#harmonizing to his theme

[spiralingguitarist]

eridan just roasted davesprite by insulting him while fucking singing his theme i swear this is the first and last time ill see a guy like this

[feketeribizli]

another absolute banger from alex 🙏

[theinfinitedivides]

Sting is always picking the most interesting tempos to put his songs in or doing something funky with the key signature and ykw. i respect that it f*cking works

[screampied]

GOVERNMENT HOOKER ?! — GOJO & GETO ☆

ᡴꪫ headline. what happens when you’re the popstar too? even better question: what happens when you show up to a show with no panties thanks to your band mates gojo and geto?

wc. 6.0k

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo au, thrēesomes, semi-public themes, unprotected, fucking backstage, praise, dirty talk, geto showing gojo how to touch you, cucking, hair pulling, double penetratıon, size kink, manhandling, nipple play, oral (f & m receiving), gojo gets cancelled (again)

an. ignore alejandro that chapter never happened hahakdlf

popstar!gojo mlist

“um hello. if i wanted to watch you two make out i’d watch corn or something.” gojo pouts, scowl and all. he watches as his other bandmate—geto, the star bassist shove his tongue down your throat. he was so jealous, maybe having intimate relations with your two mates wasn’t the best idea but who cares, right?

“porn not corn,” you roll your eyes, pulling away from geto to stare at the popstar. gojo had the biggest frown on his face, he wanted some too. besides, it was about an hour before the show would actually start and he was bored out of his skull. he couldn’t help but roam his eyes all down your attire, the bedazzled rhinestones that stuck against the fabric, your fishnets, the way they effortlessly stuck against your skin. “what?”

geto leans back with a desirable slouch, tangled knots of his hair falling against his broad shoulders before he hums. “oh, he’s jus’ jealous. he wants to kiss you too, princess,” and geto briefly unstraps his mic that was attached near his chin. “to be fair though, gojo doesn’t know the first step on pleasing women.”

“uh huh, and you do?” gojo glowers, purposely sitting right between the two of you. the both of you dramatically groan, the mood suddenly ruined from the spoiled popstar before he slings an arm around you. “h-hey, pretty.”

and his voice cracks— oops.

you giggle and it only makes gojo’s pout deepen. he mopes and you cup his face with a cheeky grin. “satoru, stop whining. if you wanted to touch me too, you could have just asked,” and with irises as azure as a blue day sky, they dilate. gojo melts from your touch alone, a thumb of yours strokes his left temple and his attention’s suddenly captivated. “do you want a kiss too?”

“y- yes,” he stammers, hearing geto snicker directly next to him. he glares, uttering a, “shut up,” and as his eyes focus back towards you, he subtlety glances at your foxy glossed lips that were cutely pursed. “i wanna kiss you, please..”

it was winsome in a way. out of all the times gojo kissed you, he acts like this was his first time. but in actuality,

he’s always been a bit addicted to you. you sort of came out of nowhere, he’s always been a well known popstar all around the world but with you, he’s had to share his spotlight. not that he ever really minded, gojo would always share if it was with you.

currently—the two of you were touring together, you weren’t as influential to the famed pop genre, but you had a bit of a fanbase yourself. you started about a year ago, gojo was a … secret fanboy of you back when the two of you first met. he heard your voice and knew he had to have you.

have as in, have you as an opener for one of his shows which then turned to many. and now, he’s on his highly anticipated world tour with you. die hard fans immediately wanted to know more about you as you started to make your mark in the industry.

whilst your lips gingerly press against gojo’s, he lets off a sweet harmonic moan.

you taste so sweet, honeyed even.

gojo’s always had a craving for sweet things, you’ve just helped him indulge in it further.

a tongue of his runs against your bottom lip. he sucks on it succinctly, tasting the syrupy flavor of lip gloss that bedaubs over your lips. he deepens the kiss by a mile—gojo brings two hands toward your waist, two thumbs swiftly rubbing against your sides as each tongue rummages through and through. a smile compresses against your lips as you make out with him, sucking on his tongue and he whines for more.

“he’s gonna fall ‘n love at this rate,” geto titters, prying his best friend off. gojo pouts once the kiss devestatingly breaks. a slippery concoction-like string of spit wrests away from each lips as gojo exhales deeply. geto leans in to kiss underneath your neck before speaking in a perky purr. “hm, we’ve maybe got a good… what—” and the bassist glances at the watch that sticks to his wrist. “forty minutes left?”

“hey, don’t hog her,” gojo grumbles, and they’re both practically fighting over you. geto smugly grins, lowering his head towards your thighs to nip more near your cobweb-styled fishnets. you lie back against the sofa as the two both stare at you with such lust piercing into their eyes. “you’re so pretty,” he puffs, a thumb of his stroking against your chin.

“toru, c’mereee,” geto slyly says, ushering him with two moving fingers. gojo gets beside him and they’re both hovering over you. leaning back against the cushioned furniture—you sprawl your legs out a bit, tossing off your high inched stilettos. “feel how wet she is for me— eh, i mean us.”

you were a bit wet, profusely wet after making out with geto previously for so long.

with his hands meandering all down your body in the process, his knee goes between your thighs every few seconds. your laced panties were merely stuck together against your skin—gojo feels himself pant once he notices the little dampened spot near the middle of the cottony fabric. “hurry up though,” you stammer. “kento’s gonna kill us if we show up late for another show.”

kento nanami being gojo’s stern manager,

“i got you, princess,” geto hums, grabbing ahold of your wrist. gojo however was quite eager, desperate to run his fingers near your soaked entrance. “satoru, don’t drool over her now. have some manners.” he teases, showing him how to skim his fingers against your now exposed clit. your panties were now pulled to the side and you gnaw on your bottom lip to suppress a few of your incoming moans.

“shut up, s-suguu,” he scoffs, a thumb of his ghosting down your swollen slit. gojo’s already mesmerized, oh, you were sopping wet. it should be a crime to be this drenched. although— he’s a bit timid on what to do next. gojo leans right between your legs, planting a soft kiss near the inner crevice of your legs. “m-mmh.” he coos out, the scent of your arousal immensely pouring into his nostrils. you were so addictive, he barely even had a taste of you and he already wanted more.

“she’s pretty isn’t she,” geto whispers and as you look down, they’re both right between your thighs. greedy, you knew they’d probably share. geto playfully sinks his teeth into your thigh before he trails his face up. he creates a single licking trail against your folds and you moan. gojo watches, the direct spot he licks against was your sweetened clitoral hood. “get her wet, like this,” and his long black lashes close. the warmth of geto’s tongue already makes your back arch. he’s gentle yet precise—he slurps you for a few more moments before a stubby thumb of his prods inside of your pulsating clit. after a few quickened seconds he pulls away, furtively smiling at gojo. “can you do that orrr do i gotta hold your hand?”

“oh fuck you, man. i can eat pussy.” gojo glares, and their banter was always so entertaining to watch.

you giggle, seeing gojo’s annoyed frustration before the bassist gets up to stand. you glance up at him—he’s towering over you, immediately you lick your lips at the sight of his skin tight jeans.

oh, how they perfectly stuck against his skin, quite literally skin tight. he had such a big bulge already poking out, his zipper wouldn’t even zip fully. geto’s fly was proudly open, he hums to himself as he sees your eager hands paw against his pants. with a big hand grabbing onto the crown of your head, he cheeses. “hmm, you want a taste of somethin’ too, huh? need me to train those pretty vocal chords before the show?”

you nod, but his hand snakes its way to cup onto your chin. “words,” he purrs, a thumb peeling down your bottom lip. you moan once you feel gojo starting to lay his tongue flat against your cunt, relishing in your precious flavor. he’s already drooling over you, making you ten times more wet. gojo was gonna order something before performing—but eating you out was cheaper, and far more tasty than his original craving dish. “tell me what that throat wants, pretty.”

as you’re pursing your lips to speak, you moan at the way gojo’s right between your legs, teeth of his playfully gnawing near your thighs whilst he’s buried face full into you. “w- want your cock,” you mewl out with pretty polished eyes. geto’s jeans, the bulge was all pressed against your face— he yanks down his pants only to rub your face against the printed fabric. “suguru, need it.”

“fuck,” he grunts, feeling how you voluntarily roll out your own tongue, flicking it against the edges of his boxers. his bulge, it leaves you with a non-taste in your mouth, your legs start to quaver from gojo’s tongue. the popstar’s eating you out as if he’s haven’t had a good meal in years. he’s cutely moaning into your cunt, feeling the growing strain in beneath his briefs himself. geto delicately grabs a fistful of your hair before he raises a brow. “teeth, pull ‘em off with your teeth. we won’t use our hands today, baby.”

with a pout, you comply—leaning in, the pointed areas of your canines latch onto his underwear. its stretchy. you whine, reaching a hand down to touch yourself but gojo lightly smacks your hand.

“girl, ‘m eating.”

geto giggles, watching the pout on your face only squeeze against your expressions tighter. as you’re peeling his boxers down with your teeth, slowly, his thick cock springs out. it’s so big, and of course—gojo pauses to take a quick look himself. his jaw faintly drops at his best friend’s hefty size, and as he’s staring—geto catches him gawking before he sneers.

“oh, you’re lookin’ like you wanna suck me off too, satoru,” and he hums once he feels your tongue lick against his leaky base. “don’t be ungrateful, popstar. your meal’s right in front of you.”

“s-shut up,” he grumbles, feeling a sudden wave of heat wash against the entirety of his face. gojo goes back to sliding his tongue against your sensitive nub, listening to your sweet whimpers. you’re barely able to hold still. in the background, all that could be heard was the clamorous sounds of chants and screams—the audience, awaiting for their beloved satoru gojo who was currently occupying his own vocals between your thighs. he was never once to complain, the softly padded cartilage part of his nose swipes against your folds and your tummy zealously caves in. he licks you in all the right spots, licks that gradually turn into deep, sloppy sucks. “m-mhm, so sweet.”

“heyy,” geto whispers, craning your head to stare back up at him. as you’re met with the thickness of his shaft standing tall right in front of your face, you lean in to kiss the very tip of his frenulum. he groans, the outer parts of his abs clenching in pleasure. he couldn’t wait to feel the very inside of your throat, the tightness, the sheer warmth. with your tongue exploring everywhere—every specific spot, tracing the outline of his size, you whine.

with plump, spit-glossed lips—you dangle your jaw down a bit, preparing to take him inside. “good girl. no slobbin’ on it, okay? you don’t wanna be a messy girl this time, do ya? not before a big show, yeah?”

you reply with a subtle head nod, your sweet lips happily opening around his ample fat cockhead.

“yeah? you want me to really throat train you, that bad huh. warm up that pretty diaphragm?” geto sighs, his darkened arch brows lowering once you start to slowly sink your throat down onto his excited length. geto’s barely a few inches in and you feel a sudden pulse race down his dick.

so cute, geto keeps his eyes on you the entire time—occasionally, his eyes detour from you to gojo. he was already lost in your pussy as if it was a maze he’d never escape from. gojo’s all underneath you as you sit over him on all fours. his tongue had already located everywhere—his tongue making its metaphorical mark in every secluded area inside of your wet folds.

you were melting, muffled moans started to spew out of your mouth from gojo’s tongue and the sudden bitter taste of geto’s pre-cum.

sweet, yet bitter..

three perfect words to describe geto’s taste— it lives on your tongue for a long time before you start to lower your mouth down on him. it’s a tight fit at first, you can already feel a few sloppy remnants of your own saliva trickle down the sides of your lips. “ah,” you gasp out, grazing the tip of your tongue over the fat crown of his dick. a taste you wanted to always savor. you moan, feeling geto sneak a hand down to pry a bit more between your already openly exposed legs. he’s almost all the way down your throat before you start to suck him off. he’s so thick that you merely gag from the first few thwacks his tip makes against the roof of your mouth.

“wider for me. lay out that tongue, yeah,” and a thumb of his traces against the curvature of your lips. you can’t help the drool that’s starting to trickle down near the very corners of your mouth. you whine, feeling that pang of a throb welt within your folds from gojo’s slurping. he was in fact, a messy eater. he couldn’t help it, especially with how sugary you taste for him, the more his tongue traverses throughout every part of your walls, the more he craves for more. he yearns for more of your taste. gojo prods two fingers against your slit before running them down, whining himself from his poking boner that’s grinding against the sofa. geto pulls his dick out to smear his dripping tip onto your lips—only to then shove it back in. you breathe through your nose before you start to suck again. timelessly, geto’s hitting against the back of your throat with ease.

gojo’s tongue already has you feeling a sense of numbness in your toes, wiggling it was little to no use. you eagerly wanted to touch yourself but each time you’d even attempt, he grabs your wrist so you won’t distract him from his meal.

gojo was dead set on making you make a mess on his tongue. “m-mph,” you’d gasp out in a muffled manner, geto’s firm grip on your hair makes your eyes merely roll into its backing depths of your cranium.

the bassist gives you a sweet head pat, shoving you all the way in before pulling you out, your nose tickles against the curled black pubic hairs that glue against his skin and he grunts. the perfect throat for a singer. after this, he was sure you’d be hitting high soprano notes like his loser best friend of a popstar in no time.

in which you were though, as you’re still perfectly on all fours with your mouth occupied and gojo directly propped underneath you, eating out your cunt like a starved man. you gasp, a sudden feeling of agitation leaking into your arousal.

it was approaching,

with the abrupt twitch of geto’s brows, he was coming the same time you were. “s-shittt,” he swallows, the ball stuffed in his throat, known as the adam’s apple. it occasionally shifts inside of his neck continues to move as he lets off guttural moans. with the way your tongue teasingly glides across his sensitive slit, he’s steadily preparing to shoot such a whopping load down your throat. “good girl, gonna make me cum, gonna make me c-cum with that pretty tight throat, yeah.”

geto’s low voice judders a bit, he’s that close that he almost starts to spasm.

with a concise bite on his lip, stopping himself from drawing blood—he leers down at you, a thumb of his stroking your lip. you were a mess, amounts of your own drool seeping down the corners of your lips before he wipes it away. “c’monnn, cum with me pretty, make a mess on that loser’s tongue for me.”

“fuck you s-suguru.” gojo grumbles, the rapid tempo of his tongue having you start to feel all kinds of pleasurable feelings. your legs had already gave out. two hands of gojo’s grip against your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before you clench against his mouth. whilst gojo’s goading at you with his tongue, again—geto’s cock reaches all the way to the roof of your throat. your tongue dances against the prodding veins that coats his dick once more before within seconds, he shoots out.

he’s still got a hand cupped over your head. the leather of his glove on his right hand tugs against the hairs of your scalp as he’s emptying a gooey volume down your tongue. “ugh, ‘s it. so much i’ve been savin’ so much for you,” he pants, lengthy strands of his hair continuing to block his view of vision in his face. as geto’s abs tenses, the minute you taste the viscous spurts of his bitterly sweet cum, it slowly starts to drizzle in your mouth.

it pours down your throat like the niagara— not even seconds later and you finish also, body twitching and overcoming with the hypnotic feelings of ectacsy and fucking salaciously lewd nirvana,

as you rut your hips against gojo’s face a few more times, he grips your hips whilst you come undone. he groans, the tent in his pants practically poking through his designer ‘toru briefs that costs well over four hundred dollars. but leave it to the popstar to spend his money on pretty boxers, blue too, his favorite color.

geto inhales a single breath, nostrils flaring all up before he wraps a hand around his length—finally pulling it out of your mouth.

he had a sheepish grin while he stares at you being laid back against the couch, slouching, and that’s when he huffs, a thumb poking your cheek to open it. “l-let’s see that tongue,” and he rubs his swollen tip against the edges of your tremoring lips. you swallowed, lolling out your pink, needy tongue and gojo sits up to see also. he couldn’t help but feel a tang of jealously, he wanted your attention. “mhm, good girl. nice ‘n clean, swallowed it all ‘n didn’t waste a drop,” and his eyes peer towards gojo who had a cute scowl on his lips. ah, he was already starting to feel left out. “satoru, kiss her.”

“uh? don’t tell me what to do, i was gonna do that anyway,” he pouts, his pretty eyes rolling back.

such sass, geto snickers at him before he kneels down to bring you up close to him. gojo cups your face, inching his wet lips toward you before he presses his own against yours. you moan, feeling the popstar’s hands wander through your dazzled blouse. with the taste of yourself still residing on his tongue, you grow addicted immediately.

a hand of his ghosts around the back of your neck, pulling you close and another hand of his ghosts between your spread open thighs. “grind against me, y-yeah, fuck,” he whines, feeling you already rub against his body. gojo’s a sloppy kisser too. the moment his tongue delves into yours, tangling with your own, he starts to feel volumes of his saliva dribble out from his mouth.

messy, a perfect way to describe the popstar. he’s had plenty of action throughout his life— it usually comes with the fame, but he’s never felt like this with someone like you.

sure, this was probably all counts of unprofessionalism but he didn’t care. you didn’t care either. geto, well … he was just geto.

“princess, keep grindin’ against him like that ‘n you’re gonna make him cum through his sweats,” geto chortles, pulling you off of him to press his own lips against you. gojo grumbles, watching his two band mates make out — oh, it was just something about your taste that made them both so drawn to you. they were driven to your lips, to your taste, to you in general. like moths to a flame. geto’s kisses were more passionate and sincere, he wraps a hand around your neck gently, a thumb caressing the passageway of your throat whilst he starts to suck against your tongue. with lips crashing amongst each other, he parts your legs open just a bit more before he departs away. “can never get enough,” and he hums to his best friend with a wry grin. “satoru, aw. what? are ya mad at me?”

“i was kissing her, man.”

“more like swallowing her face whole, come on baby-”

as they continue to bicker right in front of you, gojo leans back against the couch and geto props up directly behind you. he yanks down his sweats from last minute rehearsal and you hover over him in preparation to straddle him.

“satoru, you’re pouting.” you point out, cupping his face. indeed he was, cute pink bottom lip sticking out and he’s about to melt at how hot you look on top of him.

“it’s because he’s gonna live up to his other stage name as a two pump champ.” geto yawns,

gojo glares, desperately wishing to wipe that sly smirk off of geto’s face. then again he wasn’t exactly lying. the popstar’s known for a lot of things but most importantly—he was known for being the two pump champ, how he could barely last a few solid minutes inside of a girl before he completely spazzes out, finishing prematurely.

that only happened sometimes,

according to gojo.

“i’ll fuck you,” gojo bleats.

“what?” geto smirks.

“i said fuck you.” gojo corrects himself, barely even comprehended what he said the first time.

“yeah? maybe later.”

“stop flirting,” you roll your eyes, lifting yourself a bit on top of gojo. feeling geto’s hands suddenly cling onto your waist, you let out a soft murmur. “can i take you both?”

in a hoarse whisper, geto sneaks a few kisses against your collarbone. “are you asking, princess?” and his touch alone sends you a plethora of shivers everywhere. you lean back against his chest, still straddling gojo before biting your lip—replying with a subtle nod. “ah, ‘toru she wants to take us both. got enough energy for that?”

he shoots him daggers and the bassist only grins.

“f-fuck, jus’ . . hurry up. ‘m fuckin’ hard,” he swallows, his own fingertips brushing against the very curvature of your rocking hips.

white strands of his hair practically binding against his forehead. he’s undoubtedly hard, feeling his breathing slow down a bit as he looks down. your wet cunt was all swollen and preparing to be destroyed by them both. you weren’t even sure if you could take them both at the same time time—but where there’s a will, there’s a way,

you were far too pent up to even think about tonight’s show. your throbbing only increases before you get a hold of gojo’s length. he’s more thin with a lot of inches while geto’s more thick and bulky. just picturing the mere image of them both stuffing you full has your panties in a twist. speaking of panties— they were still leisurely pulled to the side of you, not bothering to take them off fully.

“you’re so fuckin’ hot,” gojo mewls out, his voice sounds more like a whine than anything. it was a contest between the both of you though — who was the most louder. gojo satoru or your pussy, he couldn’t help it. his whines only continue to ring across the small, claustrophobic room the further you take them both. “that’s it, yeah. jus’ keep those pretty eyes down h-here.”

a shaky breath cuts out from gojo’s lips as you feel him start to gradually sink inside of your cunt.

you moan almost immediately, holding onto his thighs whilst geto’s right behind you, following the same. you’re straddling gojo and taking him from the front and also taking geto from behind. the entirety of your pussy was lukewarm, it makes gojo already start to spasm—a familiar candied texture lingers in his mouth, his saliva that trickles inside before he can eventually swallows. you’re so tight at first, the grip you have against them both does wonders..

if it was anything though, gojo would take pussy over publicity any day.

you felt way too good. it doesn’t take them long before they both start to bottom out inside of you. geto nips a few kisses near the outer areas of your collarbone—he could never get enough of your taste, both of them couldn’t.

you were sweet like candy, gojo always did have a sweet tooth after all. as they’re both easing their ways inside of your slick entrances, you slump back against geto’s chest. “fuck, ‘s right. nice ‘n slow baby. takin’ us both so well.”

the stretch was purely appetizing—your cunt instinctively squeezes down against them, clamping.

as you start to jerk your hips forward with them being all the way in, you feel geto’s hands slither its way inside of your dazzled blouse. near the very skirts of the fabric, he fondles against your neglected breasts, giving them a nice firm grab. the tips of his soft padded thumbs strum against your nipples and you whine. “f-fuck,” you moan out, your hips rutting against them both in harmony—in perfect sync. even the sofa’s producing a tune of its own with the constant repetitive creaking. with geto’s hands still roaming against your body, it trails down to your chest and near your tummy. he cunningly grins once he feels the written lines of his signature displayed on your body. his signature��earlier, you’d ask him to write his name on you and he was more than happy to oblige. the musk of the strong scented sharpie wafts through the air, his fingers slew against the neatly written words that spelled out ‘suguru’s favorite’ in bold.

as you’re riding gojo, he takes a peek himself at your exposed abdomen and he grunts under his breath. “fucker.”

“someone mad?” geto fake pouts, poking fun at his best friend and that only gifts him a glare.

you continue to grind your hips against them, feeling gojo’s touch gently caress the lower parts of your body. the blaring roaring chants outside of the room near the arena only gets louder. like most of his shows, it was pretty packed. gojo’s always getting sold out shows of around thousands of people just to see him perform live.

but oh, did his precious little fangirls hate your guts.

they didn’t just hate you, they loathed you.

they loathed how you just randomly came into the picture, how you came out of nowhere and started opening up shows for him. everyone always wanted in on the scoop though. who were you and just why was gojo so obsessed?

where there’s gojo’s intimidating length—there’s geto’s deliciously fat girth. you couldn’t pick out just who was stuffing you deeper, you felt everything all at once. you’re unwaveringly moving your hips against them both and your cunt’s squelching out such pleasurable symphonies. “ugh,” gojo groans, dragging your hips back and forth against him with his hands. you’re so pretty like this, the view he’s got of you just riding him makes his dick twitch inside of you. you’ve never felt so full, with both guys already bottomed out—you almost struggle to barrel in both lengths at first. “k-keep ridin’ me like this ‘n i’m gonna cummm.”

you’re working your hips against them both—geto still has his hands attached to your chest, gently seeping his teeth into the juncture of your neck. his tongue was so warm, he flicks his moving muscle against the piercing marks he’s left you on your collarbone.

so sweet..

with each hole, it’s both getting its fair share of fullness and every flavorsome inch you’re taking your mouth watering. it salivates quickly and not before long—you feel yourself convulsing from each of them. you feel a palpitating pang surge underneath your thighs as you bounce against them both. the couch suddenly shrieks in unexpected dismay at the piles of weight slamming against the furniture each second.

“relax, easy easy,” geto purrs against you, licking near the outer shell of your ear. you moan, his hands starting to feel elsewhere before he rubs a few circles against your folds. you gasp, your body jolting in response. the stimulation was almost too much to bare—too good, combining both shafts, you felt the fullest one could ever be.

within seconds, they’re both buried to the hilt.

you pierce your teeth into your bottom lip before you start to rock. gojo stares at your body—the cute halfway pulled up blouse that was shimmering in the light. once all pretty and neat, now wrinkled and practically ripped to shreds all thanks to the tight grips of the two stars. gojo loudly whines, a hand of his sticking to your hips like velcro before he starts to yoke your hips further into him. “goddamn, s-so warm, jus’ askin’ to be stretched by us both, fuck ‘m not gonna last.”

“like i said, two pump champ.” geto whispers, broad hands of his own clinging to your backside.

his best friend gives him nothing more but a glower again as you’re taking both of them from each hole. the stretch lasts for a good while, your gummy textured walls squeezes against them before you feel a sudden coil burst. so good, the way your hips roll and throw back against them was so hot. the recoil—geto’s personal favorite part. he loves to give your ass spanks as you continue to jerk and jostle against them both. bodies on bodies on bodies—gojo grunts lowly as he brings a hand to play with your ignored tits. a thumb of his grazes against your unclamped bra that was just barely shielding your soft plump mounds.

“f-fuck,” you moan, rocking your hips repeatedly, the chants from the area only grows louder until it’s a deafening roar. time was merely up but you could care less. the hot warmth of geto’s breath brushes against your skin as he slides his tongue against your neck. he loved to dig his pearly whites into the depths of your skin, giving you a playful nibble. he does all that only to kiss against the new marks that print into your skin. he wants more of you. “s-stretchin’ me out s’good.”

as you’re being mushed with them both — your breaths start to become more heavy and irregular.

wet, your cunt sloshes and sloshes from each movement and it’s so lewd. you’re jerking back and forth until the sofa’s squeaking out pretty melodic moans of itself. you’re sopping wet, you reach down to touch yourself and geto grabs your wrist. “nuh uh,” he coos against your ear. “this pussy’s for my hands only, baby.”

“and mine..” gojo pouts.

“yeah, no,” geto chimes, hearing your cute grumble before he touches your swollen cunt for you. “mmm, such a wet girl. can’t believe you were really gonna perform with a pussy this soaked. my my.”

gojo’s losing it underneath you—his face flushes before he’s dragging you quicker and quicker against him. sharp exhales leave from his lips and it’s not before long that you and him were both getting close—geto shortly following too. it only takes about a good few minutes before that familiar pool stirs into the deep abyss of your obscene heat. you felt a good parcel of nerves trigger all over you’re body and you can’t stay still. with your mouth hanging open, geto’s continuing to rub circles against your throbbing clit.

“c-cum, ‘m gonna cum,” you whimper pathetically, feeling the honed edge of his hips strike into you at a more hasty tempo. geto can’t keep his hands off you, they both can’t keep their hands off of you.

the minute you feel the fat head of gojo’s dick broach against that particular spot. you’re seeing all types of unnamed stars in your blurred vision.

it’s here, you’re long awaited orgasm—almost, it’s at the very tip of your tongue again, the very edge.

with the way your pussy’s responding to them both, you’re dripping like a spigot — not even caring that you’re coating each of their dicks with your saturated juices. “make a mess baby,” geto whispers, a hand wrapping around your throat as your ass pressed up against him. “cum on our dicks, yeah. ride satoru ‘till he fuckin’ whines.”

the pace only quickens—gojo lies back with his head already thrown back in defeat. “i’m gonna fuckin’ die,” he whimpers, his pulsing dick at its very peak. it feels so good for him that it almost hurts. gojo spanks your ass a few times for encouragement, feeling the tightness of his jaw clench down before he feels you wring around his crazed shaft. “h-hah, that would make a good track title. ‘m gonna fuckin’ dieeee.”

“s-shut up.” you moan, slinging your arms around the popstar. one glance at him and he’s already pussy drunk.

rightfully, you lean in to kiss him as you finally cum. as expected his tongue parts inside of you sloppily, masses of his famous saliva cascades down the sides. he was nothing but a mess for you. as you’re slowing your hips down, both of them approach their own individual releases. gojo’s hands run everywhere on your body, you shudder from his touch whilst you feel geto’s hips piston itself forward. your toes grow limp as you’re finally becoming undone—gojo follows as they’re both driving the thickness of their cocks into your slick, needy entrances.

as your legs lie flat, the both of them end up finishing at the same time. it’s so much, you’re feeling yourself get dumped and it’s already starting to overflow. gojo’s filling you from the front and geto’s taking care of you from behind. “easy, rock against him like that, yeah,” he hushes you, easing his thumbs against your hips in tiny little circles to calm you down. it’s trickling into you in such a slow way, gooey velvety portions of cum oozing its way into your pussy. it’s loud too, squelch after squelch reverberating throughout the entire room that it develops its own vibrato..

“touch her, ‘toru,” geto continues, latching his tongue against the miniature bite marks that press near your neck. the popstar was worn out despite it being just a few minutes. with heaving pants departing from his lips, he brings his hands to feel against your waist, your breasts, and back down between your legs. “she did so good for us,” and he kissed the top of your head, speaking in a rasp. “gonna perform with all this this cum stuffed inside, baby?”

“y- yeah,” you whine, feeling geto abruptly pull out to where you’re just bestriding gojo now. you take a quick glance down and your panties weren’t there anymore. you sigh, you really liked those. back to gojo—his dick that was still twitching inside of you grows flaccid and he whimpers at the faint jittery motion of your hips. “fuck, we don’t have to perform. can’t satoru just cancel the show?”

“and get dragged on twitter? heh, girl no..” gojo swipes a hand across his forehead as he’s still spilling such amounts inside of you. it’s a mess, the once flashy white sofa was all ruined with nothing but a salacious mixture of soaked liquids.

speaking of though,

as gojo’s catching his final breaths with you still hovering over him, he pulls out his phone. his sheepish smile turns into a look of horror once he opens tmz. skimming his eyes against the blue-lit screen, his lip tremors as he reads the bold red and black text. “famous popstar satoru gojo, bassist suguru geto and new opening singer heard screwing … backstage?”

geto deadpans and you furrow your eyebrows, getting off of him. “how?”

“idiot still has his fuckin’ mic on.”

gojo’s eyes widen as he stares in his peripherals at his mic. not again, and indeed it was very much on and operated. you could hear the echo grow louder from the arena just a few feet down now that it was against his lips. then it hits you, the ongoing chants from outside weren’t happening anymore. now, it was just pure booing. he uses two fingers to bring his mic up to the side of his mouth before switching it to autotune. “oops. no refunds….?”

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 teach me daddy (s & f)

────୨ৎ────

boyfriend!jungkook x virgin!reader

content: daddy kink, ddlg themes, Jungkook teaching his innocent, virgin gf how to..; touch him (blowjob) and how he touches her (fingering, lil tit play) !! hickies, sweet talk, lowkey dumbification, praise, cumming on stomach, guided, petite oc!!! Size.kink. so much dirty talk. so many pet names, FILTH.

note from cherry: put my whole sopping pussy in this. im a whore. My fav trope pls i hope i did it justice

────୨ৎ────

Jungkook's lovely, borderline magical finger tips create his usual pieces of invisible art upon your skin, right underneath the frilly fabric of your pink skirt, that top of your soft thigh squished against him, because his lap- specifically the bulge inside of his grey stüssy sweats- has become your favorite spot to sit on. Somewhere in between lush kisses and feathery moans elicited by the fluttered bruises he lays down the lane of your neck, you've understood one thing;

It feels so warm- so good to sit on that tent that forms in your older boyfriends pants, visible every time you bite your lip and stare at him with huge round, pleading eyes- every passing, electrifying fraction of a moment you spend threading through his deliciously laid, tussled mullet, or tracing the colorful lines etched into his hardened muscles, almost like you're coloring the small pictures in with your glittery gel nails.

Feels so good to hear low groans from your boyfriend's throat, experiencing your clit pulsing inside those little lacy panties, while consciously avoiding the sensation of a large wet patch making them cling to your untouched folds, it felt tingly, you had just told him.

"Tingly?" he asks, plucking back a delicate strand of your hair,

"Mhm.. like it wants attention. s'how i feel when i hump my stuffies" another small- fleeting detail you deemed insignificant, however it continues to feed into the hunger growling primally in jungkook's chest, wanting to expand outward, tear out of his gentle strokes that accidentally find your nipples, on occasions where he should be content with your petite frame inside the solid embrace of his own- oh so hungry body.

But he isn't content, not now that you've revealed you're pussy has kissed the very stuffies he's bought for you, seen you go starry eyed at.

His mind races with images of you- you in your bare glory, one he hasn't seen but there is no doubt in his mind you're an angel, sat on top of that plush hello kitty, dragging your wet, overstimulated clit over it's button nose- over and over, until there's drool running down the corners of your pout- until your eyebrows crunch together in pure delight. He wonders if you're the type to beg, ramble out your needs like a lost little deer.

His cock throbbs in anticipation, his primal instincts scream for him to take care of you whole, explore every inch of your sweet, sweet vessle. Jungkook has to know more- has to know everything.

"And how does my pretty girl hump her stuffies?" he innocently questions, hiking his hands up further on your small legs, crawling to your inner thighs, the digits raise goosebumps on your skin and a pink hue on your cheeks, it complements you- he thinks, harmonizing with your glossy pink lips.

"Hmph.. jus'.. sit on them.. r-rub back.. n' forth" your whispered reply has him drop into a lower, deeper tone, assessing how your body subconsciously responds to his teasing, bucks forward the smallest, almost unnoticeable bit.

"And what happens when babygirl does that?" you whine- leaning your lips to ghost against his own, the tingly feel rises again, floods your panties in an instant because his sudden dominance drowns you in its strangling hold,

"I feel good"

Jungkook creeps his large palm up, cupping your pussy boldy through the thin girlish fabric,

"Haa-ah" moaning, you give way into his palm, playing into his hands because you belong no where else, in response, his thumb extends, rubbing over where your clit sits puffily,

"Yeah..? right here is where it feels good, doesn't it princess?" liquid smooth as he talks, applying pressure to your needy bud,

"Mhm" you nod- whimpering against his pierced lip. In the flashes of his tight circles, you cannot bring yourself to keep your mouths attached- to focus on maintaining a healthy breath when your flower is being treated with the most careful sexuality "This feels better daddy" you say airyly, lips barely touching.

His breath stalls before it hitches once again- the title found him so righteously, so naturally succumbing to his deserved role- your daddy.

"Fuck sugar, it does hm? Let daddy take care of you, make you feel all warm and tingly"

After all, you're his special little princess,

The one with a cute pout that he wishes to see wrapped around his angry cock, he had envisioned this moment countless of times, fisting himself late at night- the soft snores come from your end of the phone, purely, innocently sleeping in the white glow of your screen, big, soft facial features lay peacefully against your pillow.

Even though the sins run carelessly on his end- he never bothered to mute himself, you kept sleeping, dreaming away,

Somtimes, he desired for you to wake up; he'd groan a bit louder, more vulgar with his endless cussing, thought about how your pupils grow wide, how your lips would part into a gasp- wish that you'd timidly run your thumb over your clit at the unfamiliar warmth spreading through your little purity, ruined, emerged in his perversion.

You nod, already going droopy eyed at the simple action of his thumb thrumming your pearl,

The cold air hits your sopping cunt as he peels your delicate panties to the side, giving him a full view of your flower, skin slick with desire

"You have the prettiest little pussy, so cute, does she want to be played with?" his tone is so- so gentle, yet, its dripping with power, entranced with the view of his- yes his very own digits that faintly glide between your folds,

"Yes- nghh shit- koo" your manicured nails dig into his meaty thighs, grounding yourself in a failed attempt to hold your head up, the foreign urgency consumes your entire being with it's intensity,

"Look at me sugar" he commands, growling lowly, his eyes squint to the ones of a predator, you- his prey, look at him like he has always known you would- wide eyed, doe eyed, awaiting his instructions

"Good girl. Now tell me again, do you want daddy to show you how to feel really good hm? How to play with your tiny cunt?"

You nod dumbly, letting out the smallest sounding yes that had ever grazed his ears, he purrs, taking in the effort with an open heart,

"Suck on them, need them nice and wet, can you do that for me princess?" his fingers intrude your bitten lips, forcing his digits to collide with your tongue, eagerly- messily and uncoordinated, you swirl your tongue around them, humming as he withdraws- letting out a satisfied groan

You wince a bit upon the proding of his fingertips against your entrance, unexpectedly, you look at him- begging for him to take you with him, guide you by the hand along everything he does, take your hand like a good daddy should.

The substantial need to make you feel safe takes over again, courses throughout his entire being because you look so vulnerable like this, so barely laid out for him to consume.

"it's okay babygirl, it's gonna feel so good. Daddy's gonna put a finger inside this pussy, you'll feel a bit full, but my precious little girl's so good, she can take it all" he can feel your body relax on top of his lap, as if your muscles let go of all tension with his reassurances- he's on the edge of feeling bad for wanting to ruin your purity.

But he does it regardless.

Wet, sloppy sounds fill your ears as he pumps his finger inside of you. The rhythm starts slowly, one push- one long drag between your folds before returning to pulling out, pushing back in carefully. He studies the subtle change in your expression, diligently grasping at the strings of your arousal- his own eyes can't choose between the look of lust on your face and his hand colliding with your sweetness, feeling how you suck his finger in with every fiber of your being, so untouched, so pure- so, so needy.

You squirm, wrap your hand around his bulging bicep- "Daddy- that feels so good, feels so so good" you continue mumbling, singing the cutest moans to numb his thoughts, feed his hunger, he turns greedy- allowing himself to drown in you entirely, granting himself premission to increass his speed, push in deeper- you gratify him, become louder, whiner, give yourself over because truthfully- you didn't know anything outside of how good it feels to be fingered like this.

"Yeahhh, feels so good to have daddy's fingers? think you can take another one?" Patiently he waits for your allowance- and once he heared that needy voice of yours, calling out for him to push another finger in, he snaps,

"Fuck sugar, look at you, such good girl f'me, feel so full don't you?" His lips latch back on to your neck as he pumps into you faster, curling his fingers into you like he's crawling into your body, establishing his ability to make you squirm- make you whimper and lose that pretty head of yours in his sinful lure.

So you do lose yourself- start whining for him to keep hitting that spot- right there daddy- you beg,

"Yeah? My babygirl loves this- loves my fingers making your cunt feel good. All mine, my little pussy, no one can have you like this"

"Right there ohh? Can you say that again sugar?" Thoughtlessly, obediently ylu start repeating, rehearsing the words like you're summoning him- your legs jerk, contract the muscle with a moan so pronounced jungkook could cum all over himself at the pure nuance of it.

"mmhm! s'too much- feels like i- like i'm gonna-" Your eyes roll far into your skull at the lingering of his teeth on your jaw, his tongue that shamelessly licks a strip up to your ear so he can coax you into intoxicating pleasure.

"Like what little girl? Gonna make a mess?"

At that- at the last syllable of his sentence, you release your arousal over the whole long inches of his fingers that are still relentlessly pushing into your hole, plucking out roughly- shoved back in, "Goood girl" he rasps, slapping his soaked fingertips over your overstimulated cunt. You did not know better than to leave gasps into his now bitten, ridiculously broad shoulder, shudder in overstimulation, tug at the roots of his chocolate mullet,

Your bedroom grows quiet, pleasure rings in your ears, wrecks you from the top of your head to your toes, colorful sparks fly behind your eyelids as it keeps going, keeps flooding out of your body like it had never done before.

Your boyfriends entire demeanor changes once his ragged breathing returns to soft hums, his healing hands cover more than half of your back and he just lets you bathe in the aftershocks, "Did so well for daddy, my good girl" The whispers find your hair, his pecks follow, decorating your journey back to a grounded reality with beautiful stars, safety,

As he´s rubbing up and down your back under the fabric of your cami, your skin erupts into familiar goosebumps, only this time, he feels your stiff nipples rub against his own, sweaty chest, the friction makes you hiss involuntairly,

"How do i feel good here ?" The muttered curiosity behind your words makes Jungkook moan audibly- reaches his hands to slide around your torso, your rips flutter in response, "Let me show you"

Your cami shrivles up over the swell of your small chest, cupped snuggly in your white sparkly bra, his hands cover your entire breasts easily, the twinkle in his vision is unmistakable,

lust, utter need

"Gon´ pull these down baby, show your pretty body to me" vision going white, he rushes to wrap his lips around the stiff bud, encircling it with his tongue, "All mine, my tits, my little girl, these belong to me" He takes his time- devours you, flicking the tip of his tongue over and over, you recoil forward, moan helplessly under how good he´s making you feel,

Jungkook returns the favour, moans into your skin that arches closer into his mouth,

"Want me to give you some attention too? Gonna rub it like this baby, roll it in between your fingers" The instructions help to remember what is happening between the chasm of gasps and whimpers, the throbbing between your aching legs returns in unbearable force- rises with every collision of his rough palms rounding your soft skin, he nibbles, sucks, bites gracefully into the sensitive flesh.

"Daddy- daddy stop please" the wet sensation leaves in the blink of an eye, his gaze glistens over with worry- hands immediately running to your comfort, soothing your arms, "M´sorry my love, too much? Wanna stop here?"

You shake your head violently, wanting to sob at the thought of stopping, you´ve never felt need like this, urges like this- borderline possessed as you tug at his waistband, his eyes widen, holding both your wrists in his calloused hand "Woah babygirl, slow down, what is it that daddy´s princess wants?" He asks genuinely, running his lips over your jaw but his cock betrays him, throbs painfully as you whimper for him, mutter for him to show you how to make him feel good too. He didn't want to pretend to be innocent anymore- your boyfriend had been praying to have you like this, why would he deny you if you so desperately wish to pleasure him anyways?

Feverishly, your small hands expose his member, appreciating the hard outline in his calvins before reaching in- finding the warm length that can, in no way, fit even in the grasp of both your fidgety hands,

"It´s so pretty, so big" You praise, staring in awe at the sight in front of you, a pearl of his arousal runs down alongside the vein of his shaft, Jungkook growls, scratching your scalp with his tattooed hand,

"All yours. come on sugar, little kisses, lick it a bit, i´ll be loud for you"

It´s not like it was his choice regardless, not when you lay your tongue flat against his tip, tracing every inch of him. You lick up and down his pulsating cock, look up at him through your feminine, innocently batted eyelashes as if to ask if he feels good- he groans, tightens his hand with each torturous slow lick to him, how could he not feel good?

"Good little girl, taking daddy so well, need you to take it in your mouth now okay? Can you be good and try to swallow daddy´s cock?"

You nod- god you´d do anything he asks, hesistantly, your lips coat his fat tip, opening your throat as he feeds you his girth, hitting the back of your throat in an instant- you try your best to ignore the gag, focus on the wetness of your cunt and his breathless curses.

It´s even more erotic than he had imagined, you do pout; your lips barely fit in his cock, not able to get half of it into the confined space of your jaw- his stomach flips at your hand that wraps around the rest of him- while the other one clenches his inner thigh for support, marks his skin in reminders. The look in your willing eyes, the struggle to take his inches as your own spit escapes your mouth- it´s becoming something he will get addicted to in no time,

"Ssh i know daddy´s big babygirl, but you´re made for me, breathe through your nose, goood job baby" its fuel, fuel to your insatiable greed for him, you follow instinct, bob up and down with the help of his hand on the back of your head, throat contracting around him and shit- Jungkook is sure if your throat is this tight sucking him off, your virgin pussy must feel like heaven too.

"Just like thaaat, yeah sugar, makin´ me feel so fucking good" He continues, thighs flexing with the constricting feeling in his balls, release bubbles up fast, rapidly banging his system- your boyfriend grips you by the jaw, to have you make eye contact with his half lidded brown stars, "Lay down f´me"

Sprawled out, tummy laid open, your hair flows over your tits, eyes watch him stroking his cock in heavy, aggressive movements, rubbing his thumb over the pink swollen tip- he pants, groans so fucking loud you instinctively spread your thighs for him- clenching around nothing- begging silently for him to give you everything.

At the sight of your cunt covered in your own, copious amount of slick and previous orgasm, he´s struck down mercilessly, it rides him over the edge and soon enough, he splurts his milky cum all over your lower stomach, he shakes- calls out for you.

"My little princess, look so beautiful like this, god i fucking love you"

You giggle girlishly- a sound from the deep chambers of your now, perverted heart as he engulfs you in his hold, "Baby you´re-" his mouth finds yours again, not letting you protest but he's soft, grateful "I don´t care, you´re mine, my baby, all mine" Another kiss, another smile, "Thank you, thank you sugar" he mumbles, holding your flushed out cheeks in his big hands, searching for familiar innocents within your face and unsurprisingly so, he still discovers it.

[kurikurikur1]

⋆. ☆ ˚ bestfriend!choso who whines and cries when he first enters his cock inside you, holding the urge to not just burst out his cum inside your wet, plush walls cause’ goddamn—he never expected his long-term childhood best friend, you, to be straddling his thighs, clothes pulled off and on to the ground, your soft tits with your perky nipples out, right then and there while your cunt was swallowing, squelching and milking the life out of his cock.

I mean—all of this wouldn't have happened if he hadn't confessed his overbearing crush towards you ever since you were just little kids. Just so—20 minutes ago he'd overflow you with his heart-warming words that were definitely practiced, only to be cut off as you pressed your plump lips against his, oh, just how he'd love to ask for your cherry lips again for him to kiss and suck on, remembering the taste of you made him even more infatuated. Thinking of kissing you again added to the urge for him to cum and fill your pussy to he brim with it.

As you reach down to peck his reddened lips who he bit down on to hold his load, bestfriend!choso interrupts you with a loud, high-pitched whine as he grabs your naked hips with his pale, thick hands, a tight grip on your flesh, lifting you up—his own hips start erratically thrusting himself in your sweet pussy, hard and fast enough that his hips that were slapping on the inner most of your thighs that he left a painful red tint on. He moans out a continuous—”m’ sorry, m’sorry- sorry- sorry baby-”

As bestfriend!choso keeps penetrating your sticky cunt with his throbbing cock, he notices your lust-dazed eyes piercing through his, he gulps, not sure if he could hold his cum with you staring at him like that, he's close and you know it. His sweaty pale chest heaving up and down as a desperate try to catch his breath, his hands gripping your hips oh-so-painfully tight, his loud whimpers of plea coming out of his mouth while his already fucked-out eyes look at your bouncing breasts as you rode him, desiring to suck on them, the head of his cock pushing itself onwards to your cervix. “I- m’ close, m’ close, please-” he begs you to cum, wanting to get your permission to, because he just wants to be good to you. “gonna cum- gonna cum-"

bestfriend!choso who actually cries out tears once his cock spurts out, filling your tight cunt with his seed, letting out a loud whine as his head throws back and his eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming orgasm he just received, his whimpers harmonizing with your small moans as you chuckle at the sight of him disheveled, and absolutely ruined.

“y- you didn't get to cum? r -right? w.. why don't I try and r - return the favor, baby?..”

lmao first post—: divider made by kuri (me) last minute

( actually a repost because of the change of theme )

[witchywithwhiskey]

to save me from tears

pairing: DARK!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you thought you were going on a weekend getaway to the cabin of the guy were seeing, but it turned out bucky barnes had no intention of ever letting you leave. now, one year later, it's the anniversary of an important milestone in your relationship, and he knows just how to celebrate the special occasion.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), dark themes and elements, non-con/rape, abduction, drugging, imprisonment/captivity, sexual exploitation of reader, forced camgirl work, live-streaming sex, smut, rough sex, painful sex, unprotected sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, oral cockwarming with a dildo gag, squirting, sex toys, bondage/shibari, sadism/forced masochism, ass spanking, degradation, objectification, dacryphilia, choking, breathplay, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (doll, winter slut), mind break, reluctant stockholm syndrome, reader passes out during sex, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, if i missed something please let me know!

word count: 5.6k

a/n: here's my second entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: Has it been a year already? my last fic was so sweet that apparently i had to balance things out with the absolute darkest, filthiest fic i've ever written. i guess i was feeling some type of way, idk!! anyway, i hope y'all enjoy ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” played softly from a speaker in the corner, the chords lilting serenely through the cold basement, the choral harmonizing of the background singers becoming a soundtrack to the depravity you were forced to endure. 

It occurred to you that you might wonder how you’d ended up where you had, but you knew exactly how—you’d trusted the wrong man.

Bucky Barnes had been charming from the moment you met. The former army sergeant had wooed you with ice skating dates and trips to the book store, regaling you with stories from his childhood growing up in Brooklyn over cups of hot chocolate and herbal tea. 

He’d seemed perfectly normal, like the kind of man you’d want to settle down with, and you found yourself wanting to start a new life with him. It hadn’t been long, but you thought he was the one, and you began planning what that new life would look like in your own imagination.

Apparently Bucky had been determined to give you a new life as well, but he hadn’t given you a choice about what that life would look like. While you’d been picturing a cozy apartment in the city before buying a house and moving out to the suburbs, he’d been planning something much different.

It had all started that weekend in December, when Bucky had invited you for a weekend away at his cabin upstate. You’d been seeing him long enough that you trusted him, and you were excited, hopeful, even, that your relationship would deepen on the trip.

You were so happy about spending a whole weekend alone with Bucky that you didn’t think anything of the darkness in his voice when he’d warned you to never, under any circumstances, go into the basement of the cabin. 

Then, after a weekend filled with delicate kisses and gentle lovemaking, you’d been packing to return to the city when a soft cloth had covered your mouth and nose and you’d smelled something sweet. You hadn’t known it at the time, but that was the end of your old life, and you didn’t even have the time or the strength to fight.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you’d woken up in the cold basement that would become your only home in the months to come. A thick leather collar had been wrapped around your neck, connecting to a chain that was attached to the heavy wooden frame of the bed you lay on. To your horror, you’d realized you were clad in lingerie that wasn’t yours, some cheap set that still managed to fit you perfectly.  

Bucky had been waiting for you to notice him at the foot of the bed, standing next to a camera aimed directly at you. 

“Welcome to your new life, doll,” he’d said, a depraved smirk spreading across his handsome face—and expression you’d never seen before. “Time to earn your keep.” His blue eyes had been glittering with dark excitement as he’d clicked a button on the laptop linked to the camera and crawled onto the bed with you.

That had been the first moment you’d seen the real Bucky Barnes, and he’d spent every day since then showing you exactly how vile and perverted he truly was. He’d kept you in the basement of his cabin and forced you to fuck him on camera, using the money he made from it to buy you more cheap lingerie and all manner of toys to use on your body.

The sharp, cracking sound of a palm meeting soft flesh filled your ears, the subsequent stinging sensation reverberating from your ass through the rest of your body effectively dragging you back into the moment of your latest debasement. 

The pain of Bucky spanking you with the full force of his strength only joined the other aches already living in your body—but you knew better than to complain or cry or whimper. You’d made that mistake early on, but Bucky had only seemed to soak in your pain like it fueled him. 

The first time he’d spanked you, you’d begged him to stop. Instead, though, he only hit you harder, grinning ear to ear while he’d told you that you had no idea what you were in for yet, fake pity dripping from his tone.

But in the present moment, your pain wasn’t only coming from Bucky’s palm. 

Your shoulders ached from the way your arms had been tied behind your back, your hands gripping your forearms and constrained by intricate knots of cords wrapped around your body. To further restrain you, your calves were tied to your thighs, leaving you bound and unable to move with your ass high in the air while your face was shoved into the bed.

In honor of the holiday season, Bucky had traded in the coarse rope he typically used for a long string of multicolored Christmas lights, one end plugged into the wall so your skin was washed in shades of blue, red, green and yellow. 

The string of lights was much more uncomfortable than the rope, even though that had burned. The wire holding the lights together was so thin, and the small bulbs dug painfully into your skin. If you didn’t know your discomfort was exactly what Bucky wanted, you might’ve let him see how unhappy you were with your current predicament.

Instead, you hid your face in the blankets of the bed, trying to focus on anything except Bucky’s big cock fucking into your cunt at a bruising pace. 

Unfortunately, it was impossible to ignore him, his hard length plowing into your body. Not even the cheery lights wound around your body or the Christmas music playing out of the bluetooth speaker in the corner could distract you from the feel of his cock inside you.

Another jarring smack resounded in the cold basement a brief second before the sting of Bucky’s spank quaked through your body. The strike was hard enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. You didn’t want to give him that, even if it would’ve been muffled by the blankets under your face.

“How many times do I gotta tell ya, doll,” Bucky huffed, his voice patronizing and impatient, like he was talking to a misbehaving child. “Look at the camera when I’m fucking you.” He spanked you again, so hard you felt your entire body tremble under the weight of it, then he grabbed and groped your ass cruelly enough to leave marks. “Our audience wants to see your face—don’t ya, fellas?”

That last part was directed at the camera. You turned your head, tipping your face toward the lens just in time to catch the reflection of the rakish grin Bucky shot to whoever was watching. 

The chat box on the screen of the laptop set up just out of frame lit up, the audience for your daily stream with Bucky telling the both of you just how much they wanted to see your face while you were fucked by his fat cock. 

Your eyes caught a few of the filthy, degrading messages before looking away. You refused to believe the way your cunt clenched was in response to what you’d read. You absolutely were not getting turned on by the depraved life your captor forced you to live.

Bucky’s large body curled over your back, his hand wrapping around your throat and lifting your head from the bed so the camera could better see your face. The position shoved his cock even deeper into your cunt, ramming painfully against your cervix and, against your will, your face contorted at the twinge deep in your body.

The chat lit up, chimes dinging fast and furious as the messages came in, and Bucky reached for the laptop so he could read what your viewers had written. 

All the while, his hips kept grinding idly against your ass so his cock rubbed even harder into your cervix, making you let out a little whimper of anguish. His fingers tightened around the sides of your neck, enough to cut off your ability to breathe, and your whimper turned into a desperate, scared little keen.

You felt Bucky grin against your cheek, and you could’ve kicked yourself for giving him exactly what he’d wanted—a reaction. But at least his grip loosened, though you knew it was only because he didn’t want you to pass out too soon.

“The chat says you look like such a pretty little toy when I fuck you all tied up like this, doll,” Bucky cooed in your ear, grinding harder into your cunt. 

You sunk your teeth deep into your lower lip as your whole body trembled under the assault of Bucky’s thick cock. Despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length, wetness frothing and gushing from your hole as he made a mockery of your protests. 

Before you’d met Bucky, you would’ve sworn you didn’t like pain. You’d have said you hated it, in fact. 

But after so many days and months of being speared open by his fat cock, all three of your holes ravaged by his hard, unrelenting manhood in his need to dominate you, to conquer your body in every way possible, you couldn’t help your pussy’s response to it.

You told yourself it was some kind of defense mechanism, that your body had begun to react to pain the same way it did pleasure. It was the only explanation you could bear to endure. Because if you admitted you’d begun to like the way Bucky fucked you and abused you…

“Ohhh, listen to this one,” Bucky crooned excitedly, drawing you out of your thoughts and giving you a distraction from the way he was working your body toward its undoing. “‘Happy anniversary to the Winter Soldier and his Winter Slut!’”

The names were, of course, fake ones that Bucky had chosen to give the audience of your streams something to call you both. His was based on his past as a sergent, combined with the season when he’d taken you captive, while yours showed his ownership over you.

You hated it. You didn’t want anyone thinking Bucky owned you. 

But Bucky either didn’t notice or ignored the way you grimaced when he read the fake names aloud. He turned his eyes, filled with cheerful wickedness, toward the camera.

“Has it been a year already?”

The question was full of charm, and you could almost imagine it coming from the Bucky you’d originally met. The one who might’ve celebrated your one-year anniversary with a recreation of your first date, ending with a heartfelt proposal that the two of you move in together. 

Instead, the question hadn’t even been asked to you, but to the camera—to the audience of loyal, degenerate perverts who watched your streams. 

The quick, successive chimes from the laptop drew Bucky’s attention back to it, and he hummed in acknowledgement as he read through the messages. 

His fingers squeezed around your throat, making you choke harder for the camera, adding to the small sounds of anguish that were slipping from your lips while he kept up his merciless grinding, his cock bruising your cervix.

A new sound, one like a cash register, joined the dinging chimes of the chat message and your heart sank. 

That was the sound of people in the chat sending extra tips on top of the subscription fees they paid to get access to your streaming channel. It meant they were making requests for Bucky to do something new—and that never resulted in anything good for you.

Before you could glance at the laptop to try to get an idea of what was coming, Bucky sat back on his haunches, hauling you up with his hand around your throat. Between gravity and the change in position, it felt like Bucky’s cock pushed even deeper into your cunt, pressing against your cervix so hard it stole the breath from your lungs.

“It’s the one year anniversary of your very first stream, doll,” Bucky announced gleefully in your ear, using his free hand to slap at your tits. They were bound between two strings of the Christmas lights wrapped around your body, your soft tits highlighted by the shining, multicolored hues. “Do you have anything to say to our audience, my little Winter Slut?”

It was clear Bucky wanted you to thank them for their loyal viewership, but resentment held your tongue. Memories assaulted you of the very first stream you’d been forced to do.

Bucky had pinned you down on that very same bed, using nothing but his strong hands and large body to pin you to the mattress while he tore your cheap lingerie off your body. Then he’d ravaged you, slapping and groping your tits before biting them so hard you’d started crying. 

It had been the only foreplay he’d offered you before he’d shoved his cock deep in your cunt. He was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made Bucky laugh. He’d told you, mockingly, that there wasn’t anyone around to hear you scream—only the audience on the dark web where he was streaming your defilement for who knew how many people who were just as vile as Bucky.

Bucky’s fingers digging deep into the sides of your neck brought you back to the present moment, small gasps falling from your lips as he cut off your air again. Your pulse pounded in your head, but you still managed to notice that Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” had given way to another Christmas song, the festive music so at odds with the dread and fear pooling in your belly.

“I guess my Winter Slut is feeling ungrateful today, chat,” Bucky said on a laugh. 

His tone was mocking in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you refused to believe it might be anticipation. Your body quaked when his soft mouth brushed against your cheek, the gesture almost like a kiss as he turned his head so he could murmur in your ear.

“Our audience wants to see something special for our anniversary, doll,” he cooed. “They want to see me break you.” 

Unease and something else flooded your veins, the conflicting emotions warring for dominance as you struggled to make sense of the way your cunt had clenched around Bucky’s cock when he’d said he was going to break you. You pressed your mouth into a grim line, still determined not to show your reaction to Bucky or the camera, especially when you didn’t understand what was happening to you. 

In the year that you’d spent as Bucky’s personal cam star, you’d endured a lot—and if anyone had asked you, you’d have said you hadn’t enjoyed any of it. But over time, that had begun to change. You’d been fighting it, fighting your body’s responses to Bucky and every depraved thing he did to you. It was becoming so hard, and you were growing so tired of fighting, of pretending…

 “I have just the thing—but first, let’s fill this slut’s mouth,” Bucky was telling the camera, and you forced yourself to focus back on the moment to prepare yourself. 

Bucky shifted to the side, grabbing something from the basket of sex toys he kept next to the bed during streams. When you saw what he pulled out, you bit your lip against a helpless whimper.

He’d pulled out a penis gag, but it wasn’t just any normal penis gag—it was one he’d specially ordered for you. Instead of having a two or three inch dick attached to the strip of leather that would tie around your head, there was a full-sized dildo replica of Bucky’s cock. His big, thick cock.

You tried to keep your mouth closed when Bucky pressed the tip of the silicone cock to your lips, but he only tutted at you with a patronizing click of his tongue. Shifting his fingers from your throat to your cheeks, he dug them in until it hurt. Your jaw gave way.

“That’s a good little cock slut, open for your Winter Soldier,” he cooed patronizingly, shoving the fake dick into your mouth without preparation or remorse.

You gagged as the stiff dildo invaded your throat, tears beginning to flow from your eyes and spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth. Your arms yanked against the Christmas lights holding you bound, but that only forced them to dig deeper into your skin, making your struggle hurt that much more.

While you were distracted by trying to adjust to the silicone cock shoved deep inside you, Bucky secured the leather strap around the back of your head, tying it into place and making it impossible for you to do anything but hold the dildo in your mouth and breathe through the way it bulged in your throat.

Then Bucky was dumping you unceremoniously on the mattress and pulling his cock from your cunt, leaving you to fall face first into the blankets while he hopped up off the bed. You were thankful you could muffle your whimper at the loss of him in the sheets, even as you knew that whatever he had planned would be so much worse than him just fucking you while tied up and gagged.

“I was going to save this one for Christmas,” he was saying from behind a privacy screen beside the bed. It was set up to make sure the camera would only show viewers what Bucky wanted them to see—which was you, and everything he did to you. “But since it’s a special occasion, I’ll let you have your present early.”

When Bucky stepped back into view, your heart nearly stopped. 

A leather harness was strapped onto Bucky’s hips, a dildo attached so it hung below his cock. The contraption, which had clearly been specially ordered because you’d never seen anything like it, wasn’t what shocked you, though—it was the size of the dildo. 

The fake dick was easily twice the size of Bucky’s cock, bigger around and just as long. Staring at it with wide eyes, you genuinely didn’t think it would fit in any of your holes, no matter how roughly Bucky tried to stuff it in. But your cunt was between your thighs like it couldn’t wait for him to try.

Despite your dedication not to give Bucky or the audience any kind of reaction, you couldn’t help the, “No, no, no, no, no,” that came from your mouth. You couldn’t fathom the massive dildo fitting inside you, let alone you enjoying it, no matter how much your body warmed at the prospect of being fucked with it.

Your protests were muffled by the gag in your mouth, to the point that your words were indiscernible, but their meaning must’ve been understood because Bucky chuckled as he walked back to you.

“I know what you’re thinking, doll,” Bucky said conversationally while he climbed onto the bed and retook his place behind you. “There’s no way it’ll fit.” 

He grabbed the knotted string of Christmas lights where they crisscrossed between your shoulder blades, pulling your torso up off the bed so your face was level with the camera. You tried not to look at your reflection in the lens, your mouth split open around the dildo in your mouth and your eyes round as saucers, but it was hard not to stare at the look in your eye—the look of something like fear… or excitement.

“But that’s what’s so fun about it,” Bucky went on, dragging the hard length of the silicone dick through your dripping wet folds, coating the fake cock in the mess of wetness your body was leaking against your will. “It will fit—and it’s going to ruin your cunt.”

Once upon a time, you’d thought the same thing about Bucky’s cock. 

The first time you’d had sex with Bucky—before the cabin and the basement and the camera—you’d taken one look at his cock and whimpered in fear. But he’d been so gentle, promising you that he’d take it slow, that your pussy was made to fit his cock. 

He’d taken his time, kissing your lips and cheeks and all over your face while he worked his cock into your pussy, giving you another inch only when you’d adjusted to the last and relaxed in his arms. Slowly, and with what seemed like an endless amount of patience, he’d opened you up for him. 

That night, he’d made love to you in deep, toe-curling strokes that had wrecked you. He’d seemingly rearranged your body to be the perfect fit for his cock, and then he’d given you the best orgasm of your life.

No wonder you hadn’t stood a chance. 

More than a year later, the memory felt like a dream. It was so faded around the edges, aged by the months spent taking Bucky’s cock roughly, furiously, whenever and wherever he wanted, all while he streamed your debasement for the audience on the dark web.

“You’re going to be so loose that you won’t even feel my cock anymore, doll,” Bucky was saying as he dragged you back to the moment by thrusting his own hard length into your cunt, soaking himself in your juices. “You’ll have to beg me to fuck you with this massive dildo just to feel anything again.” He paused, chuckling to himself as he bent over you, pressing a kiss to your spine between your shoulder blades before murmuring darkly, “That’s your Christmas present this year.”

Then, without anymore preamble, Bucky sat up and pulled out. You didn’t even have time to beg or whine before he lined his cock and the dildo up at the entrances to your tight holes, then shoved both into you at the same time. Bucky buried himself inside you so deeply, so thoroughly, that it felt like he was pushing into the very core of your being, conquering your soul just as completely as he’d conquered your body.

The intrusion was so sudden, you never had a hope of preparing, and all you felt was the devastating sting of being stretched past your limit, the overwhelming ache of being stuffed full beyond what you thought your body could ever take. 

Pain eclipsed any semblance of pleasure you might’ve gotten from having both your holes stuffed full, and your eyes rolled back in your head, a piercing cry tearing from your throat. A white hot burn scorched through your body, and your mind went entirely blank, leaving nothing but depraved annihilation in its wake. 

“Oh fuck, fellas, she’s so fucking tight like this,” Bucky groaned, talking over your head into the camera. “I can feel the fake cock splitting her open—it’s making her ass so fucking tight.”

Humiliation and shame swept through your body at his words, turning the burn into something slightly more bearable, almost pleasurable. There was something about being ignored, being treated like nothing more than a fleshlight or a fuck doll while Bucky completely decimated your body that was so… 

You shook your head. No. You weren’t going to finish that thought.

“Fuck, I don’t know how long ‘m gonna last,” Bucky was grumbling, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your audience.

The words should’ve sounded like music to your ears. You should’ve been happy the torture was almost over. Instead, you felt a pang of disappointment deep in your heart. But you didn’t have time to unpack what that could mean because then Bucky started fucking you.

His hips pulled back until only the tip of his cock and the dildo were still in your ass and pussy, then he plowed forward, shunting his entire length and the fat, massive fake cock into your holes once again. The pain of being split open was already starting to fade, an all-consuming pleasure creeping into the edges of your awareness against your will.

On Bucky’s third thrust, you moaned. 

Your mind was hazy with a mixture of pain and pleasure that was leaning more toward the latter, and with the cock gag in your mouth, you were helpless against the reactions Bucky was wringing from your body. The sound of pleasure slipped from your lips unbidden, and your face heated in shame, which only served to add more fuel to the fire burning through your body.

“Did ya hear that, chat?” Bucky crowed, slapping your ass painfully hard—hard enough that another muffled cry was wrenched from your mouth. “Our little Winter Slut is enjoying her Christmas present! She loves getting her cunt ruined, don’t ya, doll?”

He slammed deep into your body as he asked the question and you were powerless, incapable of doing anything but moaning obscenely for the camera, tears streaming down your cheeks and joining the spit that coated the lower half of your face. Long strings of drool and tears were hanging from your chin, dripping onto the bedsheets below.

Distantly, you heard the chimes from the chat log and the cash register sounds as messages and money poured in. They were coming so fast and so furious that you couldn’t even begin to fathom how much money you were making for Bucky while he broke you with his cocks.

Bucky must’ve heard the sounds too, because he doubled his efforts. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand still held you up off the bed by your Christmas light restraints. It meant that your face was framed perfectly in the camera frame.

It occurred to you that you should let your gaze drift off, let your mind retreat somewhere deep inside itself where you could hide from Bucky and what he was doing to your body. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the camera’s display panel.

There, you could see the scene Bucky had constructed—your body tied up in glittering, technicolor Christmas lights; your face covered in tears and drool, lips spread thin around the base of the cock gag; your throat bulging from the fake dick buried deep in your mouth; your tits bouncing between the strands of lights.

Behind you, with a look of deeply depraved joy on his face, was Bucky Barnes. 

He was naked save for the harness belted around his hips and the santa hat on his head. His big body was on display just as much as yours, his broad chest swathed in pale skin and chiseled muscles, his arms bulging as he held you up and spanked your ass. 

Bucky’s dark hair was falling into his handsome face, but the strands didn’t hide the merry grin on his lips or the way his blue eyes glittered with wicked delight as he stared down at the place where his cock and the massive dildo were brutally fucking your holes.

It was too much to watch your defilement. It was too depraved and too…hot.

God help you, but something must’ve finally broken inside you because it was so fucking hot to watch yourself be violated on camera while jaunty Christmas music played in the background and hundreds, if not thousands, of perverts watched Bucky have his way with you. 

Your pussy spasmed and clenched around the fake cock in your hole as you thought about those people watching you. It turned you on that the audience knew Bucky was fucking you against your will and not only were they doing nothing about it, they were taking their own pleasure from watching you be ravaged. Your cunt drooled even more.

Bucky Barnes had officially broken you. 

That was the only conclusion you could reach, because when you’d met him more than a year ago, you never would’ve imagined that your pussy would be creaming all over a fat, girthy dildo while Bucky fucked your ass and held you tied up with Christmas lights for anyone on the dark web to watch. 

But after a year of being fucked hard in every one of your holes, Bucky had finally broken you down until you’d joined him on his level. He’d torn away every ounce of shame, every bit of what had made you you, and remade you in the image of his perfect toy. You were a doll, his doll, just like he called you.

The realization filled you with a sense of peace you never would’ve expected, your body relaxing as your mind went blissfully blank. It was easier this way, you told yourself, as you breathed a sigh of relief. All that was left of you was Bucky Barnes’ perfect doll—his Winter Slut cam star.

Bucky must’ve felt or somehow sensed your submission because he groaned a filthy sound of pleasure and shoved his hips flush against your ass. He paused for a moment, his hand groping your ass possessively before pulling back and ramming home again, burying himself even deeper inside you, the massive dildo bullying your cervix as he pounded into you.

“That’s my girl, take your Winter Soldier’s cock like a good little fuck doll,” Bucky purred, his voice taking on a tenor of contentment you’d never heard before. It was like he was praising you for your submission, for finally giving yourself over to him, mind, body and soul. “You’re being such a perfect Winter Slut, taking me so good and crying so pretty for the camera.”

You preened under his praise, using what little strength remained in your body to shove your hips back onto Bucky’s cocks, fake and real alike, while you sucked enthusiastically on the fake dick in your mouth. Tears flowed harder from your eyes and you sobbed your pleasure, choked sounds of enjoyment falling from your lips.

You could feel the most devastating orgasm of your life building in the core of your being, and you were eager to chase it, knowing it would rewrite the fundamental fabric of your self. 

“Fuck yeah, doll, be my perfect little cam star,” Bucky rumbled, slapping your ass in encouragement, the sting of pain swirling with the pleasure he was wringing from your body and adding to the burning bliss scorching through you. “Show the chat how good my Winter Slut can cry for their money—show them how much you love feeling me ruin your holes for Christmas.”

Bucky rutted into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the basement and almost drowning out the new Christmas song that had begun. It felt so good, so fucking good to be fucked and filled in every hole, that you were close—so close you could nearly taste it.

“Fucking take it, Winter Slut, take the only cock you’ll ever feel again,” Bucky growled, curling around your body and taking your throat in his hand. He squeezed tightly, grinding his cock and dildo into your body, so deep, you could feel them in your guts. “For the rest of your life, you’re gonna do nothing but take my cock and be my pretty little cam star—you’re all fucking mine.”

Something snapped inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating the massive fake cock in your cunt. Your squirt sprayed down to soak the sheets beneath you, and all you could do was revel in the pleasure flooding your body, every limb trembling with the force of it while you gasped and cried around Bucky’s hold on your throat.

When he realized what you’d done, Bucky whooped with triumph, crowing into the camera that he’d made you squirt, that you were his perfect little fuck doll cam star. But you were too consumed by your oncoming release, which was barreling toward you with the force of a freight train. 

Before it finally hit you, and you came so hard your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you passed out, Bucky wrapped himself more tightly around your body, his chest pressing into your back and his arms wrapping around your front. He choked you with one big hand while the other groped and played roughly with your tits.

To your surprise, he brushed a kiss to your cheek in a gesture that felt affectionate.

“You’re making me so fucking proud, doll,” he cooed in your ear, and you thought, for a moment, that he sounded just like the sweet Bucky Barnes you’d met all those months ago. “You’re the best Christmas present I ever could’ve asked for.” 

Just then, your release slammed into you and you screamed—and there wasn’t anyone around to hear you except Bucky and his camera. 

Overwhelming pleasure washed through you, darkness creeping into the edges of your consciousness as your body convulsed and you choked on the dildo in your throat while your other holes clenched around the cocks that had split you open beyond your limit.

The last thing you heard before the weight of your release dragged you under was the festive synth pop chords of another Christmas song, and Wham! singing, “This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.” 

Somewhere inside you, you knew that everything was going to change once you woke up. Bucky had finally broken you, and you’d given him your ultimate submission. Nothing would be the same, but you found that that didn’t scare you as much as it once might have.

You belonged to Bucky Barnes and you’d finally accepted that as fact. He’d taken everything else, but you still had your heart left to give—and you were certain it wouldn’t be long before you gave him that too. Maybe, at least, it would save you from tears…

As you came so hard you passed out, you accepted that your thoughts, your pleasure, your mind, your body, your soul—your everything—belonged to Bucky Barnes. Then, everything went black.

december daze challenge masterlist

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Series Masterlist

Word Count: total 2,600+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. NSFW, mdni, 18+

Themes: Red Hair Pirates, gn!afab!reader, wet dreams, same reader different ending, Shanks, Beckman, Hongo, mdni, NSFW, smut, 18+

Notes: Happy birthday @loganwritesprobably! I wanted to give you some Beckman for your birthday, but he's always got his crew with him. I hope you enjoy this edition for the series!

“Ah, ah, ah,” his voice rasped out, slowly drawing his hand to hold the base of your neck, coaxing your head further down his shaft as your lips formed a perfect ring around him, “All the way. There you go.” He felt his mushroomed tip press at the back of your throat, head lulling back as he gave over to the pleasure you invoked by swallowing around him.

Bobbing your head up and down, he peeked out of the corner of his eye the position he had you in. Laying over his lap, completely bare as you knelt by his right thigh, forearms pinned beneath his legs and lips wrapped around his cock. He had effectively had you trapped in position, cunt leaking while he coaxed you down to make a mess of his cock with your mouth.

As he felt you come up for a reprive if air, he stroked along your spine towards your ass. Back arched in a perfect bow as you swirled your tongue over his tip, he drew down his hand in a firm clap against your left ass cheek. Yelping out, you again began bobbing your head up and down to pump his shaft with your lips. Pressing your thighs together, your hands twitched beneath his thighs as you rocked against the hand on your ass in a bid to get him to touch you.

“Oh,” he chuckled, leaning down and taking a glimpse of your cunt pulsing around nothing, “Oh, you want me to touch you, huh?” He drew his hand over the round of your ass, soothing the skin before raising it and striking it down once more. “Show me how much you want my touch.”

Immediately, you coughed and spluttered around his cock as you messily slurped at a rapid pace. Tears began to sting in your eyes from your gag reflex reacting, whining and vibrating your throat around his shaft while you held onto the underside of his thigh to anchor yourself further against him. Loud, messy, and sloppy motions against his cock had groans rolling freely from his lips. He thrust up in time with your motions, dipping his hand between your folds and gathering the slick at your entrance.

“That's good,” he praised you, slowly sinking in his middle finger past the first notch of his knuckle, “Doing such a good job for me.” He sunk his finger past the second notch, turning it within you gently while groaning out at the heat. Easily sliding in a second finger beside it, he spread your pussy apart with his index finger and pinky, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit each time you bobbed down on his cock.

You whined around his shaft, gulping around his cock and eagerly continuing your rapid pace. He could feel the flutters of your cunt sucking him in, causing his own release to teeter on the edge. The slick sounds of your silky pussy sucking in his hand harmonized alongside the crude squelching of your mouth meeting his pubic hair on every down stroke. Each motion caused him to feel more at the precipice of euphoria.

His balls sucked up into his guts, feeling his stomach bind in a harsh knot. He increased the amount of pressure to your clit, tapping and swirling it in a harsh rapidity as your flutters got more frantic.

“You better not waste a drop,” he warned you, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as his cock began to dribble beads of sticky precum into your throat, “Swallow it. Ngghm, fuck-!”

As his eyes opened, he was met with the sight of his cabin roof. Laying flat on his back, no sight of you to behold. A dream, a facade, an illusion of your body causing him the pleasure in fantasy as his body reacted in reality.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-!” he immediately flung his blankets off his lap and gathered the closest discarded shirt or scrap of material he could. His cock began twitching, his untouched eruption coming into full fruition as he exploded in ecstasy. Hot spurts of cum shot into the air before he managed to catch it in a piece of material, sticking to his stomach and dripping down his shaft to pool beneath him.

His cock danced in rhythmic bursts, still clinging onto the falsified memory within his mind as each viscous rope shot out from the smaller slit. Slumping back on his pillow, he scrunched his eyes tightly shut, uttering a single word.

“Fuck.”

Red Haired Shanks

Glancing down at his shaft bobbing and twitching, the final spurts of his release bubbling past the tip and catching on his crotch, he couldn't help but laugh at himself.

A wet dream? Something as juvenile as a wet dream? And about you, of all the people he could've dominated: you. The thoughts swirl on in his mind, replaying his favorite moments in his head on a loop while his cock twitches in interest.

His spirits were as high as they had ever been while laughing at his own mess. Drawing up his shirt from the floor he desperately reached for earlier, he mopped himself up and discarded the shirt beside him in his wicker hamper. Laying on his back, he fixed his eyes on the roof of the red force while he grinned to himself.

A spectral visit from the Red Force’s chronicler: charged for keeping the crew on their routine, and exceptionally good at doing as such, was granted to him this night. The dance you played for him was a perfect reflection to how he would have you if given the opportunity. You were someone he had his good and bad eye on for some time, and now his mind had began to play tricks on him in his desperation for you.

Rolling over in his bed, he considered his options from this point on. He could simply walk up to you at the breakfast table and give you a play by play about it, sparing no detail and watching if your eyes go wide and sparkle with interest. He could keep the image to himself, using it when he needed a little bit of focus to tip over the edge without a playmate in his quarters, singing sweet praises of your name into his shoulder while he cums. Or he could put the image out of his mind entirely, forget it ever happened and attempt to move on.

“Sh-Shanks-!” your muffled voice echoed alongside the sloppy noises of your head bobbing up and down his shaft, “Shanks I'm gonna-!”

The red haired pirate immediately rolled onto his back, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow as his hand began to snake down his happy trail to his already hardening cock. The flushed tip still dribbled with the memory of his overnight visitor: you in your glory with your lips muffling out incomprehensible babbles while greedily slurping on his cock. Picturing this new one with your cheek flush with his, hot breath on his neck, whining and keening through your bliss while your pussy pulses with the rhythmic contractions of your ecstasy-.

“-Oh, stars,” Shanks whispered out in a breathy exhale as a smaller release erupted over his palm and trickled down his fingertips. Pleasure shot through his abdomen and twitching his cock as he pumped himself through the waves of euphoria rising throughout his body. Panting and rolling over onto his side, he reached for a towel and drew it down to the mess currently spreading to pool beneath him.

Shanks let out a small chuckle before sighed remorsefully. With a deep furrow in his brows, he began to immediately chastise himself for using you as the masterpiece within his mind's eye. He began cleaning over his shaft and down to his balls with the towel, all the while swearing a solemn promise in every motion.

“I'll make it up to you,” he whispered, gently speaking your name while he cleaned, “I'll make it up to you. I swear.”

Benn Beckman

Immediately, Beckman flung himself from his bed feeling violated by his thoughts. A cruel shudder rang through his body with those final moments ricocheting over his every pore. Sweat beaded at his temple as he looked at his bed as if it was made from flame and stinging needles as opposed to his cabin quarters.

“No,” he shook his head at the intrusive thoughts and fought them off, “No. Not you. Not like this.” He fought with his inner turmoil at the thought before strengthening his resolve and moving towards the door.

Scurrying with his sleep trousers flooding down his leg, a fresh pair flung over his shoulder with a towel, and a deepening grimace over his face, he made haste towards the crew bathroom and flung open the door. A trio of stalls for privacy between crewmates with wooden doors latching was on the leftmost corner, and to the rear was a large ovular bath able to comfortably seat five at once. The Red Force was a comfortable ship made for sailing at long lengths between ports, and the bathroom was one such luxury.

As Benn Beckman stepped into a booth, the shower beside his switched on and began to flood the room with steam. A small hum fled the lips of his shower-mate, immediately causing crescent shaped welts to form in Beckman’s palms by how hard his grip was forming.

“Chronicler,” Beckman gently rasped out with a small amount of laziness found in his tone. Your hum halted while you cheerily chirped out your greeting to him in return.

“First-Mate,” you retorted in the same manner, “And here I thought I'd have the bathroom to myself for once at this hour.” Beckman chuckled at your small aire of disappointment, only succeeding in raising a laugh of your own beside him.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

That question halted his reach for his pants as he dragged the hem over his hips and down his Adonis belt. With stuttering fingers, he hastily freed himself of the cotton material before kicking them to the edge of the booth and stepping beneath the warming water. Quickly dampening his face with the rapid flurry of water, Beckman rinsed his cotton-mouth from slumber and replied back.

“You could say that, yeah,” his voice crooned with the languid drawl of the morning, “Just not been sleepin’ as good as the rest.”

“I get it,” you admit as a few pumps and squirts from the bottle beside you fell into your hands, “We've been at sea for a while. All the faces, the same. The sea, the same. The food, unfortunately, the same. Roux tries his best to keep it interesting, but ‘brown stew’ can only be eaten so many times before my brain starts to fry.” The scent of orange peel and licorice wafted from the stand beside him, immediately swelling the mind of Benn Beckman.

He found his mind falling back into the fantasy his mind concocted of you eagerly sucking on his cock while he teased and spanked your ass, fingers slipping into your pussy and drawing out those choked sputters while he had you at his mercy. The feeling of your lips on his skin, the caress of your plush heat in his hand, the warmth of your throat taking him in-.

-He peered down at his hand, moving against his will and pumping along his cock while the other caressed his broad chest to pinch at his nipples. Shaking his head frantically, he removed his hands as if his body had burnt him and immediately stepped beneath the water. Rinsing his hair, his face, his ears, his body, he couldn't hear what you said clearly from the stall beside him.

“Sorry, head was under,” Beckman apologized with honesty, “Mind repeatin’ that?”

“I said, Benn Beckman, and please don't tell the others this,” you pleaded with a small chuckle, “I think we've all got cabin fever. I had the weirdest dream that I was fucking some crew members, and we all know that I absolutely wouldn't do that.” Beckman's hands halted their wash as you continued, “I think my mind has run away with me, using what's around me to create some kind of plot to keep it interesting. Just a bit crap that I'm left high and dry in the morning, is all.”

Taking a few moments pause to contemplate exactly what you were informing him, he inhaled before releasing an exhale with a groan hinted on his breath.

“It’s not my place to judge anyone on what shapes their dreams take,” Beckman nodded honestly while leaning against the adjoining wall where you were beside him, “And I get it. It's all the same at the moment. Next port is in a couple more weeks, we just gotta keep strong until then.”

“Aye, sir,” you uttered softly. The tap creaked off in the shower beside him at the same time Beckman did the same. As you both stepped out into the tiled hall, you both looked at the bath before looking at each other. In the silence, Beckman shook his head before looking at his toes sheepishly. Raising his head, he met your eyes with his own while both reaching the same conclusion.

“Do you want to have a bath together-?”

“-Just to keep things interesting?”

Both of you burst out into laughter before moving to the large bath. Removing your towels and stepping into the water, you and Beckman enjoyed swapping stories to break the routine of the norm, dreams but a whisper in the fictitious wind fleeing in every moment spent beside one another.

Hongo

All through his routine, his face did not change from a deep scowl mixing with complete and utter confusion. Waking himself fully up, in the shower room, at the breakfast table, in his office, back to the mess hall, taking the watch shift in the crows nest: the scowl never left his face as all thoughts eclipsed him of the night prior.

“A wet dream?” He asked himself, offended while looking down at his waistband, “I had a fucking wet dream?” He spat in disdain as his verbalised recollection fled through his mind.

Imagery began to roll from his body of the motions your spectral form made against his, halting as soon as he heard your tangible laugh below by the ropes. The smile he fictitiously fucked with his throat in his mind's eye was gracing the presence of Building Snake as he joked with you. Glancing over his glasses, Building Snake gave you a gentle shove and took the ropes from your hands in a bid to remove you if your duties for the day. Just as Hongo tried to glance away, you caught his eye from your position down below.

“Oi, doctor! Need a hand on watch?” You yelled with your hand cupping the left-hand side of your mouth, “Building Snake’s taking over deck duty, so I'm free.” Hongo shook his head as he found his smile slowly creeping up his cheek.

“You're free because you're overworked, chronicler,” Hongo mirrored your sentiment with his own hand curving around the edge of his lips, “Go to bed, read a book or something.” When he met your eyes once more, he saw that fire that meant for nothing but trouble as you took ahold of the ropes margining the top mast. Slowly beginning your climb, he scooched aside to make room beside him as your head popped through the latch.

“Shove,” you nodded your head towards the doctor, “I'm just-.”

“-Trying to do anything except go to sleep, I know the feeling,” Hongo closed his eyes and shook his head. Turning his chin onto the horizon, he reopened his eyes and looked out onto the open sea, “I know the feeling, intimately.” Now drawn beside him, you both took an elongated inhale and released a heavy exhale in unison.

“Rough night?” Your voice drew him away from his thoughts and to your side. Hazel eyes found your form, trying as they might to not see the position they placed you in last night in lieu of you before them. Hongo shook his head and upticked his forlorn smile.

“Just hanging on ‘til we get to port, is all. It's been… it's just been…”

Moving closer to him, you nudge his shoulder with your own and draw into a more familial and comfortable position. As you braced his body with your own, he leaned back into your touch and sighed out while watching the sea in its repetitive stasis. Friendship and comradery was the foremost rapport between you and the crew. Hongo was no different, and simply dwelling beside the doctor and offering him support in the ways you know how came naturally to offer him that friendship you had together.

“Next port, doc,” you nodded beside him, “First round is on me. I feel like we just need it after the time we've spent at sea.”

“The one thereafter is mine,” Hongo continued to train his steely eyes on the ocean, picturing the way he held you on his lap in his mind's eye and how natural it truly felt to hold you by his side like this, and nodded with a more genuine smile drawing to his features. “We'll need it, I think. Lots of electrolytes and water through the night, but absolutely a drink or two.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @mermaniaa @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

[fadedtoneverland]

girl dads | p.sh, c.sn & j.wy

❤︎ synopsis — your husband has always been the nurturing type. and oh, just look at how he loves his little girl, like she’s the most fragile thing in the world

pairing: husband!woosanhwa x wife!reader (ft. the daughters for each family)

theme: non-idol!au, ✿ fluff, ❤︎ suggestive (if you squint)

a/n: i’ve had this idea in my head for a while. thanks to those who voted on the poll <3 this fic was very much based on that one show the trio went on when they were taking care of those three kids.

cw: fem!reader. mostly domestic shit. talks abt pregnancy and labour. it gets a little suggestive on woo’s part because it’s wooyoung.

❥ park seonghwa

the sweetest husband that has ever lived

during the pregnancy, he was just so good to you

constantly thought about you during work, made sure you had enough to eat, always catered to your pregnancy cravings

seonghwa probably panicked more than you when you were in labour

but it was all worth it in the end

he definitely cried when he saw his little girl the first time, all bundled up in your arms while you held her close to your chest

“she looks just like her mama.”

probably would name her something beautiful like “anya” or “ara” and call her his “little star”

hwa is fully aware of how painful the healing process for your body after the pregnancy, so he took on most of the caretaking work he could. and he doesn’t regret a single thing

loves going shopping with his daughter, always picking out the best outfits for his little princess

will definitely spoil her and indulge in some sweet treats behind your back

learns how to braid her hair and give her the most adorable hairstyles when you’re too busy

and his little girl always beams with excitement and joy every time her papa does her hair exactly how she likes it. the cute little pig tails with pink ribbon

“you’re the best, daddy!!”

he damn near melted on the spot right then and there

will always drive her places she needs to be. school festivals, sleepovers, play dates. you name it. he’s just so reliable and loving for his girl

seonghwa is so gentle and nurturing, he helps you every step of the way when raising your daughter together

goes all out during christmas, and buys the best gifts and decorations for you and your daughter. he just loves watching his favorite girls be the happiest they can be <3

will learn to bake and cook dishes his daughter wants to try

even if he isn’t the best at making macarons, his macarons will forever remain his little girl’s favorite

“my daddy always likes to put a little flower on top of my macarons, just how i like it! i hope i can be a good parent like him someday.”

❥ choi san

ugh he’s that one husband every girl just dreams of having

like- san is the one dad all of your daughter’s friends have a crush on because he’s so sweet and handsome

and he’s an incredible dad too. he’d probably be similar to hwa and name her something pretty, like “ari”

loves to let his little girl dress him up and do his makeup, even if she’s smearing the cherry red lipstick all over his honeyed cheeks

because seeing her smile and laugh from pure joy is just the best kind of serotonin for him :,)

gives the best uppies in the world, and definitely spins her around like a helicopter

loves to attend his daughter’s little tea parties, even having the little tiara all of her stuffed animals are wearing

speaking of tea parties— san definitely enjoys attending daddy-daughter tea parties, and especially loves watching his baby twirl in her pretty dress

san sings her to sleep and reads her bedtime stories when she’s just a baby

if you walk in while he’s singing her to sleep, you’ll both harmonize, and the faintest little smile can be seen on her chubby face <3

works together with you to make the best dinners. cooking with san is always so intimate and memorable

spoils his kid rotten with plushies and dolls, making sure she stays happy. and she definitely grows up keeping some of her most precious toys

speaking of growing up—

he’s lowkey emotionally attached to the baby version of his daughter, and will probably cry a little when he sees her grow up :,)

probably tries to enforce a “no boyfriends” rule, which you quickly swept under the rug

“no one is good enough for her >:(“

“sannie—“

he’s just a little overprotective over his kid

but of course, he will always be proud of his daughter’s achievements when she grows up. no matter what <3

“my daddy always spoiled me and knew how to treat me right. he taught me true kindness, and that’s something i will never take for granted.”

❥ jung wooyoung

the fun, playful dad

definitely had twin girls with you, and that just made him so much happier with you

and was very… passionate, about how you two went about making them

“you remember how we made them, honey—“

“babe- stop.”

had insane baby fever and damn near cried when he got to hold his little girl for the first time :,)

but wooyoung is still a little shit, even as a full-time husband

probably dutch oven’s his kids when they were little, and laughed like a maniac when they both screamed and tried to escape the blankets (because we all know woo’s farts smell like hell)

and he’s probably made them cry at least once during their tiny years

but now his daughters can laugh about those times

you and wooyoung always encouraged your kids to follow their passions, but wooyoung especially put an emphasis on it

he took a lot of risks for opportunities during his teenage and early adult years, and wooyo does the same for his girls

“look- if you want to do a boring, corporate office job when you’re older, go for it. but always find passion for something.”

^^ woo at some point to his teenage girls

when they were in first grade, his kids would ask for help on their math homework. but he’d lowkey get even more stressed than them

you’d step in to help don’t worry

loves taking his entire family to fun places

amusement parks, aquariums, parks. the entire galore. also a huge enthusiast for family picnics

by the way, he’s the certified cook of the family

has the best recipes for all sorts of korean dishes, and his daughters grow up learning and replicating the recipes he’s shown them :))

food is very meaningful to his family, he believes it strengthens bonds and values

and you know damn well this man cries the hardest watching his daughters get married

because he knows you and him raised those queens

“my daddy is my biggest inspiration. he always told me to follow my passions, and supported me every step of my journey. i want to be like him someday.”

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

taglist - @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @dead-end-fanfiction @loverofpussyandthaitea @lettucemen @alliepeace107 @sannies-tiddies @m1rotics

fadedtoneverland © 2025 | do not steal, modify or repost ANY of my work.

[sharksarewaterdogs]

Honmoon Gone Right Gone Wrong Au

(...Hmm I might be going to lesbian hell for making my first kpdh au rujinu, and during June too... forgive me, Polytrix, I love you!/lh)

(DW it has heavy Huntrix friendship themes lol)

The girls harmonizing during the Honmoon is a success! Such a success, it banishes all demons from the world!

—Including Rumi's spirt. RIP.

Ok, I don't have the details yet, but in this au Jinu DOES betray Rumi at the Idol Awards BUT, somehow, Mira and Zoey probably don't find out she's a demon until after they harmonize & she gets zapped. Yes I just want the DRAMA of it, we're throwing in all the betrayals & trust issues.

In the human world, Rumi's body is basically in a magical stasis, unconscious. Zoey & Mira are shocked and horrified to see her collapse, and doubly so when they run to her & see the faint demon marks on her. Having no idea what's going on, they get her immediate medical help and call Celine asap.

Rumi, meanwhile, awakes in the demon realm heavily disoriented and in full demon form, which she does not initially realize because Jinu's there, and, oh, that guy just stabbed her in the back. So she probably attacks him (demons have more volatile/heightened emotions?), and he deflects like "Ok chill chill that's not gonna help matters rn"

(She gets a good hit or few in tho bc. C'mon, he kinda deserves it & also she's a badass.)

Jinu is still of course Very Down Bad for Rumi. He saw her flung into the demon realm as well & has been trying to make sure she's ok.

And internally also kind of "🥰 Wow you really are flawed just like me 🥰" and kind of guilty bc wow he really did just take advantage of & expose her insecurities with his backstabbing huh (he has what those in the romance biz call a hell of a grovel before him).

But mostly there to make sure she's ok bc 😬 a demon hunter in the realm of demons???

Ahahaha. Rumi's response is a big fat 🖕🖕to that

Except. She's here without her team, her girls, in a somewhat unsteady form she's not familiar with and despises, in ~a whole new world~ full of enemies. She is a badass but she has limits.

Oh the choices: Trust the guy she already trusted who JUST stabbed her in the back, or go it alone in a world and form against her.

Jinu propaganda: Tiger & Bird 🥺🥺

Forced proximity journey ensues! Rumi is Going Through It. Her friends probably know her secret and hate her now, she doesn't know if she'll ever see them again, this hated side of her is apparently what defines her very spirit if it sent her here, and she's in a hunter-hostile environment

Shit is going down in the demon realm, too. Either Gwi-Ma is weakened/defeated and there's a power vacuum, or he's stronger than ever, idk, either way, the normal balance of things has been radically thrown off and it's more unstable than ever.

Idk what's going on with the demons or the other Saja Boys but I hc the boys as becoming besties so Jinu's thing with Rumi probably complicates matters with them; and Rumi learns to see more to demons and embrace all sides of herself, while still taking into account demons are incredibly selfish beings who fed souls to their master/would typically feed on them if given the chance, and maybe she helps (some of) them like canonically she helped Jinu to realize they can and should be better

Zoey & Mira meanwhile grapple with feelings of betrayal from both Celine and Rumi, as well as self-worth issues because of the rift it's tearing in their found family, and grief and fear over losing Rumi. Their goal is to try to get her back, while Celine argues over whether or not they should—does it not show that she is more like her father, bound to be evil, with her being thrown out? (Celine is also struggling bc that's the child she raised and the last piece she had of Rumi's mother, but y'know she is a VERY VERY flawed parent and something of an antagonistic force)

There's stuff probably with the girls struggling with their families (brought up by Rumi's very public collapse? Or maybe just in Zoey's case, while Mira's come into the picture maybe bc she needs something from them for Rumi).

Also Bobby's there freaking out bc he has NO idea what is going on. Does he maybe get clued in (esp since Rumi's not really in like a coma but a magical stasis) or no...? Idk but he's there and he's also not having a great time poor guy

Idk it's all spaghetti on the wall rn, don't look at this it's mostly for me lol

(That said if anyone DOES read this & get inspired... 👍👍👍)

[if-divinepunishment]

If a soul is born without resonance, what does it echo instead?

✦ Rating: 18+ (Mature Themes, addiction - substance use, Strong Language, Emotional Abuse, torture, violence, sexual assault, explicit sex)

✦ In Thalwood, the trees don't just whisper, They sing. And when they fall silent, we hold our breath.

It has been many centuries since you made the mistake of stepping out of line. Before this room, and before the horrors inflicted upon your body and soul you were someone – something.

Anger. Rage. Wrath.

Though, those titles were much prettier when first bestowed upon you like an act of love. Now the only acts of love given to you are the cuts of a blade and the painful tugging of a cleaning cloth.

After years, and years of pleading to be forgiven and begging for your sins to be released, you are dismissed from the celestial realm to continue your divine punishment. As if centuries of pain weren’t enough. You find yourself vulnerable in a world you’ve dreamt of exploring before.

Altheria.

Unfortunately, your newfound freedom is fleeting.

Just as you awaken on the moss-covered ground, you’re struck with the bubbling frustration of a man standing no more than ten meters in front of you. His sloppily managed magic shackling you once again. Not by a God this time, but by pale, shaking, mortal hands.

✦ In this interactive fiction you will be able to

‣ Customise your character’s appearance, gender (male, female, non-binary), personality, and sexuality.

‣ Meet and romance (or don’t romance), antagonise, or befriend some interesting human companions. - Please note that being in a romantic relationship does not mean you have to persue sex or physical intimacy.

‣ live as familiar and experience whatever that entails.

‣ Explore the town of Thalwood and learn about the Ethereal Harmonics.

‣ Find about about Thalwood's history and solve some of it's mysteries.

‣ Escape from the chains binding you to your abusive creator and their flock of angels and enact revenge.

✦ Nyneve Minowa (he/him) RO

Age: 25

A 5’11, pale, slender man covered in black clothing. He has silky, black hair that cascades down his back. His blue eyes seem to look past your skin and right into your mind sometimes. Though, you suppose that’s because you’re his familiar.

A scholar in Ethereal harmonics, he holds the ability to gain power from the Angel he worships – rage. Which happens to be you.

Currently, he spends all his time with you. However, he used to primarily spend time studying the Ethereal Harmonics.

Tropes: Worshipper/worshipped, stuck together, forced proximity, secretly pining.

Green flags: smart, protective, observant, dependable, curious, loyal.

Ethereal Harmony - Emotant

Red flags: Possessive, emotionally constipated, prone to anger, cynical, confrontational.

✦ Nami Lovecroft (she/her) RO

Age: 26

A 5’6, chubby girl with deep, cool tone brown skin and a flat nose. She’s covered from head to toe in modest clothing. Her black hair is natural in a small Afro. She carries on her a beautiful rosary and you can help but notice how her dark brown eyes light up when she looks at it, a stark contrast to the uncomfortable grimace she pulls when she speaks to you.

Often seen volunteering in the church, maybe she can give you a mortal perspective on Altheria, your creator and the angels.

Tropes: apprehensive friends to lovers, deconstructing harmful religious beliefs (together), forbidden love.

Green flags: Kind, generous, Passionate, Merciful, gentle.

Red flags: initially hostile, heavily (toxic) religious, very guarded, insecure, Naive,

Ethereal Harmony - Virtuant

✦ Crew Ledger He/him (RO)

Age: 40

A 6’4, stocky man with tanned skin with a roman nose. Usually wearing his ‘comfortable inn-keeping clothes’ for the inn Harmon’s Rest. His curly brown hair reaches just past his ears and his cheeks are flushed. His sleeves are rolled up and his arms are covered with hair. His green eyes seem to almost sparkle as he talks about his seven-year-old daughter Laverne.  On his right wrist he has the names Liren and Laverne tattooed in cursive.

He spends most of his time with Laverne or manning Harmon’s Rest.

Ethereal Harmony - Virtuant

Tropes: Single parent, big secret.

Green flags: Eager, nice, affectionate, good parent, animal lover.

Red flags: Cagey about past, stubborn, addiction.

✦ Ahri Magnolia (she/they) RO

Age: 29

A 5’4, plump person with tanned skin and a flat nose. They wear elegant, ‘sharp’ looking clothes that drape her in a cloak of mystery. Black and dark red, straight hair that reaches her shoulder blades tied in a half-up half-down hairstyle, with a sharp jewelled hairpin that dangles when she walks. their hazel eyes are as sharp as their voice and her confidence radiates into any room she walks into.

She spends most of her time solving disputes in Thalwood.

Ethereal Harmony – Desirant

Tropes: Messing around first, shameless flirt, sworn off relationships.

Green flags: Empathetic, charming, observant, strong willed, capable.

Red flags: emotionally unavailable, non-committal (no cheating), closed off, mildly manipulative.

✦ Cazine (they/them) RO

Age: 23

A 5’6, lithe person with brown skin and a hooked nose. They wear androgenous clothes and heavy jewellery. Their wavy hair is black and is short in the morning and long at night, however they aren’t open to explaining why.  Their left eye is black, and their right is covered with an eyepatch. They don’t seem to very invested in anyone, however they are uniquely interested in you.

They lead a hunting and foraging squad in Thalwood. It's said they get their keen aim and steady hand from hours of painting.

Ethereal Harmony - Emotant

Tropes: Found family, traumatic past, gender identity issues.

Green flags: resolute, resourceful, independent, flexible, open-minded, preceptive.

Red flags: Avoidant, careless (to self), quick tempered, stubborn, sarcastic, impatient, impulsive.

✦ Aquine (They/She/He/it)

Your creator, and the creator of all things living. Though she was once brimming with ambition, emotion and desires all you’ve seen the last few centuries is their blank excuse soul. You’ve felt her warmth and devotion and now you feel her icy hot bite and the ripping of your wings.

Soon, you will get revenge.

✦ Envy (he/him)

The second angel ever created by Aquine. Always watching and always wanting more of you. He was your dearest friend, but recently you’ve realised he’s nothing but the knife that stabs into your back. Now, you’re sure he would have torn the wings from your back himself, just to see your face as he did so - if Aquine would have allowed it. Yet, he settled on exposing your expedition to Altheria. And in the end, he got what he wanted, he got to drink you up and spit you out for good.

✦ The Angels

Woven from Aquine’s heart are her beloved Angels. As a testament to his love and affection towards the first living beings they’ve ever created, they forfeited their emotions, desires and virtues. Thus, the first Angel dubbed ‘the Prototype Angel’ was given her hatred. A boon for her future creations to share – the gift of never feeling hated.

✦ The Ethereal Harmonies

Not a person, rather a thing given to human-kind. Given to the people to connect divinity and mortals. Through the Ethereal Harmonies humans may request boons for power from an angel through the devotion of desire, emotions, or virtue.

✦ Demo - TBA ✦ Spotify Playlist - Cazine, The Prototype ✦ Pinterest - TBA ✦ Character arts - TBA (when I have some money I want to commission some artists!)

✦ Severe content warnings for the following: Self harm, suicidal ideation, torture,transphobia, child death(mentioned), addictiom, abuse, sexual assault and abuse, flashbacks, recovery from trauma, disordered eating, power imbalances, re-traumatisation, animal death through hunting for food, Sex and suggestive themes, death.

(The sexual abuse, assault, abuse, and torture happen to MC. These scenes will be skippable however they will still happen.)

This list may be subject to change while the interactive fiction novel is in development, please keep a regular eye on the contents warning list on this page as the chapters update.

✦ Additional disclaimers and information

I am a novice writer and am doing this as a passion project for fun. I will try to be as quick as possible but I have zero coding experience. I will give as many updates on this blog as i can though.

(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

Character asks & POV are okay, nsfw is okay, if I don't want to answer something due to being uncomfortable I won't! I appreciate YOU if you have read this far into my little post.. I'm quite nervous but really proud of this idea!

[meet-me-backstage]

𓃗

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ꥟ Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ꥟ It had been years since you ran away from Joel Miller, a hunter, frightened for your life and of who he had become. Before the infected roamed he was the grumpy single father of a chirpy little girl who lived across the street from you and kept himself to himself… until he didn’t, not with you at least when you began watching over Sarah while he couldn’t. He became someone who you could talk to, a friend dare you say, a silly little crush and your lifeline at the beginning of the apocalypse.

Now you are residing in Jackson, a slice of heaven in a cruel world, the perfect distraction from your past and the hell you went through to get away from it. However, you realize that the past really does always come back to haunt you when all too familiar faces arrive at Jackson and you have no other choice but to face Joel again, who makes it his mission to fix your broken friendship.

Unable to fight your heart, feelings resurface and lines blur when it becomes clear that you are just as much Joel’s lifeline as he is yours.

𝑨 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ꥟ Horror themes, not strictly following the first game/season + not at all following the second season/game so kinda au, reader can sing and play guitar, weapons, bad language, death, grief, angst, mentions of pregnancy and stillbirth, blood, mention of vomit, violence, nightmares, PTSD, a lil smidge of dark!Joel, Jackson!Joel, soft & protective with a bit of a dad bod!Joel, unrequited love until it isn’t, jealousy, mutual pining, age gap (reader is 36 and Joel is 56) and smUUUUT (‼️) so you must be 18+ to read❗️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 ꥟ 11K

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 ꥟ a Platonic (with a capital ‘P’‼️) reader x Joel pre-apocalypse flashback / reader having a lil unrequited crush on Joel, mention of unrequited love, bad language, mention of parental neglect, grief, angst, weapons, violence, blood, PTSD symptoms, mention of death, mention of pregnancy and some mutual pining.

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 ‘𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞’ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! <𝟑

⇜ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

THEN

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐍, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑

"It doesn't matter where you go or what you do - I wanna spend each moment of the day with you - well, look what has happe—"

You and Sarah are singing in unison, your voices harmonizing with each other while you strum away at your guitars... until Joel pushes Sarah's bedroom door open, making his presence known to the two of you.

Sarah crosses her arms over the body of her guitar and glares up at her dad, feigning adorable anger - you don't miss the twinkle in her eyes though, it was always there when he arrived back home from work as if she hadn't seen him for years, "dad, don't you ever knock?"

"Don't mind me, honey—" Joel peeks his head further past her door, which is covered in stickers that sum Sarah up in a nutshell; rainbows, roller skates, cartoon puppies, guitars, music notes, multi-color stars and flowers. "I was just seein' what all the noise was," a playful grin tugs on his lips as he lets himself into Sarah's room, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms - looking awfully proud of himself for successfully poking fun at the fourteen year old.

"Oh ha ha - very funny—" Sarah retorts with a deadpan expression, "you're just jealous I've got someone else to do duets with."

"You got me there," Joel admits, bringing his hand up to lightly slap his broad chest while admiring Sarah, who is now the one looking awfully proud of herself for successfully poking fun at the thirty-five year old.

Joel's eyes divert to you - you'd been silent, fondly observing the father and daughter joking around while cuddling what was your mom's guitar to your chest, resting your chin on the side of it’s body. You could feel the warmth of her that always gave you comfort, a similar warmth that you feel with Sarah and Joel. He shoots you a knowing look and there's a thankful glint in it too that takes you aback more than his sudden arrival back home.

You'd been fulfilling the unspoken promise between you a few weeks ago by bringing over your guitar, taking his spot as Sarah's duet partner while he tried to fix the mess of his business that his little brother made... you hadn't seen much of him since that night, mostly at the occasional dinners like before. He didn’t have the luxury of having the time to watch a movie with you and Sarah anymore, he just wanted to keep his head down and finish that paperwork Tommy didn’t do - it was an emergency and you had been more than happy to watch over Sarah for him.

She is your best friend after all.

"Hey, trouble."

"Hi, Joel," you greet him by his name without a stutter, smiling... You hadn't been in the best of moods since your dad left and you hadn’t exactly been discreet about it - there was no point in hiding it because of course Joel had noticed the empty space of your driveway, usually filled by your dad’s car, the same day that he left for his business trip.

Joel confronted you about it a few nights after, prompted by your quietness at the dinner table… even Sarah wasn’t able to get a single giggle out of you.

You just sat there fiddling with your food, aimlessly scraping your fork against your plate, miles away until Joel’s voice jolted you back into the room…

‘What’s goin’ on with you?’

‘Me?’ His eyes pierced into your soul - there was no mistake he was talking to you. ‘Nothing.’

‘Ain’t nothin’ - you been mopin’ for days.’

You shrugged - shrugged. There was nothing in this world that frustrated Joel more than a goddamn shrug.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. ‘I see your dad ain’t been home - ‘s that what this is about?’ He dropped his knife on his plate to gesture at your deflated self.

Your face said it all, you didn’t need to say a word.

Joel muttered something like ‘what an asshole’ under his breath - you could barely hear it.

‘He’s away - working. ‘S not his fault.’

Joel did roll his eyes at that. ‘Like hell it ain’t.’

‘Dad—’ Sarah interjected. The sight of his daughter alone calmed his agitated state, then she leaned towards him, excitably whispering in his ear.

‘You free on Saturday?’ Joel asked you after Sarah pulled back and resumed tucking into her dinner.

‘Mhm.’

‘Then it’s settled—,’ you tilted your head in the manner of a curious puppy, ‘I’m takin’ you ‘n Sarah to the theatre - we’ll see that movie you both’ve been goin’ on about, the one with the werewolves—’

‘Dawn of the Wolf two?!’ You gasped.

‘Dawn of the Wolf two.’ Joel, satisfied with himself for reclaiming the ‘best dad ever’ status from Sarah and for cheering you up, watched you with a crooked smile as you happily ate your food.

He watches you now with that same crooked smile that sends your stomach spiralling. "You okay?" He subtly nods, a caring movement that you respond to with wide-eyes... maybe his exhaustion in consequence of ‘Miller Bros. Services’ being on its last legs had been the reason for his short temper with you. He had showed you that he didn't hate you like you originally thought he did, but you’re still accustoming to this compassionate side to him he only reserved for Sarah and Tommy.

Whatever had changed between the two of you.

It’s a good change.

Dare you say it could be a budding friendship - the beginning of what you have with Sarah; someone who you could confide in. Joel could be that someone too… someone who is kinda an asshole but you could confide in him from time to time.

"I’m okay," you hum... you are. It's not like you noticed any differences with your dad being gone because he never made time for you. Besides, you'd been spending most of your days with Sarah so it's not like you'd been forced to face the desolate space that was your home all that much... in fact, you feel less lonely than you ever did before you met Sarah and Joel, you’re practically living in a loving home vicariously through them. "Are you - okay?"

"Just fine.” It's exactly the vague answer you'd expected considering he wanted to keep Sarah out of the trouble he's got himself into, and judging by his defeated tone he hasn't miraculously been able to undo Tommy's mistakes yet. "Tired—" he adds like the worst case scenario hadn’t been the source of his nightmares lately. "Worked my ass—" he clears his throat, sheepishly glancing at Sarah - she’s holding in a snicker by biting her lips together, "butt off as always."

Your smile grows as you tilt your head.

"What are you doin' back so early anyway?" Sarah questions, scrunching her petite nose.

“The guy me 'n' Tommy are workin' for wasn't feelin' too good so we got dismissed for the day." Joel’s eyes drift back to his daughter suspiciously with a raise of an eyebrow, "why'd you ask?"

“No reason—" She looks down at the guitar Joel had gotten her on her ninth birthday, an acoustic one that she'd also decorated with stickers... Sarah told you all about that day, her 'most kickass birthday' as she called it, and how she hadn't let the instrument out of her sight since, "we just - no offence, daddy - but we got practicin' to do aaand we were gonna wrap your gifts for tomorrow—"

"Thought we agreed on one gift this year, sweetheart—"

"I don't remember agreein’ to that—"

"I do remember tellin' you—"

"Well I wasn't listenin' - sorry," Sarah's apology comes out as an unconvincing mumble, then her eyes light up in the fraction of a second at the same time she points in your direction, “she got you a gift too."

Your face boils when you become the subject of his stare again but you refuse to make him the subject of yours, choosing to profusely blink at Sarah instead. If you did have the words you’d say something like ‘thanks for throwing me under the bus’, but Sarah toothily grins your way and all is forgotten.

"You did?" Joel quirks an eyebrow up at you now, tilting his head to the side.

"Maybe," you mumble, embarrassed that you even thought of giving him a gift in the first place, just before Sarah states confidently; "She did."

You did... and for some reason you feel the need to explain yourself. You had wanted to show your gratitude for all the dinners, the movies and the company you wouldn't have had if he hadn't given into his grumpiness towards you over the summer, to show you are willing to let bygones be bygones and the harsh words he had flung your way didn't matter as long as you got to be in a place that feels more like home than your actual one.

He hums, "that's real kind o’ you, darlin’."

Your jaw drops. ‘Darlin’’… you could get used to that.

"It is—" Sarah agrees enthusiastically with her dad. If it were possible, a flashing lightbulb would be floating above her head right now as she appears to come up with an idea. Once it’s executed, she directs her attention onto you, “hey, instead of leavin’ the gift here tonight why don’t you bring it over tomorrow—” you shake your head quickly, but Sarah refuses it as an answer, “pleeeeease - you’ve gotta celebrate with us.”

You shake your head again… it’s not that you don’t want to - you just feel like you’ve encroached on enough of their father daughter time. Surely he’d appreciate having quality time with his daughter more after the stressful month he's had… you also can’t help but recall words he spat your way before you ran home crying months ago that further prove your point:

'Between you 'nd me, I'd really like to have this one day with my daughter - you think you could allow me th—'

You can.

You'll leave your gift for him here and go home.

You’ll wake up tomorrow.

You’ll leave Sarah and Joel alone.

You’ll break Sarah’s heart.

Sarah does what she always does when she has no clue what to do next, she turns to her dad for answers. She stares up at him with big eyes, desperately pleading for him to help her change your mind.

"What'd you want me to do?" Joel wonders how he'd gotten to a point in his life where his purpose is to do a teenager’s bidding.

Sarah's shoulders drop into a slouch, "duh, you ask." She side-eyes you, the exact same look that Joel would give you after talking about you as if you weren't right there the whole time.

She is truly the mirror image of her father.

“She already said she don’t wanna come.”

“No she didn’t - she shook her head.”

“Same damn thing.”

“No it isn’t.”

“She’s your friend—”

“It’s your birthday… and she’s your friend too.”

They’re as stubborn as each other.

Joel and Sarah stare at one another, contesting with each other, further confirming their alikeness. If he didn't have such a soft spot in his heart for the girl or he didn't know the headstrongness of her that she inherited from him he could’ve kept his eyes open until they burned red, itching for him to just blink… but he doesn’t, he caves because he knows she’s right.

You should celebrate with them tomorrow.

You are his friend.

He obliges Sarah’s command with a scratch at the back of his neck, “it ain’t gonna be much—” he sternly glances at Sarah, speaking as if he'd forgotten that you already knew what plans she had up her sleeve. "But you can come over - if you want," he confirms... “I’d like you to come.”

Your heart thuds, “you - would?” He nods but you need to hear another confirmation in case you hadn’t heard him right the first time, “I wouldn’t be - intruding?”

"You wouldn't be intrudin'."

“Really?”

He nods again - not hesitantly or resentfully, but assertively. "I’d also feel better knowin' you ain't alone."

You find the courage to return his eye contact and nervously purse your lips before popping them open, "okay, I’ll - I’ll think about it."

Sarah bounces on her bed, suddenly so full of energy that her guitar ricochets off of her lap and you almost fly off of her stripey duvet. She catches the instrument back into her small arms and her beaming gaze drifts up to Joel, "Thank you, daddy!”

You can't not accept the invitation now… not with those cute dimples she’d gotten from her dad on display.

"Hm—" Joel brings a hand to his chin, his fingers holding his jaw and ending his intense scrutiny of you with those pretty brown eyes, "alright, I'll get outta your hair... but first you two are gonna sing me a song."

You and Sarah glance at each other, your face flushing instantly; a common occurrence for you whenever Joel Miller is in the same room as you. Sarah’s eyes are glimmering, so much that they light up the room alongside the pink lamp on her side table that nudges her white-framed double bed.

An amused Joel wanders over to the large pale purple bean bag sat at the end of Sarah's bed. It’s sinking into the shaggy brown carpet underneath it and he brushes his hands down his work clothes before letting himself fall onto it with a quiet groan. He immediately relaxes, his body consumed by the softness of the seat under him and he spreads his arms out, his legs too - you're convinced it's the first time he's had the chance to sit down today, it certainly looks it judging by the way his eyelids flutter so elegantly.

You can't miss the small movement because you're eye level with him now. Your grip on the body of your guitar subconsciously gets tighter when you feel those butterflies… they practically live inside you, your stomach may as well charge them rent.

Joel notices your fingernails accidentally catching the D and B strings, creating a muted but melodic sound that doesn't sound quite right. Then he closely examines the decorative details of the guitar you're hugging.

Your mom's guitar is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen so you don't blame him for admiring it.

A grand auditorium acoustic guitar of cedar, spruce and rosewood... A pattern of intricately thin lines run along its body and a floral motif of dahlias and their leaves are carved on top of them. Simpler floral decoration is copied along the fretboard, soundhole, headstock and side... It’s nothing short of a masterpiece - your mom's guitar is a work of art, and it feels like an honor for it to have been passed on to you, for you to be the one holding something as wonderful and close to you as she had once been.

"Now that's the prettiest gee-tar I ever saw," Joel murmurs. His voice raspy and tired. His entranced stare is still on the guitar as if the smooth wooden structure had hypnotized him.

You subconsciously smile dreamily… turns out your guitar has the same effect on him as he has on you. He looks at you, knowing he'd complimented something that you hold so dear… but you don't think he knows exactly how much his words mean to you and how they seem to aim directly for your heart.

Joel taps at the bean bag with the palm-side of his hand. "C'mon now, gimme a song - I need some serenadin'," he leans back more as his calm voice serenades you, soothing your rapid heartbeat which had started pounding from the moment he'd asked you and Sarah to sing him a song - invited you over for his birthday… no, since he poked his head through Sarah’s door.

Sarah doesn't show any sign of nerves, having sung and played for him plenty of times.

You never have.

You never intended to either.

Sarah pinches your shoulder, grabbing your attention, "you ready?"

"Huh?" You blink, dragging your eyes away from Joel to look at the girl sat cross-legged next to you, who has positioned herself and her guitar - eager and ready to play, "oh - yeah - wait - what're we playing?" You whisper, flustered.

"Gee - I don't know - maybe the song you taught me that we've been practicing all day every day for aaaages," Sarah answers sarcastically with high-pitched giggles between words.

How could you forget?

Especially as it was a song your mom would sing you to sleep every night - you could never forget it. Whenever you heard Nancy Sinatra's 'I Only Want To Be With You' on the car radio you found yourself singing along like you always did with your first duet partner, your mom, when she’d drive you to school... Now you're singing the same slow, stripped back version of it with Sarah that your mom taught you and it's such a good feeling - the perfect fitting bandaid to heal your grief.

You hold the man sat across from you accountable for your brain turning to mush and giggle with Sarah, nodding in agreement as you utter a quiet 'right'.

"From top?" Sarah asks.

You nod meekly, "from top."

Your fingers trace over the smooth curves of your guitar, and briefly recall how your mom would tap away at the side of it before she sang to you.

It has become a habit of your own too.

Just as the two of you had practiced, you count Sarah in alongside a few rhythmic taps with the tips of your fingers to guide her into strumming G, C and D chords while you pick the melody in time with her playing. You focus on Sarah's concentrated expression, how her hair falls over her face as she studies her fingers, how her fingers barely wrap around the neck of her guitar and still manage to create a sound as smooth as velvet.

She's a natural virtuoso like her dad too… and although you haven't yet heard him play the guitar or sing, picturing him serenading you has been the source of all your daydreams recently.

You do your best to push that idyllic image of Joel to the back of your mind before you fuck a note up and miss your cue to start singing. You already feel your fingers trembling due to the combination of the buzz of the aluminium strings pressing against them, Sarah's obedient nods in your direction as she prepares for you to join her in playing the chord sequence perfectly in sync and lastly, being the centre of Joel's intent and undivided attention… so you certainly don't need another distraction.

You send a warm smile Sarah's way which she returns. Then you shut your eyes, steering your focus onto the short preparation of your singing voice.

You take a quick breath.

You quietly hum in tune with Sarah's chords.

You’re as ready as you’ll ever be.

"I don't know what it is that makes me love you so - I only know I never want to let you go—"

NOW

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

You wish you remembered more songs like the back of your hand instead of humming vague tunes you couldn’t quite remember.

If you had the chance to come face to face with your younger self, you’d scold her for having taken the accessibility of music for granted… Believe it or not, it didn’t come by so easy these days. To get a hold of some in the apocalypse was the equivalent of trading in an arm and a leg - a rarity that you couldn’t afford all that often even at the rate you work. The selection was limited for trades in Jackson anyway but you had found and reacquainted yourself with a few gems over the years in the form of cds.

If you also had the chance to go back to the life that you led before outbreak day, you'd spend an entire day listening to all the cassettes you once owned… The collection you have now doesn’t compare to the one you had back then.

If you could you'd have saved your mom's guitar too, taken it with you everywhere just as you did her framed photograph... Much to your heartbreak amidst the chaos, the beautiful instrument was one of many belongings you left behind on outbreak day.

Often you wonder if it’s still sitting there on it’s stand back at your old house in Austin, waiting for you to come back and pick it up… You long for that to be the case because it meant there was someplace in this fucked up world that had been left untouched - untainted. A time capsule that, if you ever saw it again it'd take you right back to just as you left it twenty years ago... and you could pretend that none of this shit ever happened, that Sarah was alive and Joel was your designated moody friend.

It’s a pretty dream, but in reality the guitar had probably been taken by survivors on a raid rampage or strong fungal vines had grown around it, strangled it’s neck and broken it... and you just have to move on and make do with the life you lead in Jackson.

It isn't all bad.

You're finally living a life you imagined for yourself on your long and disastrous journey from Boston to Colorado in search of Maria's group - a normal life... well, as normal a life could be in a post-apocalyptic world.

Your weekly schedule is the same:

You go to work bright and early every morning.

You cook yourself an edible meal most week nights.

You get a decent night's sleep every night.

You have dinner with Maria and Tommy at their home every Friday.

You sing at the Tipsy Bison every other Saturday night.

You do whatever you damn well please on Sunday evening.

Before you knew it months had gone by.

Four months.

Joel has been gone for four months.

For two weeks you waited for him to come back and try to make things right between you just so you could have the satisfaction of telling him that, despite his efforts, you hadn’t changed your mind about never wanting to see his face again… You'd already spent twenty years pining after him - being haunted by him… what was another measly fourteen days?

When Callus found his way back to Jackson and Maria sent several search parties out one after the other for Joel and Ellie only for all of them to find nothing, you concluded that Joel's return into your life had been a temporary glitch to give you a sense of finality to the long-lasting situation between you... a true ending that could spur you on to exist without a big bad presence named ‘Joel Miller’ clouding over you.

At long last you could forget about him.

Having someone else with you at night helped.

Rick, to be specific.

He could erase Joel’s voice - wipe that ruggedly handsome face from your memory.

Rick hadn't left your side since the first kiss he placed on your lips... not until today.

You woke up this morning expecting him to be laying sound asleep beside you. Your chiselled jawed - boyfriend? Boss? Sleeping buddy? Could someone be all three of them at the same time? - He’d stopped the nightmares about your past with Joel. For you that was enough... it had to be, you'd spent enough time fucking him to convince yourself that everything good you felt with Joel didn't matter until you believed it to be true...

That Rick was the perfect man for you.

That you could learn to love him one day.

You slid your hand along the fresh sheets of your double bed with closed eyes, hoping to make contact with Rick's naked body on your fingertip's journey towards the empty space next to you... he hadn't ever not been with you in the morning. After your fifth date and your major comeback at the Tipsy Bison… ever since the night he’d heard you sing he’d stayed.

Maybe it was the first dip of your toes into the unknown terrain that was being in love with Rick.

You missed him.

Maybe that was your first sign.

Maybe you're closer to loving him than you thought.

It'd been so long that you've forgotten what it’s like to fall in love, you’ve not even considered your capability of it anymore until now. All you’ve ever known was Joel, the all-consuming love you had for him that sucked you dry, convincing you that he’d ruined you for anybody else.

The worst part about it was he didn’t feel the same.

He wanted Tess.

He loved your baby.

And you?

You never knew where you stood with him and that was reason enough for you not to stay…

Not for a giant flashing question mark.

Not for a man you didn’t recognize anymore.

It’s all in the past.

Joel isn’t coming back.

It's a mystery to you, to Rick, Maria, Tommy, Jean and all the patrollers who had gone out searching for clues to piece his and Ellie’s disappearance together... the lack of evidence led to a presumed conclusion:

Joel and Ellie are dead - either that or they don't want to be found... The latter doesn’t make a single bit of sense to you because Joel had been so adamant about coming back to Jackson, and if he and Ellie had been in trouble, surely he'd have taken care of what needed to be taken care of eventually and made it his mission to be here rather than settle elsewhere?

No... the thought of not returning wouldn't have even crossed his mind, and if you’re wrong? And Joel is still living out there? Good riddance to him.

It was what you originally wanted anyway, for him to leave you alone... and yet it nagged at you, that it's somehow easier for you to tell yourself that Joel had died rather than having gone back on his word. It's also difficult to deny how your heart would clutch at the most likely possibility too… you often felt it, causing you to lay your hand flat over the vital organ that always disobeyed you when it came to Joel Miller.

It’s all in the past.

Joel isn’t coming back.

You have Rick now.

You'd stumbled out of bed with a gleeful smile on your face, brushed your teeth, skipped into the shower, sang your heart out in preparation for tomorrow’s open mic, excitedly slipped your work clothes on, hopped out of your house and in the direction of the stable with one intention…

You want to kiss Rick.

The stable doors are wide open, beckoning you inside.

He must be here.

But your heart is doing that clutching thing again, stopping you from being able to proceed into the building. You shake your head as if the organ will listen and obey at the same time Rick sees you stood in between the large doorframe of the stable.

He'd just stepped out of Callus' stall and is in the midst of shutting the gate to it. He rests a hand on his hip, "there you are—"

Ignoring his words and the tone that he uses when he speaks to all his workers, you set out to do what you came here to do… aside from work of course. You stride forward with determination and your eyes set on your boyfriend - no, boss - whatever - Rick.

The stern, bossy expression on his face doesn't fade until you're close enough to him that you can slide your arm through the triangular space that his bent arm had created between his elbow and side. You don't wait for him to react to your effort to pull him into you before you plant a firm kiss to his lips.

You hardly register the absence of those sensations you felt when Joel would— no, really - you don't - you don't even think about him - how could you when Rick smiles against your lips like this?

It’s all in the past.

Joel isn’t coming back.

"You're - late," Rick murmurs between another firm kiss. You do your best to disregard the clutches at your heart, but they only get stronger by the second, making it difficult to concentrate on him.

You pull back and naturally his mouth follows yours to catch it with his until you retort sassily, "you could've woken me up."

"So it's my fault?" He raises his brows as his lips tug upward into a teasing smile.

“Mhm.”

You don't miss the way his eyes flicker to your lips at your hummed answer. "You're lucky I like havin' you around - I woulda fired you for that sorta misconduct," he reciprocates your hug, placing his hands at the small of your back.

“I've done wayyy worse and being late by what - five minutes is where you draw the line?"

Rick's smile grows into a fully fledged grin, exuding charm that knocks you off your feet - if he wasn't holding you you'd stumble into Callus' stall and make a total fool of yourself - traumatizing the horse more in the process. "No, I'm just thinkin' you might have to make it up to me later—"

"Shhh - you can't say stuff like that, not in front of the horses," you whisper with a playfully serious expression - a horrible attempt at flirting you know, but it’s funny in the moment.

You both chuckle in unison - clearly he doesn’t care much about the judging stares of the four-legged creatures surrounding you because he pulls your body flush against his, causing your breath to hitch.

He attempts to kiss you again, only for you to pull back again. "Why didn't you—" Rick tilts his head, looking as curious as you, "wake me?"

"I couldn't—" he avoids your eyes as if he'd silently reminded himself of something, which is unusual as you're typically the one doing that to him - doing everything to evade the truth of your past and what you felt for Joel, not wanting it to sabotage your new, content way of living and whatever it is between you and Rick. "Was the first time I've seen you dreamin'."

"How'd you know it was a good dream 'nd not a bad one?" You ask cluelessly.

"You weren't lashin' out on me for a start—" he forces a laugh and you look down at the way your dirty clothes tangle with his. You hadn't had a nightmare so bad that you retaliated in reality in a long long while - when you did Rick would trap your body with his by holding your back to his front and keep you from drowning in the pool of blood - seeing Joel at the surface— "you were mumblin'."

You timidly lift your head, "you - um - hear what I was mumblin'?"

Rick's grip on you loosens - he's still evading your questioning stare. "Nah - not a word, sounded like a bunch'o gibberish to me," he admits unsurely. Before you can interrogate him further about your sleeping habits he drops his arms to his sides, you do the same, "I'd better er - get back to work. The first lot of patrollers'll be here any minute."

"Oh - okay," you nod passively as he smiles reassuringly, but it doesn’t reach eyes - like the color of them, they are as cold as ice. He turns his back to you and heads to the patrol board, jotting down something or other and familiarizing himself with today's schedule.

He's acting kinda strange - however, it isn't out of Rick's character to stick to his own work rules.

You hear shaky, distressed whiny breaths to your left, coming from inside Callus' stall…

Ever since the stallion’s premature arrival back in Jackson he'd been kept at the stable - no longer a patrol horse.

Callus, as skittish as he was whenever he sensed any nearby infected, he was the most obedient and brave of the horses stabled at Jackson Ranch... so whatever happened to him, Joel and Ellie out there, it must've been horrific because it had changed the horse’s entire persona - and even with the extra care you and Rick had given him since the night he came galloping back, his distraught state seemed to be irreversible.

He must be angry at himself for failing to protect Joel and Ellie like he always did the patrollers… or the trio had run into a horde and he'd bucked Joel and Ellie off, now feeling a tremendous amount of guilt for leaving them behind… for their deaths.

He whines again, louder this time, and you hurriedly respond, taking one step so you're stood in front of his gate, where Rick had been standing, and peek over it.

Callus is laying down on his side on straw that Rick must've just laid out for him.

He appears to be having a dream - a bad one... again.

Maybe he’s reliving what happened.

The numerous possible events with the same ending, with Joel and Ellie laying lifelessly on the ground that played on your mind more than you’d admit.

You don't hesitate to unlatch the gate and carefully approach Callus - you of all people understand the power of a nightmare, how they chase you back into the real world and make you act without precaution... the last thing you want to do is scare him more.

Treading lightly and kneeling beside the back of his long neck, you position yourself so that, in the worst case scenario, he can’t kick or bite you in a moment of sheer panic.

Your hand reaches for his brown mane and you slowly rake your fingertips through the untangled hair in attempt to calmly coax him through his nightmare while keeping a steady eye on his reactions to your touch - one of the many things Rick did to you at night to soothe you, to remind you that he was there to be the solution to all your problems.

Callus blows quiet raspberries and his eyelids move around in his sleep, but his breathing pattern slows. You exhale, relieved as it's the first time you'd successfully guided him out of the terror enforced by his trauma. "What happened out there, boy?" You sigh out, twirling his mane around your index finger with wonder in your eyes.

He has the answer, you can see it in his doe eyes.

If only he could talk.

If only you could read his mind.

꥟ 𓃗 ꥟

You couldn’t leave Callus’ side.

For hours you've been glued at the hip.

Two scarred souls finding solace in one another.

You're not proud of yourself but you didn't intend on falling asleep - surprisingly, aside from the odd poke and itch, Callus' straw bed is much more comfortable than it looks.

You're lucky that Jean hadn't been expected to be on a patrol shift today, instead she took on your usual, every day duties, eager to help in any way that she could. She agreed to look after Pearl and Shimmer for the day, and to assist Rick with Old Beardy's maintenance - it kept him off your back at least, otherwise he'd have found you laying on the extra straw that was supposed to be for Callus’ benefit and told you that 'sleepin' on the job is sorta a misconduct too' as if you didn't already know it.

Like a hammer to the brain interrupting a hangover nap, you hear your name being called.

"Shit," you curse groggily under your breath, half-asleep. "Shit shit shit," you keep mumbling into Callus' mane while also trying not to catch a mouthful of it or disturb the horse's deep slumber.

Your name echoes throughout the stable yet again - it's Maria, you realize, and by the sound of her voice she wants to see you urgently.

"Shit," you mumble one last time before blowing Callus’ hair out of your face and carefully lifting yourself as silently as possible until you're on your knees with your arms holding you up… During moments like this you can’t help but question yourself - what are you doing with your life? "I'm here!"

“Where?!"

"Here!" You answer, shouting at the volume of a whisper.

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that!"

You sigh out, “I’m with Callus!”

Maria, looking as radiant as ever, pops her head over the fence of Callus’ stall, looking down at you quizzically, “what are you doing?”

“I was tendin’ to Callus—” she gives you a skeptical look as you drop your head between your arms, “fine, I might’ve shut my eyes for a bit but look - he’s actually sleepin’ peacefully for once.”

“I’m glad he’s making progress,” she acknowledges with an impressed nod, but it’s short-lived. “What’s a bit?”

Without waking Callus, you stand yourself up with a few small grunts, “I dunno - what time is it?”

“Just after four,” she tells you after rolling up the long sleeves of her shirt that she’d thrown over a stretchy white t-shirt and exposing her watch underneath it.

Shit.

That’s almost your entire work shift.

You fiddle with your fingers, now stood directly in front of Maria with the fence between you, “errr a few hours then I think—” it’s a major underestimation and Maria does not buy it. Your eyes widen, pleadingly staring into her’s, “please don’t tell Rick.”

“I don’t need to tell him anything—” Maria rests an elbow on top of the fence, using her hand to gesture to your entire body which is covered with several bits of straw that had interwoven themselves in your clothes, “you’re a mess.”

“Gee, thanks,” you giggle softly, unfazed by her honest humor because that’s just Maria and she only means well - still, something seems to be bugging her. You start to pick at the straw, plucking them out individually while eyeing her suspiciously.

“Sorry—” she looks over her shoulder, appearing to be staring into the natural bright light that’s beaming into the stable from it’s entrance to her left, “get outta there I - I need to tell you somethin’.”

You’ve never seen her so worried - so stressed…

She’s the leader of this entire community, what could possibly be more stressful than that?

Your mind instantly goes straight to the worst, thinking that something had gone wrong with her pregnancy, so you stop stupidly fumbling around with your clothes in an attempt to tidy up your disheveled appearance to show her that she is your main focus right now… that you’ll be there for her as long as she needs you to be.

Once the barrier of the fence is no longer between you, you notice an element of relief that flashes across her face, which alleviates the worry you feel for her…

Realization spreads across your facial features one by one.

Whatever it is that she needs to tell you, it’s not about her baby.

“Maria—” she only blinks in response, completely lost in her own train of thought, so you gently grasp her biceps and shake them, “Maria - what is it?”

Maria’s stare drifts back onto you with her eyes so wide that if she told you she’d seen a ghost, you’d have no choice but to believe her. She blinks a few times and furrows her brows, at a loss for knowing how to broach the subject of her shock and trying to work out how exactly she is going to break it to you… She decides that there’s no other way than to just come out with it - loud and clear, “he’s back.”

Every organ in your body feels like it drops. “W-what?” You whisper in disbelief.

“Joel’s back.”

You blink. Your lips are open after mouthing another 'what?' that Maria sees because she is observing you so closely, so cautiously.

"Joel - he's back with Ellie."

"I - I heard you - it's just—" the words fly out of your mouth weak, cracked and breathless. You shake your head frantically at the slim chance of him being alive after months of no sign of him coming true… It hadn’t even crossed your mind that he could still be out there, or perhaps you avoided the chance like your life depended on it… truth was, it did - does… You wouldn’t have done half the things you’ve done in the last four months if even an ounce of you thought he was alive - you’d have lived in an unshakeable state of procrastination for Joel’s impending return and his intention to fulfil his promise to you if you did. "Maria - it can't be h—"

"It's him," she states calmly, boldly, matter of factly.

You nod feverishly, but you can't accept it. The cogs in your brain struggle to process the unexpected news, spinning so uncontrollably fast and out of sync that they overheat and fall apart… you feel light-headed.

Your arms slap down to your sides, losing all feeling in your body. Your eyes close, mentally preparing yourself to fall, but before you do or your head collides with a wooden plank Maria grabs a hold of your arms and pulls you to her. Her baby bump which has popped in the last month presses to your stomach - she isn't going to let you faint because of Joel's arrival again, she regrets not having caught you the first time and perhaps having let Joel see you way too soon... Tommy was wrong for making that decision and she blamed herself for not having stepped in, for trusting Tommy's judgement.

Maria repeats your name over and over but the life in your eyes does not come back and your body is frozen, so frail that she makes sure to continue holding you steady. She tries to talk you into consciousness - she's probably answering questions you want answered…

What happened to Joel and Ellie out there?

What spooked Callus?

Why did it take them so long to come back?

Are they okay?

Where are they now?

Is Joel looking for you?

Is he staying?

But you can’t hear her - see her.

Your vision underneath your closed eyelids is red and your ears are blocked by thick fluid you presume to be blood - no no no - you feel it trailing from your tear ducts, your nostrils, the corners of your mouth and dripping from your earlobes - this can’t be happening - it starts to pour heavily down you, feeling it drench your outfit that disgustingly clings to your skin - you have to open your eyes - your hands fly up to your face, frantically rubbing away at something that is just not there… and suddenly you’ve repossessed your hearing, Maria is shouting your name again.

She shakes your arms much harsher than you had done to her minutes before, but you’re too busy digging your fingers into the dry corners of your eyes to notice the pain she is unintentionally inflicting upon you with her fingernails clawing into you so ferociously… so hell bent on dragging you back into the stable with her, back onto planet Earth; a world that had stopped spinning on it’s axis for you… a world that you thought you’d bid farewell to months ago, where your nightmares bled into your days.

Your eyelids flutter open, revealing nothing but a glowing Maria… and there’s not even a droplet of blood on your faded white t-shirt.

"Hey, look at me!" Maria croaks out after an exaggerated sigh and you do - you stare at her, horrified at the trick your mind had played on you but relieved at your safety, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Are you okay?!” emphasis on the 'okay' with a squeeze of your arms. She shakes her head at herself, "stupid question, Maria."

"No - no, it's not—" you take a drawn out breath. "I'm - okay," you nod unconvincingly.

You don't know what else to say - you fear that anything you do say will make no sense or come out in jumbled one word sentences that you can't even decipher yourself… Maria’s eyes are searching your face for any indication that you’ll shatter into pieces in her grasp, left entirely unsatisfied with your vague, stuttered response to her witnessing what looked like your soul leaving your body in front of her very eyes.

“I’m okay—” you repeat, going to shiftily look at your boot-clad feet, but your view is blocked by Maria’s baby bump, making you think back on cherished memories of reaching the same stage in your pregnancy where you couldn’t tie your own shoe laces or even sleep comfortably due to the constriction of a larger bump… Joel would tie your laces for you and lay down behind you with a guarding hand on your belly all night. Those small moments were some of your favorites, you know how Maria loves it as much as you grew to given the circumstances… you don’t want to ruin her enjoyment of this time by distracting her with your problems, and so you do what you do best; you hide behind your armor, brushing aside your nightmarish visions with a smile, “I appreciate the warnin’ this time.”

Maria nods slowly, but she lingers with an open mouth - warning you of Joel’s return wasn’t the only reason why she came here. “Joel—” your breath hitches, the reaction causing Maria to stop talking, but you gesture for her to put you out of your misery and say it - whatever it is, “he wants to stay—” ‘course he does. “It’s obviously what Tommy wants too but I told them I’d find you and ask if it’s - okay - y’know, before making a final decision.”

That’s when it reappears.

The blood.

It’s spilling through the cracks in the stable’s structure behind Maria, in no time it’ll flood… you’ll be drowning in it, that thing at floor of the pool will grab your ankles and pull you down again.

You’ve got to find Rick.

You step away from Maria.

In a complete frenzy, your limbs carry themselves with nothing but the pure fuel of adrenaline, with its mission being to throw yourself at Rick so that your vision of red will go.

"Hold on - where're you going—" Maria tuts while following after you, hesitant to let you run away and shut her out like you always did when faced with anything falling under the topic of the Miller brothers, especially with how much progress you'd been making recently. You’d actually gathered the strength to sit with Tommy in his and Maria's house at their dining table and eat dinner with him, have a conversation with him - Tommy did most of the talking but it was something.

Your friend looms behind you, a creeping shadow similar to the monstrous one attached to Joel in your nightmares, gaining on you by the second.

The addition of fresh spring air carries you into the bright sunset like a guiding light to safety.

You're self-conscious, so exposed and unable to protect yourself - the real Joel could be right in front of you and you wouldn't know.

Once your eyes are adjusted after having been accustomed to the dingy light of the stable you make sure that he isn’t anywhere to be seen before resuming your search for Rick with squinted eyes - god, how you wish you were still sleeping in Callus' stall, straw prodding at your ass and all... you wish you hadn't made your presence known just so you could've hidden away in your dreams a little longer and avoided having such a huge spanner thrown into the works of your newfound zest for living your normal routine.

You should've known… your life had been running a little too smoothly recently.

The mixture of the blinding sun and Maria's distorted voice calling after you deter you from achieving your objective, but the blood is gushing from the stable doors like a waterfall, following you outside so you need to get to Rick and fast.

In your peripheral vision you spot him, he's talking to Nathan, the charming jester, famously known for his cheesy pick-up lines and smouldering winks aimed at every woman minding their own business at the Tipsy Bison - you've been on the receiving end of a few...

'I must be huntin' treasure.'

‘What?’

‘Cause I’m diggin’ you.’

He's kinda a dork under the muscle but it doesn't seem to stop him from leaving the bar with company for the night... although, due to spending more time with him in an effort to make friends with Rick's friends, you've found out some interesting stuff, like how Nathan has a whole segment of his mind dedicated to random facts about history that he'd remembered from university - famous pirates, to be specific - so he's actually pretty smart.

A relieved sigh escapes your mouth at the sight of the two men going about their day, probably talking about how Nathan's patrol had gone.

All patrol routes had become clearer than they had been during winter. With only a handful or two of infected to take down, you saw how the patrollers returned with skips in their steps... Nathan looks as though he's returned having not lifted a finger, but he's holding a rifle readily to his chest so he must've done some shooting.

You take one last look over your shoulder as you run, seeing Maria waddling and the red liquid turbulently flowing behind you both, the edge of it touching Maria’s heel. The absurdity of the image of your nightmare’s creation endangering your friend and how alarmingly real it appears to be, how it consumes her feet and pulls her into its strong current, it unlocks a whole new level of guilt and horror within you that you didn’t realize you inhabited.

They’re your nightmares to have, not Maria’s, not the horses, not the entirety of Jackson’s population.

They’re meant for you.

You’re the blood’s target.

It’s meant for you.

A single shot of determination and adrenaline all in one surges through your body, enough to last you for your final steps towards Rick - your savior and guaranteed safety net from all things nightmare related.

When you leap into the back of Rick’s unsuspecting frame, wrapping your arms around his front, you can feel it all sink away, the blood being sucked down by some imaginary drain just in time to save Maria. You tuck your scrunched up face in the space between his shoulder blades, your heaving chest flush against his back and allows you to recover from running as if you’d been in danger, as if Jackson had truly been under attack by an incomprehensible amount of deadly crimson fluid.

It’s silent around you, apart from the birds singing, children’s laughter, conversations being had and the horses contently neighing… noises regular to day to day life in Jackson, its music to your ears, but you have to see it for yourself. You slide your face to the left and along Rick’s back, taking a wary peek at the main road leading to the heart of the town and, sure enough, everything is as it should be.

Rick lifts his left arm, revealing your face to Nathan, who cocks his head with a bemused smile on his face, “well howdy there, songbird.”

You manage to keep your arms clung to him while Rick twists his upper half so that he can see you for himself, already expecting to see your face - there's only one resident songbird of Jackson and that's you... not one that's as treasured as you are anyway.

You’d gone from hermit to socialite.

From forgotten and ignored to recognized and praised…

People waved at you, stopped you on your way to work just to tell you how much they love your voice.

You're kinda like a celebrity here now.

“Hi,” you mumble into Rick’s shirt and momentarily let go of him to awkwardly wave at Nathan.

Your other arm latches onto Rick tighter in retaliation, squeezing him so hard that he groans. He reflects upon the other times you’d done that, a silent plead for him to save you from something he’d never seen. One thing that sprang to his head then was to lay his hand over yours, it seemed to work because your erratic mid-sleep stirring would stop after that… he does it now, you can’t see it but you can feel it. Warm and sturdy. His thumb rubs over yours as he clears his throat, glaring at a puzzled Nathan, telepathically telling him to give the two of you some space.

“Guess I’ll be seein’ you two lovebirds tomorrow night th—”

“Nate,” Rick stops him with raised brows.

Nathan lifts his spare hand up in surrender, “I get it I get it I’ll go—” he tips his cowboy hat at you and Rick before retreating.

Rick watches Nathan’s back as he walks away. It is not until the top dog patroller is at a considerable distance that his observant eyes trail along your arm. It’s about all he can see of you because you’re yet to unhide yourself. He mutters something unintelligible when he struggles to get a good look at your face, “hey—” he squeezes your hand, “what’s goin’ on?”

You stay silent, physically unable to describe your episode for not wanting to sound crazy… you also don’t want him to know why it started, how Joel still has an effect on you that you can’t control.

For a fraction of a second he lets go of your hand to turn himself so that he’s fully facing you, then he takes both your hands in his, “talk to me—”

You shake your head, feeling so foolish for not having the ability to switch your mind of piles upon piles of unresolved trauma off yourself. “Just hold me, please.”

Rick hesitantly indulges you, taking you into his arms properly like he did in your bed every night, aware of how it instantly lulled you into a deep sleep. He’d lay on his side examining your log-like state, making sure you were okay before focusing on getting himself to sleep. Often the sweet scent of your hair was enough to get him there… last night, however, it wasn’t, not after hearing your mid-sleep mumbles as clear as the view of the full moon through your bedroom window…

‘I wannnted - you to… but you - nev-er did.’ Those words had pricked his ears up, but it was what followed that kept him awake; small hitched breaths and a breathy moan of his name, not his, Joel’s… and by the sounds of it he wasn’t scaring you, no, he was doing something you… liked.

Questions had been circling Rick’s mind all day today, causing him to be more irritable than usual with the patrollers arriving to and from their shifts, at the realization that with the large amount of time he’d spent with you, he hardly knew you… The fact agitated him to the extent that he forgot to tick off the patroller’s names correctly on the register too, a mistake he’d never made.

Was it just a stupid dream?

Or were you reliving a real memory with Joel?

And if it was had you fucked him?

Was he the father of your baby?

Did you have feelings for him?

He has to ask… he has to hear it from you.

Your face is nuzzled so cutely into his chest, but he fights the warmness he feels inside because of you to speak, causing his stubble to catch the hair at the top of your head and the steady heartbeat you’d been listening to to beat sporadically.

“Did y—” Rick starts, but the question fades into a sighed ‘Maria’.

“Don’t you - ever - run away from me - like that - ever again,” Maria’s breathless voice bursts yours and Rick’s bubble of protection and uncertainty. You turn your head to face her and nod in understanding. “I mean it—” she adds as she strokes her hand over her baby bump. “Good evenin’, Rick.”

“Evenin’, Maria,” he responds more coldly than he intended, “you - good?”

“Yeah - it's getting tough though - putting one foot in front of the other—” She intentionally eyes you, “catching up to everybody these days is a trial, especially 'cause I'm expected to be everywhere when I - can only be at one place at a time... sorry - ramblings of a pregnant woman." She takes deep breaths and straightens her back, “I just need - an answer.”

“You never asked a question?”

“Not from you.”

“Oh.” She wants an answer from you as badly as he wants answers from you, he realizes.

Maria says your name - she pauses until she’s caught her breath, “can Joel stay?”

If Rick didn’t know about Joel’s return he definitely knows now… he probably knows it’s why you ran too.

Their eyes lock onto you, boring into the depths of your soul for any hint of an answer and yet you can’t feel them… all you can feel is the protection only Rick’s arms give you, making you optimistic about a future in Jackson with Joel in it at a distance as long as you have your safe person to retreat to; Rick.

“Y-yeah—” Rick tenses up at your decision, “he can.”

“You sure?” Rick butts in, hushed and Maria stays silent, allowing you the additional chance to send Joel away for good.

You nod, your mind made up, “it makes no difference to me, him bein’ here.” Rick untenses.

Blood rises at your feet.

꥟ 𓃗 ꥟

“‘Cause you’ve started something, oh, can’t you see? That ever since we met you’ve had a hold on me—”

Your eyes rake across the room as you sing. The fairy light chandelier that magically sets the tone, the bunting hanging neatly along the bar and lastly, your audience; a sweet old couple slow dancing, that one guy whose nine to five is drinking in the corner, Jean and Hannah chaotically singing with you, Arthur trying to talk to Nathan (who is on the hunt for his next ‘X’ marks the spot no doubt), Maria happily swaying with her back to Tommy’s front while his hands caress her belly, Seth actually smiling while serving drinks, people sat at tables watching you in awe and kids excitedly jumping along to each strum of the acoustic guitar you borrow from the Tipsy Bison’s storage whenever you took to the mic… it’s nowhere near as stunning as your old one but you can’t complain, it does the job well enough.

“No matter what you do - I only want to be with you.”

You can’t bring yourself to smile or sing Rick’s way, let alone gaze at him with that twinkle in your eye like you typically did when you performed… you can’t look at him the same way, not after the revelations you’d discovered yesterday.

Rick is not the solution… being held by him does not stop your nightmares, you couldn’t love him and you can’t have him in your bed anymore.

It made every bit of difference to you, Joel living in Jackson.

It made it so obvious, how Joel had ruined you for anybody else.

Like a moth to a flame, your gaze is drawn instead to those eyes that watched you and Sarah sing, the ones you knew in another life… Joel has that same soft look in them that had your fingers trembling as you plucked the strings, but nobody seems to notice and you hadn’t expected him to come here tonight - just as you hadn’t that afternoon he got back home from work early to find you and Sarah duetting.

“No matter what you do - I only want to be with you.”

Amongst the loud cheers and claps, you almost expect to hear Joel’s voice saying ‘you got a real pretty voice, darlin’’ like he did the first time he heard you sing… he doesn’t. Joel is motionless, glued at the back of the Tipsy Bison and gambling his agreement with Maria to stay away from you after hearing how you reacted to his return, how you jumped out of Rick’s embrace and ran home… he’s risking the house he and Ellie had just moved into for hope; a place well clear of infected that’s safe for Ellie to grow up in, a home to settle down and build a somewhat regular life for himself.

You’d taught Joel to hope, you always did out there even when nothing went to plan and supplies were low… a feeling so trivial, dangerous and downright stupid to him after having experienced a loss as big as the death of his daughter, but he did, he felt it. He’d never admit it to you but you could see that he did by the way he kept pushing and pushing forward for Boston, for you and his little brother… it went downhill when three became six, when you, Joel and Tommy met other survivors; Charlie, Harrison and Tess… you couldn’t see it anymore, Joel’s hope, not until you got pregnant and he stepped up to provide you with everything you needed at any cost… by doing shitty thing after shitty thing he wasn’t proud of. What was left of Joel’s hope was flung out the window when you vanished from his life like Tommy and Sarah, and just when the thought of living as a family with you and the baby at the Boston QZ was the only thing that got him to sleep at night and the only reason for him to wake up in the morning… He’d realized it too late and had no one to blame but himself for losing you. He hated himself, so much that the hope inside him soccumbed to his self-loathing. Then when he met Ellie and he saw you again his hope resurrected - it kept him alive through his mission to get Ellie to the Fireflies, that and the endless dumb jokes the teenager subjected him to on their way that he’s kinda warmed to… and now he’s doing it again, hoping you’ll let him try to make things right between you like he told you he would four months ago.

He’s aching with it, especially with how beautiful you look tonight. His heart had been lurching in his chest, threatening to burst out of his ribcage since he stepped into the busy bar and saw you in the flesh. The way you’re grinning at the crowd of faces you’d been focusing on while you sang, Joel longed to be one of them all evening until your eyes do land on his.

He notices the tiredness that dims the glimmer in them beneath the buzzing happiness of your outer shell being in it’s element… it only makes him more determined to try, he swears he’ll do anything to be the reason for the ignition of that light within you, and even if he isn’t and you swore he didn’t have a chance to be he’d understand, he doesn’t deserve it - you, yet he can’t help but yearn to see that glimmer someday anyhow…

That’s the danger of it.

The pain of relentless hoping despite the harsh truth being shoved in your face.

You know all about that.

You’re quick to step away from the microphone, hand the guitar back to Seth, slide your hands down your dress and head into the open space swarming with your audience, ignoring the wave of compliments being thrown at you and hugging Maria, Jean and Hannah without a word.

You’re too busy ogling Joel, mindlessly heading his way.

You have no idea what you’re going to do once you get to him, whether you’ll shove your hands into his chest and push him away or ball your fists into his denim shirt and drag him towards you - maybe neither, maybe both - with each squeeze through the pit of sweaty limbs, smiling faces and a flurry of questions like ‘how did you get such a voice?’, your legs carry you faster… desperate to touch him and be sure he isn’t some figment of your imagination.

When you collide with someone’s front— “hey—” Rick’s front, and he places his hands on your hips before leaning forward to kiss your cheek, you take the opportunity to peek over his shoulder at Joel, whose sad eyes hadn’t left yours for a single second. They flicker down to his boots when Rick’s lips touch your skin, like it hurts to watch it, like he believes that you feel those toe-curling sensations you’ve never felt - not with Rick…

You’re numb to Rick’s touch when Joel leaves the Tipsy Bison with tears in his eyes.

“You want a drink to rest those pipes o’ yours?” The tip of his nose ghosts over your cheekbone.

You’re making the same mistake as you did sixteen years ago.

“No I - I think ‘m gonna head home—” Rick goes to grab his jacket that’s draped over a barstool, “alone.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 ⇝

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 (𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 <𝟑

𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢’𝐦 𝐯𝐯 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 😁 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐥.

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ‘𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞’ 𝐨𝐫 ‘𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒

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𝐽𝑜𝑒𝑙 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟

𓃗

[pmpmyread]

Nanami Kento & Casual Touches

Content Warnings: 18+, suggestive themes, mostly fluff with hints of implied smut.

Summary: Some casual touching scenarios with Nanami, because you need it as much as he does. Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!Reader Word count: 3.5k | [Also on AO3]

The realization dawned upon you on a late winter afternoon. 

You’d just set foot back into your living room, taking in the scene before you — in the brief moment you’d taken to change into your loungewear and fetch the blanket that would help preserve your shared body heat, Nanami appeared to have slipped into a light doze, as he waited for you to join him on the window seat. The pockets of sunset orange that filtered through the bay window only further enhanced his peaceful expression. With one of his hands, he held against his lap both of the books you would each be spending the better part of the evening reading.

He must have felt your presence because after a moment, without opening his eyes, he reached his free arm out towards your general vicinity.

“How much longer will you keep me waiting, darling? I’m dying to start my next chapter.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you, Kento. I already told you to go ahead and start without me,” you replied playfully, already anticipating his response as you made a show of slowly shuffling your feet towards him.

He finally opened his eyes, locking them with yours as he beckoned you with his still outstretched hand, sincerity permeating his smile. “You know damn well that I won’t do that.”

Nanami's arm encircled you at the hips as soon as you got within his reach, pulling you down into your usual position at his side, one that had you sitting askew with your legs draped over his, as you held your book in one hand, weaving the other into the hair at the back of his head.

It was as he endeavored to meticulously cover you both with the blanket that you contemplated the surreal reality that sometime between the moment you'd met the reserved and stoic sorcerer and the interaction you were having now, through a gradual modulation not unlike the series of semitonal shifts found in a harmonic progression, Nanami Kento had grown to unapologetically expose you to a deeply, physically affectionate facet of himself. And that he could no longer fathom spending another of his sacred, once-solitary evening reading sessions without you nuzzled at his side.

It hadn’t always been like this, of course, and while the incremental nature of this slow exposure made it difficult to label a single point of inflection, you could never forget the first time you were in physical contact with Nanami.

You'd been standing just across each other on a crowded train ride home from work, just about halfway through the brief six-station stretch the two of you shared before he’d disembark to switch to another line. The evening rush hour commute, a moment most others would discard as being mundane at best, if not bothersome, had quickly grown to become your favorite part of your day, the direct result of the more casual access it granted you to the colleague you’d taken a surreptitious liking to.

On that particular evening, you’d been so engrossed in a vivid retelling of a heated exchange you had witnessed earlier between Gojo and the higher-ups, that you failed to notice the towering man who had stood up abruptly behind you, who was engaged in a reckless rush to be the first person to reach the exit doors as the train pulled into the next station, and who, to that end, was in the process of brashly slinging a very hefty-looking backpack over his shoulder, in a forceful movement that would have undoubtedly knocked you on your head and off your feet, had it landed.

Nanami, who had a clear line of sight behind you and thus had anticipated the scene, acted swiftly by reaching one arm around your shoulder and using his other to protectively cover the back of your head, pulling you close towards him.

The brief moment that found your face pressed into his chest felt like an eternity to you.

It wasn’t until after you heard the whizzing sound of the knapsack-turned-would-be weapon swinging behind you and after one of its loose straps brushed against your back; after Nanami loosened his grip on you and after you finally tilted your head to look up at him questioningly, only to find him scowling at your would-be assailant, muttering something about how people ought to be more careful with their backpacks on crowded trains, that you finally registered what had just occurred. 

You both appeared to take notice of his lingering hold at the very moment your eyes met, after which Nanami finally released you.

“Excuse me,” he started, as he cleared his throat and straightened up, “You were saying?” If he was the slightest bit perturbed, he did not show it, his expression having already reverted to neutrality.

The same could not be said of you.

Questions rapidly crowded your clouded mind, jostling each other to reach the head of the line.

What on earth was he apologizing for?

Why were you so flustered at a move that had been so innocent, so utilitarian, so practical?

You were a grown woman, were you not?

What were you saying already?

Brief as it had been felt, the indelible sensation of Nanami’s arms protectively wrapped around you did not subside as you quietly thanked him and finally made the mental migration back to the topic at hand. It persisted still, hours later and well into the middle of the night, as you lay restless, your mind playing out the million and one scenarios that could possibly lead you back into a real, genuine, and loving embrace with the 7:3 sorcerer.

It was only much after that, during the nebulous, transitional phase of your relationship that saw you both patrolling the imaginary line that delineated your friendship from whatever lay beyond it without crossing it, that you learned that the guise of practicality had served as a convenient pretext for Nanami to initiate more casual touching with you.

On one scorching hot summer day, you were making your way through a busy farmer’s market, one that you’d both been meaning to visit together on the next day off you’d have in common, a day which unfortunately also happened to coincide with a large fair that appeared to have attracted every last citizen and tourist in its vicinity, resulting in an extremely crowded environment.

You were trailing closely behind him as he paved a path through the crowd, leading you both towards one of the lesser-packed vendors to purchase refreshments to cool off from the sweltering weather.

Just as you started to become slightly overwhelmed by the ever-thickening crowd, you felt a firm grasp of your hand and looked up just in time to watch Nanami return his attention forward.

You tried to stave off the heat that was rising to your face by distracting your mind, internally debating whether you’d imagined the reassuring squeeze he’d given you as he expertly weaved you both through the market, casually pulling you by the hand as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

It was only once you were settled in line at the drinks kiosk that Nanami let go of your hand, which you pulled back to yourself perhaps a bit too eagerly, but only out of sheer nervousness, a move you would spend the rest of the day genuinely regretting. He kept his eyes trained on the menu that hung above the stall, uncharacteristically avoiding your gaze as he inquired what you wanted to order.

As you waited for your drinks, you spent the next minutes on yet another internal deliberation, this time speculating whether it was the heat of the sun, or something perhaps more intriguing that served as the source of the tinge of redness that was now spreading from his face to his neck, betraying his otherwise stoic demeanor.

Later that afternoon, Nanami was carrying the shopping bags that held the evidence of your wonderfully productive visit and you both headed towards a short flight of cobblestone stairs that would lead you outside the market’s area. He cautioned you to watch your step and offered you his hand for support.

You slid your hand into his with renewed confidence, determined to rectify the opportunity you’d squandered so lamentably earlier.

This time you were the one who gave his hand not one but two reassuring squeezes.

This time, you were the one who averted your gaze, but only in an attempt to conceal the self-satisfied smile that teased at your lips.

This time, you didn’t let go of his hand.

The warm smile that accompanied the affectionate rub of his thumb on your knuckle as you eventually parted ways at the train station spoke volumes.

When you and Nanami finally found yourselves crossing the line, it was hand in hand, this time under no guise, nor pretext.

Once you were officially settled in your relationship, it followed, as night the day, that you would further be exposed to a deeper side of Nanami’s tactile affections.

In love as in life, Nanami Kento is a man of habit. While his affinity for providing acts of service spilled over into the aftercare routine he’d established for you, manifesting through the systematic way by which he cleaned you both and in the glass of water he always brought to your bedside table, all without you lifting so much as a finger, there was an additional layer to the structured epilogue he enacted to bookend your passionate encounters.

This subsequent routine would kick off as soon as he’d settle back to your side, laying down to face you. From that very moment, he emulated the role of a sculptor, soothingly ghosting over your features as though recreating your image from scratch, as his calloused fingertip became his chisel; your face, his clay.

He always started, as any artist would, by prepping his surface area; patting the back of his fingers over the lingering beads of sweat that clung by your hairline before carving down your forehead, over the bridge of your nose, eluding your mouth at first by way of your cheek and trailing down to your chin, finally bringing it back up to carve and recarve over your luscious lips, which slightly parted under his tender, repetitive motions.

Sometimes, tears of blissful joy would uncontrollably form in the corners of your eyes, and he would pause in his craft to gently wipe them away.

Other times, you would muster up the strength to reciprocate Kento’s movements, bringing your own hand to his face, in a quest to produce an art piece of your own, to complement his.

Every time, his caresses spoke to you in volumes and conveyed a profound affection that no words, acts, or gifts could ever accurately represent.

As your chest rose and fell in quiet rapture, still recovering from the intensity of your exertion, you focused the little remainder of your energy on studying Kento’s expression, which was ever-so-slightly contorted in concentration as he continued refining his masterpiece.

One long weekend, you were out and about, taking Nanami through a tour of your hometown, at some point stopping by a dainty little cafe you used to frequent in your younger years. Seeing as you were the one familiar with the menu, you offered to go inside and order for both of you, while he secured the last well-placed seats on the patio.

Just as you stepped up to order, you heard the cashier exclaim your name. It took you a few seconds to place his face as a former neighbor you had grown up with. You cordially returned his greeting, he took your order and as your pastries and drinks were being prepared, you traded the typical banal banter of vague acquaintances.

You had been so focused on sticking to the cover story that would protect the true nature of your work, as you often did when you ran into old companions who lived outside the confines of Jujutsu sorcery, that you barely noticed the draw of the cashier’s eyes, towards something behind you, just as you felt an arm coming up from behind, encircling you at the waist, just below your chest, in a motion that was not quite rough but not exactly gentle either.

Your eyes widened just as Nanami’s voice emanated from just above your shoulder.

“Have you paid yet?”

“What?” It was all you could say as you reoriented yourself.

“Our order, darling, have you paid for it yet?” You felt him motioning his free hand to pull out his wallet, maintaining his grip on you with the other.

“No, please, it’s on the house,” the cashier quickly interjected, wasting no time in first placing then pushing your order across the counter towards you. “It was nice seeing you again!” he then blurted out, giving what appeared to be a quick dart of his eyes between your face and Nanami’s before eagerly turning his attention away from you and towards the door, saved by its literal bell which signaled the arrival of another customer.

You thanked the visibly shaken man and grabbed your order, and for a moment you could swear that you felt Nanami pull at you briefly before only slightly easing off, finally allowing you to turn around and face him. If his face had betrayed any form of emotion, you would never know it — by the time you took a peek, you were only met with his usual unvarnished disposition.

The sole vestige of the exceptionality of the situation was found in the unusually firm hold he maintained until you reached your seats outside.

Once seated, you observed Kento, narrowed eyes searching his as he intently busied himself to unwrap his brownie from its elaborate artisanal packaging.

“So, aren’t you going to ask me who that was?”

“No, should I?” He asked, pupils slightly dilating as he carefully pulled out his treat.

“Well, you’ve asked me about virtually everything else since we got into town.”

Nanami took a bite out of his brownie with an air of contemplation, taking the time to chew slowly, washing it down with the cup of green tea you’d ordered for him, before finally speaking.

“You’re right,” he said, pausing briefly for dramatic effect, “this is a damn good brownie,” he finished, with the smallest hint of playfulness tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You rolled your eyes with an amusement of your own, accepting that he wasn’t going to let you broach the subject.

So you dropped it.

A few weeks later, a group of sorcerers visiting from another region, teachers and practitioners alike, had come to Jujutsu High for a weeklong exchange program aimed at bringing all Grade 1 sorcerers under a single curriculum. Among them was a male sorcerer around your age, who quickly stood out in his ostentatious demeanor.

On that day, the training session involved running through a pre-determined circuit in teams of two. You had dreaded being paired up with this guy, already having become jaded by his inappropriate antics throughout the week so far, to a point that had you seriously questioning the legitimacy of the Grade 1 promotion process.

As you detected the approach of your unwanted teammate, out of your peripheral vision, and felt him advance to you where you stood in the field, by the designated starting line, you pretended to busy yourself in tying your shoelaces in a weak attempt to delay the inevitable.

“Well, I can't say that I'm too impressed with team Tokyo, seeing as they are resorting to having a pretty thing like you working the field.” he started, making a show of giving you a very much improper once-over as you raised yourself to your feet.

Just as you prepared to deliver a dismissive comeback, you noticed his smug smile disappear into a confused frown.

He spoke again, before you had the chance, “Hey buddy, aren’t we supposed to be running these in pairs? Three’s a crowd.”

You moved to turn back to face the object of the sorcerer’s newfound attention, but found yourself unable to do so, meeting the resistance enforced by a now familiar arm rounding your waist.

“You’d be correct, buddy,” you could nearly feel the acerbic tone in your spouse’s voice, “I’m your new partner.”

“When did this happen?” the other sorcerer asked indignantly.

“Just now,” Nanami replied, this time, in a much more impassive tone. Then, murmuring just by your ear, "You’re in group 3 now.”

“Alright,” you replied, a little dazed at how quickly the situation had escalated. You perceived a flash of annoyance cross the visiting sorcerer’s face. The three of you awkwardly stood for a moment, as you waited for Nanami to release you.

“Uh, Kento?” You meekly ventured, lightly patting his arm with your hands to signal him to let you go, after which he finally did.

Later that evening, as he drove you both home, you were delighted to have Nanami be the one to bring up the topic.

“That guy was more obnoxious than Gojo, and I did not imagine that to be possible.”

“Yeah, he was way out of line,” you said, glancing at him from the passenger seat in an attempt to get a read of his face. “But you do know I could have managed him on my own, right?”

“Of course I know that. I just wanted to offer you a moment of respite. You’re welcome, by the way.” he replied giving you a brief sidelong glance before returning his focus on the road ahead.

You said nothing to this. In hindsight, this is where you could have let it go.

Except you didn’t.

Something about the inhibitions released once you eventually crossed the threshold into the sanctity of your home sparked an inextinguishable idea within you.

You hummed audibly as you watched your husband take off his shoes at the entrance, calling him to attention.

“What is it?” he glanced at you, questioningly.

“I don’t know, I just really did not peg you as the jealous type, Kento.” you said, in a tone that erred on the more provocative side.

He raised an unconvincing eyebrow at you.

“No?” You pushed on, determined not to let him weaponize his feigned indifference to wiggle out of this interaction, “Perhaps overprotective, then?”

“I really wish I knew what you were talking about right now.”

“The very firm grip you had on me earlier tells me you know exactly what I’m talking about, darling.” You started as you approached him in mock defiance. “However, I guess this is only a hypothesis, perhaps I should have people approach me more often to test it out.” You stated, waving a dismissive hand as you turned to lean against the wall to take off your shoes.

You could feel his eyes trained on you as you unfastened your first shoe, a moment after which he finally spoke.

“This amuses you, doesn’t it?”

“Does it amuse me to see you, Nanami Kento, lose your usual self-imposed decorum, to the point of becoming equally as unusually publicly rough and handsy with me? Yes, in fact, it thrills me.” You responded, in a teasing tone that surprised even yourself.

“You’re choosing to play a dangerous game. Duly noted.”

“Duly noted,” you parroted, mimicking his tone, now decidedly possessed by a spirit of instigation, “Except you won’t do anything about-”

By the time you realized that Nanami had closed the distance between you, cornering you between himself and the stretch of vestibule wall against which you still leaned, he had already grabbed you as he did a mere few hours earlier in the training field, and in your hometown cafe weeks prior, this time with a bit more force, pulling your back flush against his chest, all this before you’d even gotten the chance to complete your sentence.

“Please, darling,” he started with a tone that sounded at least two full octaves below his baseline, a mumble that went into your ear and straight down to your core, causing you to swallow thickly in both trepidation and anticipation, “Do finish that thought, what should I do about it?”

Later that evening, after all was said and done, you truly could not decide which one of you relished most in Nanami’s indefatigable efforts to make you swallow your words.

Over time, the casual touches you shared had become akin to a coded shorthand, which came in handy for navigating some everyday situations.

Whenever you were at a gathering together and you found yourself with a depleting social battery, you would find Nanami, sneaking yourself at his side to signal to him, with a light scratch at the small of his back, a simple gesture that would have him expertly navigate himself out of whatever conversation or activity he was engaged in and start announcing your goodbyes; more often than not, he would be just as, if not more eager to leave as well.

Similarly, if you were in a meeting or a discussion, work-related or otherwise, and he wanted to bring your attention to something or someone you’d gossiped about prior, Kento would give a light squeeze to your elbow, and just like that, your interest would be piqued and your attention tuned in to capture any subtleties you’d know to look out for.

Even within the few times you’d fought curses alongside each other, you had developed small tells, such as the two or three taps on his forearm to indicate whether you would focus your attacks on the adversaries on your left or on your right or his light pinch of your shoulder as a means to privately announce a Black Flash he was about to deliver.

Still even more fascinating than the way you managed to seamlessly communicate was the manner by which your unspoken language had come to be; slowly, naturally, and organically, emblematical of your blissful union.

Thanks for reading! 🩵

[popamolly]

‘DANCE WITH THE DEVIL’ ALASTOR

summary. Alastor grapples with the realization that he might actually have feelings for you, as you contend with the internal conflict of obeying your mother's wishes or pursuing your own happiness.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX

warnings. dark romance, smut if you squint, human!alastor, age gap! you’re in your early 20s while Alastor is in his early 30s, you're naive, Alastor preys on your innocence, blood, kidnapping, implied murder, 18+ minors dni

author’s note. thank you so much for 800 followers! as well as the amount of love this story is getting! i am enjoying writing for human!Alastor and can’t for you all see where i’ll take this. enjoy sinners. (also, if you saw the rough draft and all the mistakes, no you didn’t)

One moment you were on Alastor’s cluttered desk and the next you were in his spacious bed. You had no idea how you got there as it all remained a mysterious blur. The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow on both of your bodies as you two continued to move in sync with one another. Straddling his waist, the rhythmic dance against his hips had your head tossed back in pure bliss. It was a slow, deep, sensation that was vastly different from a few hours before.

His fingernails dragged across your back as he watched your face contort in pleasure, he loved the sight of you— the various marks on you caused by him stirred something within him. It made him wonder how many times can he break you before you crumbled into a million of tiny pieces.

Before you knew it, you were waking up in Alastor’s bed again, only this time you were alone just as the sun reached its peak in the sky. The sunlight was so bright you had to squint your eyes as you sat up in the bed. A delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee and breakfast wafted through the air making your stomach grumble. Knowing that Alastor was perhaps in the kitchen, you pull the sheets from over you and go to stand, your legs felt like jelly and the soreness you felt in between your legs truly made it harder to walk.

You scanned the room for something to wear. All traces of modesty had disappeared since Alastor had taken you across nearly every piece of furniture in his possession, at that point what did you have to be modest about? Opting for one of his blouses, you opened his closet with the expectation of finding a more varied collection, only to discover that each blouse and pair of trousers adhered to a more monochromatic theme.

While reaching for a shirt, you accidentally knocked down another hanger. As you got on your knees to searched for the fallen garment on the floor, your fingertips brushed against a wooden box that was neatly tucked away into the shadows of the closet, sparking your curiosity. You sat down on the floor of the closet, dragging the box toward you to open it- but it was locked.

You decided to leave it be, excusing it as a mere heirloom or something of importance to Alastor. It was left in the back of your mind as you retreat from the closet, you changed into the blouse before leaving his bedroom to follow the delightful scent of breakfast- but before you left the room, you couldn't resist picking up Alastor's forgotten glasses from his nightstand.

As you made your way to the kitchen, the delicious scent of breakfast intensified. The memories of the night before lingered in your mind, a mix of passion and tenderness with Alastor. The soreness between your legs served as a reminder of the intimate moments you shared.

You found Alastor humming a jazz tune as he cooked, completely absorbed in his culinary endeavors. The clinking of utensils against pans filled the air, harmonizing with his cheerful humming. He turned to look at you, a smile spreading across his face.

"Well, good morning, my dear," Alastor greeted, his tone a mix of charm and, at least you hoped, genuine affection. "I hope you slept well."

"Goodmorning Alastor, I did sleep well, thank you," you returned his smile, feeling a sense of comfort in the domestic scene. The small kitchen table was set for two, adorned with a simple but elegant lace. Alastor had an uncanny ability to make even the most mundane tasks seem like an art form.

You took a seat at the table, placing his glasses carefully beside you. Alastor joined you, serving a delicious-looking breakfast onto your plate.

"Help yourself," he said, gesturing to the spread before you. "We had a long night so I am sure you are quite famished.”

You looked down at your silverware as you thanked him, your entire body heating up at the mention of your shared affairs last night as you dug into the meal, savoring the flavors. The comfortable silence between you and Alastor spoke volumes, a example of the connection formed between you two during the night.

Alastor sat across from you with a delighted hum, newspaper in hand while he sipped from his coffee mug in the other, "And how are you faring, my dear? I supposed I did get quite carried away." He broke the domestic silence with a grin, his eyes looking over your neck that was littered with marks. His marks.

"I'm fine," You say honestly, "I enjoyed it really, it was good...for my first time." You all but whispered the last part.

"Well that eases my worry," Alastor puts on his glasses to rest them on the bridge of his nose as he looks over his newspaper again, turning the page as he crosses his right leg over his left, “Let me know if you prefer tea in the morning, I have some brewing on the stove for the afternoon.”

Tea. You audibly gasp at the word as the realization dawned on you. You were supposed to be at home, sick in bed, and drinking tea— that was your cover for the night but the night was long since over. Glancing at the clock, you noticed that it was thirty minutes until eight o’clock, which was the usual time for breakfast to be served at your house. Your mother always expected you at the table a minute before her, groomed and ready for the day ahead. If you weren’t there on time then surely it’ll cause suspicion.

“I hate to cut this short but I have to go,” You hurriedly gobble up the rest of your food before standing up from your chair, “I have to be home soon or my mother will kill me!”

Alastor raised an eyebrow at the irony in that, “Surely, you have time to at least finish your coffee?”

You spared the moment a thought but ultimately shook your head, “I’m sorry but I can’t,” you walked past Alastor to go into his bedroom to slip on your clothes from the night before. His footsteps followed, accompanied by the jingle of car keys in hand.

As you hurriedly grabbed your belongings, Alastor offered to ease your worry with a smile, "I'll drive you home. No need to rush alone in your state of distress."

Grateful for the assistance, you nodded in agreement, and together, you both left his place. You felt different now, a bit lighter, more mature as you slipped into the passenger side of Alastor's car. He held the door open and closed it for you like a true gentleman. The car ride was filled with light banter, Alastor's charismatic demeanor easing the tension that lingered from your hasty departure.

Once you reached your home, Alastor parked the car a little ways away from your estate and turned to you. "Thank you for the company, darling. I hope your mother's wrath is not as fearsome as you anticipate."

You chuckled nervously, appreciating his understanding. "I hope so too. And thank you for everything, Alastor.. I enjoyed our time together."

He leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and planted a gentle kiss on your lips. "Until we meet again," he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

With a promise to see each other soon hanging in the air, you slipped through the back door of your home, grateful for the concealment it offered. Hastily, you made your way to your room, hurriedly taking off the clothes from the night before taking a moment to compose yourself. You had only a few minutes to spare and you couldn't waste them.

After freshening up in your own personal water closet, you did your hair as neatly, and quickly, as you could— following up with a light touch of makeup. The faint taste of Alastor's farewell kiss lingered, and you couldn't help but smile at your reflection in the mirror. Now, groomed and ready, you braced yourself for the day ahead and the potential questions your mother might have about your ailment.

You rushed downstairs into the dining room, the scent of freshly brewed tea and warm toast filling the air. Just as you took your seat, your mother entered, her expression stoic. Unfazed, you greeted her with a bright smile, attempting to mask any trace of your recent escapades.

"Good morning Mother, How did you sleep?" you asked cheerfully, reaching for the toast as if it were any ordinary morning.

Your mother eyed you with a raised eyebrow, as she sat down at the head of the table, allowing the maid beside her to pour her tea, "Well enough, dear. I found myself tossing and turning all night. And you? That cold seemed to be really troubling you last night."

You laughed nervously, hoping your casual demeanor would deflect any probing questions. "It was, I could hardly get out of bed last night but thankfully sleep eventually came."

She continued to observe you, suspicion lingering in her gaze. Of course she knows you snuck out but she wouldn't reveal her cards too early. She would let you have this win for now in the hopes that when your rendezvous did come to light, your spirit would be so crushed by then that you'd have no other choice but to lean on your mother for support because she knew that this was a mere distraction for you and you were nothing but a toy to the man that wanted to use you. Your mother should know, after all she was a young girl once herself. "Mm-hmm," she responded, not fully convinced as she eyed the turtleneck dress you wore. "Anything interesting happen last night?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you maintained your composure. "Not really, just a quiet night. How about you? Anything exciting on your end?"

She hesitated, scrutinizing you for a moment before deciding to drop the subject. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual."

Relieved, you continued with a light breakfast, inwardly sighing at the narrow escape. Little did your mother know about the intriguing night you had spent with Alastor, and you hoped to keep it that way—for now, at least.

As you sipped your tea, hoping to steer the conversation away from any further inquiries, your mother decided to drop a bombshell. With a casual tone, she announced, "Silly me, but I forgot to mention that we're hosting a party in two days. We must prepare you for that so I have list of errands we need to run. Oh, and I've decided it's time that I take over in your matchmaking process."

Your eyes widened in surprise, nearly choking on your tea. "A party? Matchmaking? Mom, that's a bit sudden, isn't it?"

Your mother smiled innocently as she was spreading jam on her toast. "Nonsense, dearest. You've had quite a bit of freedom lately, and I think it's only fair that I take charge of finding you a suitable partner."

You were taken aback by the revelation. "Mom, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle my own affairs. I don't need you picking a match for me."

She raised an eyebrow, her expression turning serious. "And where has that led us? It's time to consider your future. I've arranged for some eligible suitors to attend the party, and by the end of the night, we'll have a decision."

You felt a sense of frustration and helplessness. The control over your own choices slipping away yet again, replaced by the traditional expectations your mother seemed determined to enforce. As you finished your breakfast, a sense of foreboding settled in—the upcoming party was more than just a social gathering. It held the potential to reshape your life in ways you may not be ready for.

As the conversation about the upcoming party lingered, a maid entered the room, carefully placing a radio on the table. You couldn't help but notice that this particular maid was new, and a quick glance around revealed that the other servants bustling about the home were also unfamiliar faces.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you leaned in and asked your mother, "Mother, What happened to our usual staff?"

Your mother, engrossed in the morning radio, responded nonchalantly, "Oh, I fired them, dear. They simply weren't meeting my standards. Now, please hold your tongue; I'm trying to listen to the morning news."

You were left you speechless, a mix of surprise and concern washing over you. The familiar faces that had been a constant presence in your household were replaced without warning. You couldn't help but wonder what had transpired behind the scenes and what might be the real reason for this sudden change. Then you realized that maybe your mother knew of your outing with Alastor and she was acting like she didn't, and if she was, why was she acting clueless?

Your mind began swirling with questions about the upcoming party, the matchmaking, and now the unexplained dismissal of the longtime staff. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, leaving you with an uneasy feeling about the changes that were unfolding in your once-familiar surroundings.

"Oh, what a delightful morning it is! I trust everyone enjoyed a restful night, as I certainly did!" Alastor's voice resonated through the radio, carrying a distinct weight. Despite being the renowned radio show host, he seemed like an entirely different person. Though the broadcast introduced some static, his charm remained. "Let's kick off this morning with some smooth jazz tunes, shall we? I have Louis Armstrong & His Hot Seven's top hits ready to grace your ears! We'll return shortly after this brief interlude, folks!"

Alastor flipped off one switch on his microphone and activated another. The sounds of "Potato Head Blues" filled the airwaves, spreading throughout New Orleans. While the jazz played in the warehouse, Alastor rose from his chair with an irritated groan, heading towards a locked closet at the end of the hall. Using a key, he unlocked the door and descended the creaky wooden stairs. As he reached the bottom step, another voice in the room caught his attention.

"Mmmh!" The person, bound to a chair with a cloth in their mouth, struggled against their restraints, fear evident in their eyes as they observed Alastor approaching with a stoic expression. Tear-filled eyes followed his movements as he walked to a table in the corner, his fingertips brushing over an array of displayed knives. "Mmmph! Hmph!"

"Your grunts and stifled screams are growing rather tiresome," Alastor remarked, his hand hovering over one of his cherished knives with a sinister grin. Lifting it up, the blade gleamed in the light. "I understand it's rather solitary in this space. You were supposed to have a companion, but," Alastor pulled a wooden chair across the floor, creating an unsettling echo against the concrete. He positioned himself in front of the restrained individual, heightening the bone-chilling atmosphere, "plans change."

Alastor glided the blade deliberately across the person's cheek, the chilling touch of the metal causing involuntary shivers. Despite their struggles against the restraints, Alastor sighed, tapping the blade against their skin in a disturbingly mocking rhythm.

"This person, this woman," Alastor mused, tilting his head to the side, "is confusing me, and I don't like it." The sadistic atmosphere in the room thickened as he increased the pressure of the blade against their cheek, drawing blood. Suddenly, he halted, as if a realization had struck him.

"But I don't hate it either," Alastor declared with an unsettling calmness, leaving an ominous pause that lingered in the air. The duality of his emotions toward the captive person added a perplexing layer to the unfolding scene, intensifying the disturbing nature of the situation.

Alastor, maintaining his eerie composure, turned to the restrained person and asked, "What do you think? Is it true love?" A twisted amusement gleamed in his eyes as he awaited a response.

A cruel chuckle escaped him as he noticed the person's inability to answer, their mouth securely gagged. The absurdity of the question in the face of their silent predicament seemed to amuse the madman further. The room resonated with Alastor's unsettling laughter, creating an atmosphere of malevolence that hung heavily in the air. The captive, helpless and silenced, could only endure the scene unfolding before them knowing that this would be the last sight they ever see.

"One, two, three, one, two-" The ballroom echoed with the rhythmic counting of the waltz, your mother diligently guiding you through the steps. As you twirled with your elderly dance partner, your mind drifted to Alastor. The memory of dancing with him under the stars tugged at your heart, and an undeniable longing for him filled your thoughts.

In the midst of the waltz, you couldn't shake the yearning to be with him, whether listening to his radio broadcasts or engaging in casual conversations over coffee. The mere thought of Alastor sent your heart racing, leaving you flustered and questioning the nature of these emotions. Was this love? The answer seemed evident with each flutter of your heart, each bounce of the balls of your feet. Love, it seemed, had taken root in your heart.

The dance partner, an elderly servant, winced as your foot landed squarely on his toes. "I am so sorry!" you began to apologize, but your mother's sharp voice cut through the room.

"A woman must be graceful like a swan," she admonished, tapping the back of your thighs with a cane, the sting making you wince, "not a tumbling tiger."

"I—" You attempted to offer excuses, but your mother's stern gaze silenced you.

"You are distracted," she declared, shaking her head in disapproval. "I need you to dismiss whatever is taking over your mind and be present. The ball is tomorrow, and I can't have you embarrassing me on your big day." The weight of her expectations pressed upon you, urging you to set aside your personal feelings and focus on the upcoming event.

A heavy sigh escaped your mother's lips as she turned her attention to the elderly servant. "You may leave us," she instructed, her tone carrying a hint of disappointment. The servant bowed slightly, acknowledging the dismissal before exiting the ballroom.

Now alone, your mother circled you, her scrutinizing gaze causing you to shrink under her watchful eyes. The atmosphere grew tense as she examined you, her expression a mix of frustration and concern.

With each step, your mother's presence loomed, and the weight of her expectations seemed to intensify. The impending ball was not just an event; it was a reflection of her social standing, and any misstep could ruin her reputation. As she circled, you couldn't help but feel the pressure to conform to her ideals and expectations, the desire for personal connection and freedom momentarily eclipsed by the demands of societal decorum.

Your mother's gaze didn't miss the marks on your neck you tried to hide, remnants of the passionate night you spent with Alastor. She dismissed it with a grimace, a silent disapproval lingering in her expression.

As the tension in the room hung thick, your mother took a deep breath before opening her mouth to speak once again. "Did I ever tell you the story of how I was in love?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

"Of course, you and father—" you began, but your mother cut you off with a firm gesture. "This was before your father. Before everything…before I became a woman of high society."

The weight of her words hung in the air, and you could sense that she was about to share a piece of her past, a side of her life that you hadn't even thought to acknowledge. As the ball loomed on the horizon, the barriers between you and your mother seemed to momentarily lower, providing a glimpse into a time when love and passion took precedence over societal expectations.

"I fell in love with a man during the summer months," your mother began, her voice carrying a bittersweet tone. She continued to circle you, sharing the intimate details of a past you had only glimpsed before. "He swept me off my feet quickly, and I was blinded by that love because, in my eyes, he was my happily ever after."

Your eyes widened as you listened intently to your mother's story. The ballroom, once filled with the echoes of waltz music, now held a poignant atmosphere as she delved into her personal history.

"I was merely a farmer's daughter, and he, a factory worker. It truly was a good match. But…" Her mother's expression darkened at the memory. "My dear, you can give a man everything, every ounce of your entire being, and he will still want more."

As the weight of her words settled, you could sense the bitter undertones of regret and heartache in your mother's story. It opened a window into her past, a time when love seemed boundless, yet reality had its own lessons to impart. The circling continued, each step a reminder of the complexities that love could bring.

"What I thought was love was nothing but a game to him," your mother continued, her voice carrying the weight of past heartache. The circling ceased abruptly, and her cane tapped hard against the ballroom floor as if emphasizing the gravity of her words. "He was gone with autumn, taking everything I had given him—my money, my body…my soul. I would've been truly ruined if it wasn't for your father."

She stood in front of you, gripping your chin harshly, forcing you to meet her gaze with glossy eyes. "I say all of that to say, do not be fooled by a wolf in sheep's clothing."

The words hung in the air, resonating with the tale she had just shared. The ballroom, once a place of elegance and grace, now echoed with the cautionary wisdom of a mother who had weathered the storms of love and loss. The vulnerability in her eyes and the firmness of her grip conveyed the sincerity of her warning, urging you to tread carefully in matters of the heart.

"I don't care what you do from this point forward but know this, you will attend the ball in your honor and you will marry the man who I deem worthy of you, understood?" After your mother releases her grip from your chin, tapping her cane once more, she steps aside, allowing you to pass. "Practice is over. You may go," she declares.

The aftermath of this encounter leaves tears welling in your eyes and a heavy weight in your chest. Unable to meet your mother's gaze, you hurry past her, fleeing the ballroom without a backward glance. In your rush, you even collide with a maid, but offer no apology as you hurry out the front door. Emotions swirl within you, mingling anger towards your mother with a deeper frustration directed toward yourself. The struggle between fulfilling family expectations and pursuing your own happiness weighed heavily on your mind. Are you truly prepared to forsake everything for Alastor? And more importantly, would he do the same for you?

Descending the stone steps of your home in haste, you decided to find Alastor and confront the questions you've been avoiding. Only his response would determine your next move.

"Mr. Ray?" You lean down to peer through the driver's side window, where your family chauffeur is taking a cigarette break. His complexion blends seamlessly with the setting sun. "Could you take me somewhere?"

"Without your mother?" He arches an eyebrow. "I believe you still require a chaperone, young lady."

"She allowed me out for the afternoon as long as I am back before curfew. Please, I'll be under your watchful eye. I promise to behave," you nearly beg, your puppy-dog eyes meeting his.

With a resigned sigh, the chauffeur relents. "Get in," he says, giving in to your plea and falling for your sweet lie.

With a sense of purpose, you climbed into the car, knowing that the journey ahead would be filled with uncertainty but you were determined in proving your mother wrong, you wanted to follow your happiness and Alastor was that happiness because in your mind— no, in your heart, you knew you loved him.

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost on any other social media.

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[temporaerthaervaerk]

I just realised that all the media I adore has some level of autistic/neurodivergent coding and it's been that way since I was a child.

And like, oftentimes their different way of perceiving and being in the world is the driving force of the story/and or a crucial element in it.

There’s the canon example of the entire Camp Halfblood (ADHD), where the ADHD is literally what keeps the characters alive.

There's Dean Winchester (ADHD) whose hyperfixations are typically masculine (as well as geeky) and who never sits still, with the added bonus of Castiel (Autism), who Dean just... accepts, in a way I rarely see.

Then there’s the infamous Will Graham (Autism) whose hyperempathy is litterally the focal point of the entire narrative.

We have Haru from Free! (Autism), whose special interest (swimming) is the motivating factor for several other characters.

Reki and Langa from Sk8 the infinity (Autism), who share a special interest and grow a special bond because of it.

There's Sai from Hikaru No Go (Autism), who trancedented time and space to play Go (special interest) and whose special interest sets the story into motion.

We have any version of Sherlock Holmes (AuDHD), who's brilliance I attribute to a mixture of hyperfixations and special interest in crime solving. His conflicts with society and disregard of social norms are a central theme as well.

There's Anne with an E (Autism), who loves words and stories and speaks before she thinks (where all major problems arise due to her lack of understanding for social norms)

We have Pat and Pran from Bad Buddy (ADHD + Autism), like I dunno, I just really felt that vibe.

There's Beth Harmon from Queen's Gambit (Autism) with her special interest in Chess.

And like, the list goes on: Daryl Dixon, Jon Snow, Kotaro from Kotaro Lives Alone, Will Treaty from the Ranger's apprentice, Hal from the same author, Katniss Everdeen, Si-eun from Weak Hero Class 1, etc.

Don't get me wrong I've consumed plenty of stories without characters coded this way, but all the stories that truly resonated with me? Neurodivergent, all of them.

It's probably because the focus on social norms/hierarchy always seemed foreign to me. Eg. I like Skam but it's like a view into a completely foreign world where people function differently.

[queenofdragons12]

Chapter 1: Intersections

Pairings: Y/N x HUNTR/X (Rumi, Zoey, Mira) | Y/N x The Saja Boys (developing)

Warnings: Supernatural themes, mentions of violence/hunting, power dynamics, ancient beings, mild language, tension between supernatural factions

Summary: After millennia of ruling from the shadows, an ancient being descends to the mortal realm, drawn by curiosity about three young women who've managed to blend supernatural hunting with pop stardom. Meanwhile, the Saja Boys receive orders to investigate HUNTR/X's mysterious new fourth member, unaware that their target is far more powerful—and lonely—than they could imagine.

Themes:

Finding connection across different worlds and identities

The loneliness of power and responsibility

Balance between duty and personal desires

The intersection of music, magic, and mortality

Chosen family and unlikely alliances

Ancient beings adapting to modern worlds

The air shimmered with an otherworldly tension as you descended from your ethereal realm, your boots making contact with the concrete sidewalk for the first time in centuries. The sensation was jarring—rough, unforgiving, so different from the smooth obsidian floors of your palace that seemed to breathe with ancient magic. You pulled your black leather jacket tighter around your shoulders, the material creaking softly as you adjusted to the weight of gravity in this mortal plane. The mask covering the upper half of your face felt heavier here too, its intricate silver engravings catching the harsh fluorescent light spilling from the recording studio's windows.

You had ruled your kingdom with an iron fist wrapped in velvet gloves for over three millennia, watching empires rise and fall like waves against distant shores. Neither fully demon with their sulfurous appetites, nor human with their fleeting mortality, nor hunter with their righteous fury—you existed in the spaces between, commanding respect through sheer presence rather than classification. Your subjects had learned long ago not to question your authority, and you had learned to let sleeping dogs lie when it came to creatures like Gi-wa. As long as his machinations didn't spill over into your domain, as long as his chaos didn't threaten the delicate balance you maintained, you allowed him his games. Perhaps it was arrogance, perhaps it was wisdom—the line between the two had blurred somewhere around your second millennium of rule.

But now, standing outside this unassuming building where three young women had apparently formed some sort of supernatural girl group, you found yourself genuinely curious for the first time in decades. The energy radiating from within was unlike anything you'd encountered—part hunter discipline, part pop star ambition, with undertones of something deeper, more primal. It reminded you of the way storm clouds gathered before a particularly spectacular lightning show, all potential energy crackling just beneath the surface.

The studio door was heavier than it looked, reinforced with what your enhanced senses immediately identified as blessed steel. Smart. These girls weren't taking any chances, even if they were trying to make it in the entertainment industry. The hallway beyond was narrow, lined with gold and platinum records that seemed to hum with residual magical energy. Someone had been busy, and recently too, judging by the way the air still tasted of ozone and determination.

You could hear them before you saw them—three distinct voices harmonizing in a way that made your ancient soul sit up and take notice. There was power in their music, real power, the kind that could move mountains or stop hearts depending on the singer's intent. As you approached the main recording room, you caught glimpses of them through the soundproof glass: a blonde with fierce eyes and posture that screamed military training, a brunette whose aura sparkled with barely contained mischief, and a redhead who moved with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent years perfecting her craft.

The music stopped abruptly as you pushed open the door, and three pairs of eyes turned toward you with varying degrees of curiosity and wariness. You could feel their assessment washing over you like a gentle tide—taking in your deliberately androgynous appearance, the way you held yourself like someone accustomed to being obeyed, the mask that hid your features but couldn't quite conceal the otherworldly gleam in your visible eye.

"Hey," you said gruffly, your voice carrying just a hint of the authority that could make demons kneel and angels pause mid-flight. "I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you."

The silence stretched for a heartbeat too long, filled with the kind of tension that comes when supernatural beings size each other up for the first time. You watched as the three girls shared a look—quick, practiced, the kind of wordless communication that spoke of countless hours spent fighting side by side. You didn't look like a queen, that much was obvious from their expressions. Hell, you didn't look like a girl at all, standing there in your carefully chosen masculine attire with your face half-hidden and your stance deliberately casual. But that had always been part of your strategy. Let them underestimate you. Let them think you were just another player in whatever game they thought they were playing.

The blonde stepped forward first, and you immediately recognized the hunter training in the way she moved—balanced, ready, but not aggressive. Professional. "Hey there," she said, extending a hand that you noticed bore the faint scars of someone who'd learned to fight with both weapons and bare fists. "I'm Rumi. This is Zoey and Mira."

Zoey, the brunette, gave you a little wave that somehow managed to be both friendly and calculating. Her aura was the most complex of the three—layers upon layers of carefully constructed defenses wrapped around what felt like a core of pure, chaotic energy. Interesting. Mira, the redhead, simply nodded, but you caught the way her fingers twitched slightly, as if she was resisting the urge to reach for a weapon that wasn't there.

"So," Rumi continued, her tone carefully neutral, "what brings you to our little corner of the music world? You don't exactly look like the typical record label type."

You almost smiled at that. If only she knew that you'd been around when the first humans discovered they could make music by banging rocks together, that you'd watched the birth of every musical genre from your throne room high above the mortal realm. Instead, you shrugged, letting your gaze drift around the studio with its state-of-the-art equipment and subtle protective wards.

"Let's just say I've heard interesting things about your group," you replied, noting how Zoey's eyes sharpened at your deliberately vague answer. "Hunter slash pop stars. It's not exactly a common career combination."

"Neither is mysterious masked stranger who shows up unannounced," Mira spoke for the first time, her voice carrying a slight accent you couldn't quite place. "But here we are."

The air in the room seemed to thicken slightly, charged with the kind of energy that preceded either a fight or a very interesting conversation. You found yourself genuinely impressed by their composure. Most beings—supernatural or otherwise—either cowered or postured when faced with your presence. These three were doing neither, simply watching and waiting to see what you'd reveal about yourself.

"Fair enough," you conceded, pulling off your leather gloves with deliberate slowness. Your hands, when revealed, bore the kind of scars that came from centuries of both ruling and fighting—thin white lines across your knuckles, a crescent-shaped mark on your palm from a particularly memorable encounter with a rebellious demon lord, calluses that spoke of weapons mastery. "I suppose we're all keeping our cards close to our chest."

Zoey laughed, a sound like silver bells with just a hint of danger underneath. "Cards? Honey, we're playing an entirely different game than most people even know exists."

"Music and monster hunting," Rumi added, settling back against the mixing board with the easy confidence of someone in their element. "It's surprisingly complementary. Both require perfect timing, the ability to read your audience, and knowing when to hit the right note."

"Plus," Mira chimed in, finally relaxing enough to lean against the wall, "there's something to be said for having a cover story that sounds completely insane. Who's going to believe that three pop stars are actually out there saving the world between recording sessions?"

You found yourself genuinely charmed by their dynamic, the way they played off each other with the ease of people who'd been through hell together and come out stronger. It reminded you of your own inner circle, back in the early days of your reign when everything was still uncertain and you'd had to fight for every scrap of respect and territory.

"So what's your story?" Zoey asked, tilting her head in a way that made her look deceptively innocent. "And don't give us some line about being a talent scout or a journalist. Your aura is..." she paused, searching for the right word, "complicated."

"Complicated," you repeated, tasting the word. "I suppose that's one way to put it."

The truth was, you weren't entirely sure why you'd come here. For centuries, you'd been content to rule from afar, to let the mortal world spin on its axis while you maintained the delicate balance between the various supernatural factions under your dominion. But something about these three had caught your attention, some combination of their audacity and their apparent success that had made you curious enough to abandon your throne room for the first time in decades.

"I'm not entirely human," you said finally, deciding that some version of the truth might serve you better than elaborate deception. "Not entirely anything, really. I've been around for a while, and I've learned that the most interesting things usually happen at the intersections—between worlds, between genres, between what people think is possible and what actually is."

Rumi's eyebrows rose slightly. "How long is 'a while'?"

"Long enough to remember when music was considered a form of magic," you replied, which was true enough without being too specific. "Long enough to know that what you three are doing—combining your hunter abilities with your musical talents—it's not just clever marketing. It's evolution."

The three girls exchanged another look, and you could practically see the silent conversation happening between them. Finally, Mira spoke up.

"You're not here to cause trouble, are you? Because we've had enough of that lately, and honestly, we're just trying to make some music and maybe save a few lives along the way."

"No trouble," you assured them, and meant it. "If anything, I'm impressed. It takes considerable skill to maintain dual identities like this, especially when both sides of your life are so... demanding."

"You sound like you speak from experience," Zoey observed, her eyes never leaving your face.

"Perhaps I do." You moved closer to the window, looking out at the city sprawling below. From up here, you could see the ley lines that crisscrossed the urban landscape like a glowing web, the places where the supernatural world bled through into the mundane. "Tell me, how do you balance it? The music and the hunting? They must pull you in different directions sometimes."

"Actually," Rumi said, settling into one of the studio chairs, "they complement each other more than you'd think. Music is all about rhythm, harmony, knowing when to build tension and when to release it. Hunting is the same—you have to read the situation, know when to strike and when to wait, understand the rhythm of your opponent."

"Plus," Zoey added with a grin that was equal parts mischievous and predatory, "there's nothing quite like the adrenaline rush of a good hunt to inspire some really killer lyrics."

Mira nodded in agreement. "And the discipline required for both is similar. Hours of practice, constant refinement of technique, the need to perform under pressure. Whether you're facing down a demon or a hostile crowd, you need to be able to trust your training and your instincts."

You found yourself nodding along, genuinely engaged in a way you hadn't been for years. These three had found something you'd been searching for without even realizing it—a way to bridge the gap between different aspects of their nature, to be whole instead of fragmented.

"What about you?" Mira asked suddenly. "What do you do when you're not mysteriously appearing in recording studios?"

The question caught you off guard, mainly because it had been so long since anyone had asked you about yourself with genuine curiosity rather than fear or calculation. You considered your answer carefully, aware that whatever you said next would set the tone for whatever relationship might develop between you and these remarkable young women.

"I maintain balance," you said finally. "Between different factions, different worlds, different ways of being. It's not always exciting work, but it's necessary."

"Sounds lonely," Zoey said softly, and something in her tone made you look at her more carefully. There was understanding there, the kind that came from personal experience.

"Sometimes," you admitted, surprised by your own honesty. "But that's the price of responsibility."

"Or maybe," Rumi suggested gently, "it's the price of thinking you have to carry everything alone."

The words hit closer to home than you cared to admit, and you found yourself studying these three with new eyes. They'd managed to find each other, to build something together that was stronger than the sum of its parts. When was the last time you'd had that? When was the last time you'd trusted anyone enough to share the burden of leadership?

"You know," Zoey said, breaking the contemplative silence, "we could use someone with your kind of experience. Someone who understands the bigger picture."

"Are you offering me a job?" you asked, amused despite yourself.

"Maybe," Mira said with a slight smile. "Depends on whether you can carry a tune."

The laugh that escaped you was rusty from disuse, but genuine. "I think I might surprise you."

"Most people do," Rumi said, standing and moving toward one of the guitars leaning against the wall. "That's what makes life interesting."

As she began to play—a simple melody that somehow managed to capture both melancholy and hope—you felt something shift inside your chest. For the first time in centuries, you weren't thinking about kingdoms or responsibilities or the delicate balance of power between supernatural factions. You were just... present. In this moment, with these three extraordinary women who'd somehow managed to carve out their own space in a world that didn't quite know what to do with them.

"So," you said, settling into one of the empty chairs, "tell me about this music of yours. I have a feeling there's more to it than meets the ear."

And as the afternoon sun slanted through the studio windows, painting everything in shades of gold and possibility, you found yourself genuinely curious about what came next. For the first time in longer than you cared to remember, the future felt like an adventure rather than a burden.

The conversation that followed was unlike any you'd had in decades—part strategy session, part creative brainstorming, part getting-to-know-you session between beings who existed on the fringes of normal society. You learned that Rumi had been a hunter since she was sixteen, that Zoey's chaotic energy came from a childhood spent moving between different supernatural communities, that Mira's grace was hard-won through years of classical training before she discovered her true calling lay in fighting monsters.

In return, you found yourself sharing stories you hadn't told in centuries—about the early days of your reign, about the delicate negotiations required to keep peace between beings who'd rather tear each other apart, about the loneliness of making decisions that affected thousands of lives.

"You know what I think?" Zoey said as the sun began to set outside, painting the studio in shades of amber and rose. "I think you didn't come here just because you were curious about us. I think you came here because you were looking for something."

"And what do you think I was looking for?" you asked, genuinely curious about her assessment.

"Connection," she said simply. "The same thing we were all looking for when we found each other."

The truth of it hit you like a physical blow, and you had to look away from her knowing eyes. She was right, of course. For all your power, for all your carefully maintained control, you'd been profoundly alone for longer than most civilizations had existed.

"Well," you said finally, your voice rougher than you'd intended, "it seems you three are more perceptive than most."

"It's part of the job description," Mira said gently. "Both jobs, actually."

"So what happens now?" Rumi asked, setting down her guitar and fixing you with that direct stare that probably made demons confess their sins. "Are you going to disappear back to wherever you came from, or are you going to stick around and see what we're really capable of?"

The question hung in the air between you, weighted with possibility and the kind of potential that could change everything. You thought about your kingdom, about the throne that had been both your prison and your purpose for so long. You thought about the endless cycle of maintaining balance, of making decisions in isolation, of carrying the weight of responsibility alone.

Then you looked at these three remarkable women who'd somehow managed to build something beautiful and dangerous and entirely their own, and you made a decision that would have shocked your younger self.

"I think," you said slowly, "I'd like to hear what you sound like with a fourth voice."

The smiles that bloomed on their faces were brighter than any treasure in your vast kingdom, and for the first time in centuries, you felt like you might be exactly where you belonged.

The Saja Boys had been warned about you by Giwa—his voice still echoing in their minds like a broken record player stuck on the same ominous note. "Dangerous," he'd hissed through the phone, the word dripping with ancient malice. "Deal with them immediately, or face the consequences." But right now, consequences felt like a distant thunderstorm as they sprawled across their shared apartment's worn leather couch, the kind of furniture that had seen too many late-night strategy sessions and takeout containers.

HUNTR/X's newest single poured from their expensive sound system like liquid starlight, each note crystalline and perfect. But there was something different this time—something that made Jinu's fingers pause mid-scroll on his phone, made Romance's eyes snap up from the weapon he'd been cleaning, made Abby's hand freeze halfway to the bowl of spicy ramen balanced on his knee.

A fourth voice had joined the familiar trio, and it was like discovering a new color in a sunset you thought you knew by heart. This voice was deeper than the ocean trenches, smoother than aged whiskey, with an otherworldly quality that seemed to bypass their ears entirely and resonate directly in their chests. It didn't sing in Korean like the others—instead, it wove between English phrases and words so ancient they felt like forgotten prayers, syllables that tasted of starlight and shadow.

"What the hell," Jinu breathed, his phone clattering to the coffee table as he leaned forward, dark eyes wide with something between fascination and concern. His perfectly styled hair fell across his forehead as he strained to catch every nuance of that impossible voice.

Romance and Abby shared one of those looks—the kind that passed between people who'd been through hell together and learned to communicate in glances. Romance's scarred hands stilled completely on his blade, while Abby's chopsticks hovered forgotten above his bowl, steam curling around his face like incense.

"Okay, either they've gotten a new member," Baby announced from the kitchen, his voice carrying that particular brand of nonchalance that only came from chugging an entire bottle of ghost pepper hot sauce like it was water, "or they're getting way too good at this whole supernatural pop star thing." He appeared in the doorway, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes bright with the kind of heat that had nothing to do with capsaicin and everything to do with intrigue.

The song swelled around them, that mysterious fourth voice weaving through the harmony like silk through steel, and each of them felt something shift in the air—as if the very fabric of their carefully ordered world had just developed a beautiful, dangerous tear.

"I like it," Mystery said suddenly, his voice cutting through the ethereal melody like a blade through silk. His violet hair caught the lamplight as he tilted his head, listening with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for tracking demons through Seoul's neon-lit alleyways.

The others turned to stare at him—Jinu's phone still forgotten in his lap, Romance's cleaning cloth draped over his silver blade like a prayer flag, Abby's ramen growing cold as steam spiraled between his fingers like tiny ghosts.

"You sure about that?" Jinu asked, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd learned to question everything, especially when it sounded too good to be true. His dark eyes searched Mystery's face for any hint of the supernatural influence that sometimes clouded their judgment when dealing with beings beyond their understanding.

Mystery nodded slowly, his gaze distant as if he was seeing something the others couldn't—or maybe hearing something in that otherworldly voice that resonated with whatever ancient power flowed through his own veins. "Yeah," he murmured, fingers unconsciously tracing the silver pendant at his throat, the one that hummed with protective energy whenever danger was near. "She's... soothing. Like moonlight on water, or the way rain sounds on temple roofs."

The romantic poetry spilling from Mystery's lips made Romance raise an eyebrow—their usually stoic teammate didn't often wax lyrical about anything, let alone mysterious voices in pop songs. But there was something in his tone, something soft and wondering that made them all pause.

Jinu sighed, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair as he felt the familiar weight of leadership settling on his shoulders like an expensive coat. "We're visiting their company tomorrow," he decided, his voice carrying the kind of quiet authority that had kept them alive through countless supernatural encounters. "Finding out who this fourth girl is, what she wants, where she came from." His fingers drummed against his thigh in a nervous rhythm. "If Giwa's right about her being dangerous..."

"Then we need to know what we're dealing with," Romance finished, his scarred hands already moving to secure his weapons with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd learned that preparation was the difference between coming home and becoming a cautionary tale.

The others nodded in silent agreement, but as they began their nightly ritual of checking wards and securing their apartment against supernatural intrusion, each of them found their thoughts drifting back to that voice—the way it had wrapped around their hearts like silk ribbons, the way it had made even their battle-hardened souls ache with something that felt dangerously close to longing.

Soon they headed to bed, weapons within easy reach and protective charms glowing softly in the darkness, each of them ready to uncover your secrets when tomorrow's sun painted Seoul's skyline in shades of gold and possibility.