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tojisbbygworl · 8 months ago

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The Apartment Across The Street - Sukuna x Reader

In the short time he watches her, he learns 3 new things: 1. She has a mirror on the left side of the window. 2. She is completely unaware of how easily someone could see her in all her half-naked glory. 3. Sukuna could overpower her if it came down to it.

Or maybe it’s 4 things. From the beating of his heart and the warm rushing feeling heading towards his dick, he learns the drug he thought he needed might not be a drug at all.

Words: 6.7k

Tags - 18+ MDNI, No Use of Y/N, No Curses, Set in late 90s/early 00s, Smut, Angst, High Sex, Missionary, Degredation, Marijuana, Slight x Toji (I can't help myself)

WARNINGS - Dead Dove, Dark, Non-Con/Dub-con, Breaking and Entering, Sukuna and Toji are criminals, Sukuna's a hitman, Choking, Violence

AO3 Version

Masterlist

author's note: Heyyyy! Okay I went a little too hard like I always do so this is a bit long and (imo) it get's a little intense so be warned. I hope you enjoy hopefully I have some motivation to keep writing. art cred: @innaillus

That apartment used to be empty.

Sukuna hadn’t been home in a week. He doesn’t mind. He’s learned to not have too many hopes or expectations in this line of work. Besides, he prefers being his own boss. He accepts contracts when he needs money then he’s off until it runs out. Doesn’t matter if they take days or even weeks.

Shorter jobs like this one weren’t his treat. They don’t pay as much as he likes, but it works out. These apartments were a bit shitty, they didn’t cost too much. And, he was right in the middle of the city. Easy to meet clients. The clubs went on all night long. Which is exactly how late he was out when he was home. Actually, he was planning to go out tonight. Meet up with Toji and see if he can’t get a woman in his bed by 2 am.

He wondered how long it would take to see his newest neighbor. The way the apartments in the complex are built, you could easily see into your neighbor’s bedroom. 'State guidelines say blinds aren’t required. You buy them,' was the response he received when he brought the problem up to the landlord. A lot of people invested in curtains, maybe they hadn’t bought any yet. He saw a bed, but it seems to be the only thing they’ve managed to set up. There were a couple boxes with flaps wide open sitting beside it.

After a few more moments of rumination, he closed his curtain and laid down on his bed waiting for a text to come over. In truth, he couldn't wait to see who was unlucky enough to be his new window neighbor. The last one didn’t go too well. They also didn’t invest in curtains and he isn’t entirely sure if he’s the reason they moved out, but he’s sure they didn’t appreciate catching his stare multiple times a day. And that one time at midnight.

All it took was the next morning.

Sukuna’s eyes crept open and he stared towards the ceiling. The girl he brought home last night was dead asleep and naked on his chest. He yawned and wiped his face tiredly. He nudged the girl off of him a bit, then sat up on the side of his bed. Ugh, he felt like shit. Toji always went entirely too hard when they went out, but Sukuna doesn’t mind. He has nowhere to be. Nothing to do.

He got up and stretched then walked to the bathroom. As he completed his morning routine, he pondered about what today would behold for him. This is another reason he hated short jobs. Sukuna loves free time, but only if there’s something to do with it. There never really is.

He could kill that girl in his bedroom. In fact, he could have killed any girl he brought home since he moved in half a year ago. But the last time he made his job his hobby, it didn’t go so well for him. It was too close of a call, and getting arrested for murder just isn’t worth it. He could spend a couple months in the pen, not years at a time.

He spat out his toothpaste. Life was so fucking mundane. He had no life goals, barely any friends, his little brother hates him, and he works alone. All things he doesn’t actually care about, but shit, when is he going to get some excitement? Nothing gets him going anymore.

He needs something that will make him feel. A drug of some sort? But that doesn’t seem right to him. Even now as he walks back in the room staring at the woman in his bed, he feels nothing. If she woke back up and decided she wanted to have sex with him, he would say yes, but only because it’s something to do. He’s not feeling any particular way about her.

The moment he sat back down on the bed, she started shifting around. A few seconds later, she lifts her head and yawns. “Good morning.” She giggles, she leans over and kisses his cheek. Sukuna grunts.

The girl looks around the dark room. “It is morning, right?” She doesn’t let him answer before she stands up and opens the curtains. “Oh wow,” she exclaims. “I can see directly into your neighbor’s room.” She says. He still doesn’t get up, just hums at her.

“She’s cute though.”

Sukuna perks up upon hearing that. “Oh yeah? I haven’t seen her yet. She’s new.”

This was the first time since they’ve met that she said something interesting, but unfortunately for him, she drops the subject immediately and walks back into bed, leaving the curtains open. Sukuna holds back his sigh. Does he really want to spend the rest of his morning with this girl? It was half past 8. Way too early.

“I'm going to start getting ready for work,” he says without skipping a beat. She stops in her tracks and blinks at him, clearly not expecting that. It’s silent for a few moments. Sukuna’s not sure what she’s waiting on, but if it’s for him to say he’s kidding or let her stay, she’s sorely mistaken.

“Oh, I thought you were contracted,” she says nervously.

‘I only work when I feel like it, gorgeous.’ Sukuna inwardly curses himself for his suave nature. “Yeah. I got a contract. In an hour.”

His curtness and annoyed expression did good to make her feel completely and totally unwanted. The girl awkwardly smiled at him. “Oh, ha ha. Yeah…okay.” Sukuna got up and walked out of the room. Give her a little space to feel like shit while she gets ready to leave. He makes himself a cup of coffee, his face still that same blank expression even after he hears her rushing out the door from behind him. When she’s gone he takes himself back into his room.

He walks up to his window to close the curtains once more until someone catches his eye. He freezes and his eyebrows shoot upwards. That girl was right. She was cute. And he had the perfect view of her. She seemed to be posing or checking herself out. Sukuna wasn’t sure which one it was, but he hoped she didn’t stop. That bikini she had on was doing wonders for her, and him.

Something was off. Looking at her made him…tense. His hands were gripping the curtains, he was biting the inside of his cheek, his leg was shaking; Was it anxiety? No, she’s not making him nervous. What he’s feeling is euphoric. He likes it. He wants to grip her bare waist and squeeze her until she bruises.

In the short time he watches her, he learns 3 new things: 1. She has a mirror on the left side of her window. 2. She is completely unaware of how easily someone could see her in all her half-naked glory. 3. Sukuna could overpower her if it came down to it. Or maybe it’s 4 things. From the beating of his heart and the warm rushing feeling heading towards his dick, he learns the drug he thought he needed might not be a drug at all.

It doesn’t take long after that to finally meet her.

Before taking his most recent job, Sukuna had nearly consumed everything in his fridge. What was left was now finished and he spent a lot of his morning sulking at a half empty milk carton, his breakfast for the day. He hated eating out, it messed with his figure.

The local grocery wasn't too bad of a walk from his place, although he hated carrying everything back. He always bought a few necessities and a few ingredients to quickly whip something up for his dinner. Today, he’d have to bulk up if he doesn’t want to keep coming back.

As much as he hated the public, shopping never seemed to be a problem for him. He was tall and intimidating, he never smiled, he was always tense; people tended to avoid him like the plague. He appreciated it. But, as he enters the frozen meal aisle with his cart half full he wishes that just for a moment, he looked approachable. Then, this would be much easier.

There she was, in sweatpants and a cropped tube top, looking at the frozen pizzas. She looked like she had been home all day. She was much cuter now that he could see her better. A lot cuter. She’s pretty as hell.

Thank goodness, too. He already knew what her body looked like, what with her constantly taking pictures of herself in front of the window. She liked to play dress up, she would try on entirely different outfits before she was satisfied. Pretty soon, the colors of her bras and panties would be ingrained into his memory.

He stood there looking her up and down for a few more seconds before he started browsing once more. Although he really was looking for food he wanted, he used this opportunity to slowly get closer to her. He pretended to be interested in some frozen broccoli and he snuck a look at her. To his surprise, and enjoyment, she had done the same. When they made eye contact, she jerked and looked away. A couple moments after that, she grabbed her food and walked away into another aisle.

Sukuna chuckled to himself. She wouldn’t get away that easily. He dropped the broccoli in his cart and followed after her. He hadn’t seen which aisle she’d gone into, so he kept walking down and looking into each one until he found her trying to get some chips from a high shelf. He smiled upon seeing her struggle. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

He managed to walk right up behind her and reach for the chips she was trying to get before she got startled. She gasped a bit and looked up at him. He looked down at her. Fuck, she was pretty. His heart started to pound, he could practically salivate at the idea of taking her home.

He hands her the chips before she can say anything, then walks away. Before he’s out of her sight he hears her say, “Thank you so much.”

Her cadence, the velvety softness of her voice; it made him want to drop to his knees. How sweet would she sound if he bit into her neck? How soft is her yelp when she stubs her toe? How shrill is her scream when she’s in pain?

Her appreciation made him stop in his tracks. He turned over his shoulder to look at her. She seemed nervous and her eyes were uncertain. Sukuna began to feel restless. So many ideas of what he could do to her if he got her alone were rushing through his mind and she was none the wiser. This aisle has been empty and no one has come by. He could take her right now.

Instead, he looks her up and down. “Yeah, sure.” And then he walks away with his shopping. He leaves wondering when next they’ll meet, she does the same as she watches his back.

“Still haven’t called the maintenance guy, huh? Lazy jackass.”

Sukuna turns his head to the side and glares at his unwanted guest. Toji may have been his best friend, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t want to break his fat neck and bury him in the park. Besides, that title meant jack shit. They met in jail and Toji helped him get on his feet when Sukuna’s sentence was up. Toji never really left him alone and Sukuna stayed because his family was rich. If anything, they were close acquaintances who had sex sometimes.

Speaking of Toji’s money, the asshole grew up in an affluent family which means his standards were a bit too high for the humble abode that Sukuna prefers. It was probably the most annoying part about him. He was complaining about the door to the bathroom. It didn’t close correctly so you had to force it shut. Something that just isn’t enough of a problem to be bothered to try and fix.

“Stop coming over if it annoys you so much,” Sukuna responds, taking another drag from their second blunt for the morning. He was finally starting to feel something from it and he didn’t want to hear Toji whining about bullshit.

“Nah, I think I’ll keep coming. Especially with your fine ass neighbor.” Toji walked away again, not seeing Sukuna’s head jerk towards him. What was he talking about? Sukuna didn’t tell him about her. Did he see her?

“Why the fuck are you in my room?” He gets up to follow behind him. Sukuna looks down the hallway and sees both his room and the bathroom doors wide open. The bathroom was empty. “Get out.”

He starts walking towards his room door but jumps back when Toji rushes out of it. “Come look at this,” he says, grabbing his arm.

Toji had this crazed grin on his face and he was tugging him along impatiently. “What the hell are you-” Sukuna’s words die in his throat as he gazes upon what had Toji so excited. It was his beautiful neighbor changing in front of her mirror again except, there was a big problem. She had never been completely naked before.

Holy shit, her body could stop a truck. Sukuna let his jaw drop. His eyes raked her from her breasts to her legs. She would turn around occasionally, walk back and forth in front of the window, oh he loved the way her tits bounced. He wanted her on top of him, his dick sliding in and out of her while he latched onto her nipple.

“She’s sexy as fuck, huh?” Sukuna’s unceremoniously snapped out of his trance by Toji’s comment. He turns his head towards him looking at his smile and twinkling eyes. “She do this all the time? Does she even know?” Toji gasps and looks him in the eye. “Does she do it on purpose?”

I’m that moment, a switch had flipped inside of Sukuna. Toji was watching her before he brought him in here. He saw her naked first. He shouldn’t have seen her at all. The warm swarm of butterflies in his abdomen had fluttered away, a feeling of rage building in his heart instead. She was Sukuna’s to look at, not Toji’s.

To answer his question, Sukuna shrugs. Then, they both turn towards her again only to make eye contact with her. They see her gasp, cover herself and shriek before running from the window. “Fuck,” they say in unison before shutting the curtain.

“I blame you for that,” Toji says despite both of them being at fault. He puts his hands in his pockets and walks out of the room. “Where’s the blunt?”

Toji may have forgotten about that little encounter, but Sukuna doesn’t think he can forget anytime soon. He hates that Toji got to see her like that. They still haven’t spoken more than once to each other, and now she knows he’s a pervert that stares at her through their windows. Sukuna scowls at the ground then slams his hand into the wall. She’ll leave soon just like the last one did, but this time, he doesn’t want to accept that as a possibility.

He gives himself time to calm down before joining Toji again. He can’t bring work home again.

It was over.

He saw her once after that incident. Waiting for Toji to pick him up for the night, he stood outside the local gas station smoking a cigarette. She’d been on his mind since. She invested in curtains, unfortunately. She was really uncomfortable. He’s not even sure if she’s left the apartment.

Thinking about what happened made him furious. If Toji hadn’t gone into his room he would have never seen her. Oh he just can’t shut the hell up about the shape of her ass and how he would let her suffocate him with her gorgeous thighs. Sukuna sighed, her thighs were gorgeous weren’t they?

She was a missed opportunity. There are so many ways he could have started something with her. It’s not like she didn’t like him, had they met again before that, he’s sure he could have gotten her number. Usually, missing out on a woman wasn’t that bothersome, but she was different for him. He looked forward to beating his dick under the windowsill while she tried on clothes. His imagination wasn’t bad, but by the time he came in his hands, his dick was red and sore and his arm was tired.

His memory is not enough. He wants her.

He looks at the time on his watch. A quarter ‘til midnight. He rolls his eyes. Toji’s always late. A quick snack is in order.

Sukuna mindlessly stares at the powdered donuts wondering if he really feels like fucking up his clothes and having dirty fingers. He hates club bathrooms, the one here is just as bad, and he doesn’t want to lick his fingers. Maybe he won’t. But right before he decides to leave, the door opens. He turns his head upon hearing the small ring of a bell, but doesn’t pay attention to the culprit until they’re in the same aisle. “Oh shit,” he said before he could stop himself.

He tries to look away before she notices, but it’s too late. He looks back at her and grimaces. The girl is shaken to her core. Poor thing is afraid. And while Sukuna feels a bit bad about making such a cutie so frightened, it kind of…warms his heart. She takes in a deep breath and twists back around. She doesn’t even buy anything. She just leaves.

He almost chases her. He stands in the aisle still reveling in her presence. He breathes deeply thinking about how nice it felt to have such power over someone. Hm.

Sukuna leaves the store only a few moments after her. Toji’s BMW was running next to a pump as he got out of the car. “Oh shit, there you are.” He grins. “Guess who I just saw.”

“I know. She was running from me.” Sukuna says, getting into the passenger seat.

Toji cackles while driving away. “Damn, so she’s scared of us, huh?” Sukuna shrugs. “She looked like it. Girl was huffing it. Actually…she ran down the street towards where we’re going.”

Sukuna raises a brow at him. Toji doesn’t say anything and just keeps smiling. “So?”

He turns on his beamers and slows down as he drives between the apartment buildings. Sukuna’s eyes widen as he realizes just what Toji’s trying to do. And soon his lips follow. Just up ahead was a figure with a hoodie walking very quickly. They turn around and immediately shield their eyes from the bright lights. It was her.

She seemed confused at first, and the bright light contrasted with the darkness of the night blinded her from seeing who was in the car. However, she didn’t stop walking or slow down. She decided to mind her business instead. It could be anyone. Anyone. Even though it was the same car waiting at the gas station.

Despite her telling herself that she’s okay, she couldn’t help but notice how they were matching her speed. And that once they had gotten right behind her, the window was rolled down. And that she still had a block left to go.

“Ay,” Sukuna shouted from behind her, effectively terrifying her. She turned to see his smile and upon further investigation, she saw Toji’s from the driver’s seat. Oh no. “You can’t say hi? You scared of me?” He taunts.

She ran.

And that was the worst thing she could have done.

There have been a few recent instances that made her question her move to this city. She was hoping to start a new life, away from her family, away from her ex, make some new friends; she didn’t think she would be planning to move out after a couple months.

That man…she didn’t know what the hell his problem was. Why did he and his friend follow her out of the gas station? Was he crazy? Did she do something to him? Since they followed her, she’s been racking her mind trying to figure out what the hell she did to deserve this. Before that, she had only ever spoken to him once at the grocery store. He was extremely intimidating, but she was intrigued by him. She didn’t mean to stare, but he was very attractive. Clearly he had seen it as some sort of invitation. Maybe he followed her into that aisle and it wasn’t just an act of kindness.

Coming home after work had become so much more nerve wracking. In fact, coming out of her unit brings her horrible anxiety. She’s constantly looking over her shoulder. Tries to pretend the building across doesn’t even exist. She doesn’t understand what took her so long to get curtains; it just wasn’t a priority for her. Either way, she didn’t deserve to be punished for her forgetfulness.

She’s in a weird position where the longer she goes without seeing him, the more worried she becomes even though she never wants to see him or his friend again. Currently, she was in the elevator heading up to her apartment. She was catching her breath and trying to relax now that she was safe. She does this everyday now.

She couldn’t wait to be home. The entire day she’s been feeling like complete crap. Her heart refused to leave her stomach. She dropped so many cups behind the bar that she spent more time sweeping and wiping up drinks than making them. And she was on the verge of tears the entire time. It was nice to be home, but she wondered how bad it would be tomorrow.

In fact, it was so bad today that although she was physically relaxed, her brain just wouldn’t be quiet. It kept telling her to stay alert, that there was still something waiting for her. She tried her best to ignore it and enjoy her night. She was going to kick off her shoes, rip off all her clothes, warm up her leftovers and hit her bong. She was off tomorrow and she is not planning on leaving her room at all.

She messed with her keys when she approached her door. All the apartments had two locks, a deadlock and a lock on the handle, but she was looking for another that she could attach herself. The home goods store near her didn’t have any promising ones, so she had to wait on a shipment.

She reached for the handle to unlock it. Her hand twisted the lever and she retracted it immediately. Her heart starts racing once more, but then she realizes the door was still closed. When she can’t get the door open, she sighs in relief. The deadlock was still intact and locked. The apartments are just shitty.

As relieved as she was in that moment, this just meant she had another problem to deal with. She couldn’t go with one of her locks not working, especially not the handle. In fact, maybe she’ll deal with it tonight. She does have tools and she can be pretty handy when she needs to be.

Like she wanted to, she kicks off her shoes and rips off her jacket. She almost takes off her clothes before she notices a certain smell in the air. Her apartment smelled of weed, but it smelled like someone was actively smoking right at that moment. Maybe it was her next door neighbor.

She walks through her silent home. Maybe she should get a cat. There are quite a few friendly strays around. She could afford-

What was that noise?

A bump. In her bedroom.

What could it have been? Had her worst fears come true?

No. It’s not possible…so why had that sinking feeling returned in full force? There was nothing in her room. There was no one in her room…

Toji had broken the lock for him. 'Just record it for me,' was his end of the bargain.

The place was just as cute as he thought it was. She still had a lot of things unpacked, and she hadn’t gotten a couch for the living room. Hm. He wonders if she really is planning on leaving. That would not be good.

He would want her to stay, but if she can get away from him, at least he’ll get a taste of her.

She leaves her weed out. Hm…he would enjoy this better if he were high. And he’ll make her smoke too.

When he heard her coming closer to her room, he put the bong down and stood up. Her room was small and it was pitch black, the only light coming from the embers in the bowl. He hit her closet door and she heard it. Fuck. He hopes she doesn’t get a weapon out.

And she didn’t. This girl is…something else.

He hides right behind the door in between the wall and the hinges. Then, he waited quietly and patiently until she slowly opened the door and turned on the light. And before she could try to look around, he slammed the door shut behind her.

It all happened in a second.

She heard the door slam and time froze. She told herself then and there, that she was going to die tonight. She knew who her killer would be before she turned around. Did she even want to?

She didn’t have a choice, her body reacted before she could think. All she saw was a small scowl, he had brown eyes, but they looked tainted with blood. His hands, his large hands, shot towards her head and before she could scream he trapped her mouth shut. His other hand gripped the back of her head.

She fought him as violently as she could. She scratched his face, pulled his hair, tried to poke him in the eyes; but he was quick to show her that he was much stronger than her. He pulls his hand off of her mouth and smacks her across the face. She can only scream for a second before his hand is back on her mouth and he pushes her into the bed.

Sukuna takes his hand off of the back of her head and squeezes her neck. He still holds her mouth shut. She gets weaker and weaker as the oxygen leaves her brain. He leans down towards her face to speak to her. “You want to live?”

Tears had long been streaming down her face, but this is the point where she finally breaks down wailing. She lets her arms fall and Sukuna loosens his grip on her neck. But only slightly. She takes a deep breath and cries into his hand. “Answer me,” he says. “Come on, pretty girl.”

She cries a bit more before nodding her head in defeat. “I know. You’re gonna do what I say?”

She nods again. “You’re not gonna scream when I take my hand off?” She sniffles and sobs again. “Because you want to fucking live, right? Right?” He tightens his grip on her neck again. She kicks her feet and nods as best as she can. “Go turn off your light and turn on your lamp. You’re gonna smoke with me.”

He gets off her and watches her to make sure she does what he asks. It takes her a minute, she lays there quietly sobbing and wiping her tears while Sukuna takes another hit of her bong, but eventually she gets up to turn on her lamp, then flip her light switch. “Lock the door too. I like the feeling of extra privacy when I’m taking a woman to bed.”

He disgusts her.

He forces her to take several long hits that had her in horrible coughing fits. And of course, it wasn’t long before she was completely inebriated. She couldn’t really move too much, or think too much. But even though she was out of commission, she could hear every word Sukuna said to her.

He talked her ear off about how he’d been looking at her for a week before they met at the grocery store. All the way up until she realized just how exposed she was from catching him and his friend staring. It was her fault, is what he said. He said she was stupid to not think anyone could see her. She should have gotten blinds or curtains when she moved in. A fucking dumbass bitch.

That’s how she felt.

He taunted her as he watched her take her clothes off. His dick was already in his hand, he had been hard for a while. Imagining his dick finally pounding into her as he squeezes the life out of her.

‘I think you wanted someone to watch you,’ he said to her. She hung onto every word he said, answered every question he had. ‘You’re an attention seeking slut, aren’t you? Nod your head.’ And she did. ‘What’s your name?’ And she told him. ‘Take that shit off faster and come hit this again.’

She was completely out of it, but instead of floating, she sank. She sunk deeper into the bedsheets, Sukuna weighing her down with every word. Every stroke of his hand on her thigh, every lick on her neck and collarbone, every bite on her chest. When he reached down between her legs and stroked her clit, she moaned, then cried in shame.

“Shhhh,” he whispered in her ear from behind her. “You’re gonna love me. And if you’re good I won’t hurt you.” He kisses her ear, then nibbles on it. He leaves a trail of wet kisses down the side of her neck. She cries and shakes, twisting her head away from him as best as she could. Sukuna’s hands explore her body eagerly. He can’t decide whether he wants to grip her hips or play with her nipples. She was so soft, just as he imagined.

He flips her onto her back. “Look at me, baby.” She opens her eyes only slightly, her tears blurring her vision completely before falling. He takes his hand to cup her cheek and wipe them with his thumb. As she gazed upon his naked body on top of hers, she accepts her fate: this man was going to rape then kill her.

He looked deranged. His brows were knit together with a lopsided grin. Her body is racked with sobs once more. “It’s okay,” he tells her. “Shhhh.” He slowly brings his thumb wet with salty tears to her mouth. She tries to pull her head away, but he quickly attaches his hands back to her mouth and head then he leans down towards her. “I thought you said you wanted to live.”

She’s actually not sure at this point. Does she want to live with this trauma? Does she want to continue being this man’s neighbor for him to torture however he sees fit? Does she want to have to look at his building every single day living in fear that he’ll do it again? Living in fear of his friend getting any bright ideas?

“Just relax.” He lets go of her head and goes for her neck. She moans as he bites and sucks on it, making sure to leave a mark reminding her of what he did. It won’t be the only one.

Sukuna slowly takes his hands and lifts both of her legs in the air. He licks his fingers while looking at her, then bites his lip as he plays with her clit once more. She breathes harder and harder with every rub. They don’t break eye contact, it does something to him. He’s reveling in her fear. Her eyes were shot, her mascara and eyeliner running down her face. It made her look even more beautiful. She was making him feral.

Sukuna’s dick was an angry scarlet and dripped precum all over her leg where it rested. He was big and it scared her even more. As his eyes explored her body, he got hungrier and hungrier. He slides a finger inside of her and starts pumping. Her pussy was slick with her arousal.

“Fuck,” he whispered putting in another finger. He pumped his fingers hard enough to make her wetness splash. She threw her head back and arched her chest into the air. She sounded just as sweet as he thought she would. She was turning out to be everything he wanted and more. He wasn’t waiting any longer.

He yanked his fingers out of her and searched her bedside table for his camcorder. She whined when he removed himself from her and watched him. Sukuna pressed record.

“Say hi to Toji,” he told her, sticking the lens in her face. She closes her eyes and tries to avoid the camera. He grips her chin with his fingers and forces her head forward. “Ain’t she pretty?” Sukuna pulls away from her face to record her body. He takes her tit in his hand to play with. He jiggles and pulls on her nipple before smacking it. When she squealed he did it again.

“He’s gonna love watching me fuck the shit out of you.” Sukuna sat and balanced the recorder on her nightstand perfectly angled to show their torsos and hips. He gets back on the bed to grab her waist and pull her towards his. He groaned when he felt his dick rub against her pussy. “You know who I’m talking about, right? My friend? You know he saw you before I did.”

He pauses to spit into his hand and starts jerking his throbbing shaft. “I wanted to kill that fucker.” Sukuna leans over once more and kisses her several times before capturing her lips in one long and forceful kiss. He rubs his dick against her entrance as he does this, with a desperate moan from both of them to accompany it. Sukuna rests his forehead against hers. “Tell me you’re mine.” His eyes are fiery, and she doesn’t wish to find out what will happen if she fails to do what he asks.

His tip begins to poke through her entrance. She whimpers and he brings his head down and bites her lip. “Come on…”

“I’m yours-” He finally starts tucking his dick into her. The feeling of being inside her was heaven on Earth. He wasn’t ashamed of how loudly he moaned. She was louder anyway. They always are. Even when they don’t want it.

“My name is Sukuna.” She takes all of him like a fucking champ. And looks good as fuck while doing it. And her voice…

“I’m yours, Sukuna.”

A tear ran down her cheek. The dragging of his dick against her walls was nothing like she’s ever felt before. It felt so good, but she was the unhappiest she’d ever been. She’s terrified and unsure if she’ll live to see tomorrow. He says he won’t kill her if she’s good, but what does good even mean to him?

She knows there’s nothing she really could have done to avoid what was currently happening to her. This man- no, Sukuna, saw her when she was first moved in and decided then and there that he wanted to rape her. No matter what he claims about her being rude and ignoring him when he helped her. And yet, she blames herself.

If she had just gotten curtains or blinds early enough, then maybe she could have avoided him. Or maybe she wouldn’t have existed to him at all. At least he wouldn’t have known what floor she was on or her room. Maybe he wouldn’t have known what building she was in.

She was so fucking stupid.

He repeated that all night.

‘Stupid fucking bitch,’ he would mutter under his breath. ‘Changing in front of a window, thinking no one’s gonna see you? Posing in mirrors and shit?’ He fucked her at a smooth and steady rythym, she was soaking wet and splashing all over his stubble. The sheets were damp underneath. ‘Oh yeah. You like it when I talk to you like that?’ She couldn’t stop herself from crying in humiliation.

He asked her to cry louder for ‘Toji’, which she did, and he proceeded to smack her across the face for being too loud.

He felt amazing, he pushed her legs into her chest and hammered into her. She cried into his mouth as she came all over him. Her pussy squeezing his member drive him insane and before he knew it he was cumming inside her. ‘Fuck…’ He pulled out and jerked the rest of his cum onto her pussy and thighs. He quickly grabbed the camera to show Toji, with the flash on.

‘Look at that shit,’ Sukuna made sure to examine her at every angle. He pushed his finger into her and chuckled when she moaned. His index was covered with his cum and he brought it and the camera up to her body and face.

She was completely tired out. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she could barely even lift her eyelids. Sukuna kissed at her like a dog, then maneuvered the camera to her face. Her face was soaked with tears and spit. Her makeup had smudged everywhere and ran down her cheeks. Her hair was a mess, and she ached everywhere.

Her mouth hung open and Sukuna proceeded to jam his finger into it. He used it to pull her head back over to him and made out with her. Then, his dick started poking her ass.

She had no idea what time last night they were finally done, talk less of when she actually fell asleep. He smoked a blunt after the whole thing, sat her up so he could make her smoke too. He found her liquor cabinet. The night got worse.

She puked her guts out then fell asleep on the floor, but now she was in her bed trapped underneath him. They were both naked. She was sore as the day was long. He snores next to her. Holy fucking hell. She’s alive. Why is she alive?

She starts breathing heavily and looking around her room. She doesn’t know what to do. She didn’t think she would still be here.

In a flash, he’s up. His hand is over her mouth, and his eyes are staring into hers. He has a poker face. She shakes in his clutches and her eyes fill with tears already. “Relax. Listen to me. I know what you’re planning.”

What? What is he- “I dare you to fucking try and move away from me. I will follow you and ruin your life.”

“You said you were mine last night? Then you’re mine. You’ll do what I say, and I’ll do as I please with you. Do you understand?”

All she could do was nod. What could she say? She was planning on moving despite not having the money for it. She would have to save up. And now that he’s shown her what he’s capable of, why would she take the risk?

Why is this happening to her? What did she do to deserve this? Want a better life for herself?

Sukuna was pleased with how the morning was going.

She was sitting on a stool in her dining room watching him make them breakfast with an ice pack on her face and a blanket over her body. She didn’t know what to think.

Suddenly, he perks up and turns towards her. “You got a phone, pretty?”

She could throw up again. She swallows and points towards the hall . “My room,” her voice was hoarse and weak. “On the other side of the bed.”

He pauses and blinks at her. She gets scared again wondering what she did wrong this time. He turns the heat off. “You’re coming with me.”

Toji answers in a flash. “So, how was it?”

“You’re gonna like what you see.” He turns towards where she’s sitting on the bed. “Isn’t that right?” She’s not amused.

“Are you…are you with the bitch right now?” Toji asks.

“Yeah,” Sukuna makes his voice dreamy. “We’re going steady.”

ending a/n: Please lmk what you think ! Thank you for reading !

Masterlist

W E L C O M E P A G E

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x reader #dark content #very dark #be warned it’s dark #toji fushiguro #toji

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stave-writes · 6 months ago

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Sunday Oak x GN!Reader

Headcanons

A/N: I am SICK!!! of people making Sunday out to be an asshole who would cut you off from everything and everyone just to be selfish, especially if it makes you depressed. Sunday has more love in his heart for everyone and would let you break his heart just to see your smile, this man is sweeter than sugar. Sunday defender #1 is me fight me in my asks I'll win I've been a Zane MyStreet defender before he was popular 💯 💯 💯 💯 💯

Sunday is a gentle lover, he's always been delicate with you. Ghosting touches over the back of your hand, kisses like the brush of a feather on skin and smiles so soft it's hard to even see them when he locks eyes with you across a room. He's besotted with you, no matter what you do. The worst pain you could ever cause him is your suffering, and refusing to let him ease it for you. Hearing you cry makes his heart ache more than any of his own suffering, and he'll do anything he can to soothe you when you're struggling. Sunday sometimes finds it hard to understand what you want or need, being raised in such a way his own needs come second, so when you insist on looking after him...it's odd. He's never been his own first priority before, and it scares him a little. What if he desires too much? What if he's an issue for you? He loves you too much to risk causing you any amount of strife, so you have to beg him to be a burden. Beg him to be selfish. When Sunday is allowed to be selfish, it's cute. He'll plead with you to curl up in bed with him and sleep "Just a little longer, my love?" with those golden eyes of his shining in the early morning light. One arm will lay over you as he presses his face against your neck or back, unable to keep himself from chuckling due to just how lucky he feels having you right here in his arms. He couldn't ask for more of a blessing in love than to be able to behold you in all your glory (even if said glory is when you're drooling in your sleep or snoring so loud you could wake the dead). One of his "guilty" pleasures (damn catholic angel) is having you fussing over his piercings. He feels almost special when you toy with the little gold studs in his ear or the long dangling ornaments he likes to decorate his wings with. Sometimes he'll even ask you to pick which ones he should wear for the day and buy you something to match. If you don't wear jewellery, it'll be something like a matching set of shirt cuffs or a little keychain to match him. Anything he can do to spoil you just a bit. I'm a clipped-wing Sunday truther and so when he finally feels vulnerable enough, the priest-like coat is off and his clipped wing is shown to you, slightly mangled and clearly still sore and sensitive when you try to brush your fingers along it. You can see the twinge of shame and embarrassment run through him as you regard his incomplete self, the self left destroyed by the Dreammaster. Yet, if you tell him you still find him beautiful? He'll smile. He'll wrap you tight in his arms and cry into your shoulder, so relieved you aren't disgusted by him. That he isn't broken or unlovable, he's just...yours. Being able to read your thoughts means Sunday likes to tease you very lovingly when you're comfortable, he'll reiterate what you just thought out loud, or even listen to what you're thinking before buying you the exact thing you wanted and if you ask, he'll jokingly mention "Oh, a little birdie thought you'd like it." Before grinning and turning away, one arm settled on your waist or shoulder as he enjoyed your warmth.

#sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday oak #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #gn reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #fluff #hsr spoilers #honkai star rail spoilers #sunday imagines #sunday headcanons

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wifelinkmtg · 4 days ago

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This was intended to be an essay about chivalry—its history, its uses, its various incarnations—medieval violence, the Romantic reinterpretation, the ideal of chivalry in the American South and its attendant lynch mobs. I would have talked about the chivalric triad: Knight, Innocent, Enemy—the way the Innocent serves as a fulcrum for the Knight to enact violence against the Enemy—the iterations of this triad in any number of places in our society, from the so-called sheepdog mentality trained into our police to the legion of revenge-fantasy Taken clones. I would have talked about the way Kierkegaard in Fear and Trembling incorporates chivalry with the sacrifice of Isaac, the theology of self-justified suffering that comes from that. I would have talked at some length about various portrayals of lesbian chivalry in media—Revolutionary Girl Utena, the Locked Tomb books, Signalis—how they use it, what they say about it, and whether at the end there is anything worth salvaging from this intrinsically violent way of relating to the world, to others, to oneself, to God.

I think a version of that essay might still be worth writing someday, but right now, there's something I need to talk about much more urgently. Right now, there's something I suspect you might desperately need to hear. Today I'm going to talk about Godzilla.

GODZILLA SAVED MY LIFE: A Polemic

Godzilla Minus One (2024) takes place in Japan in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War. Its protagonist, Koichi, is a failed kamikaze pilot who in the opening scenes is repeatedly excoriated for his cowardice and dereliction of duty. When he returns home to a bombed and desolate Tokyo, his bereaved neighbor tells him, if people like you had done their duty, this would not have happened. The film spends the rest of its runtime doggedly refuting this idea. It says, out loud, that the relentless calculus of sacrifice that turns men into things to be spent has no place in this world, that it is needless and cruel. It is not subtle about this point. It is not trying to be.

I saw this movie in its black and white version in theaters in February, on the last day of its run. Its version of Godzilla inspires in me both terror and near-religious awe. It looms over the film, an echo both of the devastation of the war and of Koichi's guilt and shame, its presence inviting—demanding—the final consummation of the mission he abandoned.

I wept in that theater. I gripped my friend's hand and I sobbed. This is unlike me (unless I'm watching Gunbuster), and it took four days for me to work out why this Godzilla movie had affected me so profoundly.

arkansas kamikaze

and she looked, and behold! a beast rose from the sea, and against the beast he breathed glory in a Zero dive. his beatified smile shone from the wreck of the Little Rock Planned Parenthood clinic. and a great wind blew out of heaven, and she woke

and made breakfast, and watched her son wholly absorbed in Bonhoeffer, found her lipstick worn down to the nub for practice stigmata, and saw for a moment the dove descending, the tongue of fire over his head.

The thing about being raised in a right-wing fundamentalist family is that you are from birth being prepared to be a weapon, or a martyr, and there is really no difference between those two things. If my mother had had her way, I would have gone to a tiny far-right college and studied law for the sole and explicit purpose of getting Roe v. Wade overturned. She would, I believe, have settled for me bombing an abortion clinic. Certainly it would have been easier for her to reconcile with that than with what I became instead.

The other thing about being raised in a right-wing fundamentalist family is, some things stick. And it's very hard to notice, as your beliefs and values and identity undergo radical changes, that there is still a whisper in you that believes in the power of the glorious death, of the ultimate virtue of strapping explosives to your chest and walking into the halls of the Enemy. And when you feel helpless, when you watch systems and institutions that ought to prevent atrocities instead encourage them, that whisper grows louder and louder and louder.

Watching Koichi fly his last mission, watching him an instant before impact eject, and live—watching everyone live through the final confrontation because they had all rejected the calculus of sacrifice—allowed me to see also for the very first time this parasitic idea that had grown coiled inside me since infancy, allowed me to see where it had come from, its whole monstrous lineage, and then it allowed me to take hold of it and pull it out.

Twenty days later, Aaron Bushnell set himself on fire outside the Israeli embassy in Washington, DC, in protest of the still-ongoing genocide of the Palestinian people. He was, like me, raised in a right-wing fundamentalist environment. He was, like one of my siblings, a member of the US Armed Forces radicalized by his experiences and his own conscience. People called him a hero and martyr—on this very site, in responses to the excellent Crimethinc piece circulating at the time, I saw people saying they felt like they should follow suit (even though the article in question explicitly and repeatedly warned against it!) As if the loss of a person of conscience and conviction could be anything other than a tragedy, as if anyone in power choosing to support the genocide could regard the death of one of their own soldiers as anything other than what soldiers are for, as if the moral response to a genocide could ever be to add another corpse to the mountain��and still I saw people lionizing him, praising his courage and his sacrifice, all but telling people to follow in his footsteps.

No. Aaron Bushnell was a suicide. He lived his whole life within organizations that taught him that he could purchase more with his death than he could ever accomplish with his life, and while we may praise his conscience, we can only mourn his loss and the grievous error that led him to it.

This is the thing about learning to see this parasite: you begin to see it everywhere. Our history for millennia is awash with human sacrifice: Abraham and Isaac, Jephthah and his nameless daughter, Agamemnon and Iphigenia, the crucifixion of Jesus—and later, litanies, row upon row of dead saints, stories of glorious last stands. The courageous martyred dead: blood and corpses, only and always, to Moloch.

In light of the recent US election, perhaps many of my American readers are feeling shock or horror or despair. I understand, and without blame, with love and gentleness, I tell you that this is because you have not correctly understood the scope of the problem. You imagine a discontinuity between the liberal version of American capitalism and imperialism and the fascist version of the same. No such discontinuity exists. Things will no doubt be different for us here in the US than they would otherwise be, and probably worse, but there is no distinction to be made between the genocide of yesterday and the genocide of tomorrow. The enemy is the same. The work is the same.

Above all else, this is to warn you: when you do this work, when you look for a place you can put your shoulder to the wheel, there will be people who want to spend their lives—or yours—like coin to purchase some great change immediately. Perhaps they mean well, and helplessness and desperation drives them to act without regard for the consequences. Perhaps they do not mean well. Do not follow these people. Perhaps they merely expect you to go to prison, and have no plan for how to support you after that. This is barely different. It is far better for you to languish in useless liberal nonprofits which will accomplish nothing of value than to attempt radical direct action with people with correct politics and no forethought, and end up dead or imprisoned—but these are not the only two options. Aaron Bushnell cannot ever again do anything for anyone. You can.

This is as much as I know for certain. I love you. Don't die.

-------

End Notes

It would not be unreasonable to ask me, in light of what I've said here about martyrdom, what I think of it in other cultural contexts, especially since a similar word is often used to refer to e.g. Palestinian people murdered by Israeli soldiers. The answer is nothing at all. Such people get to use whatever words they want to salvage whatever meaning and comfort they can.

Godzilla Minus One, as effective a movie as it is, was not solely responsible for the scales falling from my eyes. It was an important part of the process, but I doubt it would have sufficed on its own were I not in community with people I trust and talk to about such things. "Godzilla and also my trusted friends saved my life" is, alas, a worse title.

There will be a part two to this. Part one seemed more urgent.

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voidsentprinces · 8 months ago

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lustlovehart · 4 months ago

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Only In Tears and Dreams

Pairing: (Main) Scaramouche x Reader, Wanderer x Reader

Summary: [Angst] The soon to be god meets you in his future, a beautiful love it is. But, it makes him realize, the only way you’ll ever love him, is the version of himself where he’s completely erased. You’ll only be his if he is not himself.

Warnings: Unrequited Love (Reader to Scara), Comfort in Wanderer x Reader portions

The gods must have taken it upon themself to oversee his suffering, cause why is it, the space of solitude he so carefully hoped to salvage from reality, has been tainted with images of what he always believed to be his demise.

You.

The landscape is softly blurred, save for your very clear form. You’re breathtaking. God, he hates you. You’re the sole being capable of making the empty cavity in his chest beat with something that was never there in the first place. You’re the only human in this world he’d even remotely allow insults directed towards him to come from. You’re the only person he can stay in close vicinity with for extended periods of time without throwing lightning to the skies.

You’re you. But… the you in his dreams is different.

There’s no hate in your eyes, it’s you, no doubt, but a version he’s secretly wanted to see himself.

A you who is, undoubtedly, in love with him. No… those eyes that are filled with such a disgusting emotion, are looking at the him with blue and teal wrapped all around him. Not purple and red, not The Balladeer.

It’s then he remembers, you will only ever love him, if he was not himself.

“What’s wrong? You seem off today…” you’re up close, he can see you, he can hear you, but that’s the only two senses he possesses to behold you and your glory. He can’t bury his nose in your neck, he can’t hold your waist in his palm, he can’t taste whatever flavor you have on your lips.

A cruel reminder that the version he holds of you in his heart is only a dream.

“Hm… silent today huh, don’t be so moody, you have one of your political scientifa-magig things going on don’t you? I’ll be sailing back to Fontaine soon so you better enjoy me while I’m here.” You look annoyed, an expression he’s grown accustomed to, but this one is softer than what you give him.

A voice speaks back, sounding too similar. His voice, is heard, but it’s not coming from his lips, it’s from the other him.

“Hm? I had no idea I was holding an overgrown child in my arms, how can someone at your age not be able to pronounce “political science” normally?”

Holding?

Seems the harbinger was too focused on you to notice that, yes, you are held in his arms, you’ve been sat on his lap looking into his eyes this whole time.

“How can someone at your age not be able to grow huh? I must say for someone in science you’re a bit below average h— mhm…! Mm!” The image of a hand pops up, the palm tightly covering your mouth as you fight a struggle to regain speech.

“Someone seems to be forgetting whose bed it is they’re staying in for the next two weeks.”

��Mm!! Mmm… mhm…? MHMM…?!” It’s a scene that would be witnessed in a cheesy rom-com film from Fontaine. If he was in reality witnessing this with any other couple, he’s sure he would turn his head and pretend he hadn’t seen such a disgusting display of affection.

But it’s a little endearing when it’s the two of you.

“Mhm—! Haaa… Okay okay! Sorry Mr “Hat guy”… Jeez, considering you almost suffocated me to death maybe I shouldn’t sleep with you— Ah…!” He watches internally as the blurred vision moves, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Are you gonna throw me in the water…? It’s cause I put sugar in your tea isn’t it…”

“So that was you.” Panic momentarily sets in your eyes with your accidental confession, you grasp around his neck tightening, or at least he thinks you tighten it, his arms slowly leaning you towards the river before quickly pulling you back into his body.

He laughs but you don’t, only chastising him for his attempt at scaring you. “You…! Luckily you met me after I quit the fatui, who knows with your attitude I might have fought you with a delusion.”

“Oh really?” He doesn’t sound amused, albeit, it seems this “Scaramouche” was part of the fatui or at least, played some part in it, as his playful demeanor is quickly dissipated at the mention of that organization.

It’s then when the dream starts to go cloudy, the sight of you slowly rippling away. His hand, not his dream self’s, but his own, almost reaches up to caress your face before you disappear, but his body locks him in place before he can move in time to catch you.

He should be happy. He doesn’t have to see a you he can only despise and wish for in his feelings. He has to remember, that horrid feeling you make him know, is just that, horrid.

Now that he’s seen what he’s secretly wanted. He knows just how detrimental it would be to have that with you. A weakness for him, one that if even minorly damaged, could lead to catastrophic destruction to his psyche.

He’ll claw that feeling out of his body if he has to. Feeling your love was warming, he can’t have that. So, his hand leans towards his chest, his nails pointed directly at the place a heart would be, before punching through.

But yet again he remembers, it was just a dream.

He’s harshly awoken by the sound of footsteps clanking on metal, his body suspended in air. He can feel the nimble fingers of someone connecting the tubes to the holes in his back. But he doesn’t bother to make contact with them. He’s sure, it’s Dottore. That is until, he’s not so sure

His synthetic puppet torso shakes a little as the first tube is connected, a hand placed on his chest to stop him from shaking. A hand, that’s all too familiar.

When the mysterious helper emerges from below, his eyes can’t seem to stop themself from looking.

“You.”

“Yes, me. Who else would you have trusted with impaling you, my Lord?”

“Ha? Anyone but you, at least if they killed me through an accidental misplacement they would find assistance or cower at their lord's body.” He just woke up, that dream has not yet disappeared from his collective consciousness. “You would do it on purpose and then watch me fall without any form of continuing the job.”

“If you talk anymore you might put that scenario into action, Sir, though, if it did come true I can’t deny I wouldn’t do what you just stated.” He doesn’t talk back, only a tut leaving his lips before you dive down to insert the next mechanical implement in.

Though, he does wonder.

“[Name], where do you live?”

“Oh? Are you suddenly interested in my personal life? I don’t think it’s a good look for a god to be hooking up with a mortal.”

“I’m not asking for something that foolish. Answer.”

“I live in Fontaine— Lived, I mean.” He can tell you didn’t like his sudden change in demeanor, as he quickly can feel you connect his wiring slower, but also a lot more forcefully, dare he say even painfully. Though he doesn’t cause he’s not so weak as to admit that as hurt. He’s a puppet— no, a god, this doesn’t hurt.

The cold glare you give him stings a little though. Just a little. But he won’t admit that either.

“Hm.”

“You ask but don’t say anything? I shouldn’t have even replied to your stuck-up—“

“Why did you join the fatui?” … You seem to lack a comeback. “And you say I’m the one who doesn’t speak back.”

“I’m almost done. You’ll be on the way to becoming a god soon enough my Lord, once I’m finished will you please allow me to take my leave and—“ his hand is only seen in a flash, his finger already gripping onto your wrist tight enough he might as well be acting as a handcuff.

“No, stay with me.”

“If I don’t go back to Sir Dottore, he’ll get mad.” His eyes narrow at the mention of the name before returning to their original form.

“To hell with that doctor, you’d defy a future god?”

“Future, My lord. Besides, would a god need a mortal by his side?” Your words are sharp, they seem to have cut him deep as his grasp on your wrist loosens before eventually falling back to his sides, his head turning to let out the second scoff of the night.

“No, not at all.”

“Then… I’ll be going. Goodbye sir, good luck on your endeavors of godhood.” You don’t look back at him. For a moment, his soul flinches at the familiar sight. All too similar to the woman who started it all, his mother.

He doesn’t call out to you, only watching the sight of that wretched doctor grabbing hold of your shoulder and leading you out the door. He thinks to himself, the moment he’s ascended, maybe he’ll become great enough to see reverence in your eyes.

Or maybe, something that isn’t reverence, or praise? No… a feeling he’ll forever refuse to hold. For now, he’ll convince himself that all he wants is your submission, not anything more. However, that nagging feeling he wields will always remind him in the back of his head what he really wants from you.

He remembers that dream.

It was warm, something he didn’t think his synthetic body was capable of feeling, yet here he was, resting his head in the warmth of you. His eyes were entirely focused on the look of your face as your fingers combed through his hair.

He couldn’t feel it at all, but somehow, it felt as if your touch transcended his body and reached his soul in the dream. His eyes water before his hand quickly wipes them away without even letting the tears fall.

But he won’t ever feel that. Perhaps, it’s for the best. A god must be above mortals, so he will not grow attached to those who must be beneath him. He will throw you away just like he did to the rest of those sorry humans in his life. He will forget you just like he forgot them.

You will be nothing but a character meant to build his higher being self to greatness. He will feel nothing but godhood in his veins.

Love is only an obstacle meant for distraction.

After he had regained the memories of his past sins, he no longer has a name to call his own, only having the name the traveler bestowed upon him.

His feet walk across the pavement of Sumeru, running errands for the small god of Sumeru. Particularly, it seemed many citizens that day must’ve all collectively agreed to bombard him with annoyances, as they all looked at him too many times and spoke too loudly when he was near. But, they didn’t, he’s just in a bad mood.

From the corner of his eye, he spots the familiar uniforms of the fatui, a woman and a man exchanging whispers while searching the area.

“Where’s [Name]? Surely they know the doctor is asking for them.”

“I don’t know! The last time they were seen—“

The name strikes a chord in him, but he continues walking. He no longer plays any part in that wretched organization, so he won’t pay any more mind to it.

He will keep walking until he can’t anymore—

A quick hand on his arm pulls him to the side, a familiar hue in their eyes alerting him as to who this runaway is. Even with their face covered in shadow from the hood, that voice was all he needed to confirm.

“I’m so sorry sir, but do you have any idea what the quickest way to get to Fontaine would be from here?”

I didn’t make it exactly clear because I didn’t think it was too important for the plot, but in this Reader is an assistant working directly under Dottore a bit against their will but thats okay (no it’s not). Also for the dream bit, I may not have made it clearly, but essentially, Scara is looking through the eyes of wanderer, along with that, he has no idea this is his future, he’s under the impression that his mind is playing tricks on him and showing a “what could’ve been.”

#vesperwrites #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche angst #scaramouche x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #wanderer x reader #wanderer angst #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche #wanderer #wanderer fluff

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verinarin · 9 months ago

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𝐂𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 - 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐬

angst with comfort | he didn’t come today, you don’t miss him do ?

an. Miss me ?, I hope you do miss me since this is my first full fledged angst I write for Ratio, I hope you guys enjoy ! ヽ(；▽；)

art by @/hsgbisuw on twt

It was a calm day, too calm for your liking. Usually at this precise second Veritas Ratio would knock on your doors with all of his might and glory, how could he not ?. You were doomed to be woven into his research by the looms of fate, yet he’s not here.

He was never late before, likewise he was also never early. Right at 12 o’clock he would knock on your door, yet he isn’t, not today. Why ? you asked yourself. It is unnatural for you to let that man live in your head rent free, yet he broke something constant between you both. zAs much as you hate how better his thesis compares to yours, his gentle scoffs as he oversees your draft, you can’t help but to respect the candid fellow or at least respect his dreams and values.

Missing him however was not on your list, you don’t hold any fondness towards him, just respect. Only respect, or at least that’s what you like to convince yourself of. Yet your actions spoke differently, from staring at your phone, waiting for an explanation for his absence, staring at the clock. Patiently counting how long it has been since his supposed arrival, yet he never came.

The clock strikes at 8 in the evening, it is sufficient to say that he’s not coming, you wanted to text him for a reschedule or to simply ask his whereabouts but you didn’t. Since there’s no need to do so, he has shown his resolve by his actions. Perhaps you bore him so he decided to substitute you for another brilliant mind, no harm no foul, you thought.

As you stood up from your desk to pack your belongings, a twist on your door knob could be heard, that means that the person behind the door must've had important matters to attend to you since they skipped the courtesy to knock on your door, at this hour nonetheless.

Once you turned your gaze towards the door, low and behold Veritas Ratio with all of his flaws full on displayed for you, his usually groomed hair, now damp as well as the rest of his clothes, he looks like a wet dog you thought, “I’m quite late aren’t I ?,” he chuckled as he brushed through his wet hair.

“What brings you here ?, it is well past our usual schedule,” you walked towards him with a concerned look on your face, he let out a small chuckle as he made himself comfortable on your couch.

“Well excuse my late arrival, I had matters to attend to,” he replied vaguely, not wanting to disclose whatever it was he was attending.

“It is best for you to not come at all, it’s already late for us to start our thesis,” you sat beside him as you examined his whole stature, his breathing patterns are erratic, it contradicts his usual calm pattern.

“I’m not here to talk about our little project I’m afraid,” oh that’s new !, you felt a sudden rush through your body, in a way your flight or fight sense has been activated.

“Oh ?, so why the sudden visit ?,” you asked, gazing straight at his face, his sharp features glistening beautifully underneath the moonlight, the sight would leave anyone who gazed upon in breathless, yourself included but he didn’t need to know that of course.

“Do you not miss me ?, or search for me at all ?, are you not concerned with my wellbeing ?,” he asked calmly as he looked towards you, like a deer caught in headlights you freeze.

That was not a reply you were hoping, it was a trap.

Now your mind starts to isolate itself into a total state of seclusion, ignoring the man beside you, riddled with his own inquisitive mind pondering the answers to his question.

Did you miss his companion ? perhaps.

Did you search for him ?,you did ask Aventurine about his whereabouts, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Are you concerned with his well being ?, you might have. Proven by the fact that you had to physically restrain yourself from searching for him.

“No, I do not care about you that much I’m afraid, we’re just colleagues after all,” you lied, for reasons you can’t disclose. He simply scoffs as he folds his arms together; a self pitying laughter could be heard seconds afterward.

“I see, then can you perhaps prove your claims,” he smiles.

His expression, so sincere and true that it scares you to a certain degree. You’re horrified how easily he steps inside your heart. With just a mere smile he could do that, how gruesome.

“Sure, let’s get this over with,” you replied and with that he leaned closer towards your ear, you could hear your own heartbeat, matching his erratic pace. Scary you thought as you sealed your lips shut.

“Are you perhaps familiar with the term Cognitive Dissonance,” his voice lures you, dangerously so to the truth. The truth you weren’t prepared to disclose nor acknowledge.

“Yes, but I don’t see how it connects to whatever it is you want me to prove,” you reply, trying to move on from his argument. As though lost in the middle of the sea, he’s getting close to the shore and you’re not sure if you want him to step on land or to drown.

“You see,” he whispered as his hand tipped your chin forward to meet his eyes, “Your actions contradicts your beliefs, it’s uncomfortable is it, am I getting too close ?, physically or perhaps psychologically ?,” he did it, he really did step foot on uncharted territories.

“Too close, there’s a thin line between us that you’re stepping on Veritas,” you whispered back hoping he would give up on whatever conquest he’s currently embark upon. Yet he dares step closer, leans as close as he could get without scaring you away.

“Is that so ?, would you let me walk to the other side ?,” he asked, his voice as gentle as it could be, in contrast to how stern it used to linger on your ears.

“I-i—” not a single thought could form in your mind, the things he implied. You’re scared to misinterpret the situation, making yourself a fool in front of him.

“Don’t think, feel. Would you let me cross to the other side ?,” he whispers in which it successfully breaks you from your trance.

He reached at your hand, guiding it against his own beating heart as his forehead rested on yours. You could feel his palpitation, his warmth, his sincerity.

You could feel him, not perceive him anymore.

You feel him with all of his sincerity and tenderness.

“Do you miss me ?,” he asked again, patiently waiting for your answer while his lips graze slightly onto yours.

“Yes, I do miss you, Veritas, ”

#☆彡veririnwrites #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio angst #dr ratio fluff

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ruinofchimera · 2 months ago

Note

Please tell us more about Voldemort's relationship with Severus, and why you think it differs so much from Voldemort's other relationships

Whatever it is that lingers between Tom and Severus—power, manipulation, some dark bond none of us can fully grasp—it naturally ignites chaos in the mind of the beholders. And if you’re eager to feel that burn, I’ll gladly embrace you in it. To you brave, reckless souls, I say this: your wish is my command.

So, here we are, picking apart how Severus Snape—mudblood, poor, and bruised from the heavy hand of a Muggle father—managed to land himself a spot at the table with the most rabid pack of blood purists you’ve ever seen. A table, mind you, he had no business sitting at. The Death Eaters, that tight little clique of privileged purebloods, had no real reason to let in this scruffy little outsider. Sure, Snape was useful. Very useful. His skills were sharp as knives, and he could do their dirty work, get his hands filthy so they didn’t have to. But useful doesn’t mean welcome. Useful doesn’t mean accepted. You know who else was useful? Fenrir Greyback and his mangy lot. They brought terror to the doorsteps of half the wizarding world, and did Voldemort’s cause no small service. But did they get a place at the inner circle? Did they get respect? Hell no. They were the dirt beneath the boots of the real Death Eaters. Useful filth. And then there’s Snape, embodying everything these purists claim to despise—a half-blood with a tainted surname, living in squalor, dragged through the muck by a Muggle brute of a father. By all accounts, Death Eaters should have spat in his face and tossed him out like yesterday’s rubbish. But no. Not only does he get a seat at the table, he rises. He’s placed on a pedestal, standing closer to Voldemort than some of the most loyal, purest-blooded lackeys in the room. Voldemort, in all his cold-blooded glory, didn’t just tolerate Severus. He raised him up, right in front of their sneering, offended faces. Now, here’s where it gets really interesting. If you think Voldemort did this out of some sense of gratitude, you’ve missed the point entirely. Tom Riddle doesn’t do gratitude. That kind of sentiment is beneath him, an alien concept. Voldemort doesn’t reward; he uses. Deeds done in his name are expected, not appreciated. You’re not going to get a pat on the back from a man who thinks the world owes him its loyalty. Snape’s service should’ve earned him nothing more than a brief reprieve from pain. A loosening of the noose around his neck, if he was lucky. That’s Voldemort’s way—keep them all desperate, keep them all afraid. So why did Snape, of all people, get raised up? Why did he, the least likely among them, become a favorite?

Mind, it’s not just me declaring Snape as Voldemort’s favorite. That dark, twisted bond is laced into nearly every interaction between the two, as if something unspoken and festering passes between them. But it’s Narcissa Malfoy who lays it bare. A woman born into the highest echelons of pure-blood privilege, the very foundation on which Voldemort’s so-called supremacy stands, doesn’t hesitate when she calls him “the Dark Lord’s favorite, his most trusted advisor.” Let that sink in.

Here is the wife of Lucius Malfoy, a man whose lineage is steeped in the darkest of traditions. But when her family’s future is on the edge of a wand, when her son’s life dangles by a thread, she doesn’t rely on Lucius, doesn’t turn to Bellatrix. No, she comes to Severus, because deep down, she knows. They all do.

It’s something more insidious, something that slips through the cracks in the floorboards of Voldemort’s ideology. He is the one Voldemort trusts, the one Voldemort leans on, the one whose counsel can shift the dark winds of fate. That is real power, raw and untouchable. Narcissa sees it—how could she not? Even with all her aristocratic pride, even with the weight of her name and her family’s legacy pressing down on her, she understands that none of it means a damn thing next to what Snape has. Narcissa, with her family’s long, proud heritage, has to grovel before someone who, by the very logic of Voldemort’s cause, should be inferior. But Snape is different, and everyone knows it. They may not say it, they may not even want to admit it, but they know. He operates outside the lines, above the fray, immune to the very rules that were meant to keep people like him down. Snape, the half-blood, the one with the muddied past, holds a kind of sway that no one else in Voldemort’s ranks can claim.

Oh, there comes the bitter irony of Peter Pettigrew. After years of scraping and groveling, thinking he’d earned his place in the Dark Lord’s favor, Peter is handed over like a rag for Severus to wring out. Peter, one of the smug Marauders who’d gleefully hounded Snape through school, reduced now to something just shy of a house-elf, bowing and cringing under Snape’s very roof. A cruel twist of fate, no doubt arranged with Voldemort’s signature malevolence. Was this some attempt to plant a spy in Snape's house? Maybe, if you take it at face value. But think for a moment—Voldemort, who couldn’t pry Snape's treachery from his skull with all the power of Legilimency, putting his trust in Wormtail to do the job? The rat that couldn't outsmart a dormitory prank, never mind a master of deception like Severus?

No, this isn’t espionage; this is karma. Cruel, twisted karma orchestrated by the Dark Lord himself. You can almost picture Severus watching Peter scuttle about his house, casting him those withering, superior glances—knowing full well that Tom has given him this indulgence, this little taste of vengeance. Snape treats Wormtail with open contempt, because he knows he can. He knows it’s allowed, expected even. It’s as if the tables have turned in the most bitter of ways, a humiliating reversal of fortune. Pettigrew, who once revelled in Snape’s humiliation, now reduced to the lowest of roles, while Snape—Voldemort’s golden boy—sits at the top. Isn’t it delicious? You’d have to be blind to chalk it up to coincidence. Moreover, Pettigrew’s fate is all the proof you’ll ever need that Voldemort’s rule isn’t founded on something as simple or sentimental as loyalty. Loyalty? Sacrifice? Please. Pettigrew’s life was one long, groveling act of desperation to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces. You bring your master back from the brink of death itself, and still, all you get is contempt. Voldemort demands service, sure. But service? Guarantees nothing. And when you set Severus and Peter side by side, the question gnaws at you. Why? Why is Snape the favored one, the exception, the enigma in Voldemort’s otherwise brutal, predictable hierarchy? What makes him different? There’s something between them—something that doesn’t follow the usual logic of power and punishment. Voldemort doesn’t just tolerate Snape’s defiance; he rewards it, bends the system to accommodate it. Something unspoken, something hidden behind the masks they both wear, grants Snape a level of favor that Pettigrew could only dream of.

What’s crucial to grasp here is that Voldemort doesn’t spare anyone. His entire ideology is rooted in cruelty, in domination, in the ruthless obliteration of all who oppose him. He doesn’t just eliminate enemies; he obliterates them, wipes them from existence without a second thought. And yet, here’s the anomaly: Lily Evans, mother of Harry Potter, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a Muggle-born witch, is offered a chance to live. Live. This decision, however, is directly tied to Snape. Snape had begged Voldemort to spare her, and it is this plea—Snape’s plea—that softens the Dark Lord’s otherwise unyielding cruelty.

To truly grasp the enormity of this act, we need to take a step back and consider Snape’s position in all of this. Remember, Severus was just 21 years old when he found himself pleading with Voldemort, one of the most dangerous dark wizard in history, to spare Lily Evans.

Snape wasn’t the imposing, confident figure we often associate with him thanks to Alan Rickman’s performance—he wasn’t a man exuding quiet menace, seemingly capable of standing toe-to-toe with Voldemort. No, at this point in canon, he was barely more than a boy, a young man fresh out of Hogwarts, with no powerful lineage or wealth to protect him.

And yet, despite this—despite the sheer imbalance of power between them—Snape dared to approach Voldemort. Voldemort. With a plea. Not for himself, but for a Muggle-born witch. At best, Snape’s request might have been laughed off, dismissed as the desperate wish of a foolish young Death Eater. But it wasn’t. For some reason, Voldemort didn’t just tolerate Snape’s plea—he actually acted on it.

Consider how critical this moment was to Voldemort’s larger agenda. At the heart of his entire scheme is a singular, consuming fixation: the annihilation of the child prophesied to be his undoing. Harry Potter is Voldemort’s obsession, the one threat he must eliminate to secure his dominion. The Potters were no longer just enemies—they were the key to his future, and Harry was the focus of his most crucial mission. In this context, sparing anyone even remotely connected to Harry was an extraordinary risk. Leniency wasn’t just unnecessary—it was dangerous. By showing mercy to Lily, Voldemort risked undermining his own carefully constructed agenda. And this wasn’t a moment where Voldemort could afford to make mistakes.

This unprecedented act of “mercy,” this concession Voldemort granted Snape, became the very thing that led to his downfall. Had Voldemort simply killed Lily Evans on the spot, as he did James, she would never have had the chance to sacrifice herself for Harry. The protection her sacrifice invoked—the ancient magic that saved Harry’s life and turned Voldemort’s killing curse back on him—would never have existed. Voldemort, the cold strategist, fell because he didn’t bend for anyone—except, inexplicably, for Snape. And that single, dangerous deviation cost him everything. That’s how it’s all started.

And there it is— how it’s all ends. Voldemort’s final words to Severus Snape before he executes him. But pay attention to how he begins. “Clever man,” he calls him. He suggests that Snape might’ve already known the truth of the Elder Wand’s treachery. Tom would never acknowledge someone’s cleverness if it undermined his own intellectual abilities. If he implies that Snape may have already unraveled the mystery of the Elder Wand, it undoubtedly indicates that Voldemort had recognized Snape’s crucial role in the wand’s problems long before. It’s not just idle chatter or casual flattery. No, it’s a bloody confirmation that Voldemort himself had long ago pieced together the mystery of Snape’s involvement with the wand. This wasn’t some last-minute realization that forced his hand. It wasn’t ignorance that delayed Snape’s death, not at all. It was deliberation. Voldemort, for all his cruelty, wasn’t stupid. He suspected, long before that moment, that Snape was at the center of the problem with the wand’s loyalty. He just chose not to act on it until the very last moment.

He held back from executing him, searching for any other way around the wand’s limitations, trying to find a solution that didn’t involve killing Snape. But when it came down to it, when all other options were exhausted, Voldemort finally made his move.

And what does he do? He delivers a speech. A bloody speech, full of regret and excuses—“I regret what must happen.” Does that sound like the Voldemort we know? The Dark Lord who kills without a second thought, who carves his empire from the bones of the disobedient? Hell no. This is the man who thrives on fear, on swift, brutal punishment. And yet, here he is, delivering justifications like some guilty executioner. This isn’t Voldemort’s usual method. This isn’t the whip coming down fast and hard. This is something altogether more… hesitant.

That speech, soaked in rationalizations, tells us everything we need to know. Snape’s death wasn’t just business—it was personal. It’s a messy, ugly end to the unexplainable dynamic between them. Even at the very end, Voldemort is bending, twisting, trying to justify his actions to the one man who had managed to worm his way under his skin. And in that second, we see something rare—a glimpse of the complexity in their relationship. Voldemort’s usual ruthless efficiency is absent.

His “I regret it,” spoken once more, stands out like a blade in the gut, sharp and unexpected, slicing straight through Voldemort’s usual cold indifference. The Dark Lord, who has never spared a thought for the wreckage in his wake, lets these words hang in the air, unnatural as they are. A man who’s never known the weight of remorse now offers something that almost feels like regret. Not true regret, of course—Voldemort doesn’t have the luxury of feeling something so weak, so human. But still, It’s not a sentiment he offers to anyone else. It’s almost as if Voldemort doesn’t know how to process this lingering attachment, as though Snape’s mere existence demands something from him that Voldemort is incapable of giving. Snape occupies some strange corner of Voldemort’s mind, twisted and dark it may be, that not even the Dark Lord himself seems to understand. Despite the fact that I’ve painted a whole canvas of tangled thoughts on the strange relationship between Severus and Tom, I’ve barely begun to tug at the thread of their inexplicable dynamic. There’s so much more I could unearth, layers of intrigue and tension that ripple through every scene between them, and I could easily go on for hours about the small, delicious details woven into their story. But, as it happens, my full-time job is already sharpening its knife and aiming for my back, so I'll have to bring this whole saga to a close with the following quote:

For me, the intensity of this scene speaks volumes about their relationship, capturing the very essence of what makes these two so bloody fascinating. The way their gaze alone can make Death Eaters flinch under the weight of their unspoken understanding. It’s not fear, not exactly. It’s something colder, something deeper. As though they’re witnessing a bond forged in the dark, a grim understanding that none of them can ever be a part of.

That’s what keeps dragging me back to these two. The tension, the labyrinth of contradictions, the complex tangle of manipulation. I want to look away—hell, I should look away, just like the Death Eaters did. But there’s something about it, something that coils around me, tightening like a serpent’s embrace. Can you blame me?

#severus snape #tom riddle #voldemort #harry potter #lily evans

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vxnuslogy · 4 months ago

Text

– rainswept sins, you're forgiven.

pairing: sunday x gn!reader

premise: in the presence of the harsh downpour of rain, you and sunday let it was away your past sins and learn how to finally forgive.

– warnings: slight angst if you squint.

– author's note: me when i get motivated to write when tiktok shows me random poetry and they remind me of sunday <3. if any of the hunters sees this, yes the title is intentional LMAOO. art credits to @.helen_zzhao. | 2.4k words.

what a dull day today was your first thought. here you were, stranded on the planet of mendasia after a mission, clutching your bag filled with exotic flower. the downpour of the rain was unrelenting as you heaved out a sigh. you’ve already sent a message in your group chat for someone to come pick you up after not heeding kafka’s warnings. even under the rain, the wasteland that was once graced by idrila, looked beautiful. still carrying that paradise people sang about in ballads.

the sight reminded you of that fateful day of your aeon’s final departure.

you were taken back to the days where everything was simple. how you longed to watch the stars pass you by in a blur while adventuring. the golden ticket hidden in your breast pocket suddenly felt heavier than it should have. it was always like this; remembering was painful but you couldn’t bring yourself to forget.

“you’ll catch a cold, mx. [name].” the rain over your head ceased as the figure of a certain halovian came into view. he still had a soft smile on his face when the raindrops soaked his hair and wings. he looked more like a wet cat than an angel sent from above. speaking of wings, when you look up, a surge of pride washed over your heart when you saw his wings in their full glory.

“they’re beautiful…” you reply in a whisper. hand coming to smooth out the feathers and gliding over the golden exoskeleton you created after your last mission in the capital of passion. you don’t miss the slight shudder that went through him when your hand touched his feathers. “have they been serving you well?”

sunday stands beside you, shielding you away from the rain. his gloved hand tugging at your sleeve, pulling you closer to his side. “they have, thank you for creating them.”

you hum in response. pushing away your drenched hair, you soak in his new clothes. he still wore a black shirt with the same gold engravings of the order that’s layered with a white coat and a black corset hugging his abdomen with matching white pants and his usual shoes. when you peer over his shoulder you take notice of the small cape in dark blue. sunday cleared his throat after noticing your staring.

“miss kafka had them tailored for me,” he said, voice laced with shyness. “do they look strange?”

“you look beautiful in white.”

shocked and unprepared for your straightforwardness, sunday couldn’t help the flush that creeped up his cheeks and ears. wings flapping slightly in secret delight as he looked forward. a curled gloved hand hiding half of his face when he muttered a soft thank you.

maybe your nostalgia was fueling your bravery. you weren’t this blunt and forward with your compliments to sunday’s beauty, but today you let yourself heave out a sigh in contentment. sunday was always a sight to behold, premium eye candy if you will. you stopped eyeing the man when your conversation with elio replayed in your mind.

“you cannot favor him over the rest, [name].” destiny’s slave said as he sat down behind his desk.

“i’m not favoring him.” you weakly argued, taking the seat across from him. you had always teased his appearance for looking like a sickly victorian child in a pandemic, but you figured now was not a good time to joke.

the man sighed and leaned back on his chair. “what’s really bothering you, [name]?”

you pause for a moment before replying.

“maybe recruiting sunday was the wrong choice.” you don’t point out how his eyes widened. rarely do you question elio’s intentions of recruiting other hunters, he’s done you a big favor in the past and questioning him would be rather ungrateful. but still, you can’t help but let the monster in your heart claw at your ribs. “he doesn’t belong here.”

“and where do you suppose he will go? the express?”

you opened and closed your mouth, no reply leaving your lips as destiny’s slave sighed.

“you cannot project your wishes to be redeemed onto him.” he stands up with his arms crossed behind back. voice unwavering and so sure it left you looking down on your curled hands. feeling like a child being scolded for speaking out of turn. “you’ve made your choice. let him make his own.”

“mx. [name]?”

you snapped out of your flashback when sunday took hold of your shoulder. grip tight with concern and eyes furrowed with confusion. shaking your head you clutch your bag tighter and sigh for the nth time. “i’m sorry what were you saying?”

he pressed his lips to a thin line, letting his hand retreat to his side. “i said we should wait for the rain to stop before meeting with the others.”

oh, that’s right. sunday must have seen your message and came to pick you up. staring up at the sky, you try to predict how long you’ll be stranded under the rain with only his wing and being shielding you from the cold.

“is your wing tired yet?” you ask and look at him. “it might take a while before the rain stops.”

with a small smile he shook his head no. a chuckle leaving his lips when his hand came to fidget with his gold earring. a small habit you notice he’d do whenever he’s deep in thought. “don’t worry, this is a good form of exercise for me.”

you only hummed. eyes staring at your feet and the nearby puddles of water caused by the rain.

“this reminds me of the time when you first found me.” sunday spoke, his voice laced with tenderness.

you smile and chuckle. “i’m surprised you remember.”

he let out a snort and shrugged his shoulders. “well, it was quite memorable. i feel a couple hundred feet from the air and suddenly a black cat and its owner come to save me.”

“i take it this is your way of repaying the favor?” you jest.

“i suppose it is.”

as you both wait for the rain to stop, you take your time to reflect on how far you’ve gotten in your journey. you’ve changed, but you’re still the same person that boarded the train you didn’t even know existed. the same carelessness that landed you a quick scolding session from a higher being. the love for invention and taking pride when others use it. you still liked the conductor’s coffee over tea but drank it whenever kafka offered you a cup. you were still you after everything.

and sunday was the same. he was still a bit awkward with the others, but he didn’t completely avoid everyone anymore. he started joining everyone when eating and he still has that sacrificial mindset of his that lands him a chop to the head. and he still knew how to read everyone like a book.

“do you regret joining destiny’s slave?”

“there’s really no escaping you, is there?”

you reach out your hand to feel the rain under your skin. shoulders tensing when the cold drops felt more like bullets penetrating your skin. you ponder over the question in your head. you wonder what expression you were making for sunday to scoot just a tiny bit closer to you. a distance that far surpasses what he deems professional.

“just a bit.”

“pardon?”

“i regret it. but just a small smidget of it.” you take a deep breath and pull your hand back. taking out the golden ticket from your breast pocket, you stare at it with eyes filled with longing. “i miss akivili; more than i should.”

“akivili,” sunday mutters under his breath. “your aeon?”

you chuckle. “more than that. they were my family.”

turning the small ticket over, you see your name engraved in it with their handwriting. “they were my aeon. i never realized how much i devoted to them until i lost it all.”

this was why elio warned you to keep your head straight whenever it came to sunday. just like him, you were too devoted to a god that’s already long gone. the thought of akivili being dead often sent you spiraling into a hysterical fit of sadness. elio feared you would go out of your way to look into sunday’s methods on how to revive a fallen aeon.

“i never realized.” sunday murmurs, his molten gold eyes stared at the ticket with furrowed brows. “do the other hunters know?”

“just elio and kafka.” you flip the gold bar like a coin in your hands to distract yourself. “they were there when i went haywire and nearly got myself killed.”

you feel sunday’s gaze bore a hole into the side of your head. “why didn’t you go back?”

that’s a good question, why didn’t you go back? it was obvious from the conductor’s anonymously sent letters and not to mention the missing posters of you plastered on the planets you’ve traveled to. the poor thing wanted nothing more than for you to come back, but you chose to become a slave to destiny instead. all because of your guilt and shame.

“elio often told me, “you love akivili too much” and i suppose he’s right,” you chuckle as you tuck the ticket back in your breast pocket. “i love them to death. and they’d be the only one to bring me back to life. they were my everything. and i killed them.”

“what?”

you turn to sunday, a bitter smile on your lips. “are you surprised?”

“i–” sunday paused, trying to piece his words together. “i don’t believe it.”

you sigh. “well, to say that i killed them wouldn’t be accurate. but still, the fact that i got them killed still remains.”

“surely there must be more to that story.”

a chuckle left your lips. “i wish that were the case. but if i were to lay down the entire story, it all comes down to one thing.”

“and that is?”

“recklessness.”

you smile at sunday’s efforts at comforting you, but you didn’t like the frazzled look in his eyes. both pairs of his wings tense in an uncomfortable way it has you wincing. if you hadn't grazed your hand over his feathers he would’ve let them be tense the entire way back and you didn’t want that. you didn’t want to compromise his progress.

“do you think your a bad person, mx. [name]?” he asked. eyes trained on the tip of his shoes.

your hands pause their ministrations. caught off guard by his questions, your eyes widened as you looked at sunday. you notice the uncertainty in his eyes, the tension that started to build up on his shoulders, as if he’s bracing for a blow. the question isn’t unfamiliar, you often ask yourself after that particular mission and those conversations with elio.

before you can respond, sunday lifts his gaze and meets yours. the same pool of gentleness you saw on the roof on your last mission. “i don’t think you are. i’ve seen firsthand on how much you care –about me and the others–how hard you try to keep everyone safe and on the right track.”

“do i now?” you jest with a tilt of your head.

sunday continues, his voice steady and sure. “everyone has their moments of regret. actions they wish to undo. but,” he takes a closer step to you and takes hold of your hand. “those moments don’t define your entirety. you taught me that, didn’t you?”

you think back on when you first met sunday as he rubbed circles on your knuckles. how he didn’t even want to eat the food you offered him in a fit of paranoia. the way he’d pace around the base at night because his past haunted his dreams. and the time when you sat him down after a nasty fall when he tried to take flight, a conversation of vulnerability that had him grimacing and hissing like a stray cat.

“i did say that didn’t i.” you chuckle and close your eyes. the feeling of his spread wing encircled you in a slight hug, you didn’t even realize that the rain had died down to a soft drizzle.

“you told me that the mistakes i’ve made in the past shouldn’t chain me; that i’m free to move on from them. redemption isn’t a one-time thing; it’s a journey.”

you feel a lump in your throat form, voice cracking slightly. “and what if those moments have piled up to one giant mess that can be deemed unforgivable?”

“but i forgive you.”

his words hung in the air like a lifeline for you to grab. you look at sunday, truly look at him –not just a quick peek or glance. even when his bangs stuck to his forehead in the rain, you felt such a pull to his eyes that reminded you of the morning sun; the dawn you always looked forward to after a tough night. his eyes reflected the faith you’ve tried to show him when he first joined.

“sunday…” you start, but he only shakes his head.

“i forgive you, [name] –everyone has. i know you’re trying, and that means more than the mistakes you’ve made in the past.”

slight tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you lean your head on his chest. “and who gave you the right to forgive me huh? i know you haven’t forgiven yourself for what you’ve done back in penacony.”

“then i’ll repent,” his arm pulled you closer to his chest, his hand supporting the back of your head. “even the devil would kiss your eyes and beg for forgiveness if it meant you’ll be kinder to yourself.”

you feel the warmth of his embrace; the steady beating of his heart that sounded like peace and home. for a brief moment, you rejoice in his comfort. “sunday,” you whisper, voice still shaky. “it isn’t that easy.”

he gently lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “it never is, but it’s necessary, isn’t it? you can’t keep chaining yourself to the past forever.”

you close your eyes, feeling scared to meet his resolve. “i don’t think i can forgive myself for what happened.”

“but akivili would,” he says softly. “they were not my aeon, and i doubt they ever will, but i wholly believe they would forgive you. they would see the good in you, just as i do.”

“you’re one strange bird, sunday.” you playfully say. opening your eyes to peer at him with a smile. “the express would have loved you, just as much as i have.”

“akivili would have forgiven you, too.”

#—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail sunday #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #hsr x you #hsr sunday #sunday x you #sunday imagines #sunday x reader #sunday headcanons #( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ

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harryistheonlyoneforme · 1 year ago

Note

Babe!! Can we get some Cheater H smut where he’s at the gym and he’s fucking Reader and then his wife comes in but he keeps going and she doesn’t notice? I need that so bad OMG

I Don’t Wanna Talk To You*

warnings: smut, cheating, dry humping, unprotected sex, praise, dumbification, lil bit of exhibitionism, creampie

pairings: cheater harry x reader

masterlist | harry styles masterlist

“Harry?” YN calls, closing his front door behind her as she steps out of her shoes and makes her way further inside. She takes a peek at every room inside on the first floor of the house, frowning when she doesn’t see him in any of them. His car is definitely in the driveway and his location definitely says he’s home, so she heads up to the bedroom to see if he’s there. She finds the bed unmade but his slippers are still there, so she’s left to believe he must be in the basement.

She quickly jogs quietly down the stairs, the sounds of grunts and pants leading her directly to where he is. She steps inside the open door of his home gym, and lo and behold, she finds Harry in all his glory, in the middle of a drop set of deadlifts. His muscles are on full display, his back flexing with each rep. He hasn’t noticed her yet, so she takes the time to admire, subconsciously squeezing her thighs together at the thought of him making those sounds because of her; straining above her the way he is now.

The grunts haven’t stopped, the noises only fuelling her crude thoughts about the man she’s been dating for a year now. It only continues for about three more minutes, and then she’s watching him as he walks over to the wall nearest him and places the dumbbells down, squatting down to take a sip of his water. Everything he does ignites a fire in her that’s unexplainable. Her thighs are beginning to ache with how hard she’s squeezing them together, and they damn near snap in half when he finally turns around and notices her, his eyes lighting up and a dimpled grin covering his face immediately.

His eyes trail over her body as he strides toward her, and her heart is beating so fast she thinks she’ll pass out right then. He doesn’t even try to hide it when his eyes linger on her chest before trailing down to her thighs and he’s smirking when he sees how tight she’s clenching them. The sight ignites something in him as well, his cock stirring slightly in the loose shorts he’d chosen to workout in, but he forces it down. When he reaches her he leans down and intentionally presses a sweet kiss to her lips, moving away before she can deepen it. It pulls a needy whine from her lips as she chases his with hers, and he gives in immediately, wrapping one hand around her throat as their lips meet again.

She’s shifting on her feet and moaning into the kiss, nearly melting into the floor when his tongue starts to explore her mouth. With his free hand he reaches for the front of her tube top and frees her breasts, making her groan as the cool air of the gym begins to harden them. He begins to roll one between his thumb and forefinger, separating their lips and pressing their foreheads together to gauge her reaction.

“M’glad you’re here, baby,” he coos, rubbing a thumb over the hardening bud. She smiles brightly at his words, thinking he’s finally going to give her what she’s literally craving right now, but he doesn’t. “Need a spot for these bench presses, my love. Can’t be getting stuck,” he finishes, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

Her smile falters just a bit as he grabs her hand and leads her to where he’ll be working next, and then he’s climbing onto the bench. She’s just standing there sort of awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what he wants her to do. “Cmon, hop on top,” he teases, chuckling as her eyes go wide, but she does as he says.

As soon as she’s comfortable, he goes straight into his sets, and he can’t even lie and say that he doesn’t exaggerate his grunts a little bit because he knows what they do to her. The fact that she’s sat right atop his abs isn’t helping either, she can feel each and every strain of his muscles whenever he goes to push the bar back up. The thin grey biker shorts she’d worn today and forgone panties with don’t stand a chance with how wet she is, and when she feels his abs graze her swollen clit it takes everything in her not to cry out in pleasure.

Harry just acts as if he’s none the wiser, continuing his set like he doesn’t feel the small amount of wetness she’s left on his stomach, or the way she throbs each time his abs flex against her. It takes all of his restraint when he feels her give into the temptation and start to rock her hips down onto his abs, but he has absolutely none left when she just begins to moan shamelessly at the pleasure she’s experiencing.

He places the bar on the rack and moves his hands to her hips, helping her to move along his abdomen. Her moans have picked up so loudly that they’re echoing throughout the small room, and his cock has become rock hard in his shorts. All he can do is ignore the throbbing and watch YN as she’s in absolute bliss above him, her head now thrown back as she gets closer to her orgasm.

Deciding to make the experience even filthier than it already is, Harry speaks up. “Such a dirty girl,” he rasps, watching with hooded eyes as hers meet his. “So desperate f’me you’re just grinding on my tummy, poor thing. Just couldn’t wait, hm?” his teasing does nothing but urge her toward the edge, and she’s nodding with all her energy, unable to find the words to express what she’s feeling, but he knows. “I know, darling. Cum f’me. Cum all over me and I’ll give you what you need.”

Those words are all the encouragement she needed to cum, her hips stilling and her legs shaking slightly as her orgasm wracks her body, a loud cry of pleasure leaving her. She cums so hard tears form in her eyes and start to fall down her face as Harry helps her ride it out, gradually slowing the movement of her hips until she’s grounded.

She eventually comes around breathlessly, her chest heaving. Harry doesn’t waste another moment and he helps her off of him before he’s easing her onto the floor and on her back, climbing on top of her to bring their lips together. The angle provides him with the perfect angle to slot himself between her thighs and press his throbbing bulge against her, bucking his hips slightly at the feeling of her wetness beginning to leak onto his pants.

The action makes him graze her clit slightly, and she whines a bit in overstimulation before he’s pulling away to look down at her. He groans out loud and his cock twitches at the sight before him; her little grey shorts are absolutely drenched from her orgasm, the dark patch in the middle glistening in the fluorescent lighting of the gym.

He can’t help but bring his hands to her waistband and begin helping her out of them, and he becomes absolutely feral when he sees a string of her wetness connecting her to the shorts. Bringing them down past her ankles, he takes just a moment to admire how beautiful she is, and any other time he’d simply eat her out until she passed out, but he’s too desperate to feel her.

So he frees himself from his pants and immediately lines himself up with her, pressing his tip into her swollen pussy. Her eyes flutter closed at the stretch, and when he just slowly pushes in until their hips meet, she wraps her legs around his hips to press him as deep as he can go. They’re both already wrecked, so close to cumming and he hasn’t even started to fuck her properly. He gives her a bit to adjust before he pulls out and plunges back in just as deep as before, setting a punishing pace from the beginning.

YN’s moans and the sounds of their skin meeting are loud in his ears as the pace surprises her, and she can feel the light dusting of hair on his pubic bone grazing her clit, making the feeling that much better. Placing her hands on either sides of his head, she brings his lips to hers and moans against them as he literally fucks her like it’s their last time together. She can feel her orgasm burning deep in her belly, her back beginning to arch until they’re interrupted.

The sound of a phone ringing on the floor next to them disrupts the little bubble they've formed, and when Harry pulls away to look down at it, a dark smile takes over his features as he realizes it's his wife FaceTiming him. He flips it around to show YN and her eyes widen when she realizes he hasn't slowed down even a little bit. She goes to ask him if they should stop but he speaks up before she can, pressing himself inside of her as deep as he can, making her choke on a moan.

"If I answer this call, will you be a good girl for me and keep quiet until I finish?" he asks her, reaching up with the hand that's not holding his phone and pressing his thumb into her mouth, a satisfied hum coming from deep within his chest when she nods enthusiastically, immediately closing her mouth around the digit.

He's still pressed deep inside of her their hips flush as he swipes the button to answer, turning his camera off as the call begins to connect. The moment it does, he can't resist the urge to roll his eyes as he sees his wife sitting at the fanciest brunch restaurant in the city, sipping on what he knows is the start of her bottomless mimosas. He can't even imagine the hit their bank account has taken, because he knows she loves to go shopping with her friends to show off and they always end up at the expensive restaurant they reside at now.

"Harryyy baby. I miss youuu," she drawls, the way she says his name making his nose scrunch up in disgust as she gets closer to the camera and forms her lips into a pout. He resists the urge to gag and decides to take his mind off of it, pulling his thumb from YN's mouth and bringing it down to her swollen clit and pressing down firmly before he begins to rub slow circles right on the head.

He watches YN in pure adoration as she brings her lips into her mouth in an attempt to keep quiet, and he decides to make things even harder by pulling out of her until his tip is resting at her entrance before slamming back into her. He thinks he'll cum right then when her eyes roll back into her head and her hands flail around to find anything to ground herself, a small broken whimper leaving her lips from the sensation. He’s brought back to earth, though, by the annoying, high pitched sound that is his wife’s voice.

“Do you want to say hi to my friends, they really want to meet you someday. I was thinking maybe they could come over to the house today?” she questions, her voice hopeful. But Harry couldn’t care less, all he cares about is making YN cum again before he literally explodes inside of her without warning.

"No, I'm busy actually, about to eat. I'm gonna have to call you back when I'm done, okay?' he asks, not really waiting for an answer before he ends the call and tosses the phone to the side. He thinks he hears her call out an ‘I love you’ but he brushes it off quickly, picking up his pace and basking in the sound of YN's cry of relief at being able to moan as loudly as she wants. "Fuck, did so well for me," he praises, trying to stave off his orgasm until she cums, his mind turning to mush at how perfect she is and feels. She's just babbling wordlessly beneath him, the intensity of everything that's just happened only aiding in the building of her orgasm.

He’s fucking her so deep she feels like she can’t breathe, no thoughts in her head as he just continues to wreck her, his hands nearly bruising her hips with how tight he’s gripping them. He can feel her start to flutter around him a bit, making him groan at what’s to come.

“That’s, it, baby. Gonna cum for me?” he coos condescendingly, and all she can do is nod, making him chuckle at how wrecked she is beneath him. “My dumb little baby, hm? Can’t even think when I’ve got my cock in you,” he teases.

YN’s eyes are just squeezed shut at his words, her body going completely numb before tensing, her pussy locking down on him so tightly he struggles to move as her orgasm finally washes over her. The orgasm moves through her body in what feels like waves, small shocks causing her to twitch lightly. Seeing and feeling her in so much pleasure actually triggers Harry’s orgasm as well, and he buries himself so deep inside of her, his jaw dropped as a broken sob leaves his lips, his balls drawing up so tight he swears they’ll explode. Then the tension is leaving his body and he practically screams as cum starts to spurt from his reddened tip and deep into YN, painting her insides with his orgasm.

Thank you guys so much for reading! Feel free to leave any feedback you have, and as always, requests are open. Love you!!!

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coolprettyleo · 8 months ago

Text

so american - juraj slafkovsky ☆

wc: 1.8k

tw: mentions of sex. fluff? kinda mentions and ED. lmk if there's more!

juraj slafkovsky x reader

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

being nineteen living in new york city is a scary thing for any teenager. if you could even still call yourself that, but you got by.

instead of going the route that most of your friends did, attending the university of michigan, joining a sorority, and marrying a retired frat guy; you did the complete opposite.

you skipped college and moved to nyc to be a model. it had been going very well for you, seeing as your face was all over times square and you began to become the newest it girl, and you thankfully made enough to pay for your high rise apartment and live a luxaric life that you've always dreamed about.

so why on earth would you be standing in montreal on a tuesday night?

your boyfriend would be the cause of that. he lived in montreal and a love began to grow for the city seeing as its the place you've fallen in love with him.

is it too soon to say that? im sorry, but it's no doubt love; the feelings you've felt.

he was the most perfect boyfriend, treating you like a princess and you couldn't be happier.

you were currently standing at the airport searching for his tall frame. being a long distance couple is not easy but you two made it work. seeing as during the season he's basically glued to montreal, it was up to you to come and see him in the beautiful city, which is why you were here now.

"im outside gate forty six" his thick accent came through the phone. his accent was something that could turn your face red, in a millisecond.

"no your not. im standing directly under it" you said searching for him.

"turn around" you heard his voice come from behind you.

and behold and beyond there stood your boyfriend, standing there in all his glory smiling ear to ear and your excitement to see him, flooded in.

you squealed so loud and dropped your bag to run up to him and hug him. one thing you liked about juraj was his height and the fact you were still able to be shorter than him being 5'11 and all.

"how was your flight" he said giving you a sweet kiss, before picking up your bags and still managing to hold your hand through the crowd of people.

"it was okay, im a little jet lagged though" you said as you saw his car.

"have you eaten yet?, I made us dinner at home" he said opening your door for you.

he knew you hadn't been eating. you had been so wrapped up in growing your name, this was the first break you had in months and juraj was quick to see that. he really worried for you and you've never had someone other than your parents care like that. if he kept up with all this shit, you were going to marry him.

"no, im sorry" you said looking down, as you got in. you felt bad how much he spent worrying for you and you still not eating anything past nine thirty pm was not going to eaze his worries.

"dont apoligize, i got you know" your heart beated at his words.

"I literally love you juraj slafkovsky" you said as he got into the drivers side.

"you literally?" he teased.

"stop it!' you said smiling. you knew already what he was about to tease you about.

"you are so american pretty"

"HOW?!?"

-----

you and juraj were at a bar with his teammates and you were feeling tipsy early on to the night. he was wearing a fit that had you in shambles. god he looked handsome. you were sitting on his lap leaning your face into the crook of his neck.

"Y/N!!!" you heard cole yell over the loud music. you lifted your head from jurajs soft neck to see his teammate, happy to see you in montreal.

"hi cole" you giggled at his excitement.

"sing 22 with me. I just put it into the karaoke machine."

"oh my gosh! yes!!" you said standing up from juraj. right away realizing you were way to drunk to stand, and losing balance.

"woah," juraj said grabbing a hold of your hips and helping you stand straight.

"okay, i think its time to head home" he says smiling at her, holding her up.

"but cole-"

"but she-

"we'll see you tomorrow cole" juraj said cutting both cole and his girlfriend off.

"okay then" cole said looking like a kicked puppy and waving goodbye to you.

"what are you trying to take me home so fast for? hmm" you said to your boyfriend seductively grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"to get you in bed pretty" he said walking you out. you blushed right away thinking the other thing and loved how forward he was being right now even though he meant far from that.

___

you guys arrive to jurajs apartment and all you wanted was your boyfriend.

he opened the door and you didnt waste time to attach your lips to his and push him against the door. his hands still on holding your hips from walking you in, squeezed your sides as he pulled away.

"what are you doing baby" he said giggling at your forwardness.

"I want you. now." you said to him attaching your lips to his sweet spot on his neck.

you knew his weaknesses and even though it hurt him to push you away, you were drunk.

"we cant pretty, your drunk"

"no im not" you said as he guided you to his room.

"yes you are. come on lets get these cloths off"

"sex time?" you said, face lighting up taking off your top.

"no. sleep time" he said helping you pull your boots off.

you groaned and threw yourself starfish back onto his bed.

"come here" he said pulling you up and putting his hoodie over your frame. he put some boxers on you and reached into his drawer for you that had some makeup wipes as you starred at him.

"im sobering up" you said to him as he wiped your makeup off.

"y/n" he said pointly.

you rolled your eyes as you laid back onto the bed watching him begin to change.

"you look pretty in my cloths" he said smiling at how big his hoodie fit you.

"you think I look pretty in everything" you said rolling your eyes at your boyfriends cheesiness.

"so, you are pretty" he said pulling the covers over the both of you and wrapping his arm around you as you cuddled into him.

you traced a finger over his features, seeing as it always helped him fall asleep.

"your pretty" you whispered to him, giggling.

"im pretty?" he said lightly smiling, eyes still close.

"mhm" you said to him.

"goodnight baby. I love you" he said after a while.

"I love you. goodnight" you answered feeling, restless. how were you supposed to sleep when he's with you? and you loved sleeping. you sucked it up, and decided to make sure to be completely sober for tomorrow.

____

you were currently hitting the hottest nyc bars with your best friends, after being dragged out against your will by them and you just wanted to be home in bed. you couldn't believe you used to love going out.

"come on y/n!" your friend yelled over the loud music pulling you along.

you were miserable.

you sat on the booth, when a guy came up to sit next to you.

"hey, im Logan" the man said to you, probably hoping to go home with you tonight.

"y/n" you said uninterested looking around hoping to find somewhere to go off too.

"you like-" he was cutoff by the next song and you couldn't help but think about juraj.

"my boyfriend likes this song!" you said to the guy.

"you have a boyfriend?" he said standing up.

"yeah, it was nice meeting you" you said walking away.

you saw your friend with her newest eye candy and you walked up to them.

"y/n! this is... omg I already forgot. but he said he plays hockey!"

"uhm no, I said I liked it"

"its okay. I know your secret" she said whispering and pushing herself right after.

"what's your favorite team?" you said hoping the conversation would bring up juraj. its like you couldn't go a conversation without talking about him.

"the maple leafs"

you cringed.

"my boyfriend hates that team"

"he a montreal fan or what"' the guy said with his arm still around your best friend.

"no hes a playe-"

"are you talking about juraj again!?!" a voice comes from behind you.

"what do you mean again. I don't talk about him THAT much."

your friends shared a look before they both let out,

"yes you do"

____

you were currently at a photoshoot for the cover of times magazine when you got a FaceTime call coming from your boyfriend.

"hi" you said answering.'

"hello, how is the shoot going"

"really good! we're doing the last outfit, and im so happy because im spent" you said exhaustedly.

"dont tire yourself too much" he said seeing her eye bags hiding under the makeup she was wearing.

"I won't, anyways what happened?" you knew he wanted to ask you something because he knew not to interrupt your shoot time.

"my mom wants to know if you would join us for christmas, and im looking at tickets rights now, did you want to join us?" he said with a hopeful look.

you wanted to squeal. he was taking you home to his native land, and for some reason that felt so sacred to you. doesn't this man know that you would go anywhere he goes?

"that sounds like fun, I'd think l'd enjoy that" you said smiling at him. he let out what seemed to be a breath he'd been holding.

"okay, love. im booking our flights right now then. thank you for doing this"

"thank you for inviting me"

"oh! that means you have to spend thanksgiving with my family!" you added.

"okay. is that actually something you guys celebrate?" juraj asked. he thought the holiday was something he saw in movies seeing as they didnt celebrate the holiday, from where he was from .

"obviously! its only the best holiday!!!"

"yeah? what's your favorite thing about it?"

"well I like the food, obviously. I like spending time with everyone and watching the parade in nyc- oh! and the football game is always so much fun to watch, omg! and we have to put on the game for christmas at your families" you said to him.

"that seems..." he said trailing off, smiling at your excitement.

"spit it out slaf" you said, knowing he was about to make fun of you. he hesitated because he didnt know if he wanted to keep teasing you over this.

"so american"

___

hi guys! im sorry about the inactivity. I've had so much work and school work but, I will be writing more though, because im currently in the hospital, getting treated for a spider bite... so ill have ALOT of time. send in au thoughts lol.

#nhl imagines #hockey fic #nhl imagine #juraj slafkovsky smut #juraj slafkovsky x reader #juraj slafkovsky #cole caufield #nhl hockey #montreal canadiens x reader #cole caufield x reader

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