf world works. There is a hierarchy. Alpha, Beta, Delta, and Omega. Alpha being the highest rank, and you only achieve it once you fully master your powers. Logically, you’re an Omega as you barely know what you can do. Jungkook is an Alpha which makes sense since he’s a king.

If you keep the baby, they will automatically become an Alpha when they become king or queen. Things work a bit differently for the royal family.

Normally, a werewolf experiences their first shift on the first full moon of their fourteenth anniversary. The difference with the royal family is the fact that they experience that at ten years old. It’s quite early in life, but that allows them to master their abilities a lot earlier than any other werewolf.

Obviously, the parents and the family remain by your side throughout your first full moon. They guide you through the pain when transforming, and they stay with you while you’re a wolf. Jungkook tells you that the first transformation is very hard to handle. The pain is unbearable and once you’re a wolf, all your human senses disappear. You’re just a beast. A hunting beast. Having your family by your side prevents you from killing anyone or anything. Slowly and with a lot of work, you are able to control that primal urge.

The question left hanging is when and if you’ll transform. If this pregnancy brings out your wolf blood, there are higher chances that you’ll experience your first full moon. But Jungkook doesn’t have an answer to give.

Then, he informs you that you can’t transform someone by biting them, that’s an absolute myth. Being a werewolf is genetic. You inherit it from your parents, and you’ll give that gene to your children. Thus, the importance of maintaining pure blood.

“For now, I guess that’s all,” you tell him once you’ve asked all the questions.

“Since the next full moon is in two days, I’d like to be with you in case you transform,” he says.

Well, you don’t have much of a choice. There’s this unknown about you, and you wouldn’t like to be alone during your first full moon, especially if it’s painful and bestial.

“Thanks,” you mumble while looking down.

Jungkook offers you a little smile.

“I’m by your side now, yn,” he places his fingers under your chin to slowly lift your head. “I won’t let you navigate this alone.”

His eyes shine with sincerity. You’re thankful that, in the middle of this chaos, you found Jungkook. This man brings so much comfort and seems to have one of the prettiest hearts you have encountered.

“And I’ll support you no matter what you decide with the baby,” he adds.

You remain in silence for a moment, your eyes scanning his soft face. You’ve never seen him this close. You’ve never noticed that little mole under his lips, or the little scar on his cheek, or how perfectly round his nose is. He looks even prettier this closely.

The decision about your child has already been made, but you haven’t said it out loud yet. Jungkook will be the first one to know, and it makes sense since he’s the father.

“I’m going to keep the baby,” you reveal.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts imagine #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bloodlines entwined #bloodlines entwined: chapter 3 #spideyjimin

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mommyownsmee · 1 day ago

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What the fuck is wrong with 90% of the

“Dom/mes” on Tumblr?

I swear, the sheer audacity of some so-called “Dominants” on this site is generously shocking. What the fuck is wrong with most of you?

Since when did being a Dom/me mean treating submissives like disposable playthings? Since when did it mean demanding obedience without offering respect, boundaries, or basic human decency? You don’t get to call yourself a Dominant just because you slap “Sir” or “Mistress” in your bio and bark orders at strangers like a power-starved brat.

A real Dom/me knows that dominance isn’t about control alone—it’s about trust, responsibility, mutual pleasure. It’s about understanding the submissive’s needs, limits, and desires just as much as your own. It’s about care. And yet, I keep seeing these arrogant, unskilled, self-absorbed pricks who think submission is owed to them just because they exist.

You are not entitled to anyone’s submission.

You are not a Dom/me just because you think you are.

And you sure as fuck are not dominant if you don’t understand that submission is given, not taken.

If your idea of dominance is ghosting subs after using them, ignoring boundaries, degrading without consent, or treating submission like a free service, then you are not a Dom/me—you’re a walking red flag.

This space should be built on mutual desire, mutual respect, and mutual pleasure. If you can’t understand that, then step the fuck away from the title of Dom/me and sit down!!

And to the submissives out here: You don’t owe these people anything. A Dom/me who doesn’t respect you, your limits, or your autonomy is not a Dom/me you should waste a single second on. Call them out! Do not keep the damage they did to your body and mental health in! SCREAM. YELL. TOGETHER WE CAN MAKE THEM STOP.

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sabertoothwalrus · 23 hours ago

Note

heyy i adore your art! do you have any advce for a small artist trying to get out there?

I guess it depends what you mean by “get out there”!

I’d say number one is to ignore the numbers. Unless you’re intentionally trying to sell yourself to some app’s algorithm, obsessing over the numbers will not help you.

The thing is, it is ok to care about other feedback you get on your art. I often hear social media treated like a dichotomy, to either “ignore it completely and draw for yourself” or to “strive to be a famous viral artist”. And I’m saying it’s not that simple.

It all boils down to why you’re making art. For some people, art is a much more personal expression, and it’s not meant to be seen by others. It’s more about the process and the catharsis than the outcome. This kind of art doesn’t need to be shared with other people.

For others, it’s a living. These people don’t mind that their art becomes “marketable”, if it becomes generic with a mass-appeal. This kind of art isn’t here to send a message, it’s here to look pretty. And that’s ok.

For me, art is communication. I’m telling stories. This is why I’m most drawn to comics and animation. I don’t pay attention to numbers, but I pay a lot of attention to comments because they help me gauge how successful I was at communicating an idea, an action, a joke, etc. It’s still important you develop thick skin. You have to detach yourself emotionally from them, and use them as a tool to help you learn.

This is why clarity is one of my biggest priorities in art. Clarity has less to do with skill and more to with “can you understand what this is you’re looking at”. There are some artists out there who are very good at what they do, but they still struggle with clarity. And the inverse is true; even beginner artists can have clear, easy to follow art.

Some things I actively try to do in my art to improve clarity:

Is the pose clear? Is the figure overlapping themself too much, or is the action still readable from the silhouette?

If there’s text, is it clear? Is the direction of speech bubbles confusing? Is my handwriting/font easy to read?

Would a background or prop help clarify the setting better? (What’s the least amount of effort I can put into this that will give the necessary information?)

Are my lines too loose? Sometimes it’s fine, but if they’re too unconnected, the form gets lost. Should I close my lines better, or maybe add a tone to separate the positive and negative space?

Does the “punchline” make sense? What AM I saying? What could communicate it stronger?

If your art is clear, people will find it and share it! Just keep telling the stories you wanna tell, make the art YOU want to see, and your audience will build around you!

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butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway · 2 hours ago

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I am not EVERY autistic person so this probably won't be a total coverage approach, but here's what I have learned:

People like to feel that you pay attention to and remember little but important things about them. And when someone is "small-talking" with you, it is often because they either want to offer you some of that info about themselves, or they want to pearn it about you so they can "return the effort". I think of it a bit like call and response with my cats! They don't understand me, and I don't understand them, but when I walk into the kitchen each morning, Lup runs towards me excitedly making her tiny little squeaks and trills. That's kitty small-talk! Many words of all varieties just say "I love you! I missed you! I'm happy to be here with you today!"

So I answer her! Sometimes I mimic her little sounds, and other times I pretend we're gossiping like church ladies (*gasp* NO, you're KIDDING, he said THAT?? What a scandal!") But whichever I do Lup gets excited and continues her little "conversation" with me.

People are harder. I had to really take time and practice different ways of responding before I found appropriate "call and response" for small talk, but I found that there are genuinely more options than you'd think. And the same thing happened! As I learned how to "call and respond" to small talk, I found that people would excitedly approach me to have it, and gradually we got to know each other enough that the "calls" coming from both sides got less general, more tailored to our personal preferences and interests, and I didn't have to small talk as much (but when I did it wasn't as scary either)

This isn't just my personal theory either! A fair amount of research in interpersonal/social in-group dynamics suggests that "bids for attention" like small talk function in this way of call-and-response intimacy/connection building. I have found that a LOT of social etiquette gets less scary to navigate when I at least understand the function of it. It also gave me some understsnding of why people might be hurt when I visibly don't WANT to "respond" to a "call" they've made: I'm the same way about my "calls" I just use different ones! The way I feel when I ask someone "would you want to hang out with me in the kitchen while I make lunch?" (Sad, a little anxious or vulnerable, maybe hurt if they've said no to a LOT of recent calls, etc) is the same way others feel when I decline theirs! That doesn't change if it was MISSED rather than DECLINED, but it can be repaired! Ao another thing I've taken to doing is naming for people the calls I have learned I'm most likely to miss. I know I have a hard time understanding/recognizing small talk as a call to attention, so I let people know that! And generally the people I connect best with are the ones who notice I missed a call and offer me an explicit/direct opportunity to reject it before internalizing what I've done as a rejection. This isn't really an option for everyone! And while I'm always delighted when someone is compatible with me in that way, I don't get upset if they're not, and work to not take it personally as something I'm doing wrong either.

Anyway, this got rambly at the end there, but the point is, most social interactions have a FUNCTION and while being autistic frequently means that we struggle to learn and interact in these systems as they currently exist, but that doesn't necessarily mean that we don't also depend on those functions. I think it can be easy to forget that part of the "disabling" effects of social/communication symptoms in autism is how it cuts us off from systems of support, care, and human interconectedness (things we still NEED) and it can matter to our quality of life to be able to find compatible alternatives to fulfilling those functions even if the original mechanism (small talk in this case) doesn't suit us.

Being bad at small talk doesn't mean you don't need friends, but it will probably make it very hard to MAKE friends. And we each and all deserve to decide for ourselves what to do about that.

I'm trying to figure out a good way to say "you really should actually learn the basics of small talk" with sounding like I'm biased against autistic people.

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nerdygirlramblings · 3 days ago

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omegaverse 141

The following morning, after formation, you have your squad follow you onto the trail that runs around base. The same one Soap had seen you running a few weeks back.

"You didn't tell us we be runnin' today, Sarge," Geoffrey says, barely concealing a whine.

You chuckle to yourself and roll your eyes. Glancing over your shoulder you ask, "When have I led ya wrong?" Your squad is quiet behind you. They may not want to socialize with you as an omega, but there's no denying you've been getting the job done. "Brought ya out here cuz I wanted to talk. And to do it without any alphas or other CO's around."

There's some muttering behind you, not loud enough to make anything out, but not quiet enough to dismiss either. You notice a change in the air around you. Though they're betas and have learned how to project their calming scent, most are still working on controlling their fear and distress. You can smell the slightly sour milk and rush to allay their worries.

You turn to face them and say, "You're not in trouble! We are not in trouble." You face the trail again and resume your walk, talking as you go, "But something's come up, and it impacts everyone." You pick up your pace ever so slightly . You're looking for the clearing you'd passed the first time you ran here. It's a little space set off from the main trail, big enough for a few people to camp or for a squad to meet. You want to get there quickly to have this whole conversation out rather than dropping breadcrumbs. Your squad deserves that.

Once everyone is off the trail and standing around you, you tell them about the offer you've received from the 141. "Oh my God," Molly whispers, awe in her voice. "There, like, the best!"

You bob your head in acknowledgment and respond, "Some of, yes." It's clear that your squad doesn't understand the full implications of you joining the 141. So you lay it out for them. "If I take this opportunity, they'll pull me as your CO. Captain Price said -"

A voice interrupts, "You mean you actually talked to Captain Price?!?" You smile self-indulgently remembering how awed you were when the man first approached you.

"Yes, and 'e said that it's too disruptive for any of the 141 to have a squad of their own. Apparently, we can be called out at any point, and be gone for weeks. It would leave ya without a commanding officer." You look at each member of your squad, meeting everyone's eyes. "If I do this, you'll have a new CO. I don't know who it would be, and I don't know what that would mean for your trainin'. 'At's why I brought ya out here. Wanted to get yer honest take on what this means fer ya." There's some uneasy shuffling as it seems no one wants to quite be honest about their feelings. You remind them that you're not like other COs, and that you're an omega. Not that they need the reminder about either, but it seems to help settle some nerves. "I know it's hard fer ya having an omega as a CO. I know the stigma it carries. While this decision is mine and mine alone, yer time here is impacted by it, so I wanted to know what ya think."

It finally occurs to some members of your squad that they can be honest with you. "Yeah, 's tough around base having you as our CO. There're still a lot of alphas who won't want us on their team because you're the one who is trained us," Connor says.

One by one, your squad shares how they feel about you joining the 141. Some are like Connor and recognize the strain it puts on their careers to have you as their CO. Some are like Molly, excited for your opportunity regardless of what it does for them. Some are like Geoffrey, recognizing how they've struggled and realizing that a different CO, a beta or an alpha who is harsher, will make their time in the military much more difficult.

You get the sense - from what they say and how they smell - that most of your squad have already accepted that you'll leave them. Some may be happy about this because of the way it might benefit them while others simply seem happy for you. You close by telling them to make their way to the shooting range to practice on the Glock 17s. You remind them that after range practice is lunch with the promise of a decision for them by the time you see them in the mess.

"An' I promise, if I do take Captain Price up on his offer, I'll still keep tabs on you. Gotta make sure you all make it through basic as brilliantly as I know you can," you say with a rueful grin.

Your squad disperses from the clearing, making their way in twos and threes back to base, but you hang back. You pull your phone out and call home, finally ready with a decision.

This time it's Mum who answers. She takes one look at your face and shouts off screen to Mama and Dad "We've got a decision!" There's commotion on the other end as Mama and Dad come into frame.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," you say apologetically.

Dad reminds you he's on glorified bedrest, "So either yer Mum or yer Mama is always home. This morning I've got both." He smiles, "But a call from you is never an interruption. Or, if it is, it's the best kind."

Mama nods and leans close to the screen. "So, what did you decide?"

You take a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs, and release it slowly. Before you can tell them, Mum says, "Good fer you, love."

"But," you sputter, "Mum...I didn't even tell you-"

"You don't have to, dear," she interrupts. "I can see the decision in your eyes. You're gonna join the task force." You hear the price, and fear, in her voice.

Beside her, Mama nods and tries to hide her emotions. "We're proud of whatever decision you make. And while I'm not happy with how much more dangerous this is, I think it's the right thing for you."

Dad is beaming, but you see the tears caught in his lashes. "Pretty girl, we love you so much! This is such an amazing opportunity for you. And if it feels right, if your omega feels safe, this might be the best thing for you."

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #omegaverse #omegaverse 141 #omegaverse tf 141 #a/b/o #a/b/o 141 #a/b/o tf 141 #johnny mactavish #john price #simon riley #kyle garrick #nerdygirl says

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cherrysweets-world · 2 days ago

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Eyes of the Gods V

series masterlist - part IV

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: The Emperors are not subtle with their interest in you and others have begun to notice

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, eventual dub-con, power imbalances, mentions of previous domestic abuse, controlling behaviour, forced proximity, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy realtionships, unedited

Word Count: 3.5k

Sleep would not come. You tossed and turned for several hours before giving in and re-lighting the candle. Holding your fingers in the warmth of the flame, you began to contemplate your life.

The candlelight flickered and made you feel like the walls were closing in. In some aspects they already had. The walls had closed in without you even knowing it, so distracted by your own wariness. Now you were here, alone, and in reach of the emperors who had put you here.

How had you been so blind? Your own lack of self worth had made you stupid, disbelieving that the Emperors could have such interest in you. You had floated through those first two days, thinking that at any moment they would drop you, bored, like a forgotten toy. To your knowledge that was what usually happened! You had even see it; limping concubines and abandoned slaves. Instead, whatever was between the three of you had grown and mutated into something you had no hope in understanding.

The Emperors had power, yes, there was no denying it. Yet part of you felt as though you were giving them more. Specifically over you. They had not said you could not leave your rooms. So why stay when sleep insisted on evading you?

Your father had had that kind of hold on you and your mother. The situations were not perfectly similar but you were loathe to think you had allowed another man to control you like that. The thoughts made you feel irrational, made you feel like doing something dangerous.

The flame licked at your finger tips and you hissed, pulling them back to your chest. You knew this palace well. Better than the Emperors, even. You knew all the secret spots, all the ways to sneak around without being spotted. Perhaps it was time to put that knowledge to good use. A tiny rebellion of sorts.

Your mind was made up. If you thought on it too long you would lose all courage. Slipping into your sandals, you tried not to think too hard about what you were doing.

"I am going for a walk in the gardens," you said to yourself, "as I am entitled to do. I have not been told I cannot do otherwise."

The look Geta had given you flashed across your eyes and you squeezed them shut, dismissing him.

Reaching under your mattress, you gave your carved wolf a squeeze and then let go. You mumbled a quick prayed to Fortuna and then slowly opened your door, scanning the corridors before poking out your head.

There was no-one you could see. That did not mean that no-one was actually there; you were too close to the Emperor's chambers for their to be no Praetorians.

Part of you knew you were taking a risk. If you were so confident that you were allowed to leave your room then why did you feel the need to evade the Praetorians?

You scrubbed your sweaty palms down your sleepwear. The plain white wrap would make you a glaring target but your other options were no better. It did not matter; you needed fresh air. Needed to take it without the weight of eyes upon you. The illusion of freedom was better than nothing.

You slipped from your room like a breath in the wind. As expected, the first hallway you came to was lined with Praetorians. You wasted no time in slipping by them, dipping into a stairwell and tip-toeing down.

All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. The sound made you dizzy and you allowed yourself to stop for a moment, steadying yourself. Trembling, you stumbled down the rest of the stairs under you reached a landing. There were yet more guards but they were looking for people sneaking in, rather than out. Waiting until their backs were turned, you made a mad dash for freedom.

The rest of the way was mercifully quiet. Slowing down, you appreciated the silence. Yours were the one footsteps you could hear. It was funny; that night, when you had first met Caracalla, you had been terrified of these empty halls. Now they curved around you, protective, and you brushed a hand against them in familiarity.

Cool air blasted you when you finally stepped foot outside. You laughed and it was immediately lost to the wind. You were not as weak as you thought. You would do whatever you could to hold onto this feeling of dependence.

The air was biting and made your eyes water. Staying out here for long was not an option. Goosebumps emerged along your arms and thighs as the wind pushed itself under your clothes.

When the gusts softened, you wandered further out. You allowed yourself slow appraisals of all the flowers, most of which you did not recognise. You had had no interest in gardening before but they suddenly felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Your past and present slipped from you like water. In this moment, it was only you. You could pretend that you had all the choices in the world.

And you did have choices. It was the consequences that scared you. You wished you could peer into the future and see all the possible answers, all the solutions, and make your mind based on those. But you were no seer; the future was barred from your questioning eyes. You would simply have to wait and go the long way around to see what the future held.

An abrupt sound startled you and you whipped around, eyes searching. At first you thought the garden was empty and you relaxed, releasing your death-grip on your elbows.

A flash of red made your head swim and you stood still, mouth parting. No, you almost moaned, no, no, no.

Gravel crunched underfoot as Geta appeared, rounding a flower bed and jerking to a stop. His cheeks were red despite being dressed warmer than you. His mouth parted at the sight of you and you swallowed hard.

Fortuna, you languished, you have forsaken me.

It took you a moment to realise it was not bad luck or coincidence that Geta had stumbled across you. It was difficult to see them through the myriad of plants but several Praetorians had accompanied Geta to the gardens. It seemed that you had not been quite as subtle as you had thought.

Geta started towards you and you squeaked, not daring to back away. It took only several paces before he reached you, grasping your elbows and yanking you to his chest.

"You," he gaped," what were you thinking?"

He gave you a hard shake to force the answer out of you. He was out of breath, almost gasping, and you were stunned into silence.

"Come," he barked, yanking you back the way he came.

You lurched after him, gravel grazing the tips of your toes. Thought escape you and all you could do was lock your eyes on the back of Geta's robe. The pattern was exquisite and you wondered what it would feel like beneath your fingers.

You expected him to let you go once you were back inside but he did not. He continued to pull you along, barking orders at Praetorians, all the way back to your rooms. Your face crumpled at the sight of it but you did not protest as he wrenched you inside and shut the door, sealing both him and you in.

He swiped a hand over his face, shaking. "Do you have any idea how fortunate you are that it was not Caracalla who stumbled upon your ridiculous little escape plan?"

"I -"

"You are well aware that he has some sort of dependency on you," Geta continued, pacing back and forth, "yet you would abandon him at the first chance you had?"

"No, no," you shook your head, "I wanted only to see the gardens!"

Geta stopped, eying you with disbelief. He looked on edge. He almost reminded you of Caracalla in one of his episodes. The more you learned, the more you realised how similar they were.

"The gardens?" he spat. "In the middle of the night? In the cold?"

You brushed your fingers down your arms, embarrassed. "Yes."

Geta shook his head, eyes flickering all over you. His eyes narrowed as he finally seemed to register what you were wearing. "And in those clothes?"

Nothing you said was going to make him calm down. You let your eyes settle on the floor and thinned your lips.

"You could have asked," he finally said, shoulders sagging inward.

"Asked?"

"To see the gardens," he threw his hands into the air. "I would have had someone accompany you. You could not comprehend the trouble you have caused tonight."

"What right do I have to ask for anything?" you said, shocked. "I am a servant, barely more than a slave."

Geta studied you in that way you had become almost used to. His mouth worked, opening and closing several times before settling into a fine line.

"Yes," he agreed, "and you will obey your emperors. You are not to leave your room till morning and we will have someone fetch you when we are ready. Goodnight."

He turned to your bed and yanked up the sheet, throwing it upon you before exiting from the room. He slammed the door shut and you stood in stunned silence, frozen until you heard the deathly sound of a lock sliding shut.

"No," you murmured at first, then quickly got louder. "No, don't!"

Your emotions spilled out of you all at once. Throwing yourself against the door you began to pound upon it. Geta was still outside; you could see his shadow lingering beneath the door.

"Please," you begged, "I am sorry, Emperor, please."

The shadow disappeared as though it had never been there. Choking on your own tears, you rested your forehead against the wood, fists aching. You let out one long, primal scream and then fell back, yanking the covers over your head and angrily wiping your tears away with the back of your hand.

You fell asleep like that, hands clenching the covers and cursing whatever Gods had pushed this fate upon you.

True to his word, Geta did send someone the next morning. A Praetorian soldier opened the door and peered in, cringing at your rumpled form on the bed.

"I am Consus," he said reluctantly. "The Emperors have sent me to retrieve you."

You scowled at the innocent man, dragging your body from the sheets. Your head was pounding and there were multiple spots on your hands where the skin had cracked and bled from your pounding on the door.

You were still in your bed clothes. Dirt stained the bottom and there were smears of blood dotted all over it.

"I need to get ready," you grumbled.

"That. . .will not be necessary," the guard said. "You will be relieved of your usual duties today but you must accompany me to the emperors."

Usual duties, you thought, whatever those were. But you were in no mood to argue so you stomped into your sandals and trailed after Consus. Whatever fight you had left had been squeezed out of you late last night. Now there was only the stinging of your hands and aching of your head.

It took less than two minutes to reach Geta's quarters. You had been foolish to think he would not learn of your brief dash for freedom.

Consus held open the door and announced your presence to the room. No-one had ever done that before. You had not been important enough.

You held your head up as much as you could and entered the room. Caracalla was the first to see you. It was almost comical the way his grin dropped from his face.

He stood up so fast that Dondus squeaked and leapt from his shoulder. He stormed over to you and cupped your hands in his, turning them over again and again as though he could not believe what he was seeing.

"What is this?" he was horrified. As though he had not caused worse injuries and found amusement in them.

"Brother," he snapped, "look. Someone has - someone has -"

Geta finally looked up. Despite being the last to see you, he was also stunned by your appearance. He swallowed harshly and stood straighter.

"She had a rough night, brother," he attempted to soothe Caracalla. "The healer is on the way."

His eyes told you not to say anything. You would not. There was no telling how Caracalla would react if he learned the truth of your escapade last night. Even though you had not truly tried to escape, it only mattered that Geta thought you had.

Caracalla yanked a hand through his hair. "Brother -"

"Enough," Geta raised his voice. "She is hurting. Let her sit."

The words seemed to do something to Caracalla and he steered you to a plush sofa, pulling you down so that you were half on his lap. You had no will to try to move and only sagged, letting Caracalla's hands wander over you.

It was strange how his jerky movements almost soothed you. Perhaps you were only glad for the company, having spent majority of last night confined to your quarters.

"Where does it hurt?" he whispered, eyes fixated on the darkened blood on your clothing.

"My head," you admitted, "and my hands."

Caracalla dusted careful fingers over your temples before turning his attention to your hands. He brought them to his face and kissed your palms. Your eyes welled from the soft touches. He murmured sweet nothings, brows furrowed as he took in your injuries. The smaller they were, the more they hurt. You sucked in a breath when his tongue darted out and swiped over a cut.

Consus appeared in the door once more, this time announcing the healer. The gentleman walked in, holding a leather bag that clinked with ointments and creams.

"Leave them and get out," Caracalla demanded, becoming louder when the man stalled. "Out!"

You would have felt pity for the man on any other day. He shrugged the bag from his shoulder and left it on a table, backing out of the room with his hands held up.

To your surprise it was Geta who retrieved the bag, handing it carefully to his brother. He eyed you in the way he often did and you held his gaze. Something like guilt flickered over his face but it was gone before you could analyse it.

Caracalla busied himself with the contents of the bag. He held up an expensive looking jar of cream and set it aside before picking up something much more recognisable - a small bottle of alcohol.

He popped the cork off. "This will sting."

You gasped and tried to yank your hands away but Caracalla held them steady as he dribbled small amounts of the liquid onto your palms. He used his own clothing to wipe away the traces of blood as if was nothing.

The cream was better. He dabbed it onto your cuts, glancing up at your face to gauge your reaction. You tried not to dwell to much on the fact that an Emperor of Rome was treating your superficial wounds.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better," you nodded. "Thank you, Emperor."

He looked over his shoulder and then back at you before leaning in to whisper, "You can address me as Caracalla."

A lump lodged itself in your throat. How many times had Caracalla been treated for his own injuries that he knew how to treat you for yours?

"What truly happened last night?" he asked you, careful to make sure Geta could not hear.

"Emperor Geta locked me in my room," you answered honestly.

Caracalla thought about it for a moment. "It is better that way," he decided. "It keeps you safe. Don't you want to be safe for us?"

Of course. Caracalla was no different to his brother though you could not pretend to understand their emotions or motivations.

Geta was watching the pair of you. He looked down when you noticed, pretending to be ensconced in his paperwork. Ignoring you just as he did last night when he left you screaming in your room.

You spent the whole day laying about in Geta's chambers. Caracalla doted on you, feeding you bits of food and checking on your wounds.

The more he touched you the harder it was to pull away. His touches got firmer, bolder; the back of your neck, your arms, even your thighs when you shifted. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until it was impossible to ignore the blatant way he was panting over you.

And it was not as though you were immune to his caresses.

After a few hours of torture, Geta turned his attention back to you.

"There is a gathering tonight," he said, "you will get ready."

"And what am I to do at this gathering?" you boldly asked.

Geta pulled you from the plush cushions by your wrist. He leaned in close. "You are going because I cannot trust you enough to leave you alone. Do not complain; it is unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself."

His mocking tone sent a spike of anger through you. You deigned not to respond. Such blatant disrespect was stupid but you were still unfathomably angry that he had locked you away. You wanted to say that he had no right but, as Emperor, he did. Geta and Caracalla could do anything they wished and you were constantly reminded of it.

Geta pointed you to some clothes hanging up on a privacy screen. He dragged Caracalla away so you could change in peace - an apology of sorts? You yanked on the clothing and tried to let your temper cool. It would do you no good to have an attitude in the presence of others.

Once more you were back in the entertainment hall. Geta had you stationed by a wall, offering cups to anyone who wanted one. It was obvious you had been placed there only because it kept you firmly in his sight.

After an hour you found yourself feeling calmer, taking purpose in your small task. The familiarity made you at ease and you were able to put the Emperors to the back of your mind.

They were surrounded by concubines and tittering senators. A woman was perched on the cushions behind Geta, rubbing a hand on his shoulder and occasionally allowing it to dip beneath his clothing. Geta met your eyes across the room and leaned back, allowing her further contact.

The concubines were having a difficult time with Caracalla. He would relax into their forward touches and then suddenly jerk forward, shoving them away and screaming obscenities. You had never seen him quite so wild at a gathering; it was known that Caracalla enjoyed parties and was most approachable during them.

The concubines did not know what to do with themselves. Breaking point was reached when one dared to slip his hand beneath Caracalla's tunic. Immediately Caracalla was upon the man, hands flying in every which direction and beating him to a near pulp.

How was this the same man who had so softly attended to you earlier? Your anger seeped away and was replaced by familiar fear. What would it take for him to turn on you like that?

Praetorians approached and dragged the concubine away. The party continued as though nothing at happened. These people cared not for the lives of those below them.

Caracalla's eyes darted about the room. Searching for you, no doubt. You recoiled into the wall and shrank in on yourself, desperate to go unnoticed.

Someone did spot you, but it was not Caracalla. The master of gladiators gave you a predators smile and sauntered over, plucking a cup from the tray you were holding.

Something about Macrinus unnerved you. His smile was open enough but you did not trust the man. That had never mattered before when you were a simple servant in the kitchen but now. . .

"It is you," he smiled teasingly, bumping you with his elbow.

You recoiled at the unwanted touch. "I'm sorry?"

"You," he repeated, " who has enamoured the emperors and now takes up so much of their time."

Something cold slithered into your stomach. You did not like Macrinus - did not like that this man knew so much about you.

"I. . .do not know what you are speaking of," the lie caught in your throat but you pushed it out anyway.

Macrinus laughed, loud and cold. "I think you do."

At that moment Caracalla appeared, wrapping his hand around your elbow and exposing the lie you had told.

"I want to leave," he grumbled, "come now."

He uttered a tense greeting to Macrinus and dragged you from the room. You went willingly, thankful for any distance between yourself and the master of gladiators and his sharp smile.

Caracalla was rougher than usual as he tugged you along. This time to his chambers. He kept looking over your shoulder and muttering to himself, yanking you closer and closer until you were almost tripping over each other. You were not overly alarmed; you had faith that you would be able to pacify him.

Your mind was preoccupied with your brief meeting with Macrinus. The emperors made you uneasy but it was nothing to do with the sickening feel Macrinus evoked in you.

Authors Note - This might be my favourite chapter yet idkkkk - please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, reblog if you enjoyed and don’t be afraid to send asks because they are my favourite thing

taglist - @only4thefics @doodle-with-rhy @lover-rep-fanfic @claraisme23 @sashaphantomhive @multifandombtch @t6gse370

@merrymunsons @europixie @prestinalove @malfoycassimalfoy @jovial-cowboy @akamitrani @bocreep @justasmallbean @moompie @duckyhowls @justlibra @mama-frog @fionaapplelover2010

#emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta x reader #fred hechinger #emperor caracalla #joseph quinn #emperor geta #eyes of the gods #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #banners by enchanthings

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grimeshound · 3 days ago

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UNDER YOUR SPELL.

masterlist.

word count: 4,329 (someone got a little carried away...)

pairing: in-ho x you.

summary: you haunt in-ho’s every thought, an obsession he can’t shake no matter how hard he tries—you have no idea the hold you have on him. when you get drunk for the first time, in-ho seizes the opportunity to show you just how deeply you’ve affected him.

cw: 18+, age-gap, dubcon (forced intoxication), mirror sex, first time, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, stomach bulge, semi-public sex, dirty talk, corruption, manipulation

a/n: i’ve had this plot simmering in my head over the past few days ever since i wrote my in-ho hcs and it was practically begging to be written … manipulative in-ho my beloved

---

Ever since he first laid eyes on you, In-ho thought you were the prettiest little angel to ever step foot in this hellhole.

You were nothing like the others. Kind, wide doe eyes, sweet smile that radiated innocence. He wondered how a pretty thing like you had ended up in a place like this. In-ho always did pride himself in his appreciation for the arts, all things with beauty. The moment he took notice of you, it didn’t take long for him to wonder what it would take to make you his.

You had joined a small group, after having met a kind man named Jung-bae who graciously let you in. Everyone shared their names, and that’s when you learned his. Oh Young-il. Except, of course, that wasn’t his real name. Just a guise, a character to play during the time he spent amongst the players. That didn’t matter, though, since you rarely used his name.

“Sir,” you’d say. The times you did call his name, it’d be “Mister Young-il.”

The first time you spoke to him, you were nervous. It was hard not to be, something about his piercing gaze had a hold on you. Yet, you couldn’t help but admire him. The way you looked up at him, your voice so soft and deferential, made his pulse quicken. He’d do anything to protect you, and he did. Each time the games forced you apart, you’d come running to him the moment you returned to the main hall, your face lighting up with relief.

“I’m so happy you’re okay, sir.” You’d smile at him, and he’d smile back, gentle and reassuring.

You hadn’t realized it, but your attachment to him was carefully orchestrated, a product of all the high-risk situations In-ho would engineer to put you through. He’d swoop in at the perfect moment to save you, it made you trust him, made you depend on him more than anyone else. It also nurtured the little crush you were already dewasveloping, and he noticed. You couldn’t help it. He kind to you, protective, and so devastatingly handsome.

Behind the scenes, he dug through your file. Orphaned from a young age, too naive to understand the world’s cruelties. Trusting the wrong people, you had fallen into debt, landing here. The more he learned, the more he was convinced—You needed someone to take care of you. Someone like him.

One night, In-ho just couldn’t take it anymore. After hours of keeping up his cold, calculated facade, he found himself teetering on the edge of his own sanity. The stress of orchestrating the games was always a burden he bore in silence. But lately? It wasn’t just the carnage and strategy that weighed on his mind. On top of all that, now there was you. Every stolen glance, every soft word you uttered, every moment in your presence had burrowed under his skin. You consumed him, invading every thought until there was no room for anything else.

He knew he was losing control.

When the last murmurs of conversation faded throughout the main hall and the players around him drifted into an uneasy sleep, he finally gave in to his impulses. He had a guard sneak him a bottle of soju, not caring how inappropriate or risky the request was. Rank had its privileges, and he wasn’t above abusing them.

Even in the dim light he spotted you, laid in your bed not too far from his own. All curled up and completely unaware of the monster disguised as your guardian angel watching over you. He swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching as he tried to steady his breathing.

He listened to the sound of your breathing as a guide, the quiet rhythm of inhale and exhale filling his ears before finally pulling the bottle from its hiding place beneath his pillow. With a sharp twist, he uncapped it, the faint scent of alcohol wafting into the air around him. Sitting up in his bunk, he took a long, deliberate swig. The burn of the soju as it slid down his throat was a welcome distraction, albeit temporary. He exhaled, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

The alcohol dulled the edges of his stress but sharpened something far more dangerous, far sicker. Desire. Thoughts of you came to surface before he could resist, vivid and unrelenting. He thought of your wide, trusting eyes looking up at him, the way your voice wavered when you spoke his name. He didn’t stop his thoughts when they turned more and more depraved. Your quiet utters of his name turning into obscene moans, innocent brushes of skin escalating into him fucking you like a madman into the crummy bed he sat beneath. The way you clung to him, so innocent, so naive, so completely unaware of just how sick his thoughts would turn because of you.

He took another long swig, his grip tightening around the bottle as his frustration intensified. How could you do this to him without even realizing? Without even trying? It was maddening, the hold you had over him. And now, with the liquor loosening his usually taut held control, he found himself wondering how much longer he could resist. How much longer he could keep his hands to himself.

And then, as if summoned by his desires, your voice broke the silence.

“Sir?”

He turned to see you turned towards him, rubbing your eyes like a sleepy child. He softened instantly, smiling lazily as he called your name. “You’re awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” You climbed up to his bed without hesitation, settling beside him. “What about you?”

“Me neither,” he murmured. He thanked whatever god there was that you couldn’t read his mind, couldn’t take a peek into the sick fantasies that had clouded up his thoughts just moments ago. Even now, when sat face to face with you, they played in the background— like a channel he couldn’t turn off no matter how hard he’d press the remote. Only, he didn’t make much effort in stopping them. If anything, the fantasies only shot up with you now in front of him.

Your attention was soon drawn to the green bottle in his hand. “Is that… soju?”

He chuckled at your amazement. “It is.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “I’ve never had any before.”

His heart skipped. You really were too good to be true, weren’t you? He feigned surprise. “Never?”

You shook your head. “No. But..” You hesitated for a bit. “I’d like to try, if that’s okay.”

How polite. How trusting. He handed the bottle to you, hiding his smirk beneath a kind, patient smile. “Of course. Go ahead.”

You took it with both hands, your fingers brushing his briefly. There was a moment of hesitation, a fleeting glance at him as though you were silently asking for reassurance. He gave you a small nod, his expression warm and encouraging. Uttey deceptive. The thought of getting you completely wasted, rendering you impossibly dumber and even more impressionable than you already are rang like music to his ears. You tilted your head back as you gulped down more than he expected. He didn’t stop you, though. Simply watching with quiet satisfaction as you drained a sizable amount.

The first sip had your nose scrunching up, the bitter taste of the alcohol overhwleming you. Instead of backing out, you pressed on, curiosity and his approving gaze egging you on. With each gulp, you felt your body tense slightly at the unaccustomed burn that slid down your throat.

In-ho watched you intently, his dark eyes locked on you as the bottle tipped higher and higher. You were drinking far more than he expected, but he made no effort to stop you. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into a faint smile. Quiet satisfaction flickered in his eyes as he watched your determination to please him override your inexperience.

When you finally lowered the bottle, your lips were shiny from the liquid, your cheeks already beginning to flush, something In-ho was quick to take notice of. Whether it be your inexperience, the quickness of which you downed the Soju or the fact that you haven’t really drank or ate much prior. The alcohol had hit you harder than you anticipated, working its way through your system with worrying speed. Your head tilted back slightly as you tried to regain focus, blinking up at him with worried, glassy eyes.

“Sir,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I feel…so funny.”

He stepped closer, his hand moving to steady you by your waist when your knees buckled slightly. “Funny how, sweetheart?” he humored you, the concern in his tone carefully crafted.

“Dizzy,” You clung to him instinctively, your hands gripping his arm like a lifeline as you specified. “I feel lightheaded, mister Young-il. M’scared.”

“Shh,” he murmured, pulling you closer against his chest. His hand slid to your back, rubbing soothing circles as he held you steady. “It’s okay. You’re just not used to it, s’all.”

Your forehead rested against his chest, your breath uneven as you tried to make sense of the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. He tilted his head slightly, looking down at you with something twisted in his gaze, though his voice remained tender and reassuring. “Poor baby,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. His hand stroked your hair, the sound of his words soothing you. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

You were too drunk to notice the dark glint in his eyes or the way his smile lingered just a little too long. Too naive to realize how tightly his grip held you, as though he’d never let go.

Young-il led you to the bathroom, steadying you with a firm grip as you clung to him for balance. Every touch, every reassuring glance he gave you was planned down to the last detail, feeding into the web he’d been weaving since the moment he first laid eyes on you. You were his perfect little pawn, and now, more than ever, he could see his plan falling into place.

When he knocked on the bathroom door, you were already bracing yourself for the usual bargaining and desperate pleading that so often accompanied requests to use the facilities. But to your surprise, the guards let you both pass without hesitation, a testament to the sway your knight in shining armor seemed to hold.

He guided you inside, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click. Leading you to the sink, he turned on the faucet, letting the cool water rush out. “Here,” he said softly, his voice calm and soothing. “Let’s wash your face. It’ll help.”

You nodded, leaning over the sink and splashing the water onto your flushed cheeks. The cold sting sent a brief jolt through you, though it did little to clear the fog in your mind. When you blinked your eyes open and straightened, you nearly jumped at the sight of him standing right behind you, close enough that you could feel his presence like a weight against your back.

Your wide-eyed gaze flicked up to the mirror. He stood there, his expression as unreadable as ever, but the intensity in his eyes made your stomach twist. Despite yourself, you wiped your face with your sleeve and offered him a sheepish smile.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, stepping closer. His hand brushed your damp hair back from your face, the gesture tender in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Good,” you mumbled, though the truth was far from it. The alcohol swirled in your system, leaving you dizzier than before. But the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, it sent a warmth through your chest that was impossible to ignore.

“Yeah?” he hummed, his tone low and velvety, each syllable wrapping around you like a shackle. You hadn’t even noticed how close he’d gotten until now, his chest pressing lightly against your back.

Your breath hitched as something firm brushed against you from behind, and you let out a small, involuntary whimper. “Sir Young-il…?”

“In-ho,” he rasped, cutting you off. “My real name, it’s In-ho.” His voice had dropped even lower, and there was something raw and possessive in the way he said it. You blinked, confused, his real name rolling off your tongue before you could even think twice to question him.

“In-ho,” you repeated softly, as if testing the weight of it. “What’s going on?”

His lips curved into a faint smile, his hands settling firmly on your waist. “Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror. “I’ll take good care of you. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nodded too quickly, too eagerly, the alcohol and your long-brewing crush on him clouding your better judgment. “I trust you,” you slurred, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly as he trailed his fingers along your waist, his touch deliberate and possessive.

He leaned in, closing the already small gap between you two as his lips found yours in a kiss—the first one you’d ever shared. Admittedly, it wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined it to unfold. You pictured your first kiss with a high school crush, maybe some boy your age who’d take you out on an innocent date. But all those dreams faded the moment you met In-ho, and now, all dreams you had were consumed by him.

You pressed against him, letting him take control as his kiss deepened, hungry and intense, like a man starved for more. You followed his lead instinctively, trusting him—because you always knew, deep down, he knew what was best. So when he raised his fingers to your lips, you hesitated for only a moment before parting them, allowing him to slip two fingers inside. His dark eyes gleamed as you sucked obediently, your cheeks flushing deeper under his watchful gaze. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and his breathing grew heavier.

Pulling his fingers away, he wasted no time in hooking them into the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging them down in one hasty motion. His lips found the curve of your jaw, trailing kisses up to your ear as his right hand skimmed the sensitive skin of your neck.

You grabbed his wrist suddenly, your touch light and hesitant. “Wait, In-ho—” you murmured, your voice trembling with embarrassment. His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, his expression softening ever so slightly.

“I… I’ve never done anything like this before,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He wasn’t surprised; he had suspected as much. But hearing it from you, seeing the vulnerability in your gaze—only stoked the fire burning within him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice deceptively gentle, though there was an unmistakable tension in his tone.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip. “I trust you. Just… be gentle. Please.”

He smiled at that, a flicker of something darker hidden beneath the curve of his lips. “Of course,” he murmured, his hands resuming their slow exploration. But in his mind, he knew the truth: restraint was never his strong suit. Especially when it came to you.

And with you—so soft, so eager, so completely his, he doubted he could hold himself back for long.

His fingers, still slick with your saliva, trailed down to your entrance, brushing over it with deliberate precision. The touch made you jolt, a shiver running up your spine as you gasped. In-ho groaned low in his throat, his eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror. “Fucking dripping,” he mused, his voice a sinful rasp. Slowly, he slid a finger inside, the intrusion making your thighs instinctively part.

A soft moan escaped your lips as he pressed deeper, his touch firm but unhurried. This wasn’t the first time you’d felt something like this, but the last time had been your own doing—fumbling, desperate, and entirely unremarkable. That had been just days ago, tucked away in one of these very bathroom stalls, shamefully thinking of him. Now, with his hands where yours had been, the stark difference had you feeling light-headed.

His fingers were thicker, rougher, impossibly skilled. The sensation left you trembling, your legs threatening to give out as he worked you open. His other arm snaked around your upper chest, holding you close, his grip firm yet possessive. The position bordered on a chokehold, but instead of fear, it only sent another wave of heat coursing through you.

Your breath hitched as a soft, broken “Ohmygod,” fell from your lips. He didn’t pause, didn’t falter. His finger curled just right, hitting a spot that made you see stars. Your hands gripped on In-ho’s forearm, knuckles white as you bit down hard on your lower lip, trying and failing to stifle your moans.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was like velvet, roughened by desire. He pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. His other hand released its hold on your chest as it moved lower, settling on the curve of your ass. He squeezed firmly, eliciting a high-pitched mewl from you.

You nodded weakly, barely able to form words. “Uh-huh… feels so good, sir,”

That made him chuckle, a deep, dark sound that reverberated through your body. The honorific sent a thrill down his spine, his cock straining against the confines of his sweatpants.

“You’re ready,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he pulled back just enough to tug his waistband down. You glanced over your shoulder, eyes wide as you took him in, the sight was intimidating, your head reeling.

"In-ho, I–I don’t think I can take that." Your voice faltered, a hint of shame creeping into your words. He laughed, a sound so familiar it sent a chill down your spine. It was the kind of hearty laugh you'd grown so used to hearing from him. But now, there was something different—something darker layered beneath it, like a cruel mockery. "Course you can, angel," he said, his tone smooth but laced with an unsettling edge. "I know you can. Let me take care of you."

“H-Here? Like this?” you asked, your voice small and unsure, referring to the state he had you in—bent over the sink and in front of the mirror. utterly at his mercy.

He leaned in, his hand gripping your chin and forcing your gaze back at your reflection. “Right here,” he confirmed, his voice a low growl. Want you to watch yourself while I’m fucking you open.”

The vulgarity of his words sent a shiver through you, your body instinctively arching for him. You nodded, too dazed and drunk to do anything else, and he didn’t waste another second.

He slid inside slowly, the stretch making you cry out and grip the sink tighter. The initial sting was sharp, but it quickly gave way to something deeper, something so intense it left you gasping. Your legs wobbled beneath you, and you leaned harder against the sink for support.

“In-ho… In-ho,” you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a chant. “Sir… I— I feel you in my stomach.”

The confession had him groaning, a sound so guttural it made your knees weak. “Yeah? Fuck, baby.” He babbled as he moved closer, his body pressing against yours as his hand trailed down with deliberate slowness. When his palm flattened against your stomach, his fingers brushing over the faint outline of him inside you, your breath hitched.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his composure slipping as he began to move. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust deliberate and punishing. You nodded frantically, a whimper escaping as he pressed down, sending a shockwave through your body. “In-ho, nngh!—“

You were completely out of it, your thoughts a tangled haze, your body slack and pliant in his hands. The alcohol coursing through your veins had stripped away every layer of hesitation, leaving you wide open to his manipulations. And In-ho, oh, he reveled in it. The way your voice slurred when you called his name, the way your movements were unsteady, dependent on him for every step and touch—it all fueled his sick delight. You were better than he could’ve ever imagined.

As he pulled you closer, pressing into you from behind, your gaze flicked to the bathroom door, a flicker of worry breaking through your drunken stupor. “In-ho…” you mewled, voice soft as you felt your body jerk with each rough thrust he made.. “What if–ah!—someone walks in?”

He paused, his hands resting possessively on your hips, a smile ghosting across his lips. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, his voice low and soothing, though there was an unmistakable edge of amusement in his tone. “The guards won’t come.” His confidence sent a shiver through you, but you weren’t entirely convinced. “But… but what if another player—”

“No one’s going to interrupt us,” he said firmly, his dark eyes boring into yours before you could finish your sentence. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. “You’re with me. They wouldn’t dare.”

Something about the absolute certainty, the power in his voice—had your anxiety ebbing away, replaced by a strange sense of safety. You nodded slowly, leaning into his touch, your inhibitions melting once again under his spell.

“You trust me, don’t you, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Mmhm,” You squeaked out through laboured breaths.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, his hands sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you back against him. He watched your reflection as his fingers dug into your soft flesh, relishing the way you gasped and arched into his touch.

Your head lolled slightly, your body swaying under his hold. “Mmmh…I feel so dizzy,” you slurred, your voice barely above a whisper.

In-ho chuckled darkly, his hands moving to steady you. “That’s just the soju, sweetheart,” he said, though he didn’t bother hiding the smirk on his face. “You’re doing so well for me.”

He loved seeing you like this. Drunk, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Every soft whimper, every stumble, every little movement that showed how completely you relied on him only fueled his desire. You were his, whether you realized it or not.

As his fingers grazed your skin, he couldn’t resist pushing you further, testing your reactions as he pushed your buttons. “You know,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along the curve of your neck, “Y’look so pretty like this. All fucked out and needy. Just for me.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, pressed against him. “Y-you think so?”

“I know so,” he replied, his voice a velvety purr. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming. “Just look at yourself, baby. See how perfect you are for me?”

Your hazy eyes flicked to the mirror, taking in the sight of the two of you. His dark, piercing gaze met yours, his expression raw and predatory. The way he looked at you—it was almost too much. Your cheeks burned, and you averted your eyes, biting your lip.

He wasn’t having that. His hand left your waist, fingers gently gripping your chin and turning your face back toward the mirror. “No,” he said firmly. “I want you to watch. Watch yourself while I take care of you.”

The authority in his voice sent a thrill through you, your body trembling as you nodded weakly. “O-okay—ah, fuck!”

“Atta girl,” he chuckled, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

As his hands roamed lower, teasing and exploring, you couldn’t help the soft, breathless moans that spilled from your lips. Every touch, every word, every look from him pulled you deeper into the fog of your drunken desire, leaving you utterly helpless in his grasp.

And In-ho? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room filled with the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin, your muffled cries, and his filthy murmurs. “Thaat’s it, there’s my pretty girl.” His hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, his lips brushing against your ear. “Fucking take it. Just like that.”

Every thrust sent you higher, the alcohol in your system amplifying every sensation, every nerve alight with pleasure. Your mind was fogged, the world around you turning into nothing but a senseless blur. And yet, you felt every little sensation In-ho fed you, each rough snap of his hips driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You felt your climax building, overwhelming and unstoppable. Your eyes fluttered shut, ready to let go—but his hand suddenly cupped your cheek, a sharp slap bringing you back.

“I told you,” he growled, his voice authoritative. “None of that. You keep your eyes on me when I fill you up. Understand?”

You nodded frantically, gasping as you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze once again through the mirror—the sight was enough to send you over the edge. Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you cried out his name.

The sight of you coming undone beneath him was his undoing. With a few more erratic thrusts, he followed, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you. A deep groan tore from his chest, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he rode out his high.

The room fell into silence, save for the sound of your labored breathing. In-ho steadied you, his hands gentle now as he helped you stand. He brushed your hair back, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

“If we get out of here alive…” A sheepish smile spread across your face, “Let’s drink again sometime?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “When we get out,” he corrected, his tone laced with quiet determination. He kissed you once more, sealing the promise. And he meant it. If it meant keeping you by his side, he’d kill every last player in the game with his bare hands.

#hwang in ho #inho x reader #inho smut #player 001 #squidgame 2 #in ho squid game #smut #oh young il #the frontman

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space929 · 2 hours ago

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Allow me, an autistic person, to add onto this with exactly why. While I 100% agree with this and I think it is perfectly comprehensive, I have met people who genuinely did not understand why this was a fucked thing to say and I'm all about education.

So there are a couple points that I have here, apologies if they end up a bit scrambled.

First is that this feeds off the idea that we can not learn, and thus, telling us we're doing something wrong is... I think the point is ableism? I don't know. It makes no sense. But this idea is built off of ableism, quite clearly. We are perfectly capable of learning. It may take us more time and instruction, but we can learn. To say otherwise is infantalizing.

We also need to acknowledge that there was literally nothing else this could be, but I am not here to discuss that, I'm here to talk about autism.

It's also built off the idea that we are completely clueless at socializing. I would say I am worse with social cues than Elon, and I've never thrown up a Sieg Heil. Especially not for a fascist. Beyond this, we are a spectrum. Some of us communicate great. None of us throw up a Sieg Heil because of that. Maybe because they're Nazis - which... guys, you're asking the leopard to eat your face. Stop being strange - but not because they're autistic. There is also a level of nuance here involving manipulation and such, but I'm not qualified to talk about that and it doesn't apply to Elon, so I'm moving on.

Another good thing to mention is that the biggest issue was his response.

Sometimes, we all accidentally do things that are bigoted. Some of these things that aren't a Sieg Heil can absolutely be attributed to not understanding social cues. But the way we respond shows what kind of person we are.

When I do something bigoted, I apologize and carry that around with me so that I don't do it again. I do not refuse to address it, try to scrub it from the internet, and agree with people who are talking about how we shouldn't be calling people nazis. I also wouldn't associate myself with nazis for years prior. Doing all of this might hint towards the fact that I am a nazi, and I am definitely neutral towards the topic - so still evil.

Stop using autism to make a point when your goal for eugenics makes us obsolete. You only care about us when you can defend nazism with it. That's not what we're here for. We're people. Treat us as such, please.

And thank you to the rest of yall who are being normal. I know yall exist.

fyi if you're trying to use the fact that that rancid ass muskrat cunt is autistic to be like "oh he didn't know what he did was wrong" about the fact that he threw up a fucking nazi salute then you are one of the stupidest fucking cunts to walk the earth and since we're in a housing crisis you should start offering the massive amount of empty fucking space in your skull for rent

(signed, an autistic person)

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logoleptic-since-06 · 2 days ago

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Kento Nanami x Baker!Reader

Content: Fem!Reader, Fluff

Kento Nanami is a tired man. He spends his days within the same four walls of his office cabin, his eyes glued to people’s financial records on the screen of his computer. The only good part of his day? When he gets to visit the cute little bakery that opened right beside his apartment building.

The bread that is sold there is sweet, the coffee is brewed perfectly to his taste every day, and the ambience is welcoming. Yet none of that is the best part about this place.

The best part, in Kento’s sunken eyes, is the owner of the bakery.

You.

He watches as you greet the customers with the sweetest smile plastered on your face every day. The way your eyes light up when Kento, now a regular customer at your shop, shows up. The way you have his exact order memorised, Kento cannot remember the last time someone remembered something about him so precisely.

One day, after having to attend one too many meetings, he lets himself relax a little too much in the cozy atmosphere of your bakery and dozes off inside his usual booth, a half-drunk coffee on the table beside where his head rests.

He is woken with a slight shake on his shoulders. When he looks up, he sees your pretty face carrying a concerned expression as you look down at him.

“Oh my, I apologise for the inconvenience,” he hastily says, “I hadn’t realised I had dozed off.”

“It’s fine.” Your sweet voice is like music to his ears. “I was closing up and realised you were still here.” You take a seat in front of him, placing a plate of freshly baked pastry on the table. “Are you okay?”

He looks at the pastry with confusion. “Uhm, I didn’t order this.”

You smile at him. “I know, it’s on me. You look like you need it.” When he doesn’t reply for the first few seconds, a sense of worry replaces your smile and you quickly correct yourself. “Unless you don’t like sweets, which is fine, I’ll take this–”

“No no, not at all,” Kento says, “This is very thoughtful of you, thank you.”

You shake your head and give him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” he says again as he takes a spoonful of the pastry. “It’s very good. You’re good at this.”

You smile in response. “So, why do you always look so… in dread?”

The small smile on his face falters. “Just stress from work, I suppose.”

“Don’t you ever take breaks?”

“Not really.” He takes another bite. “In these years, I’ve learnt that money is the most important thing in this economy, so that’s all I run after now.”

“I was like that up until last year,” you confess.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I was a full corporate girl for two years. I earned well but never found peace, you know?”

“I understand. I’m assuming that is why you opened this bakery? To do what you love?”

“Exactly, now look.” You flash another smile. “I’m happy.”

Seeing your expression, he smiles too, a strange hope alight in his chest. “I’m Kento Nanami, by the way.”

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Nanami.”

“Please, call me Kento,” he corrects you.

You repeat his name– the more intimate one– and something flutters in his chest. Something that he hasn't felt since he was a teenager in high school.

Kento Nanami, a grown man working in finance, now has a crush.

#jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk drabbles #kento nanami #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfiction #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #nanami headcanons #nanamin #jjk fandom #jujutsu kaisen x you #kento nanami x reader

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starlit-writer · 3 days ago

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in sickness and in health, ch. 2 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

here is chapter two!!!! in writing this chapter, i realized that this little fic has taken on a complete life of its own that i never anticipated, and will have many, many more chapters to come, so if you want to be added to a tag list to make sure you stay up-to-date, let me know in the replies! eat well, lovelies <3

as always, if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

word count: 4,270 chapter one chapter three masterlist ao3 link

You slept. And you slept. And you slept.

But, Simon held tight to his promise to you. He didn’t leave your side for any longer than necessary, and necessary held a very… loose definition to Simon as you laid on his bed, all but comatose. In the three days since you had shown up at his door, Simon had left the bed maybe five times to relieve himself, and a handful of other times just to growl somebody away from the door who had missed the memo that Simon and you would be out of commission for the foreseeable future. The rest of the time, he just laid next to you, curled up like a guard dog. Sometimes he talked to you, but most of the time, he was just watching your chest as it rose up and down, his fingers resting delicately over your wrist to ensure your heart was still beating. That you were still here.

It had been three days. And you still hadn’t woken up. The worry in Simon’s heart was becoming hard to keep down, and the neglect of his own body was starting to catch up with him. He hadn’t done any work, hadn’t showered, and had barely eaten the food that the team had left at the door. He was going insane with panic, with fear, at the thought that he lost you. That he had killed you.

He never knew what he had had until it was gone.

Simon was spiraling. He sat in the corner of the bed, making sure to keep his thigh pressed against you, but his head was in his hands as his fingers tugged relentlessly at his dirty blond strands. It was his fault. All of this was. He didn’t know how to be a good alpha, let alone any sort of partner that he knew you needed him to be. He was so completely lost in his own tortured mind that he didn’t even hear Soap as he slipped into the room.

It wasn’t until the tray full of food that Soap was carrying clattered to the ground that Simon even noticed he was in there. Simon’s head snapped up, his hackles rising as a vicious growl ripped through his throat. The sound was a clear warning to get the fuck away from him and his mate, but all Soap did was roll his eyes in complete exasperation and take a step closer to your sleeping form.

Simon’s growl intensified at the intrusion, his muscles rippling in preparation to fight. It didn’t matter that this was Johnny, one of the few people on this earth that Simon trusted wholeheartedly. His mate was dying, and Simon’s alpha was tearing itself apart, identifying anything and anyone that got too close to you as a threat. But, the other alpha ignored him. The only sign that Simon got that Soap even heard his posturing was the low, return growl that left Soap’s lips as they curled up to reveal his alpha fangs.

“Haud yer wheesht,” Soap grumbled in reply as his hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gently over the joint. Soap’s focus was entirely on you, completely ignoring the massive bulk of Simon just on the other side of you. Soap and you had always been friends, and you had sought comfort in him over the last few months of Simon’s neglect. Guilt gnawed at him that he wasn’t enough, that he couldn’t help prevent the bond sickness from stealing you away, but that guilt was far overshadowed by the rage he felt towards Simon.

“How could ye ever do this to ‘er, huh?” Soap muttered, the words low and dangerous as he finally glanced up at Simon. “She was good. More tha’ good. She was a great fuckin’ medic, better teammate, and now look at ‘er.”

Simon’s alpha growled in response. He knew he had fucked up, destroyed you in ways he was only beginning to comprehend. He would take you yelling at him, telling him how shit he was, but hearing it from Soap, another alpha, was a whole new level of shame and guilt. Simon wasn’t built to hold this much emotion, never taught how to properly deal with his feelings, and he was at his breaking point. His rage was rising, like water that had been left on the stove too long without proper supervision, the bubbles breaking free over the steely confines of the walls he had built around his heart.

The very same confines that had kept him from you.

Simon’s eyes zeroed in on Soap’s hand on your shoulder, and he lost it. He scrambled off of the bed, his movements uncoordinated due to the lack of sleep and sustenance, but still full of the undeniable power that lived within the massive bulk of the alpha. He slapped Soap’s hand away, and grabbed at the straps of his tactical vest. Simon picked the smaller alpha up and spun to press him against the wall, Soap’s head cracking off the drywall. But, it wasn’t enough. Simon hated himself. Hated Soap. Hated everything that he could even remotely tie in as a factor to your comatose state on his bed. Simon gnashed his teeth in Soap’s face, pure, unbridled alpha rage pouring off of him.

Soap just smirked, completely unfazed.

“Oh, I see. Now you can be all protective over ‘er when she’s dying, aye? When it’s yer fuckin’ fault that she wasted away like this? You should’ve been better!” Soap was close to yelling now, his own hands coming up to Simon’s throat. Soap wasn’t going to kill him, no, the only thing that that would accomplish right now is causing more harm to you. But, dammit, if he wasn’t close.

Soap squeezed at Simon’s throat, his alpha claws digging into the mating bite on the side of the larger alpha’s throat. “I should rip that fuckin’ bite right off of ye, ye know that right?”

Simon roared, jerking his neck around to get Soap’s claws as far away as possible from the scent gland that held the imprint of your smaller omega fangs - the last thing truly tying him to you. He was far too gone with his rage, his alpha bursting against the confines of his skin, to even begin to formulate a response. All he could see was the red-hot haze of his rage, of his grief, the anguish that had settled so permanently into his bones over the last three days.

Soap grinned, a mean, sadistic thing that did little more than show off his alpha fangs. It was a challenge, an expression eerily similar to what a predator does when defending their territory. But you were not Soap’s territory. He knew that. He wasn’t trying to vye for your affection or to stake claim on you. His goal was single-minded: get Simon pissed enough to finally admit that he needs you, that he’ll fight for you, for your health, and that he’ll never abandon you this way again.

And if he wouldn’t? Well, Soap wasn’t looking for an omega of his own. Mainly just saw you as a constant in his life, in his pack, but he would single-handedly rip out that mating bite that glared, swollen and red from the strain of the bond, on the edge of Simon’s throat with his own claws and claim you as his own, if it meant fixing you, giving you some sort of stability.

“Ye did this to ‘er! Yer neglect, yer fuckin’ issues, made ‘er this way! All because your head was so far up your goddamned arse you couldn’t see it! She deserves better! She deserves an alpha who will take care of ‘er, not someone who will abandon her for months on end in hopes of getting blown to pieces!”

“I know!” Simon roared in response as he lifted Soap away from the wall again and slammed him back into it. “I know!” His grip on Soap started to falter as tears welled up in his eyes. He let go of Soap with one hand, the smaller alpha falling back to his feet on the ground as Simon scraped his hand across his face to prevent the tears from falling.

“I… I just… I don’t know how to do this, Johnny. It’s not like I grew up with a…” Simon trailed off, his voice thick with tears and regret as he completely let go of Soap to run his hands through his hair in anguish. “My father was an awful man. A horrendous example of an alpha. He… the things he did, Johnny, to me, to Tommy, to my poor fuckin’ mum… the only promise I made to myself when I left that place and let it burn to the ground was to never be like him. And that meant keeping myself as far away from any omega as I possibly could. I never wanted this! And then the brass gave that ultimatum, and shoved us together, and… and I sure as shit wasn’t gonna be the reason that she got kicked out of the place that she worked tooth and nail to get to! I didn’t know how to be an alpha! I didn’t know how to protect her, and I had no one to ask! I just… I… I just didn’t know…”

Soap stood against the wall, mouth agape as he looked down at the massive, trembling form of the man he considered his best friend. Somewhere in his monologue, Simon had completely collapsed onto his knees, his head back in his hands, but Soap was too busy listening to the raw, honest truth falling from Simon’s tear-stained lips to even begin to try and guess when it had happened. Soap was in shock. But, he was at even more of a loss at how to comfort the other alpha.

Soap crouched down beside Simon, his hand awkwardly, yet gently, patting his shoulder as Simon’s hulking form shook from the force of his silent tears, his agony. Soap sighed as he rubbed his other hand over the back of his own neck. What the fuck had he gotten himself into?

“Ghost, I… I think you need to go talk to Price. Maybe get in with the base therapist.”

Simon stiffened under Soap’s touch as those words left his mouth. He didn’t want to go talk to Price, even if he was his captain and a part of his pack. He didn’t want to have to admit to his failures to the same person who gave him orders, signed off on his paychecks. And a therapist? Yeah, he talked to a therapist, he’d just about be signing off on his own discharge forms.

Soap felt it. How his words affected Simon. He sighed again, a low rumble reverberating from his chest in an attempt to provide some comfort to the larger alpha. It was normally a move reserved for comforting a pup, or a distressed omega, but Soap was truly at a loss of what to do here. He had never seen Simon break down like this.

“Ghost, Price can help. He’s been with his bonnie lass for years, and they’re happy with pups runnin’ ‘round. Just… you can’t keep doin’ this to ‘er. And if that means you need direction, need to see how to be an alpha… at least talk to Price. She deserves an alpha who can be there for her, at the very least.”

Simon nodded slowly, wiping his hand across his face again. He felt weak, like a failure, but he knew he had to try.

You never knew what you had until it was gone.

Yeah, well, he knew now. And he wasn’t ever going to let it go again.

Simon lifted his head, his watery brown eyes meeting Soap’s determined baby blues. There was still anger in Soap’s eyes, but he was shoving it away. No point in kicking his friend while he was already down.

“I… I can’t just leave her here.”

“I’ll stay with her,” came Soap’s immediate response. You had sought solace in him over the last few months, and as another alpha from your pack, you would probably be the most comfortable with him around, even if your alpha was gone.

Hearing Soap’s immediate reply made something in Ghost’s alpha twist with distress, aching at the idea of another alpha taking care of his omega, even if it was another member of his pack. A low growl born of his alpha’s displeasure of the situation rumbled out of his throat for a moment before he quickly cut it off by clearing it. Simon knew this needed to be done, and sooner rather than later. He had to fix his ways, to see what it meant to truly be the type of alpha that you needed, that you deserved. But, before he agreed, he had to know one thing.

“Do you love her?”

Soap froze, his head rearing back slightly in shock. Did he love you? “What?”

“You heard me. Do you love her?”

“Simon, she’s a part of our pack. She always has been, even before you and her mated. So, yes, I love her, but not… not like that.”

Simon nodded slowly, his joints aching as he stood up to his full height again. Everything hurt. His muscles were sore from lack of movement, sleep, and nutrition, and his heart and soul felt as if they had been ripped to shreds. Your end of the bond felt like it had been shrouded in impenetrable inky blackness, which just made him feel even more empty. Gods, it used to annoy him to no end to feel your neverending presence in his mind, but now he would give anything, his own life, just to feel it again.

Soap breathed out a silent sigh of relief as he saw the acceptance in Simon’s nod. His best friend was going to be okay, both of you would be. He had to believe it. And, in classic Soap fashion, he couldn’t help but try to chip away the sour, somber mood in the room by cracking a joke.

“But, ye fuck it up again, and I really will rip that mating bite right out of ye, ye can bet on tha’.”

Simon glared at him, but it was the first bit of normalcy he had felt in… months. He shoved at Soap’s shoulder, but all it did was make the smaller alpha’s cocky smirk widen.

“Fuck off, Johnny,” Simon mumbled half-heartedly as he pulled off the tank top he had slipped on after you had fallen asleep, and he tucked it gently next to your head to ensure you still had his scent while he was gone. He ran a gentle, almost reverent finger down your cheek, smoothing an errant piece of your hair back behind your ear. He sighed softly, his guilt threatening to break free again, but he quickly stepped back from you and tugged on a sweatshirt. He glanced at Soap, his gaze glinting with a possessive protectiveness.

Soap, knowing exactly what was running through his mind, put his hands up in a placating manner.

“I won’ touch ‘er. Just don’ be gone too long, aye?”

Simon grumbled something under his breath but nodded, grabbing his keys and shoving them in his pocket before he opened the door. He paused in the open doorway with one last, longing glance back at you filled with all of the pain and regret and guilt swirling through his veins before he finally stepped through and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

—

He didn’t want to be here. To be doing this but he would, if it meant fixing you. He stood in front of Price’s office door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he tried to muster up enough courage to knock. The light was on, so Simon knew Price was in there. Hopefully he was just doing paperwork, and not anything… else.

Simon sighed loudly, scraping a hand down his face before he shook out his arms. He just needed to open the door. And, you know, pour his heart and soul out to the Captain, but that would come after. However, he didn’t get the chance.

“You gonna stand out there all day or are you comin’ in?”

Shit. Simon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he took a deep breath. He could do this. For you, he could. He had to. He shouldered open the door, but he kept his gaze on the ratty red carpet of Captain Price’s office. Mmm, low-pile. Probably feel really scratchy on his face when Price inevitably-

“Ah, Simon. I’ve been expecting you.”

Fuck. Simon felt untethered, for lack of a better word. He couldn’t get a read on Price’s expression as the older, greying alpha moved his glasses off of the bridge of his nose and carefully folded the arms in to set them on the giant wooden desk in front of him. Simon made a point to keep his gaze away from the gouged out claw marks on the surface of the desk. Simon swallowed thickly and looked back down at the carpet in front of him. He had never had to ask for help before, at least, not like this. Not anything that meant showing his weakness, his losing hand, the fact that he’s a shit ass alpha.

“Uh, yeah. I… um, sir, I need… help.” Gods, kill him now.

“Yeah,” Price breathed out harshly as he stretched his arms back around his head. “Yeah, I’d say you do.”

Simon winced at Price’s words. He sounded like a disappointed father, or, at least, what Simon imagined a disappointed father would sound like, and he felt like he had been brought into the principal’s office after painting graffiti on the side of the building during recess. He finally brought his gaze up to the older Alpha, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

“Captain, listen, I-”

Price cut him off with a raise of his hand as he stood up. Simon watched with wide eyes as Price grabbed a cigar out of the humidor that had always laid on his desk. Price grabbed his lighter, and placed the cigar between his lips before he turned away from Simon and looked out the window in the back of his office. A few moments later, and Simon heard the shink of the lighter catching, and he watched as a thick plume of dark grey smoke rose above Price’s form.

“You should’ve come to me for help sooner.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Price questioned, looking back at Simon over his shoulder.

“You’ve been running for years, Simon. Even before she came into the picture. And I let you. I shouldn’t have, but I kept hoping you would figure it out. And then, well, you didn’t. And then I watched you continue to close yourself off, to keep your distance. I watched as you brushed her off over, and over, and over again. And, I admit, as the pack leader, I should have stepped in. Should have forced you to stay on base and figure your shit out, but, tactically, it would’ve been a mistake to keep you here. So, we’re here now. What’s happened has happened. How are you going to fix it?”

Simon stood there, slack jawed and wide eyed as Captain John Price just essentially ripped down every single one of his defenses, his excuses, in one fell swoop. He wrung his hands in front of him, feeling exactly like he had been flayed open, all of his weaknesses and failures laid out in the open like intestines.

“I… I don’t know. That’s why I came here. I was looking for… pointers, I guess. Of how to be a better alpha- fuck, how to just be a good alpha. How to treat an omega. I wasn’t ever… I didn’t have good role models for that shit, and I just- well, Johnny said-”

“Will you actually listen?”

“What?”

Price took a deep inhale of the thick, grey smoke and held it as he turned to look at Simon face-on, studying Simon’s shaking form, the wild, lost look in his eyes, before he exhaled. Price kept his face schooled in a neutral expression, but he really did feel for Simon. He had once been a lost alpha like him, confused on how to even begin to take on the responsibility of an omega, how to take care of them. “If we have this conversation, will you actually take what I say into consideration? Or are you going to attempt for a few days, get frustrated, and then give up?”

Simon winced as Price continued to lay into him with that same cold, calculating gaze he used when discussing potential battle plans. Simon sighed softly, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling for a moment before he rolled his shoulders and looked at Price. “I have to fix this.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Price grinned around his cigar and sat back down at the desk, his fingers tracing idly over the claw marks in the surface of the wood. He gestured his arm out, inviting Simon to sit across from him. Simon squeezed into the chair, his large bulk making the chair creak in protest. He leaned back, trying to feign a confident, or at the very least, unaffected air, but all of his thoughts just kept coming back to you, his knee bouncing in a very distracting fashion as he fought every urge to just run back to his quarters, just to check on you.

Price smirked and steepled his hands in front of him, resting his chin on his thumbs. “You’re scared, ain’t ya?”

Simon nodded, biting down on his plush lower lip.

“Good. Means ya care. You’re just shit at showing it.”

Simon’s lips pressed into a thin line, but what could he do? He couldn’t protest the truth. He was already flayed open, might as well attempt to dissect and treat the diseased portions where he has been keeping all of his shit coping mechanisms.

“Did you ever court her?” Price asked, watching Simon skeptically. He could guess at the answer, as the relationship between you and Simon was far from traditional.

“No, I… Price, the brass gave us an ultimatum, you know that. I didn’t have time!”

“Not before, you didn’t, but what about after? You still could have courted her. Maybe then you would’ve trusted each other more, and we wouldn’t all be in this situation. Do you even know her favorite food? Flower? Song to dance to at 3 am in the kitchen? Color?”

With each question, Simon sank further and further into himself. He felt like the worst alpha on the planet. And, honestly, he probably was, or else you wouldn’t be still laying in his bed practically comatose.

Captain Price sighed and rubbed his thumb over the deep-set lines in his forehead. “Alright, well, those are good places to start, I guess, but… being an alpha isn’t all about gift giving and protecting. You have to listen to her. And I don’t just mean the words out of her mouth - although those are still very important - I also mean her pheromones. Her body language. Her microexpressions. All of the things she doesn’t say.”

“What!? How am I-”

Price put his hand up again to stop the tirade that he knew was about to come pouring out of Simon. “You pay attention. That’s it. It ain’t rocket science, Simon. You’ve led how many teams through how many missions? I’m sure you can figure out if one omega prefers dark or milk chocolate.”

Simon sighed loudly, the sound trailing off into a growl. He felt so stupid. He had been too focused on himself, on his own trauma and his own issues that he had completely neglected the bare minimum for you. He had so much to make up for. He slammed his forehead down into the desk in frustration, the force making the pens on the desk jump. “I should’ve just allowed the brass to kick me out. At least then she could’ve been forced to mate someone who could actually provide for her.”

Price shrugged, leaning back in his own chair as he puffed on his cigar. “No point in thinkin’ like that. You guys are mates, and that bond stayed together for a lot longer than I ever thought it would. That means somethin’, you know. So, you’ve really only got one option. You’ve gotta fix it. Listen to her. Pay attention. Make her feel cared for.”

Simon nodded, his forehead still pressed against the cold wood of the desk, but something Price said kept sticking in his brain, ruminating like a dog trying to lick peanut butter off of the roof of its mouth.

“That means something?” Simon asked, looking up at Price, skeptically looking for clarification.

Price just grinned and pretended to zip his mouth shut before waving Simon off. “Go back to your girl. If you still haven’t figured it out in a few weeks, come talk to me. But remember, court her. Especially after all of this. Show her you care. That you can be a good alpha.”

Simon furrowed his brow, not thrilled about not getting an answer about what Price meant, but got up from his seat. He had been dismissed, and all he wanted to do was get back to you.

Courting. Courting. Right. He could do that. Right?

tag list: @kerst666 @misscaller06 @letaliabane @sai-int @itsmeamysworld @massivescissorsthingperson @aeeliy

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